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Inko was browsing the discount section of the book store when she stumbled across a book about a woman painter. Inko wasn’t an artist, she knew very little about famous artists within her own country much less overseas. Yet there was something about the cover of the book that drew her to it. The colors were vibrant, the artists face wholly unique and beautiful. When she picked it up to browse through it she saw pictures, unlike anything she’d seen before.
“Excuse me, Ma’m?” A young store clerk asked. “Are you finding everything you need?”
“Oh! Yes.” She said closing the book. “I’d like to buy this please.”
The young clerk took it from Inko’s hands as she checked her out at the counter. “Frida Kahlo. Excellent choice!”
Inko had read the book cover to cover in just two days. What a fascinating life this woman led! An origin that was worthy of most heroes. That’s what her countrymen called her, The Heroine of Pain. Yet such pain, such tragedy. All of it at such a young age. It broke her heart. Kahlo's paintings reflected that pain with such vibrancy and color. Bizarre, too. She wasn’t sure why but something about one of the paintings, the one called The Broken Column, struck something in her. Wasn't that a sign of good art? Striking a chord in you?
Toshinori would enjoy this. She realized.
That was when she received a call from Toshi. He was calling to cancel their dinner date for tomorrow. Just from the tone of his voice, she could tell he was having a bad day.
“I’ll be fine. I haven’t had a bad like this since my retirement.” He assured her over the phone. “It’s nowhere near as bad as before.”
Who understood Toshi’s pain better than himself? It frustrated Inko that she couldn’t do more to help him, to ease that pain.
“Would you like some company?” She’d ask.
“I…” He paused, seriously thinking over her offer. “I think that would be nice.”
Inko arrived later that evening. Toshi had given Inko a copy of his house keys to use and as she gently opened the door she could see Tohi sitting the couch, his favorite weighted blanket over him. She’d quietly closed the door behind her, though he could see her from his seat. His smile brought a fluttering sensation to her heart. She gave him a kiss in greeting.
“I’ve got a gift for you.”
Toshi chuckled. “Oh?”
She took the book out from her purse and handed it to him. She’d explained what she found at the store, how fascinating the painter’s story was and how in some ways, it reminded her of him.
“The Heroine of Pain?” He read the title. “Not the most pleasant moniker.”
Inko feared she might have done something to hurt him rather than help him. He gave no indication of offense as he opened the book, eyes widening in surprise.
“I feel like I’ve seen her before.” He muttered to himself.
“I suppose cultural osmosis." Inko shrugged. "She is very famous.”
He hummed in agreement, looking at the photos. When he came across the painting of her and her husband, he laughed at the anecdote written below it.
“The elephant and the dove?”
Inko laughed. “Right! Her mother didn’t approve. Given what happened later I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“Artists, I’m told, can be very temperamental.” He said.
He sat back to read and explore the book while Inko made them some tea. The picture that resonated with him was The Wounded Deer. Scanning the pages he read more about the painting, it symbolizing Frida’s constant state of pain, both physical and emotional. Her growing sense of isolation along with her stoic determination as her body fell apart. Toshi could relate. Looking at the painting, he could picture himself in a similar situation.
Inko returned, tea tray in hand to set down at the small table. Silently, she sat beside Toshi as he continued to read. Unconsciously, he wrapped a long arm around her. His pain was easier to deal with. Thankfully his meds had kicked in, though there was still a throbbing pain in his side and in his back.
Yet the company helped. He placed the book away as he helped himself to some of Inko’s home-brewed tea. It always hit the spot. Better than some of the fancy imported teas he'd had before. Taking in the delicious tea while enjoying the warm presence of Inko’s body beside him seemed to ease the pain in his side, as well as the loneliness that liked the creep in during his bad days. He kissed the top of her head.
“Thank you for thinking of me.” He whispered into her hair.
Inko kissed the side of his neck, the highest she could reach. “You are quite memorable.”
Not unlike the artist. Perhaps that’s what struck such a chord in her. It wasn’t just their fame but also how they lived. Through so much personal loss and pain, such suffering and yet they kept on living. Inko wanted more for Toshi’s life than just pain. She wanted him to feel joy, relief, and endless love. To feel safe and secure in the knowledge that he could live out his life in the peace he’d worked so hard to create, a peace maintained by Izuku and his friends.
“I love you.” Was the only thing she could think to say.
It was what Toshi needed to hear.
When I think about everything I’ve seen and done, I sometimes wonder if meeting Izuku and meeting you was my reward. He’d thought to himself but didn’t voice. Largely due to the pain in his side suddenly throbbing and taking all the wind from him.
Inko, catching on immediately, has an ice pack ready for him. Gently, carefully, she leads him to bed to have him rest, his weighted blanket over him as she tucks him in. She stays with him as the rest of his meds kick in, falling asleep to the sight of Inko by his bedside. Toshi’s dreams that night are strange, he’s like that deer in the forest being chased by shadows. It’s almost like his fight with All For One again, his guts strewn all around him, body broken down and bleeding.
Then there’s Izuku, with a shield in hand, protecting him while Inko herself gently pulls out the arrows, cleans his wounds and stitches his insides back together. They smile at him assuring him he'll be just fine. He wakes up, heart racing, a little disoriented until he can get his bearings straight. It takes him a moment for his one lung to adjust. Strange dream. He’s had stranger dreams than this. Although he did not like to think about those. No need to psychoanalyze this one.
He’d entered the kitchen to find Inko had left him some of his favorite tea to be premade and food to warm up in the fridge. Even the dishes were done. I’m really going to make it up to her with something good. He promises himself.
Two weeks later he meets with her at her apartment, picking up where they left off. This time things get a little more heated. Toshi's almost on top of her as they kiss, Inko sinking into the pillows of her couch. He kisses her cheek, her neck, and only stops when he reaches her collar bone.
“You are a work of art.” He whispers in her ear. Inko snorts out an unladylike laugh, covering her mouth.
“I’m serious!” Toshi chuckles, unbuttoning the top of her blouse as he kisses her forehead.
“You are too sweet.” She says, caressing his cheek.
“You’re the one whose sweet.” He says, kissing her cheek. “As well as kind. Beautiful. Wonderful.” He punctuated each word with a kiss while he unbuttoned her blouse.
Inko gently pulls his hands off her, much to his confusion. She gives him a deep kiss, reassuring him that he’s done nothing wrong.
“You are the work of art.” She tells him. He opens his mouth to protest when she silences him with a kiss. “You are so brave and so good and so kind. Even after everything you’ve been through you can still smile and mean it.”
Toshi blushes, not sure how to respond to that.
“You also have a very nice butt.” She says, giving him a gentle squeeze.
If he could still transform he’d have picked her up and carried her to the bedroom right then and there. He settles for having to pull her away from the couch and move toward the bedroom.
Lying there in the dark together, his pain all but forgotten, Toshi marveled at what an artist she is.