The Boy Who Wont Forget

The evaluation room was surprisingly cozy, with soft lighting, cushioned chairs, and walls decorated with generic quotes about healing and hope. They were probably meant to make you feel safe, but Ren just found them funny. "The past doesn't define you," one of them read. He smirked internally. If only they knew.

Ren slouched in his chair, his posture lazy, almost disinterested. He looked like a kid who didn't want to be there—but that was the point. His fingers tapped idly against the armrest, and his gaze drifted to the woman sitting across from him.

Mind Weaver was stunning, with that elegant, effortless beauty that made her look like she'd walked off a movie set. Her vibrant purple hair shifted slightly, as if it had a mind of its own, and her emerald eyes were sharp, studying him with quiet focus. She was dangerous, but in a different way than most people he'd encountered. Not physically, but mentally—she could probably tear him apart piece by piece if he wasn't careful.

"Ah, young Ren Castor," she said, her voice smooth and welcoming, but with a playful edge, like she was enjoying the challenge he presented. She gestured toward him dramatically. "Make yourself comfortable."

Ren shrugged, leaning further back into the chair. "I'm good."

Her lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "Good. Then let's start with something simple. How have you been feeling since the raid on the compound?"

Ren tapped his fingers twice, considering his options. He could go full mute, but that act wasn't sustainable for long—especially with her quirk. Instead, he gave her the most ambiguous answer possible.

"I'm fine."

Mind Weaver tilted her head slightly, her swirling hair catching the light. "Fine?" she repeated softly, like she was trying to decide if he meant it. "That's a very safe answer."

Ren didn't respond. He let the silence sit between them, his fingers tapping lazily as he stared at a spot on the floor. Safe answers keep things simple. You can't dig into what's not there.

Mind Weaver leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand. "Do you miss anything from before?"

"Before what?"

"The compound. The people you were with."

Ren snorted softly, more of a reflex than anything. "Nope."

Her gaze didn't waver. "You don't miss anyone?"

"No."

Mind Weaver hummed thoughtfully, tapping her fingers against the notebook in her lap. "And what about your family, Ren? Do you miss them?"

The question hit harder than he'd expected. Ren blinked, but he kept his expression neutral. Family. He hadn't thought about them in a while, and when he did, the memories weren't as vivid as they used to be. His mom's smile was more of an impression now, and his dad's voice was just an echo, like hearing something from the bottom of a well.

Ren shifted slightly, leaning his elbow on the armrest. "Not really."

Mind Weaver tilted her head again, watching him closely. He could feel her quirk at work—probing, not intrusively, but just enough to sense that he wasn't being honest.

She didn't call him out right away. Instead, she asked gently, "Why do you think that is?"

Ren let out a small, tired sigh—part of the act, but with a little truth buried underneath. "It's been a long time. Memories fade."

"Do they?" she asked, her tone thoughtful. "Or do you push them away because they hurt?"

Damn, she's good.

Ren rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to consider the question. "Does it matter?"

"It might," she replied softly. "It could explain why you're so focused on staying detached. Keeping distance from people, staying quiet, hiding behind walls—it's all part of the same defense mechanism."

Ren smirked faintly, leaning forward slightly. "You sound like you've done this before."

Mind Weaver chuckled softly. "You're not my first challenge."

For a second, Ren let himself relax, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table. He could admit—quietly, to himself—that she was impressive. And attractive. It wasn't like he had much experience with women, especially ones who weren't trying to kill him. But something about her was... magnetic.

"That quirk of yours," Ren said suddenly, surprising even himself. "It's kind of amazing. Reading people like that."

Her eyes flickered slightly, a mix of curiosity and caution entering her gaze. "I don't read minds."

Ren grinned awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "I figured. But you're good at making people think you can. That's impressive."

Mind Weaver's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Flattery won't get you out of this session, Ren."

Ren chuckled softly. "Okay okay lady, I won't do it again"

'I might have a bit of a devious idea' His mind raced briefly, trying to recover from the awkward compliment, but instead of panicking, he leaned back and let the moment pass.

Her gaze softened, and for a moment, the playful, theatrical edge faded. "You're not actually mute, are you?" she asked, her voice gentle but direct.

Ren blinked, feigning surprise for half a second before sighing quietly. The act had worked long enough—it was time to drop it.

"Okay, you got me," he admitted, rubbing his palms against his knees. "I fake it sometimes."

"Why?"

"Because it's easier," 'I really just do it in preparation for joining UA, so I can have that damn mysterious vibe!'. He looked at her"People leave you alone when you're quiet."

Mind Weaver nodded slowly, as if she'd expected that. "But I'm guessing you don't really want to be left alone."

Ren hesitated for a moment before shrugging. "Depends on the day."

Her gaze held his for a second too long, and he felt the weight of her quirk pressing gently against his emotional walls. It wasn't invasive—it was calculated, like she was carefully weaving through his defenses.

"I can see from your emotions that the experiences you had in one for all's encampment have affected you dearly" she said softly. "But you may want to consider bringing down the walls and talking more."

Ren smirked faintly, leaning back. "Guess we'll see."

Mind Weaver chuckled. "Yes. I suppose we will."