Chapter Text
Time passed in strange, slow ripples at U.A., as if the world outside couldn’t touch the fragile progress Himiko Toga and Ochako Uraraka were making. It had been months since Toga had moved onto the U.A. grounds, tucked away in a dorm room set aside just for her. The world still believed she was dead—a fact that weighed heavy on Ochako’s mind every day. But that was part of the plan. They needed time. Time to show the world the truth about Himiko Toga, to craft a story that could explain how a former villain could stand a chance at redemption.
Inside the walls of U.A., things were changing, but at a slower pace than either of them expected. The program Ochako had fought so hard for—the quirk counseling initiative—was officially underway, though it had not yet reached the public. For now, it was just Himiko. She was the beginning. She was the one carrying the burden of being the first, of proving that people like her—people who had been cast aside, labeled as villains because of what they couldn’t control—deserved a second chance.
But it wasn’t easy.
Himiko had wanted to back out more times than she could count. There were nights when the loneliness became too much, when the quiet of her dorm felt suffocating instead of comforting. Even though the space was clean, bright, and warm—so unlike the grimy, abandoned hideouts she had known—it didn’t feel like hers. She didn’t feel like she belonged here, in a place meant for heroes.
Sometimes, she’d sit in the middle of her new room, surrounded by the unfamiliar softness, and wonder if this was all some cruel joke. Why was Ochako helping her? Why had she fought so hard to keep her alive after everything? And why did she keep coming back, day after day, when Himiko could barely hold herself together?
But Ochako was always there, her kindness like an invisible thread binding the pieces of Himiko’s broken soul together. Even when Toga lashed out, when she pushed away or sank into silence, Ochako stayed.
The small room had become their safe space. No one knew about their meetings, not yet. The teachers were aware, but even they kept their distance, respecting Ochako’s decision to help Toga adjust at her own pace. It was a delicate balance. The rest of the school didn’t know yet. Ochako wanted to introduce Toga to the students eventually, to show them she wasn’t the monster they thought she was - that she was, in fact, a simple (and cute, the cutest even) girl with hopes and dreams. But that had to be handled carefully, and they weren’t ready yet.
Toga was still uneasy in this new life. Every time she heard footsteps in the hallway outside her dorm, her heart would race, her mind spinning with the urge to run. She didn’t trust herself yet, and more than that, she didn’t trust the world. The memories of her past clung to her like shadows, and there were nights when she couldn’t sleep, haunted by visions of all the dear people she had lost, of blood, of the violence that had consumed her.
But Ochako was her anchor.
One afternoon, Ochako knocked softly at the door, and Toga let her in, as she always did. It was becoming a routine, a comfort. Ochako would sit on the edge of the small couch by the window, and Toga would take her usual spot across from her, curled up on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. They didn’t always talk. Sometimes, the silence was enough.
But today, something felt different. The air between them was lighter, less tense than it had been in those early days. It was still strange for Toga, feeling so seen by someone like Ochako. Not in the way she used to crave—through blood and violence—but in this quiet, steady way that was foreign to her.
"You’ve been doing really well," Ochako said gently, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, a quiet reassurance that always seemed to soothe Toga, even when she didn’t want to admit it.
Toga shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "I don’t feel like I’m doing anything," she mumbled. "I just… sit here. Hide."
Ochako leaned forward, her eyes kind but firm. "You’re not hiding. You’re healing. There’s a difference."
Toga scoffed, though there wasn’t much bite behind it. "Healing. Right. From what? Being a monster?"
Ochako’s expression softened even more, and she reached out, hesitantly placing her hand on Toga’s. It was a small gesture, but it sent a strange warmth spreading through Toga’s chest. These touches between them had become more frequent, though they were still careful, still tentative. But each time, it felt a little more real. A little more genuine.
"...You’re not a monster, Himiko," Ochako said quietly. "You’re just... someone who was hurt. And you reacted in the only way you knew how. That doesn’t mean you can’t be more than that now."
Toga’s throat tightened, and she looked away, her eyes stinging with emotions she didn’t know how to deal with. "It’s not that easy," she muttered.
"I know it’s not," Ochako replied, her voice gentle but unwavering. "But you’re not alone in this anymore. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere."
Toga swallowed hard, her mind swirling with conflicting thoughts. She still didn’t understand why Ochako cared so much. Why she kept coming back, why she kept offering these small, simple touches that made Toga feel things she didn’t know how to name. But a part of her—a small, fragile part—was starting to believe it. Starting to trust it.
"I don’t know how to do this," Toga whispered, her voice barely audible. "I don’t know how to be... your normal."
Ochako smiled softly, and her hand squeezed Toga’s just a little bit tighter. "You don’t have to be normal. You just have to be you. That's all that matters right now."
There was a long pause, the quiet stretching between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that felt safe, like a pause in a conversation that didn’t need to be filled with words.
"Thank you," Toga said suddenly, her voice shaky. It was the first time she had said it in a long time, and she wasn’t even sure if it was the right thing to say. But Ochako’s smile widened, and that strange warmth in Toga’s chest spread even further.
"You don’t have to thank me," Ochako replied softly. "I’m just glad you’re still here."
Toga glanced up at her, their eyes meeting for a brief moment. There was something different in the way Ochako looked at her now. Not pity, not judgment, but something else. Something Toga hadn’t seen before. It made her heart race in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
"Yeah," Toga said, her voice barely a whisper. "I... Me too."
[...]
It had been a strange, quiet evolution, watching Himiko Toga begin to settle into her new life. The tension in her shoulders wasn’t as sharp as it used to be, and though there were still many difficult days, there were also moments of peace—moments where Toga allowed herself to believe that she could fit into this world in a way she never thought possible.
The process of helping Himiko feel more comfortable at U.A. was slow, but every small victory mattered. It started with little things: letting her walk around the grounds more freely, trusting her enough to attend a few counseling sessions on her own, and eventually, offering her the chance to make her dorm room her own.
Ochako had been there every step of the way. She was the constant in Himiko’s life, the person who always made sure she didn’t slip too far into the darkness that still threatened to consume her on the hardest days. Today, though, felt lighter—more like a normal day between two friends, even though nothing about their situation was exactly "normal."
They sat together on Himiko’s bed, legs crossed as they leaned over a laptop screen, scrolling through pages of furniture, decorations, and knick-knacks that Himiko could add to her room. It had taken some convincing for her to believe that she was allowed to have this kind of freedom, that she could pick out things that were just for her, things that would make this space feel less like a temporary hideout and more like a home.
Himiko was surprisingly enthusiastic about it all, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she clicked through the options. “Oh! Look at this one!” she said, her voice bubbling with joy as she pointed to a plush, heart-shaped pillow in pastel pink. “It’s so cute!”
Ochako couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Toga’s genuine happiness. These moments were rare, but they were becoming more frequent, and it made Ochako’s heart swell with hope. “It’s adorable,” she agreed, adding it to the cart. If it were for Ochako, she'd definitely go for something cheaper, something more simple - that became her habit in a way. Each product Himiko hovered over made her flinch as she saw the prices - U.A. was really going out of their way to make Toga feel better... it felt strange, but eager and determined about the whole process.
They kept going, Toga getting more and more excited with each new item she found. String lights in soft colors, a fluffy throw blanket, a small shelf shaped like a crescent moon. There was something childlike in the way Toga picked out these items, as if she was reclaiming pieces of a youth she’d never really had the chance to experience. Things she should have experienced.
But then, things took a turn when Toga’s eyes landed on a sleek set of knives. Simple, classic, sharp. Her face lit up with interest, her fingers hovering over the screen.
“Oh! What about this?” she asked, a spark of mischief in her eyes as she tilted the laptop toward Ochako.
Ochako’s heart skipped a beat, and she quickly shook her head, her voice soft but firm. “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now, Himiko.”
Toga pouted, leaning back with a sigh. “But they’re so pretty…”
Ochako gave her a gentle smile, her tone understanding but resolute. “I know, but let’s focus on making your room feel safe, okay? We can’t have knives in there just yet.”
Toga huffed, crossing her arms, but she didn’t argue. “Fine,” she muttered, though there was a playful glint in her eyes. “But I’m holding you to that ‘yet.’”
They both laughed, and the tension in the air faded as quickly as it had come. It was these small, everyday moments that made everything feel more real, more hopeful. For so long, Himiko’s life had been defined by violence and survival, but now, she was starting to understand what it meant to *live*—to make choices for herself that didn’t involve destruction.
Once the shopping cart was full of cozy, cute things, they finalized the order, and a sense of accomplishment settled between them. Himiko stretched out on the bed, letting out a satisfied sigh. “I can’t believe this is really happening,” she said softly, staring up at the ceiling. “I never thought I’d get to have a place like this.”
Ochako sat beside her, her voice gentle. “You deserve this, Himiko. You deserve a chance to have something that’s yours.”
Toga didn’t respond right away, her gaze distant as if she was trying to process the idea. Finally, she turned to Ochako, her expression more serious than it had been all day. “Can I ask you something?”
Ochako nodded, sensing the shift in mood. “Of course. What is it?”
There was a brief moment of hesitation before Himiko spoke, her voice quieter now, almost vulnerable. “Could you... stay with me tonight? Just for one night?”
Ochako blinked in surprise, but she didn’t miss the way Himiko’s fingers fidgeted, or the way her eyes dropped to the floor as if she was embarrassed by the request. It wasn’t hard to guess why Toga was asking. After everything she had been through, the nights were the hardest. The nightmares, the memories of her past, the loneliness—Ochako knew it all too well.
“Of course I’ll stay,” Ochako said softly, her heart aching at the thought of Himiko spending so many nights alone with her fears. “You don’t have to be alone.”
Toga looked up, her expression a mixture of relief and something softer, something fragile. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
They didn’t say much after that. Ochako stayed with her, moving to the other side of the bed as they settled in for the night. It was a simple act, but it felt like another step forward, another piece of Himiko’s broken world starting to heal.
As the room grew darker, lit only by the soft glow of the moon through the window, Toga shifted closer, her hand brushing against Ochako’s. It wasn’t much, just the lightest touch, but it felt significant—like a quiet promise.
Ochako didn’t pull away. Instead, she let their hands rest there, side by side, not quite holding but not apart either. “You’re doing great, Himiko,” she whispered into the quiet.
There was a long pause, and then, in the softest voice, Toga replied, “I’m trying.”
And that was enough. For now, just trying was enough.
As the night went on, Himiko’s breathing grew steady, and Ochako knew she had finally fallen asleep. She stayed awake a little longer, watching over her, making sure that the nightmares stayed away, at least for tonight.
Tomorrow, there would be more challenges. More hard conversations. More steps to take on the long road of healing and reshaping Toga’s future. But for now, in the quiet of the night, it felt like the future was something they could both look forward to.
And that was something worth holding onto.