She'd bought it impulsively, after scouring some chronic pain forums on the internet and reading what had helped people like her, some people with similar conditions and others with ones she'd never heard of and couldn't even begin to imagine having, ones she couldn't even pronounce. I hated it at first, but now it's a lifesaver, one poster had proclaimed, and so Andy had dragged herself out of her condo and down the street to Walgreens to purchase a shower chair. She told herself she could get rid of it if she hated it, she could put it in her small garage and forget about it and if she didn't hate it, she didn't have to use it all the time, it was just there if she needed it. It was just there for those days when her sciatic nerve was killing her or her feet were numb just from standing in place for a minute or two or her heart was racing and she was short of breath just from walking to the bathroom.
She'd had to go to two different Walgreens locations to actually find one, and she'd brought it home and assembled it and even set it up in the shower...and then promptly had decided not to use it. She'd been moving it in and out of the shower each time, and it was only because Toby had come over at 11:30 at night to discuss an ammendment that Rafferty was trying to push through that she remembered it. He was drinking scotch and she was on her second glass of wine. He had brought his own scotch, she didn't keep it in the house. He had excused himself in the middle of their spirited debate to go to the bathroom. She told him that the half-bath on the main floor was currently out of commission, the sink was leaking horribly, she needed to call the plumber but kept forgetting. He went upstairs to use the bathroom there instead. She sipped her wine as she heard the toilet flush, then the sink running as he washed his hands, and then she heard him call out, a confused, questioning, "Andy...?"
"What's wrong?" she replied, but there was no response. She got to her feet and made her way upstairs, keeping a tight grip on the railing just in case her body decided to betray her on the way up. "Toby?"
She knocked on the door once and then opened it when she heard his voice. She found him leaning up against the bathroom counter, gazing towards the bathtub and shower. She'd left the shower curtain open and the shower chair was in full view.
"Oh."
"Oh," he repeated softly. "Everything okay?"
Andy shrugged. "I haven't used it yet. But I've been reading some stuff on the internet, and I thought it might--help."
"Is it getting worse?" he asked, his brow furrowed. "Andy?"
She looked down at the tile floor for a second. "It's not getting better--"
"Andrea."
"It's getting worse, yeah," she admitted. "Sometimes the pain is so bad I can't stand, sometimes my nerves are all screwed up. Last week I had to hold onto the wall so I wouldn't slip and fall. All I could think about was hobbling onto the Hill on crutches the next day. I'm lucky I didn't fall. The folks online said this can...help."
"You could have called me."
"What, you want to supervise all my showers?" she tried to joke. "Perv."
"Andrea."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I know I can call you, but--I can't call you all the time. I shouldn't be able to--I shouldn't have to call my ex-husband because I want to take a shower but I'm afraid of falling over and breaking an ankle. I also shouldn't have to sit on the floor of my shower because I'm afraid if I move, I'll pass out."
Now he looked even more alarmed. "That's when you should definitely call me."
She gave him a sad smile. "I can't call you every time, honey. Hence...the shower chair."
"Hence the shower chair."
They both looked at it in silence for a second, the mix of sturdy white plastic and a darker gray to hold it all together that almost looked metallic, but Andy had put it together and knew that it wasn't. She sighed quietly.
"You haven't used it yet?"
Andy shook her head. "I can't bring myself to. I keep taking it out and putting it back in so I can shower like normal. It feels like...if I use it, then that's it. That's who I am now. The woman in her thirties with a shower chair."
"But if it helps you--"
"Believe me, I know."
He was quiet for a second before he said, "You should use it."
"I know. I know I should. I will--"
"No, I mean you should use it right now," he looked at her, a smile forming at the corners of his mouth. "Rip the bandaid off, get it over with. Then it won't be hanging around your neck like that. You use it once, it'll get easier to use every time. At least, theoretically. Right? And I'll be right here, if you don't like it or in case you fall or something."
She nudged him. "You really do want to watch me shower, don't you? I was kidding about you being a perv, but--"
Toby nudged her back, and grinned. "As much as a perk as that would be, I was thinking you could have the curtain closed, if you wanted, I'd just be here to make sure you're okay."
"You'd stand in the hot, humid bathroom in your suit while I showered just to make sure I'm safe?" she asked, surprised.
He smiled and leaned down to kiss her cheek. "You bet I would. You want to give it a try?"
Andy thought for a moment, looking at the chair for several beats before she finally nodded.
"I'll get you something to change into after. You still keep your pajamas in the top drawer?"
Since they were kids, Katsuki Bakugou had known something was off about Izuku Midoriya. There was just something about his eyes, always latching onto quirks and anything else that interested him with an obsessive glint.
He hated when he looked at him, almost dissecting him with only a glance, but there was something else, something other than the usual obsessiveness he always had for everything else. There was this, this weight, as if everything he did was perfect, everything he did was expected, as if it was impossible for him to not be the best.
It made him feel like he wasn't allowed to show weakness, couldn't have one. It made him feel on top of the world, yet it also always reminded him: Midoriya was not normal. He was different.
