Wilted Bloom

I do not own any rights to My hero academia, the only charaters I own are my OC's that I have come up with. 

please enjoy, this is just to give my brain a break from my current book I am writing. 

Maya Kayama sat hunched on the worn-out couch in her dimly lit apartment, her slender frame curled protectively as if shielding herself from a world she could no longer trust. Her bony fingers danced across the keyboard of her battered laptop, the muted glow of the screen illuminating her pale, tired face. The earpiece nestled in her ear crackled with static and voices, her calm, quiet tone cutting through the chaos as she gave precise instructions.

"Unit Bravo, take the north alley on Seventh. Suspect is heading your way. Be advised: they're armed," she said, her voice steady despite the urgency in the field.

"Copy that, Dispatch. Moving in now," came the curt response, the faint noise of shouting and sirens echoing in the background.

She spared a glance at her side table, where a cold cup of tea sat untouched. The room was still except for her quiet breaths and the faint clicking of keys. Outside, the hum of traffic filtered through the cracked window, mingling with the low murmur of the heroes' communications.

The door opened abruptly, the hinges groaning in protest. Maya froze mid-sentence. Her boyfriend stepped in, the faint scent of cologne and alcohol trailing behind him. He smiled—a calm, calculated expression that made her stomach tighten. His gaze swept over her, lingering just long enough to send a chill down her spine.

She raised a finger without looking at him, signaling she needed a moment. "Alpha, move into position. Bravo will intercept in thirty seconds," she continued into the mic, her voice soft but unwavering. "Maintain visual but don't engage until backup arrives."

The line crackled in acknowledgment, and Maya reached up to pull the earpiece out. She placed it on the coffee table beside her laptop, her fingers trembling slightly as she closed the device. "Just a minute," she murmured.

"You're always working," he said, his voice casual but laced with irritation as he sank onto the couch beside her. The cushions dipped under his weight, and the space between them suddenly felt suffocating.

"It's important," she replied softly, still avoiding his gaze.

"For who?" he asked, leaning back and stretching an arm along the back of the couch. His smile remained, but his eyes were cold. "Those heroes don't even know who you are. You're just a voice to them."

Maya swallowed hard, her hands clenching into fists in her lap. "It's my job," she said quietly. "I'm helping."

He leaned forward abruptly, his knee bumping hers. She flinched but didn't move away. "You know what else would help?" he asked, his tone growing sharper. "If you'd stop being so damn difficult about your bank account."

Maya's chest tightened. She had been bracing for this conversation, but the timing still caught her off guard. "I've told you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "There's not much in there. It's just enough for bills and groceries." 

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard that before," he said, his tone dismissive as he waved a hand. "But we've been together long enough. Don't you think it's time we shared everything? What's mine is yours, and what's yours is mine, right?"

Her pulse quickened. She shook her head slightly, her hair falling in front of her face like a shield. "I'm not comfortable with that," she said finally. "We're not married, and... I just prefer to keep things separate."

His smile vanished, replaced by a hard, calculating stare. The air in the room grew heavy, charged with tension. "Not comfortable?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"