Quick note: This story is a Canon Divergent Alternate Universe following the villains arc. Events in this story and chapter are not intended to align with future canon events.
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November, Ochaco’s third year at U.A., she made up her mind to tell Deku she loved him. She should have known better. Her one-sided feelings would be useless distractions piled on top of his responsibilities, and the humiliation at her selfish behavior would eat at her for months.
But this sort of common sense becomes quite forgettable when death stares you in the face.
Your rationality checks out when a sky-high pillar of black smoke consumes the horizon, your eyes and nostrils burn with the acrid stench of fire, and terrified civilians look to you for protection. Adrenaline and two and a half years of hero training are what keep you and those people alive. The consequences of saying something dumb aren’t on your mind when you join the search and rescue effort the next day, and you pull people, twisted and broken, out of the rubble. Each person found with breath and a heartbeat, you count no less than a miracle that they survived. Or as the search continues into the night and morning, and your team recovers fewer people and more of what used to be people. Bodies. Detached parts of bodies. Crushed, burned, and caked in so much dust you hardly see a drop of blood. You’ve grown numb by the time you learn that The Dragon Hero Ryukyu has been identified by her dental records. She was your work-study mentor for two years.
So you don’t care about what’s proper or polite or what will make you look stupid. You don’t spend one second thinking about how your actions can cross personal boundaries or how the wrong words at the wrong time to the wrong person can make everything worse.
You want to call Mom and Dad and say you’re okay, you’re fine, but please, please don’t come anywhere near Tokyo. The roads are a mess, the railways are damaged, and I can’t see you because I’m working.
You want to keep working, five days in, when the nation’s best search and rescue heroes are no longer finding what used to be people and say there’s no one left. And then you want to go back to the dorm, hug your friends, and find Deku because you’re so glad he made it out. You haven’t seen him since he rushed into the chaos with no regard for his own life, but when things got quiet, you had a hunch. A spark of hope. Even before you heard his name on the radio, you knew no one else could have done it.
If it weren’t for Deku, the world you see now might be an endless stretch of dust. You might not be alive. Some of the strongest Pro Heroes were brutally murdered, but he won and it was over. And you’ve never told him that he means everything to you. It started simple enough, he was your friend and an inspiration, and you fell in love and never said it because…
Because school, training, and future careers were top priority? How had she believed that garbage. None of it meant anything if you lost the people you loved. And for Ochaco, that was him.
o-o-o
Maybe it would have gone better if she’d been prepared and thought through what to say. The day she came within an inch of permanently alienating one of her best friends, Deku had been the last person she expected to see.
Probably not. It was a delusion, after all.
o-o-o
You there, U.A. student, can you tell me about Izuku Midoriya?
Did he show so much power in school?
What is Deku planning to do now?
Ochaco had seen him once since the incident, in passing when she received treatment for a cut from handling debris. The hospital had been overcrowded, and time only allowed them to confirm the other was still in one piece before both needed to go. Deku had broken yet another phone, and she’d been left waiting to hear from him since.
Excuse me! What business does Deku have at U.A. now?
Arriving back at school, Ochaco felt like she’d been transported into another world. The familiar crowds, cameras, and prodding comments were outside the gates. The next few steps were a passage into a parallel dimension, where the noise died down; clean, crisp air filled the lungs; and Ochaco remembered that she could see color.
November’s brilliant red, gold, and vibrant orange swept the grounds in all directions; not only the trees — lawns and walkways were littered with colorful leaves, so much so that every other step came with a crunch. The sky opened brilliantly clear, vast, and blue, and the way the light glistened in the foliage, it seemed the leaves themselves were in a competition to outshine the sun.
She’d been this way a thousand times. It’d been a while since she stopped and looked. Had it been this lovely a week ago, or in autumn the years before, when she’d been too busy chasing her future to notice? Or was it the contrast of manicured flowerbeds and evenly spaced trees to a helpless world of dust and soot?
One week ago, Shigaraki had declared that he would destroy the school. He’d eluded national intelligence for nearly two years, and then one week ago, re-emerged as a monster with a public declaration of who he’d kill and what he would destroy. The school was listed right before the National Diet. Yet here it remained, untouched. Everything here might be gone if it weren’t for Deku.
Ochaco walked, listening to the birds and the leaves crunching under her feet like broken glass. The past six days had been so full of urgency and noise that she felt compelled to look over her shoulder, because surely, someone had called for her. But the reporters off by the entrance were the only other people around, too far away to make out their murmurs amongst themselves.
It was quiet. And beautiful. And yet… the moment didn’t feel like it belonged to her. Campus was home when her parents lived hours away, but today, she wasn’t sure she should be here. A vague pressure formed in her abdomen and squeezed against her ribs like a stiff, numb balloon.
Even though Ochaco hadn’t been able to talk to Deku, she’d watched the TV clips when she’d had a spare minute. Never the footage of the attack—her memory was more than enough—she watched the press conferences, like the one where Deku met the Japanese Prime Minister upon release from the hospital, and the one later where he stood in front of a row of microphones, said the heroes won, and swore he’d keep the country safe. He’d spoken with such a raw force of will that she felt it in her gut, even watching hours later on someone else’s phone.
She watched him, and when echoes of fear hovered in the back of her mind and she couldn’t keep any food down from constantly moving debris, she borrowed his grit. Other people did, too, the views rising into the millions.
o-o-o
The dorm common area was a jungle of flowers, fragrant as soon as Ochaco opened the door. Tall glass vases crowded the tops of shoe cabinets; handcrafted bowls allowed their blooms to sprawl across tables. Petals of every size and color were in the kitchen, beside the couches, tucked in by the TV… If a space was big enough to squeeze in flowers, it was filled.
A nearby envelope resting against a tall vase of even taller purple flowers drew Ochaco’s curiosity. Opening it, she found the card written in both English and Japanese.
To Mr. Izuku Midoriya,
Your courageous actions have given your nation and the world a second chance at peace. On behalf of the people of Sweden, I offer my greatest thanks.
Anna Eriksson
Swedish Ambassador
Embassy of Sweden in Tokyo, Japan
Ochaco blinked and read it again. It was a thank-you for Deku. From a foreign ambassador? But of course it was for him. The rest of the flowers were probably for Deku as well. She scanned the tables for more envelopes, opening two more cards for Deku. Now that she saw past the overly abundant flowers, there were packages and gift baskets, too.
She stopped herself from picking up a fourth envelope, restraining her hands to her sides, stiff for no reason she could place. Nothing here was for her.
It was quiet, more so than outside. A stuffy sort of quiet. Ochaco strained to hear something and didn’t even detect the heater running, only the brush of her clothes as she shifted her arm. Was no one else back yet? The rescue efforts were called off. Tsuyu had been on the same recovery team and gone home to see her family when dismissed, but Ochaco didn’t have the option when her parents lived hours away. Come to think of it, the closest she’d been to alone since Shigaraki had reappeared had been a few minutes in a bathroom stall.
So… She was finally back at school. What was she supposed to do now?
Did she go upstairs and try to finish her math homework? Her grades had slipped a little this past semester, under the belief that a signed contract with Ryukyu meant her job after graduation was guaranteed, but Ochaco didn’t have it in her to study right now. What then? Turn on the TV?
With the quiet came the pressure. The murky tension applied itself to the whole body. It grew heavy in her diaphragm, spreading out through the limbs to her fingers and sweaty palms.
Nothing had happened in the twenty minutes since Ochaco had stepped off the bus to head back to school. So why did her pulse drum in her veins? What was this? It tightened her throat, jaw, temple, and nose.
She sneezed.
There was way too much pollen for this time of year. That had to be it. She went searching for tissues. Wiped her nose. Sniffled. Sneezed again. Another tissue, and her nose felt better. The rest of her did not.
Now what? The quiet closed in, and she had absolutely nothing to do.
o-o-o
Not ten minutes later, Ochaco stepped onto the second floor of the boys’ dorm. It was quiet here, too. A glance at the packages accumulating in the hall—which was not where mail was supposed to go—confirmed that these were for Deku. Any other day, she’d have questions.
Ochaco proceeded to knock on his door. Just in case he was here. She’d told herself again and again, when all of this was over, she’d see Deku. So far, campus was deserted, and if anyone had someplace better to be and something important to do—
And then the latch whispered a click.
…click?!
Her hand sprang back like she’d touched a hot stove. The door inched inward. No one had opened it. It’d been cracked open by a bare sliver.
“Yes?” She heard from inside.
Eyes wide, Ochaco leaned in, certain she’d imagined the voice, because Deku shouldn’t be here. Something scooted along the floor when she pushed, and the door thudded to a stop with only enough space to stick in her head.
He was here. Deku, who’d undoubtedly saved countless lives.
Deku, who’d been plastered all over the media as the most amazing hero.
Deku, who she’d ached to see.
And surrounding him where he sat, on a tiny empty space on the floor, was an overwhelming mass of packages, boxes, and who-knows-what squeezed in between, stacked, stuffed, and dumped into one student dorm room like a poorly-managed storage closet. The piles were so high, barely a trickle of outside light got in the window. Chaos compounded with the opened packages. The assortment of gifts—fuzzy slippers, cactus, light-up neon hat, fat buddha made of chocolate, t-shirts, a mini-fridge, a remote-controlled airplane, books of poetry, coffee beans, more flowers, a snow globe, more chocolate, a cutlery set—as well as spewing packaging materials. Everything spilled out on the bed or floor with no place or purpose.
It was an outrageous mess.
Ochaco gaped from the doorframe, shocked enough that Deku was here.
“Deku, you’re… What in the world are you doing here?”
“Well, this is my room?” he said.
His room. Yes, it was his room, a likely place to find him on a normal day.
Her grip tightened on the doorframe. “Can I come in?”
“Um…” Green eyes shifted around the room.
Close enough to a yes. The stuff, everywhere, put a one-second pause on Ochaco’s impulse to run to him, but no matter. Deku was here. She pushed her way in, stepping over a cuckoo clock here, a fruit gift basket there.
Deku jolted. “Uraraka, wait!”
She stopped, straddling the gift basket, when behind her came the avalanche of tumbling cardboard, shatter-crunch of something glass inside, and a loud scrape as a set of snow skis teetered from their spot balanced against the wall and clattered into the boxes now blocking the exit. Ochaco turned to see the skis slide off the box they’d landed on and fall to the floor.
Ochaco swallowed. She’d knocked that down, hadn’t she?
“I’m so sorry!”
“It’s okay,” said Deku, quickly and tense. “Can you come over here? This way, maybe?”
Ochaco turned back to Deku. The direction he’d indicated was unclear. Maybe he’d intended she step on something other than the ground? “Where?”
Deku had been sitting among stacks of paper and envelopes and now clambered to his feet to scoop up letters by the handful and dump them in a box. He lifted his head to point, giving Ochaco a weak smile with an unmoving brow. “Over here.”
In the half-second he met her eyes, Ochaco felt the air in the room stiffen. He was only a few steps away, and she saw he’d lost color since she’d seen him in the hospital. The bandages had come off, and bruises healed as well, to be replaced with the makings of dark circles under his eyes. A tension possessed his movement and kept his face long and stiff. Gone was the determination he’d drilled into the mass of cameras.
As if Ochaco hadn’t made a fool of herself already, when she tried to move, something tugged on her leg. What had snagged her pants but the claws of a real, dead, taxidermy fox. It struck her that someone thought it was a good idea to send this to Deku. A taxidermy animal.
Again, she tried to pull, but the fox had claws of steel, and moving it moved the mount which looked to be holding another stack of boxes in place. And with a big gift basket between her legs, twisting around to free her pants wasn’t working either. Ochaco could, in an emergency, clear the way with a few quick taps, but what went up must come back down, and there was already enough of a mess.
“I think I might be stuck,” she said.
“Alright, just stay there a minute.” Deku finished scooping up letters, setting the box on his already crowded bed. More boxes and items followed. He’d have no place to sleep.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to come in here and knock everything down.”
“No, it’s my fault. I’ve been moving things around and trying to sort what I could. I should have been more careful stacking the boxes. I’m just glad you didn’t get hurt,” he said. “People have been sending me all sorts of gifts. I got back here and the maintenance drones were lined up in the hall, putting everything in my room. The principal called me and said he’d have someone take care of the mail, but he didn’t say when.”
“Oh wow. Nezu’s usually pretty quick with these things though, isn’t he?” said Ochaco.
“There’s a whole lot more going on right now,” said Deku. “I don’t think this is a priority.”
A moment later, the path out of the mess was completed with Ochaco handing over the gift basket, after which she was able to free her pants and join him on a small island of open space in the crowded room. Standing beside him, the air felt heavy. Deku looked past her to the door and let out a long breath that deflated his shoulders. They’d have to restack the boxes to get out.
Like a lightbulb had gone off above Deku’s head, he took a sharp breath and patted his pockets, and finding them empty asked, “Do you have the time?”
Ochaco fished out her phone to check. “Just now one o’clock.”
“So not too much of a hurry. I’ve got an interview later in the afternoon,” he explained. “Heroes International wants to get photos on campus.”
A big magazine. Ochaco nodded to herself. That was his reason to be here.
She found herself looking again at the room. Now that she’d been here a minute, the volume of stuff weighed in. With boxes jumbled on top of each other, and miscellaneous colors and shapes heaped into piles, there was no place to look and let the eyes rest, and the clutter took something out of her. The whole sight was abnormal. Deku was no neat freak, but he’d always kept his possessions and space well organized. As it was, even Iida would have a hard time sorting through Deku’s room.
“How are you, after everything?” Deku asked. “Did you just get back? How’s your hand?”
“My hand…?” Ochaco checked her hands before she remembered, “Oh, you mean from last week. It’s all better now. They patched me up real quick. I just got back a few minutes ago. They had the public announcement this morning that the search and recovery has done all it can. I know a lot of people went to visit their families, but my parents are in Mie, so here I am. How about you, Deku?”
“I’ve never been so busy in my entire life,” he said, flatly.
“Do you need some help?” Ochaco asked. “With all of the mail?”
“No.” Deku shook his head automatically. “It can wait for the principal to get someone in here. You must be tired after the recovery effort and everything else.”
“But you don’t know how long that’ll be. I’m not that tired. It’s the least I can do for knocking down your skis—”
“—I told you, it’s fine—”
“—and this is a lot. You won’t be able to sleep in here.”
“No, you don’t need to help with this. It’s a lot worse than it looks—I mean—not as bad as it seems.”
“Worse than it looks? I really don’t have anything to do, and I haven’t seen anyone else around either. The recovery effort’s called off and they say go home and rest, but I don’t know what I’d do with myself sitting alone in my room—” Ochaco caught her words running ahead of her and stopped. She hadn’t meant to say it like that. “I mean, can’t I help?”
But Deku turned to her, and the edge building in his voice dissolved off his frame. What was left just looked tired. “Well…” He checked around the room. “Yeah. I guess let’s see what we can do.”
o-o-o
Ochaco felt a flicker of curiosity, and an ounce of envy, seeing Deku’s gifts. Like the beautifully hand-painted teapot, inlaid with gold embellishment. Or a sponsorship offer tucked in a sampler package of sports drinks—what high schooler got sponsorships? And cluttering the floor space, stacked halfway up the wall, and leaning against the dresser for support were so many unopened boxes, their contents anyone’s guess. People had sent Deku luxury items that Ochaco might gawk at in a store window but never bring herself to buy, even if she had the money.
But the thought washed out and left her hollow. After what she’d seen the past week… It wasn’t worth it. Not even close.
For his part, Deku handled the gifts with remote politeness. There were no ‘wow!’s or ‘what is it?’s, or anything silly, like a few weeks ago, when he’d received cupcakes for helping with a traffic accident and passed them out to his classmates, joy leaking out of him like a child. The boxes were moved carefully, and that was all.
All the more reason to clean up this room.
Since Deku was waiting on arrangements to relocate the mail, they agreed to move the biggest stacks of unopened boxes into the hall. It seemed a momentous task at first, but with Ochaco’s Quirk and ample space outside the room, wasn’t actually a big deal. Deku didn’t need help as much as he needed someone to tell him the other students could step around the stuff for a day or two and they’d be fine. If anyone had earned a right to inconvenience a few people, it was him.
Moving boxes, clearing space, and stuffing foam beads into trash bags, Ochaco’s pulse thrummed along with the activity. She had a reason to be here—something had to be done about the mess—and though the unsettled tension in her gut didn’t go away, having Deku here and something to do made it so much lighter.
When there was just enough space to walk around, Ochaco opened the curtains and balcony doors, and the room released a breath of relief. A maple tree not far from the balcony had turned crimson in front of a vibrant blue sky, and the sounds of leaves, birds, and maintenance drones drifted in, so much quieter than stuffy silence.
She looked to see if Deku felt it, too. He stopped in front of the balcony and surveyed the grounds outside, an expression like he was processing something. “This much is enough,” he said.
“The window makes a big difference. Now it doesn’t feel like we’re trapped in a closet.”
A firm nod. “Yeah, I don’t think we need to move anything else.”
“Well, you’ve still got all of these.” Ochaco indicated the buried desk and boxes by the dresser, stacked up as tall as she was. The open air had saved the room from claustrophobia, but it was not clean.
“It’s not a priority for me, and Principal Nezu’s arranging for someone to take care of it, so it can wait,” Deku said.
At which point, Ochaco realized it wasn’t a wish or a suggestion. Deku actually intended to stop ten minutes into cleaning and leave his room as a miniature disaster. “Really? At least the rest of the stuff by your dresser. It’s all unopened packages?” she pressed, to no positive response. “Do you want me to do it?”
The way Deku shook his head, only once, with lips pulled long and straight, Ochaco knew not to ask again. They were done. The room remained a mess, but she was right back to having nothing to do.
After that, sure, someone needed to run downstairs with the trash. The unsettled feeling was oozing back in by the second time she passed the flowers, noticing some wilted like they’d been there the whole week. Back to Deku’s room, the clutter occupied more than three-dimensional space, creeping into the metaphysical corners of her head. There was still so much to do, even if it was clear that Deku didn’t want to deal with it right now.
Ochaco had had moments like this, returning from an eight-hour shift at her internship to homework and a basket full of laundry, and if she magnified the feeling by a thousand, had a guess of much Deku wanted to clean. Maybe she should ask if he wanted to go outside?
When Ochaco gravitated his way, Deku said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to send you running around with the trash while I stand here.”
“I’m happy to. If there’s anything else…”
“No, you’ve done enough. Thank you, though. I can use a little bit more space. I guess there’s still no sign of anyone else back yet?”
“Not that I’ve seen. Are you waiting for someone?”
“No, just wondering. It makes me realize how quiet it is.”
Ochaco had nothing to do. But Deku was here, and it was supposed to be enough. She told herself a hundred times when everything was over, she’d be able to see him, that she’d tell him what he meant to her.
(He was here.) (She could tell him.)
Or maybe the words were meant for the Deku she’d passed at the hospital, who’d encouraged her to keep going, or the version of him replayed on a screen.
Deku’s attention settled on a box set on the bed they’d just cleaned off, from which he pulled out a letter. She hovered closer when she recognized the paper in his hands. “Oh, that’s the hero insurance scam.”
“This?” Deku raised his brow.
“The supplemental hero insurance? It’s a fake company. At Ryukyu’s agency, she had…” Had. The past tense was still dry and sticky on Ochaco’s tongue. She reached around Deku to point out a familiar typo. “She had the interns sort the mail. The same letter showed up every few weeks with ‘insurance’ spelled wrong in the first line.”
“Really?” Deku squinted and read. “You’re right. Insura-nec.”
“Ensure a neck,” said Ochaco, and earned a half-smile from Deku.
“I wasn’t planning to do anything with it, but better to know I can throw it away.” Deku folded the letter and stuffed it into a nearby trash bag. “I wasn’t assigned to sort mail, but I saw the letters that got passed up to sidekicks and such, where people wrote in with anonymous crime tips or asking for help, and I’d need to figure out what was going on. I’ve found a couple like that so far. I was actually scanning them to the police before you got here. With everything else going on, I don’t think there’s much else I can do, but I don’t feel well knowing someone could be asking for help, and it’d be sitting here unopened.”
“Yeah, I know the letters you’re talking about.” Come to think of it, she’d found Deku with papers and such all out on the floor. Ochaco peered into the box and felt her eyes bulge reflexively. It was the size that stored reams of copy paper and filled three-quarters of the way with paper and envelopes. “Wow. I guess I should have expected as much, but you’ve got a lot of mail. Don’t they send it electronically?”
“Yeah, and I’ve got plenty of that, too.”
“So how are you sorting them?” Ochaco asked.
Deku drew in a breath and held it, standing for three seconds frozen. Then, he picked up the next envelope and explained. And so Ochaco found herself opening letters. Something to do.
A report of racket in the streets and a knife stabbed into a traffic mirror started off the various crime reports to be sent to the police.
Another stack formed for general public sentiment, like an older man worried that his small bicycle shop would become the target of rampant burglaries.
Another stack collected crayon drawings of the greatest hero who saved the whole world.
And he had hero commission paperwork, a stranger begging for money, and a seven-year-old girl promising to never pull the cat’s ears again if only Deku could cure a terminal genetic disorder.
Something drained from Deku when he read that.
The sorted stacks were messy, getting mixed up with all the gifts on the bed. There wasn’t enough space.
Ochaco and Deku moved the box and letters to the floor and spread everything out on the carpet. It was like they’d met to do homework, except not at all. Deku was getting all the same mail as a top ten hero agency, with none of the staff to process it.
When they sat down on the floor, the piles of gifts around them swelled from hills to mountains. Though Ochaco focused on sorting letters, the disorganization and uneven shapes loomed in her peripheral vision like hazardous buildings, half-standing, half-rubble. A restless sort of itch made it difficult to sit still, and Ochaco moved her legs from crisscross to her right side, then to the left, and back again.
She wasn’t the only one. More than once, she caught a measured breath from Deku. She thought she heard a rough scuff of paper or an envelope torn in agitation. When she looked, Deku pulled out a half smile for her. He hopped up to extract mochi snacks from who-knows-where in the pile of gifts, though she had no stomach for them, and then offered bottled water, which she was happy to take. Deku was still the same person, trying to take care of other people.
Of course, this was why she fell in love. Or rather, it was an excuse, as if her feelings didn’t run away from her and later, she made up a thousand reasons why. But it didn’t have to make sense to be real, and Ochaco was just glad that he was here. There was no guarantee that both of them—or even just one of them—would be alive.
Ochaco knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she did not save herself. Heroes much stronger than her were killed by the dozen, and she was alive because of location, luck, and him. Deku. It was terrifying.
The box of letters seemed to go on forever. Third-year students had enough training to independently handle minor incidents like vandalism, shoplifting, or drunks in public, but depending on the circumstances, they could take anywhere from half a day to weeks to resolve. A stack like Deku’s might take five years.
She’d seen letters from citizens before, anxious about unsafe streets or economic instability, and untrusting of heroes that were supposed to protect them. Now, Ochaco realized that she never felt full responsibility for it. She’d do her best, of course, but Ryukyu was responsible for making the big decisions. But she was gone, and not the only one. Now, the people spoke directly to Deku, as if he could fix everything.
He couldn’t do it. No single person could, but Deku leaned in and buried himself in their concerns, seeming to forget Ochaco and the rest of the world around him.
As was expected in this volume of mail, Ochaco opened a single white sheet that said ‘KILL YOURSELF,’ illustrated with a penis. There wasn’t a drop of creativity, and yet, it crawled under her skin. “Why would they send that?” she muttered to herself.
The paper was pulled from her hands in an instant.
“I’m so sorry. You didn’t need to see that,” Deku said, folding the sheet in quarters.
“You don’t need to apologize. What are they thinking? People died protecting whoever sent that.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Deku checked for an envelope and return address. Predictably finding none, there was nothing to do but put it, neatly folded with wasted respect, into the trash. “I’m sure there’s a reason. How can I know what someone else’s life is like?”
“Whatever their life is like is not an excuse.”
“Uraraka, please. It’s fine. I’m fine.” His words cut sharp.
Ochaco recoiled. Her and Deku, being here, alive, was no guarantee. There was no excuse, but hearing a plea in his voice, swallowed it. It was one piece of trash, compared to mountains of gifts and stacks of thank-yous.
You’d never know by looking at Deku that that’s what most of the letters said. Thank you, our house is still standing. Thank you, we’re still alive. Thank you, our streets can be safe again. Thank you, we have someone to believe in. Deku had saved lives and changed many others. Children were in awe of the greatest hero who saved the whole world, which was probably an exaggeration, but who knew? And occasionally, mixed in with the crayons, were honest works of art in paint or ink, created by someone who devoted years to perfecting their craft.
Deku treated the thank you letters like the boxes in his room. They were nothing to be proud of. He put them aside quickly, as if they’d burn his fingers if he held them too long.
She wanted to hold them close, like treasures, to know that there were so many kind people and so much more to this world than stupid, senseless violence. That because she was here, and Deku was here, she could pick up the pieces and it would be okay.
“Are you okay?” Deku asked, as if the hate mail had been for her.
“Me? I’ve seen a lot worse.” The sheet was nothing compared to the junk that showed up at a female-led hero agency.
“Bad timing makes a difference. There are bound to be more letters like that. Just with the amount of attention I’ve got, someone out there hates me. I’m going to be really busy soon, and I want to… go through all of this and see what people are saying to me while I’ve got a chance. It’s a lot faster with two people, but I get the feeling that maybe it’s not a good time for you to look at the bad ones.”
“And it’s good for you?”
Deku gave one voiceless laugh. “I suppose not.”
“Of course not,” she said. “Sure, it’s not that big of a deal, but you’re too important to me. I thought of you every day. I’d kind of been dreading graduation since we wouldn’t see each other as much anymore, but then there were a few minutes when I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again. And when we were cleaning everything up, I just thought, all of this is… beyond terrible, but you were incredible, and it was over, and I could see you again. And it was enough to pick up the pieces.”
“You thought that?”
“Every day.”
“Thank you.” But he smiled only a fraction and looked away. It didn’t seem like Ochaco had said the right thing. Were her words like the gifts and thank-you letters, more clutter? Not getting through?
“You’re thinking about something, aren’t you? You’ve got it written all over your face.”
She watched as Deku fished out another envelope and held it, unopened. He sat for a moment, looking at this next envelope, and whispered some of the same words she’d heard from him a hundred times. “I’ve got to be stronger.”
That was Deku when someone pushed him down and he jumped back up. But he didn’t say it like that. It was a guilty admission, whispered taboo, and he stared again straight through the paper in his hands.
Instead of encouragement or confirmation, Ochaco found herself asking, “What do you mean?”
“It shouldn’t be like this, with all of the gifts and letters. All of these people are depending on me and asking me to do impossible things, but… I barely stopped Shigaraki. He killed so many people. And if he came back tomorrow with the same fanfare and warning, he’d kill just as many or more all over again, and I don’t know if I’d be able to stop him or if he’d kill me and go on to destroy whatever else he wanted. And still, I…”
He trailed off, with his lips held open. It wasn’t what he said to the cameras, and for a moment, Ochaco felt the sting of smoke in her eyes. She heard the shouts and screams, felt the earth tremble.
When the silence had gone on long enough, she spoke. “But you’re here, aren’t you? You did stop him.”
“I got lucky.”
“Then… I’m glad you’re so lucky.”
…
They were down to the last layer of letters. With this side of the dorm falling in the shade, the room had gotten colder as they worked through the box. The goosebumps on Ochaco’s neck were an acceptable trade for the breeze. The view outside was the nicest thing in the room. Anywhere else, her eyes couldn’t rest with all of the clutter. Everything here was a responsibility stacked on Deku, whether to simply decide what to do with a gift, or responding to the needs and expectations of the people who had sent the packages and letters.
…
To Shigaraki, a person’s life meant absolutely nothing. Her life—the fun days with friends, her parents’ sacrifices, the training she put in at U.A., and the spare minutes with Deku—could all be so meaninglessly discarded. The bodies they found in the rubble were people who had lives, too, with their own dreams, friends, and teenage crushes, and Ochaco thought of the moments the dust and smoke threatened to swallow her whole, any control over her own fate sadistically torn away. What Shigaraki had shown the world was so terrible, no amount of training or preparation could have been enough for Ochaco to save herself or those around her.
But Deku had been strong enough. He was incredible. He’d saved so many people. He’d saved her. Ochaco would laugh if a movie had bad lines like, ‘Deku saved me,’ but the past week, the thought ran on repeat in her head like a lifeline. She needed him, desperately, or else she’d never make sense of the missing people, the dead bodies, and the heroes she’d never see again. Or of how small and weak she’d been.
So what if he thought he got lucky? With all of the luck in the world, no one else could have done what he did.
He was here. She wanted him to be closer. Really, she only needed to move a few inches before they were touching, Deku absorbed in his mail as she wrapped both arms around his waist and folded herself into his back.
For a long moment, Deku was still. So very completely still, and then she felt his right hand, then the left, bigger hands than hers, wrap around her elbow and forearm. His chest expanded with his breath and trembled as he exhaled. He was here, so close, breathing and alive.
“You’re really warm,” he said.
“You’re warm, too.”
She locked him in, pulled herself closer, and in turn, his grip tightened on her arms. She’d touched him before, on and off in training, but never like this, trying to fill some sort of void in her chest. Never because she wanted to.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” she choked. “You’re too important to me, Deku. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“You, too, Uraraka.”
Her cheek nestled into the soft cotton of his sweatshirt. Her forehead came to the nape of his neck where his hair brushed her skin. Against her chest, he was solid and human, and her arms had someone to hold onto —the recovery teams didn’t do that in the field. They bowed and patted each other’s backs at most, no desperate hugs. Ochaco thought she didn’t need to move from that spot, with her eyes sealed shut, soaking in the rhythm of his breath. The rustle of wind outside was the only disturbance. A hint of winter came in with the breeze, but Deku was so, so warm.
Still holding her arms, Deku shifted out of her embrace and turned to face her. He looked at her straight on, so close, his gaze seemed to sink in for what felt like forever, but was maybe three seconds. Then his focus shifted a hair’s width down, a tiny movement of the pupils, to her nose. Or maybe her lips.
Promptly, he dropped both the stare and her arms. Deku jerked away from her, and pushed himself to his feet so fast he stumbled and caught himself by grabbing his chair, that rolled out from under his grip and thudded into the boxes. Deku stumbled again, and steadied himself on the desk instead.
Ochaco pushed herself to her knees, ready to catch him, but he didn’t need her. “You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Deku squeaked, a bit pale under his freckles. “I might be getting tired. Would you like some tea?” And with sudden intent, he set about digging among the boxes. Instead of something for now, he pulled out loose-leaf tea packages sent from Kyoto and insisted on giving them away.
There was a jitter to him as he pushed the package into her hands. Suddenly, he couldn’t meet her eyes for longer than a split second before they shot past her to the door. Ochaco’s stomach dropped, realizing she might have crossed a few personal boundaries by latching onto him.
“Maybe I should… leave?” she dared to say.
“Would you? I…I’m sorry. Please. I’ll see you later.”
He followed her to the door, awkwardly bowing her out. The latch gave a resolute click when it closed between them, this time, properly shut.
o-o-o
Ochaco saw the magazine crew from her dorm window. It couldn’t have been a better day for filming and pictures, and the photographer was aiming her camera at every corner of campus long before Deku came out. The featured hero—who knew how many owed him their lives—still wore a school uniform. The crew put makeup on him, straightened his tie, and directed him off to take pictures around the main building. Ochaco didn’t see Deku for the rest of the day.
When she checked his room later that evening, the light was off.
Other students trickled in over the afternoon, so it wasn’t painfully quiet. Seemingly everyone had something to say about Deku. Aoyama had heard Deku complain about a painful, loose fake tooth, and wondered if he’d gotten to the dentist. Todoroki heard that flowers, gifts, reporters, and a bomb threat showed up at Deku’s mom’s apartment. She’d left for somewhere with proper security for now, but if it kept up, she’d have to move. And Mineta had spent his spare time in online forums and come away convinced: Deku would be Japan’s No. 1 Hero even before graduating high school.
Someone turned on the news. After six days in a coma, Shigaraki had succumbed to his injuries, and the world would never have to worry about him again. Among the casualties listed, Ryukyu’s name scrolled across the bottom of the screen. Deku was scheduled to speak at the upcoming memorial.
Ochaco listened, and her mind bounced between Deku’s grip, holding her arms to his waist, and his sudden withdrawal and discomforted glances towards the door. He sat there for a minute, and then would you leave? Was it bad timing?
In a joint effort led by Iida, flowers were distributed around the school and the common area regained its functionality. The next morning, Deku’s gifts took the place of the vases and blossoms, spread out on tables for students to sort through and take anything they wanted before the whole load went to charity. Ochaco found Yao-Momo directing Kaminari to sort out the edibles.
“Golden chocolate? Is this real? They put gold flakes in the chocolate and you eat it?” she heard from Kaminari. He didn’t look well, and fraction of his usual enthusiasm remained in his voice. Everyone here had seen the dust and bodies.
“It’s more for show and doesn’t change much of the taste,” Momo answered. She’d turned all business and appeared the most put-together of anyone around. Noticing Ochaco hovering over the pile of luxury candy, snacks, ramen packages, and gift baskets, Momo added to her, “If there’s something you want, take it. It’s not the best nutritionally, but the cafeteria’s closed, so it’s what we have for now. Principal Nezu had everything sniffed for poison, so it’s safe to eat.”
“Thanks, I’m not really hungry right now,” she said.
Ochaco wandered over to the tables, unconsciously pulled over despite there being nothing she could want. It looked like Deku wasn’t keeping anything, and she didn’t blame him one bit. He had so much going on, everything she’d seen and heard and so much more. Deku, the Number One Hero, really? It gave her an unsettled feeling. She knew it was Deku’s dream, but if it was true, it was… huge. If she started running after him now, as fast as she could for the rest of her life, she’d never get close. The gap between them was only set to grow.
Then, among the tables and boxes spilling over with junk Deku didn’t need, Ochaco spotted something green. A small, round plushie covered in fuzz that looked just like Deku’s hair. All green fluff plus two eyeballs stuck to it, and she knew before she picked it up that they squinted when you squeezed it.
After they’d found it, she and Tsuyu had squeezed the squinty plushie at each other for the rest of the afternoon. Ochaco had wanted Deku to have something from her. She thought he’d think it was funny.
Fuzzy green ball in trembling sweaty fingers. Ochaco shoved it into her jacket pocket before anyone could see.
Something vile and ugly churned inside her. She had to leave. Now. Ochaco was so quick in her beeline for the elevators, she didn’t see Bakugo around the corner until she walked right into him. Whether he said ‘are you okay?’ or ‘what’s wrong with you?’ his voice barely registered over the cacophonous ring rising in her ears. She didn’t answer.
The elevator couldn’t have been slower.
She stayed on two feet until the door to her room shut behind her, and there, she collapsed in tears and burning shame. A novelty toy was nothing worth getting upset over. On an ordinary day, it was nothing. And now, in the week following the worst terrorist attack Japan had ever seen? Deku had fought and won and he was tired. She’d spent days recovering bodies. Her mentor of two years was dead, and after all of the promises she’d made to her parents to support them, Ochaco wouldn’t have a job at graduation. A little green plushie was so infinitesimally small that what she felt now was so immature, so stupid, so petty.
And she realized exactly how stupid she had been. Ochaco had been holding on by a single thought. When this is over, I can see Deku. Well, what did he think about that? With the gifts, the interviews, the letters commending him and insulting him and pleading for more, more, more, was it over for him?
What was wrong with her? Never before had she been so violently disgusted with herself as she was at that moment.
She said she wanted to help Deku, but what had she done? She clung to him and added to his problems. He didn’t need that or any gifts. He didn’t need her throwing herself at him, not before, and definitely not now. She needed to take care of herself and stay out of his way.
o-o-o
Ultimately, the sight of the plushie was unbearable.
She stuffed it in a shoebox under her bed.
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