Bound ... prologue
SYPNOSIS : 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇, an office worker is somehow transported in MHA by the means of a broken elevator and is forced to leave the life they held so dear. Faced with the challenges as a severely unprepared, quirkless, nobody. You try your best to avoid canon characters and most events for as long as you live in this wretched world— try as you might, the gods seem to love partaking in your utter dread. You find yourself tossed in the heat of the storyline armed with nothing but wits and your last working brain cells.
TAGS : unedited, mentions of death and blood, typical isekai (8.1k)
AS THE DAY trickled by in a never-ending lick of monotonous clicks and clacks of keyboards and exasperated sighs, you skim over the written document your boss handed you over to review. Constantly pressing on the tab button to write emails to other involved parties for inquiries towards clients and stakeholders within the proposal.
Just another one of those boring word vomits that sent your mind in a frenzy. Whether or not the word ‘resources’ and ‘implement’ is spelled correct, it looks indefinitely wrong and it’s driving you insane.
Sometimes... you feel like a buffoon trying to validate your idiocrasy. If it weren't for the years of constant studying and 'preparing' for the future career your school pressured you to pursue, you like to think— from the deepest, and youngest version of you that loathe the system— they failed to conceptualize the actual experience you need to have for real life work.
Common sense was more of a better lesson than authorities realize.
A puff of air bellows, and a long drawn out sigh escapes you. A childish voice, angered and conspirational, refutes the previous thought with a loud ringing buzzer. 'School was just another ploy to pacify and conform the masses!' The younger voice, although irrefutably you in a sense, continues on in finality. 'The quality of education diminished the more the people understoocd their right! Knowledge is radical, an epiphany to some but words to fools. Control is the basis, the mere core of this whole charade! Think about the discriminated lot who can't escape the injustice and forced labor. Withholding the laws and right to education means less questions and more conform—
You vanish the thought with a meager shake, exhausted with the constant use of your fraying sanity.
As much as you agree with your... conspirational self. You'd rather use that thought process elsewhere— maybe, oh. I don't know to finish the fucking paper you keep procrastinating on?!?
"Balls." you hiss, almost groaning at the blinking cursor and empty document. "Where do I even start...?"
As hard as you rack your brain for any fanfic juice you used in your teens, it's becoming increasingly difficult to focus when your mind seems to wander at some embarrassing shit you did in the past— Oh the horrors of impulsive decisions— will you ever get over the past? probably. If it weren't for how masochistic your mind seems to be in feeding you such memories at a time like this, you would've been done with the paper if it hadn't forced you to remember everything in vivid clarity.
The keyboard clacks as you write a word down, erasing it, and writing another— only to go on google and search up an example template instead.
With matters like this, it's easier said than done with the advantage of technology.
Words splatter and rim each line, using buzzword after buzzword to sell the 'formal' and idealistic corporate way to write a proposal. Your fingers work on its own, each press of the key driving you farther from the once blank page.
Your mind's still wandering, tinkering around miniscule noises and sifting through fleeting memories. It keeps circling back to your teenage years, recalling lines from fanfics you've read— the emotions are ever so prevalent, even when the imagery seems to fade at the seams— the sudden picture of a familiar, holographic screen comes to mind. It's accompanied by a white, billowing coat, and a man with black hair peruses that iconic trench with a charming sass.
Your fingers pause, and you have half a mind to notice the words Dokja and Viewpoint written in a passage of funding— not when you briefly remember a manhwa you’ve read years ago. Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint. One of the holy grails and the epiphany of what it’s like to become a reader.
When the webtoon was finishing its epilogue, you graduated college by then. From the bits of time you had for social media, the fandom was bawling their eyes out at the phenomenal work the studio has done for its ending chapters. It’s been nine years since you first started the manhwa. And now you’re 24 with a bachelor’s degree, working nine-to-five in an office job you never had the qualms of getting.
“Haven’t heard that in a long, long time…” You half-snort, amused with your twisted sense of humor. You pay no mind to the swivel of your co-worker’s stare. You’ve embarrassed yourself too many times to berate yourself for speaking aloud.
You weren't the only crazed person in the world. You'd know because your broth—
A knock resounds by your right, fingers hovering over the mouse before glancing up to meet your intruder. “I didn’t take my sister as a workaholic!” a chirpy voice bounds through your ears like the grating sound of screeching chalk.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
You could hear the neighboring stall heave a hefty sigh at the sound of his voice— and honestly? you don’t blame them.
“Ah, Suga.” you forced a smile at the ashen-haired man. “I can’t believe you bypassed scans and security.”
Your brother tuts, squeezing through your already cramped space like he owned it. “I bumped into Yohanna on the way here. We catched up on gossip until I got here!” Curse your brother and his easygoing nature. If he wasn’t so good at socializing then he wouldn’t have befriended your co-workers.
“And haven’t I told you to call me Onii-chan?” he smiled, snatching your coffee and tainting it with his disgusting saliva as if this was just another monday.
“Drink from my coffee again and I’ll kill you.” you hissed, lifting your feet to step on his slippers as revenge. But the bastard was quick to dodge and evade your attacks.
Curse your brother and his volleyball agility.
“Hey! This is limited edition—” he gapes dramatically, grabbing his ankle to inspect non-existent dust. “Your broke ass got that from FamilyMart.”
“I consider such rare artifacts like these—” he lifts his stinky feet up to display seal socks and worn, gray slippers. “A valuable collection.” your eye twitches as your brother wiggles his toes to assert his claim.
You’re actually gonna kill this guy.
Reigning in your frustration, you swivel your chair to face him fully. “You’re pushing 30 and I’m in my twenties. Get yo’ fucking feet out my face before I break it so hard— ” you snarled, rubbing your temple in a mildly-aggressive circle.
Sugawara gasped as if his whole bloodline was shot. “I’m barely even 28?!” like the ragebaiter that he is, he slumps his whole body weight on top of you, a hand drawn to his head like some damsel in distress. He babbles something along the lines of ‘respecting your older brother’ but it comes out in bursts of laughter as you fail to push him off.
Curse your fatass, annoying brother. How in the world are you related to him— You guess you're not, technically speaking. But you treat him like the brother you've never had. So the better question would be: How in the world did you accept him as your brother??
“Get– oFf me!” you huff out, tugging at his hair and clothes as hard as you can. “And here I thought my cutesy, little sister—” How come you’ve never killed him after all this time? “Would appreciate a homemade bento from your dear ol’ brother!”
Ah…
So that’s why.
Sugawara finally pleaded mercy and pushed out of your lap with ease, pointing at your desk as a wrapped bento suddenly appeared. Waving his fingers like an idiot magician when his supposed magic trick was the world’s most impressive feat he’s ever done.
The faint smell of curry pacified your ire, and you begrudgingly let out a small smile, “Thanks Koshi.”
He watches you for a few moments, before realizing your smile was genuine enough to stop embarrassing himself. “Anytime, sis.” His voice softens considerably, and you pretend to not notice his dimpled grin. Your brother has always been an annoying little shit, but at the end of the day it was just his way to show you he cares.
Even though he gets on your nerves almost all the time, out of the three of you, he’s the only sibling who truly checks up on you. The actual youngest, Rinji Sugawara, is currently in his fourth year of Engineering. The smart and studious sibling that your step-parents consider a prodigy for accelerating early on during his high school years. And now, he bests his peers as the top one in all his classes.
You’re proud of him but sometimes you wished he didn’t shut you out as often as he did.
“Oh!” Sugawara exclaims as he fishes a ticket in his pockets, “before I forget… Are you going to Hinata’s match this Saturday?”
Silence adorned the once noisy floor of keyboards and frustrated sighs, various workers prattled on with their colleagues as they packed their things and prepared to head out. With work finished, you stacked them all up to submit to your manager, who was surprisingly at their desk chatting up a few young girls.
Your eye twitched. Of couse, that old fucking geezer.
Usually, your stinky manager was always out and about. He did nothing but complain about people’s ‘incompetency’ and their ‘inability’ to do their job correctly— You guessed he took the position to gain superior advantage against everyone, not like he had any in the first place.
At the end of the day, your work was done and you’d rather kill yourself than impose more overtime on a stupid desk job.
Walking over your manager’s desk, you reeled your frustration and politely called his name.
“Oh you girls are just too sweet, ain’cha?” his voice took on a sickeningly pitched tone, practically singing his praise. The young girls continued to attain his favor with flowery words, voices high and convincingly interested in what this little shit had to say, but their expressions said otherwise.
You can't believe he's dumb enough not to notice.
You cleared your throat in hopes of catching his attention but to no avail— “Well, I’ll have you know… I’m really good at pleasing the higher-up, y’know?”
Gaylord Farquaad, is that you?
“I also know a trick or two in pleasing women~” A shudder ran through you at lightning speed, and you fear the girl’s hesitant laughter told too much of their growing unease.
A slam startled both your manager and the girls, whilst you strained a partially-convincing smile.
“I’ve finished the work you gave me, boss.” You seethe the last word, sliding the papers across his desk. Before he could protest you leveled him with a death glare. “I think it’s time for us to go home… yeah?”
You turned to the girls and shooed them, and they scurried off almost immediately. Irked with anger, your manager accused you with a shaky pointed finger. “H-hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!!” His chest puffs up like a peacock, inflating the space with this sickening sense of superiority, as if above and beyond the world.
An ego too big for a dick too small.
And you were never affected by small dick behavior.
“Clocking out.” you reply, walking off with a dismissive wave to gather your things. He jolts as if shot, physically unable to comprehend such a simple phrase, growing more and more angry at your ‘display of attitude’ or whatever the hell he’s spouting.
Threats and curses were thrown left and right, but you don’t dignify that with a response. With a voice so perturbing, you’d think he’d use his tone and timbre softer to accommodate such a discordant sound. But apparently, awareness isn’t a trend in men.
Why else would he hurl curses in an empty room?
You mentally note to thank your ragebaiting brother for advising you on using psychological warfare on annoying men. Now that you think about it… wasn’t he saying something about doing that to his longtime crush? The guy named Saragura, right? Something, something about gaining his attention through silly pranks and jokes.
Oh whatever. You don't have the energy to think about allat.
You jog to the elevator in hopes of leaving sooner than later. The siren call of a perfectly iced glass of beer was a bewitching spell of tantalizing golden brown, pearlescent foam, and the rich, sweet malt with caramel, crisp like bread, and notes of pine come together to make a fuller, richer profile than a hoppy beer— the sweet, sweet joys of earning money were always set for buying earthly pleasure, as they say.
Blinking red dots flicker down from floor twelve, and you watch as it stop on floor nine before descending once more.
It’s slow, and boring. Just like the life you currently lead.
There’s nothing extraordinary about work, just the usual gossip and drama that comes with messy people. Once, you heard this girl named Misa Kanbe got a date with the CEO (whose name you also can’t remember) on various occasions. And apparently the girl Misa recommended was actually a glorified good girl who’s actually a stanking bitch who slept with all the guys on her floor.
You think it's a bit exaggerated. But honestly? it just serves as good gossip.
Besides the occasional homewrecker— and unfortunately, there was a lot on other floors— you would drink beer, go home, and sleep.
Sometimes, you feel this sense of inadequacy, of someone unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Just a background character to fill the space. An NPC you see on daily event quests as you finish commissions. A nobody in a magic academy of disney knock-offs— Basically a normal, mundane person without the fantasies that surround the fanfics you've consumed.
And oddly enough, that was fine. But another part of you— granted, a younger part of you— dreamed and wished for a life that centered around you.
Perhaps... that was why you wished your life had a little pizazz here and there.
Or maybe you were just a whining bitch who can't stand going out without the need of a chatty friend to socialize, lest your energy be drained and claim you in a sea of grievances. Mostly about how you wasted your day socializing and going out, but you beg to differ.
Curse the gods who eagerly wishes for your demise—
“—ugh.” a flurry of documents bursts in the air, and a man with dark hair lays down on the ground searching for his glasses similar to Velma. You blink, staring at him with half a mind before crouching down to help him.
As if the universe held a scrounge of pity, lo and behold, the little pizazz you were waiting for bumps into you by fate (you'd like to think it was just a coincidence, but the world has its own way of surprising you it seems.)
But jesus christ— you didn't literally mean it?! Or now, for that matter.
“I’m sorry. I was a bit… distracted.” your voice hovers between apologetic and apathy, and you swear it wasn’t intentional.
He sighs softly, but you notice— And oh. You deign the gods with an array of colorful curses.
With crooked glasses, he reassures you with a small smile. “It’s okay, really.” But a twitch of his eye betrays the seemingly sweet gesture. You jolt internally, guilt biding your gut in waves of unease. It doesn’t help that the bags under his eye seem darker than his own skin tone.
He looks like he’ll drop dead at any moment.
“It was my fault, so I’m really, really sorry.” A stray paper catches your attention as you reach for it the same time the man does himself— The moment your fingers touch with the slightest contact, you pull back with so much force it startles the man with a jerk.
Fuck. You unconsciously sweat. Was that supposed to be my romance arc?
He looks at you incredulously, his glasses illuminating from the fluorescent lights. You cringe at your harsh reaction, grappling at your thoughts to form a coherent reason to explain your brash behavior.
“Uh…” You hand him the papers with an apologetic smile, internally dying inside by your lackluster response.
He seems to study you for a few seconds, before accepting it and standing up himself.
“Thank you…?” he smiles, briefly glancing at you as he rearranges the papers in its original order. “Oh, uh. Call me (name).”
“Seiichirou Kondo. And again, thank you for helping and please don’t apologize, it was an accident, no need to beat yourself up for this.” You nod a bit quickly, half-ashamed to fully reply. Waving goodbye as he enters another wing.
So much for a love story… you cringed at the thought. The universe can suck it for all you care.
The elevator’s chime catches your attention, and out a few workers move past you, including the grumpy, old maintenance guy you swore to never interact with. You enter the elevator and press the ground button, skimming the pad of your fingers over the braille engraved within the plate.
The doors prepare to shut as you catch a glimpse of the man you’ve bumped with earlier, his figure was lax and tired, emanating this aura of exhaustion through his lanky, frail build.
Poor guy.
You hesitantly break your gaze, fingers instinctively coming closer to the ‘hold’ button— shhk!
The doors slid shut with a hiss of air, fluorescent red numbers beeping before preparing for descent. You breathe out a reluctant sigh. You could’ve pressed the button to hold the doors for him, you owe him that much for bumping into him. But as your eyes struggle against the weight of exhaustion, you find no qualms about leaving a man you clearly annoyed.
It was far better if you left him alone, you need to be alone either way. It was a win-win situation in your books.
You lean your head against the cold, metal walls, appreciating its icy but smooth texture. You shut your eyes for a moment of reprieve, unable to resist the call of slumber that threatened to overcome you.
And for a moment, the world quiets down into a bleak, and dark reality. Where the color of soot and ash invade your vision, a speckle of dots in blue and red persists and warps into blobs of shapes. For a second, your vision swims into a wobbly figure: It’s outlined in blue and red, covered in a sheen of gray that pushes and pulls against a current of lines and shapes, its body is black and a touch of gray. One of its legs lifts, and pushes toward you. Slowly but surely, the figure closes its distance, tending a swarm of unease that spills and rushes a sense of dread within you.
Another step of its quivering lines seem to heighten the simmering stock of fear that dawns a twitch to your finger.
A sudden lurch shakes your entire being.
Your mind seems to jolt, ringing alarm bells left and right as you stir and nod your head off the metal wall. Your eyes crack open, blurring and dilating between the image of blinking red dots and a smiling black figure. You raise a heavy hand to rub at your eyes—
“Goodluck.”
A baritone voice echoes through the enclosed space. Your actions halt, eyes widening as it finally adjusts to a chilling clarity— an array of braille and numbers greet you, fluorescent red numbers blink and count down from three. The same metal walls cage you in, it's sleek and smooth.
What...
Your reflection stares back at you in a wavy, distorted expression. You look away before it creeps you, remembering the black figure smiling—
What... the hell was that?
The incessant beat of your heart drums against its confines, sending you waves of dread and agitation. A roll of sweat dribbles down from your forehead, and only now do you notice how sweaty your hands are— and shit. You aren't gonna lie, that was kinda terrifying. But it wasn't as bad as the time you saw your parents going at it when you were young. Or the time Sugawara shoved his dirty feet into your face and showed you the leech that was eagerly sucking the blood out of the skin.
But that wasn't the terrifying part.
It was the close-up image of the hundred razor, sharp teeth that scared you as Suga pulled it out to wave it in front of your face in close proximity—It's suckers were puckering open and close, and you were so fucking scared it'd latch on your nose— That was the fateful day that your brother learned to never, ever, mess with a little girl who'd scream bloody murder and back it up with a kick to both his shin and dick.
"hahh... good times—"
You shriek as the elevator dings, back slamming against the rails with too much force. A hiss of air escapes, as the doors slide open. You stare outside the confined walls of the elevator, where the same hallway of brown tiles and planted greens stood right outside. A photo of the corporation’s director sits neatly atop the same mahogany tabletop you’ve learned to avoid.
For a moment, you stare at the picture frame in distress, truly convinced the man was haunting the halls.
A small, deprecating laugh spills from your bitten lips, “I was dreaming…” shaking your head, you calm your frazzled nerves with a deep breath.
Just... a dream.
Ridding yourself of measly nightmares, you focus on getting out of the elevator quickly. Not wanting a repeat of... whatever devil that spawned in your head.
How many times are you going to curse the gods this day??
Rummaging through your bag, you exit the elevator and fish your airpods and phone out, inserting both buds while pushing the glass doors open. You skim over the various songs and playlists, hoping to find the right song for today’s mood, your mind wanders back to the voice in the elevator, curiosity and unease filling you.
“P–please hold the door!” A voice calls, smooth and lilting.
You hold it wide open, giving the girl a brief glance. Nearly double taking at her eccentric appearance.
There's two horns protruding from her crown, one was chopped and the other was long and stubby, her navy hair, braided in two tails, spills and frames her face beautifully. Her yellow eyes— contacts perhaps..? but it looks so real— creasing into half-moons as she sends you a delighted smile, stopping right in front of you to bow.
What the hell is a cosplayer doing here?
“Thank you so, so much!” you yelp when she reaches for your hands in an over dramatic handshake. “Yeah… it’s no problem…” sheepish and a bit embarrassed, you offer a small, appreciative smile.
That seems to make her already shining grin brighter— is that even possible— the cosplayer reaches into her purse and places a pack of odd-looking hi-chews in your palm, dashing inside the building with a wave of her hand.
“Oh.” you stare at her retreating form, frazzled and a bit confused.
Since when were cosplayers allowed in a corporation?? Was there some sort of event? Why the hell weren’t you notified??
A mortified gasp escapes you, a man with a brick for a head— a fucking brick!!! What the hell is the CEO even planning— bids you a thankful nod as he enters the building.
Your hands nearly shake as you survey the area with a judgmental glare.
“What the fuck.” the street out your workplace seems reworked, as if the whole place was changed in minutes. The buildings were different, grander in their stature, looking more costly than the rundown, brick-layered construction you’ve grown used to seeing.
A timid voice thanks you for holding the door, and dawning realization slaps you right back to reality. How long have you been gawking and holding the door for?!
You chuckle nervously, sweeping back to look at the person with a strained smile— oh my god.
Donatello from TMNT is looking at you in surprise, he likely heard your quiet gasp, whether he was offended or not, he didn’t show it.
“Are y-you… perhaps n-new here?” his voice croaks at the end, and his anthropomorphic face twists in a gruesome wince. And oh, you didn't realize you were biting the skin of your lips in anxiety.
But you can't help it! He just looks so... terrifying.
You gulp, looking away in fear of openly judging the person. You cannot do this. Whatever the fuck is happening got something to do in that damned elevator.
Is this karma for not holding the door? Or are the gods out to get you after cursing them out?
You convince yourself it's the latter. The universe does not pay any mind to an average NPC like you. Probably.
“I’m okay…!” you emphasize reassurance with a jumpy thumbs up. “I was just… admiring! Yes. I was admiring the, uh, cityscape..?” you belatedly realize that wasn’t what he was asking, and you internally facepalm in regret.
Steadying your nerves, you continue, “To answer your question… I’ve been working here for two years now.” you dignify your response with a smile, finding confidence to look back at him.
You suppress the urge to shudder at his expression— gods, why does it wrinkle in all the bad places?!?
Donatello looking guy nods in understanding, cheeks colored an embarrassed hue. “O-oh..! I’m sorry then, senpai—” your eyes nearly bulged at the term, jaw almost dropping in sheer surprise.
Working with seniors all day meant calling each other by last names instead of the honorific. Juniors were sparse in your department, and Nanami, your co-worker, was in charge of supervising the newbies. So hearing that term made you inwardly cringe.
You finally understand Nanami’s displeasure with formalities.
“I have to get going now, my shift starts at any moment now. Thank you, again, for holding the door…! You’re very kind, senpai.” Turtle guy bows and scurries inside. You have half a mind to even question the absurdity of it all, and barely enough energy to gawk, panic, and run around the unfamiliar city.
It's at times like this, you wished you had your brother here to do all the squawking. He'd do you good entertainment to pass the time. Sugawara was a natural charmer, able to dissuade even the hard-headed.
A memory resurfaces, and suddenly you're back in highschool, deadpanning at Sugawara's irritating display of theatrics while introducing you to his team of volleyball enthusiasts.
You were a first year then, and he, your brother, was a third year. Kiyoko, your upperclass-woman— you do not tolerate the use of man to describe a 'goddess' per your second-year upperclassman— convinced you to join the club as a manager. Though you acted more like a supervisor ordering around boys older and some your age.
Not that you care. Your birth mother was keen in being seen as equals or above men who disrespected their counter-gender. She always taught you that disrespect, no matter who it's from, will never be tolerated or allowed in any circumstance. And you listened— of course you did— but that didn't excuse her blatant ignorance when it comes to your actual brothers becoming lazy bums.
Sugawara could never. (Save for being a pervert, at times.)
Besides your... upbringings. That first year in Karasuno High, let you meet similar people to the hard-headed Kageyama and foul-mouthed Iwaizumi. And Kageyama, a first year, was just as rambunctious as the rest of the team. Stubborn, arrogant, and selfish, is what you would have describe him if it weren't for the change that your brother, and he, himself incited.
It was... interesting. To say the least.
To have Sugawara fawning over Kageyama and the other first years like a mother hen, would never not amuse you.
And from those first years, it let you meet a sunny boy. Short in stature and yet, his dreams were as tall as tokyo tower— maybe even higher— and he always promised to reach the skies with you. Whatever that meant, he was endearing and oh-so cute (not that the younger you would ever admit) in his endeavors that you never truly stopped him.
Hinata was never really shy in showing his obvious crush. It only made things interesting after declaring to become a top-tier volleyball player, and absolutely promised to— rightfully, soulfully— become yours. It made your younger heart flutter in emotions you never think would stir.
And when he set his sights on something he wants?
He was for sure doing everything in his little might to fulfill it.
The shocked look of everyone's face— much to a certain blonde's exasperation— including your flabbergasted brother was a sight to behold. You wished Yachi took a picture... you would've framed it and made it your wallpaper.
The ticket to Hinata's game this Saturday roused a mix of feelings.
Mainly, you were curious. You've heard through the Kansai twin that he was reaching the top incredibly fast. With his uncanny agility, stamina, and ability to adjust in almost any game, you placed your faith in Hinata long before he promised to be the world's greatest spiker— now dubbed, The Ultimate Decoy by Atsumu's 'volleyball' standards.
But doubt lingered like a sickly disease.
You trusted Hinata— you swore by it when the two of you bid your goodbyes in the airport— and his drive to fulfill his passion. He's always been a stubborn boy, and last you heard from Kageyama, he actually grew taller and bulkier during their last match in Sendai. Though... you have yet to meet the golden boy. Work was rough and money was tight (beer money took half of your funds), and fear, that treacherous thing, drilled this sense of mistrust in Hinata the moment you two went AWOL to pursue different careers.
Promises were fickle, and as passionate as Hinata— Shoyo is, you're scared. Scared to be proven right when he comes back with another girl in his arm. Waving your loyalty off as if you didn't spent years yearning and longing for him to just, take you. Make you his, irrefutably and irrevocably his.
Much to your chagrin, the ticket is sunny orange—just like his curls and wondrous eyes— Initially, you grimaced upon seeing such color. But now? you find it comforting, easing your boy troubles with the smidge of warmth he exudes. Its texture is smooth, formed with a special kind of paper instead of the flimsy one. And yet, it wrinkles, creases under the weight of your thumb as you absentmindedly circled the braille protruding.
He told you, inherently promised that he'd be yours. He even declared it twice: the first in highschool, and the last in the airport when he traveled to Brazil to learn more about volleyball.
It was easier said than done.
The thought sears through your bones and flesh like an effervescent flame. Burning through the last remnants of yearning and hope you had the moment you stepped foot in this estranged, futuristic copy of your world.
It’s not like you’re that dumb.
As the rational and most ‘mature’ out of your step-siblings— Sugawara’s words not yours— deduction and assumption has become one of your closest friends. Taking note of your surroundings, there’s multiple mutants and hybrids walking around, the normal-looking people (with rare colored hairs and eyes) don’t even bat an eye.
An abundance of posters litter the streets and billboards. Bright and vibrant colors halo the figures, faces plastered with heroic grins, and personal taglines are written besides the hero.
If that doesn’t confirm your suspicions, maybe the gigantic poster of a certain blonde hunk, striking a pose with one hand in the air and the other in his hip can truly convince you— you don’t even need to read the bold, enlarged motto of “I am here!” to prove your circumstance— because there’s no mistaking it.
It doesn’t take a whole ‘dying then reincarnating into a baby while crying until you miraculously catch an image of All Might to realize you’re in an anime’ kind-of thinking process.
You feel a budding headache start to rise, so— for the sake of your sanity and the list of growing pains— you decide to stay in denial. To act as if, it was just another Monday afternoon.
A click of your tongue. “Mondays…” you seethe, far more exhausted than you’ve always been.
“It’s always a Monday.”
You heave an exasperated sigh, popping two pieces of cherry-colored chews in your awaiting mouth, the flavor is somehow brighter than actual hi-chews. Although, you hope it doesn’t linger… you can’t drink beer with the taste of cherry-melon in your buds.
That would ruin your scheduled drinking, and you’re nothing but stubborn. To give up such pleasures in life is an atrocity you aren’t willing to consider— even if you got transported to My Hero Academia— absolutely nothing will deter you from getting that beer.
Fuck them kids.
You ain’t mentally prepared for quirk wars, anyways.
You trudge down the path to your favorite yakitori shop, muscle memory taking over as you steer past bizarre looking people— and thankfully the universe seemed to take pity on you, because even though the exteriors changed, the route to home and beer didn’t.
Well... hopefully it didn't.
You don't know how you're going to live if the apartment just... disappeared.
Now that you think about it, did Sugawara and Rinji disappear too? Or is it all the same—
The familiar flutter of a black and red banner almost made you trip. The dainty, rusty stall stood amongst the throes of advanced architecture. A quaint and easy to miss establishment if it weren’t for the delicious smell of yakitori and gyoza.
Just outside the stall, an old, scruffy-looking woman eyes you up and down. Scrutinizing your wondrous eyes and greets you inside with a brisk ‘welcome’.
To think your favorite yakitori shop is still the same after transportation.
Hope bubbles up and you’re half-convinced your apartment is still here. You’d have to confirm that for later because right now? The only thing grounding you is the sweet promise of golden malt and glazed chicken.
“Two beers and one yakitori please!”
"— I'M STANDING right outside the Lynsekai Corporation Building, which remains partially closed tonight as investigators work to determine what went wrong. Earlier this evening, several hours after business operations had ended, a maintenance worker discovered a malfunctioning elevator car inside the building's east shaft." the television droned on in the background, as a gray haired man paced around the living room in worry.
Sugawara desperately dialed your number for the nth time, his lips are raw and bloody from being bit too many times— there's a blooming dent inside his cheeks, but he has half a mind to realize his nervous ticks are causing pain.
The youngest brother watched the news with quiet apprehension, gripping the leather cushion with crushing force. His glasses are perched on his messy hair, no doubt messed up from the amount of time Rinji brushed through them.
Fuck fuck fuCk FUCK—
Sugawara stifles a sob, clutching his hair in a vice-like wrench. "Why won't she pick up...!"
Firstly, you didn't come home at your designated time. No message to announce your abrupt departure— and nothing is going through his calls.
Secondly, Sugawara called your favorite yakitori shop, the one you often went to after work to drink and eat. The owner's voice was thick with unease, stating that he hasn't seen you outside or anywhere within the vicinity.
And now?
The news started spouting nonsense about an accident in the building you worked in. The corporation Sugawara recommended you to pursue out of convenience— He knew how much you hated hour-long commutes, and out of his brotherly goodness, Sugawara went out his way to find a suitable place for you to work in.
He wouldn't have recommended it if he knew.
"Inside the elevator, authorities say, was the body of a single individual— According to preliminary information, the person had been alone at the time of failure. The discovery was made just after 10:30 pm, when a long-time maintenance employee attempted to use the elevator during routine rounds. When the elevator failed to respond properly, the worker manually accessed the shaft and found the car stalled between floors with a broken beam pole wedged inside."
If Sugawara knew... you'd be home enjoying your favorite movie. You'd be home enjoying his home-cooked meals. You'd be home bantering and wrestling him down as Rinji all but sighs in irritation. You'd be home an—
Rinji dared to look at his panic stricken brother, tears brimming the corner of his eyes. The two lock sight, silently exchanging their doubtful thoughts and unspoken fears.
The older brother pursed his lips, almost tripping as he rushed over to hold his younger brother. Murmuring reassurances and promises he knew were deceptive. Tears stream unbidden, and Sugawara finds himself breaking at the warmth his brother rarely offered.
This was one of the few instances, where Rinji— his intelligent, closed-off prodigy— willingly embraced him.
The circumstance that brought them together made him internally chuckle. The irony of the situation is too absurd. Too unreal to truly comprehend.
"Investigators suspect the obstruction interfered with the car's descent and caused a malfunction. It pierced the wall and unfortunately the lone victim in the elevator—"
A loud, startling slam makes both brothers jump in surprise. Hope festers and blooms, and Sugawara finds himself sprinting down the halls to find you—
"(n-name!) why the hell did you not—"
"Where is she?" a flurry of ginger hair all but barrels inside, hastily slipping his shoes off with a visible shake. Sugawara falters, giving the boy a once-over at his disheveled state.
"H-Hinata.. what are you doing he—" the older brother splutters, noticing Sawamura and Atsumu trailing behind Hinata. A solemn look paints Daichi's normally placid expression, the apology is written all over his face as he brings his eyes down, and Sugawara swears—
He swears he feels his heart plummet at the motion.
"Where's my (name)?" Hinata catches his breath, heaving hard and heavy as he fixes Sugawara with a fearful glare. He nearly loses it when Sugawara hesitates to answer, locked in a trance as Hinata pushed past his former senior with a harsh shove. Sugawara stumbles, hitting against the wall with an audible thwack— but the pain doesn't register. It fails to process in Sugawara's mind, and oh, he's crumpling to his knees. And oh.
He's crying. Tears are gushing more and more and oh— a bitter laugh escapes him before he could reign it in. Daichi's worried voice rings in his ears, and Suga has half a mind to realize he's supported by both Atsumu and Daichi. He glances at the two, primarily at Atsumu's distressed and red-rimmed eyes.
And oh...
Suga belatedly realizes they're shouting something. Words are spewing and he doesn't understand them— how could he? he thought... he had hoped it was you to barrel down the door. To curse the 'gods' and universe you seem to hate out of spite. He had hoped it was you to shove him aside, irked by his incessant ragebaiting techniques as if you haven't put up with him for years.
He chokes on another bout of hysterical laughter, gripping whoever's hands is on him— he doesn't know and he doesn't know what happened to you. He doesn't know, and shit. He's just a shit brother, that's what he is— and he cries and cries and cries, until the well bursts in a fiery gasps of ugly sobbing and pleads for something. Anything.
The ginger crosses the halls in a dizzying spell. He's never felt like this since losing that match with Kamomedai High. Everything is just so... small. Disorienting in size, as objects seem to appear in and out of frame.
None of this makes any sense—
First, the elusive younger brother of the Sugawara's called him. Before he could even chirp a gasp and a dramatic 'hello!', he immediately stiffens when he heard Rinji's frenzied voice, asking him if he's heard of you— his sweetheart. His beloved, and light of his whole world— in the past four hours.
Hinata barely understood a thing, but it involved you, so he knew he had to hurry. To hurry for what was the question that lingered in his mind, but he didn't care— He couldn't, not when it involved you.
Even when his teammates demand an answer, he barely budged as he ran out of the hotel room with a sweater he haphazardly put on and mismatched shoes that was definitely not his, or his size for that matter. Bokuto shrieked as he tried chasing down the swift decoy barefoot and shirtless, whining about his stolen shoes and favorite sweater.
Sure, Hinata barely understood a thing— but when Rinji slurred, "She's gone– missing." He has never felt so faint until that very moment.
If it weren't for Atsumu catching him did Hinata sober up.
"Where the hell you think yer goin?!" the blonde asked, surprised and huffing in sweat. He no doubt ran after the ginger's abrupt escape, leaving him and his team baffled at his urgency. "What could have possibly got you all—" "(Name's) missing." Hinata had stared at Atsumu in an uncanny, eerie stare. Eyes wide and dark in trepidation. Shock mars Atsumu's short irritation, silently asking for information through their shared eye contact. "Well- fuck." a hand rests against disheveled blonde locks, "Call 'chi and drive us over Suga's. I'll tell the others to stay put."
Daichi ran over five stoplights after he heard about your disappearance. Thankfully, his position as an officer made for a good excuse in 'chasing' the two criminals he was investigating, allowing leeway to run over another six red lights to hightail it to Sugawara's residence.
Over the radio, he reluctantly abused— by Hinata's stern demand— his high rank and reputable image to coerce information about a woman recently gone missing in the past five hours or so.
"We don't have a... Sugawara (Name) in our records." the radio picked up on the woman's prickling suspicion. Daichi looks over the rearview mirror, sending the two a confused brow before swerving hard to avoid collision. Atsumu yelps, clutching the handle in half-muttered prayers. "There's so many similar names, Sawamura. And first of all, why are you even asking? Y'know the precinct won't—" "Try (Last Name) (Name)." Hinata blurts out, earning a confused 'who is that?!'. Daichi only huffs in reply, barking out an order to confirm it. The radio clicks off, silencing the woman's questions and demands. "I told you to stay silent, didn't I?"
None of it mattered though.
You still weren't here. And Hinata feels sick in the stomach.
Just when he finally, finally got back—
He couldn't control the tremors that racked his whole body— nor the doubts that told him the worse. A voice would whisper that you were gone, kidnapped, and taken right before he could fulfill his promise to you. Countless imagery of your pale and limp body scattered among his vision like a lucid nightmare, preying on the surmounting guilt that steadily rose.
The television was a cacophony of words he didn't pay attention to. The youngest, sat by the couch was still and stricken with tears. His eyes was pinned to the live feed of the report, lips quivering at the familiar figure laid and drenched in pixelated blood.
Just when he was about to ask you to be your boyfriend. To be yours forevermore—
Hinata slowly, slowly, glances at the feed— Chest caving in at the onslaught of dread that threatened to swallow him whole. And oh— there you are. Body carried between three enforcers, as they take your limp body out the wrangled elevator door. Although pixelated and blurred, Hinata will always recognize you anywhere. Even if it was just a silhouette or wisp of your hair, his heart, his soul, will remember you always.
And oh... He shudders an exhale, sinking down on the couch. That means... you're...
"—The individual has been identified as 24‑year‑old (Last Name) (Name), an employee of the firm, after next of kin were notified.”
Just when he was about to be yours, the gods were truly and irrevocably cruel in their way of taking the light he sought most in the world.
blood drip divider by @xspritualism ; line divider by @cafekitsune ; quotev version
a/n : decided to post this here too bcs i lwk forgot to post it weeks ago... will be posting a chapter list later on
edit: here's the chapter list or main panel for Bound!