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Her first had been misshapen—lumpy and irregular, lacking the straight edges or unblemished flaps that she had seen in the art book. It was ugly. She knew that. But she hoped it would carry the prayer she held, and that the ones above her would acknowledge the love and care and the wholehearted want she had put into it. Her hands shook as she thumbed through another sheet of paper.
By her ninety-ninth, she was an expert. The tiny little papercraft looked better than even the tutorial pictures glaring back at her, and by then, she didn’t even need them.
She kept the art book open though, rereading the paragraph at the page’s end, reminding herself of what she was working toward.
He didn’t make it.
Tears streamed down her face. She released a choked sob. She hadn’t cried this hard in a long time. But still, the weight in her chest made her feel as if her heart itself was weighing Eri down. Her hands were shaking now, and as she tried to grip the construction paper between her fingers, her one-hundred and fiftieth tumbled to the ground.
Almost as if its wings had been clipped.
The words in the art book blurred together through her tears. She could barely read as it was, her lessons giving her only enough to understand a single line.
“Legend says that folding one thousand will please the gods, granting the crafter one wish…”
If he had done everything he could, if he had hurt himself over and over, if he had saved her, if he had shown her kindness…
Then she could do this.
But she wasn’t fast enough.
She had heard them, when Ai-san had dagged her at midnight to Class 1-A's dormitory, where Ai-san and Mr. All Might had been waiting. She had heard how Ai-san told O-chan, Iida, and Kacchan that their friend had made a mistake. He told them how brave he was. How he wasn’t fast enough. How there was a boy in the hospital tonight, burned and bruised and unconscious, who the doctors said would not make it through until morning.
A single UA student had been participating in a work study when things had gone haywire-- villains attacking from nowhere, and only Ochako had Katsuki had been there. They’d went to help once an SOS was put out. And they’d been sent home, without a way of knowing whether their friend had made it out or not.
Eri had overheard it all.
Deku.
Her eyes burned with hot tears. She’d been at this for hours now, hidden from Ai-san in the lounge, as they talked—but there was still time. She could do this. She had to.
But she had only just reached her two-hundredth, and dawn was fast approaching.
She looked, defeated, at the pile of folded paper beside her. She raked her forearm across her eyes, trying to clear the water there, trying to breathe.
Just a short time ago, she didn’t think these hands of hers could create. But then, just a short time ago, she’d believed they’d been cursed.
Eri believed in magic. She believed in curses.
But she’d only just learned that some could be broken.
“I swear I’ll change the future!”
If magic was what it took to do such a thing, then magic was what she would use.
But she was only one person. And she was no hero. Not like Deku was. The paper seemed to mock her, reminding her of how far away she was. The stories and fairy tales she’d heard since coming here had assured her that wishes were to be made with all of one’s heart, or else the magic didn’t work. She was wishing, she really was, but her meager effort could never be enough.
One thousand was too big a number for just Eri. But she was scared to ask for help. What if the magic stopped working? She did not want to risk that, not when it came to Deku. She loved him. He was her friend. Her savior. But she was no hero, and definitely no savior.
"You saved me, remember?”
She sobbed harder. What good was saving him then, only to lose him now?
She was so busy trying to finish, trying to beat time, that she hadn’t even noticed that someone else had entered the lounge. The figure stood over her, shifting its weight, one hand shoved in his pocket.
Eri felt bad ignoring him, but she had to continue, no matter what.
He knelt. Eri, from the corner of her eye, could see that it was Shoto-san. He was gazing curiously at the crafts, his face as unreadable as Ai-san’s. “You heard the old legend,” he said after a moment, “about the cranes. Unless I’m mistaken.”
She nodded. “Y-Yes.”
“You have a lot left to go.”
She nodded again, harsher this time. Oh, she knew.
Shoto-san was quiet as he watched her fold another, drumming his fingertips against his knees. He was counting, she realized. Summing up her progress.
“Are these for Midoriya?”
“Yes,” she sobbed, unable to hold it in anymore.
Her hands shook too much, and as she tried to fashion a wing into place, she jerked too hard and ripped the paper. She cried even harder. Hands too clumsy, too inexperienced—
Much larger ones covered them. She glanced up, meeting Todoroki’s mismatched eyes, the softest she’d ever seen them. “Eri,” he said. “Midoriya’s not…”
She knew. Her hopes were fragile. But at least they were there, which was more than she could say for how they used to be. She had to believe it. She needed it to be true.
Her mouth set in a determined line, and Todoroki trailed off.
After a moment, he spoke again.
“Would you like some help?”
She blinked. But… But could he do that? Would help make the magic go away? She wished with all her heart, but—but Todoroki was Deku’s friend, too. He loved him as much as she did. If… If they shared the same wish, would she still be able to save him?
Deku had taught her that even heroes needed saving sometimes. He did, a lot, from what he’d told her. Even heroes needed help sometimes. That only made them stronger.
So… maybe asking for help would make her wish stronger, too?
“I have a lot left,” she whispered, looking up at him. He only smiled.
“Then you need it.”
It was tone-deaf, but Eri didn’t take any offense. Instead, she nodded warmly, glancing back down at the crane in her hands.
Two hours later, they’d reached nine-hundred and ninety.
Shoto-san had been quiet the whole time, hadn’t said anything else, but his presence had been comforting all the same. Especially because his hands were deft, and skilled, and put out cranes at twice the rate she had been going before. It wasn’t long until a whole army of them sat on the common room’s carpet, arranged into squares of a hundred each.
They were almost done. They would make it!
Eri was on the nine-hundred and ninety-ninth, Shoto-san the thousandth, when a shift in the air stole Eri’s attention once more. She hadn’t realized it, but fresh indigo had bled into what had been the darkness of night, showing evidence of the sun’s first blistering rays. She saw it all through the open door, where O-chan had shuffled in, her gaze fixated on the carpet.
And behind her, Ai-san, eyes bloodshot as if he hadn’t rested at all since dropping Eri off here at midnight that night.
It took a moment, but finally, Ochako lifted her stare. Her eyes were bloodshot too, tracks from tears visible on her reddened cheeks.
The final crane tumbled, half-finished, from Eri’s hand.
She saw it, the heartbreak in Ochako’s face, the defeat in her eyes, the sadness that sunk her posture and dimmed any light she always had within her. Icy-hot dread curled across Eri’s shoulders and down into her lungs, an embrace she was too familiar with by now. An embrace that knew her by name.
Shoto looked up, face grim as he sat his crane down with the others.
Ochako glanced at them, freezing as she saw the papercrafts laid out all across the lounge. Her eyes widened as she stepped closer. She stepped carefully between the groups, nothing them with muted awe, as her feet fell softly on the floor. Even Ai-san looked confused. “W-What’s all this?” she whispered. “Eri?”
“I…”
She squeezed her eyes shut. Her little hands curled into fits. A part of her had known, deep down, that her wish was not enough. Her wishes never had been. She wept, choking breaths out, unable to grasp them again. Maybe she was the one dying. “I thought… If I tried my best… If I tried hard enough, then… then Deku would…”
“A thousand cranes,” Ai-san said, as if only just realizing. “You wanted a wish?”
She brought her fists to her eyes, nodding against them. "I-I wanted to help, but it was all I could do."
Ochako weaved around Eri’s cranes. Fresh tears crested her eyelashes as she did. Her lips trembled, and she covered her mouth with her hand, her own eyes closing. She turned to Eri beside her.
Eri continued to cry until something small and thin locked around her, pulling her into something soft. This embrace was different. It was warm, too, but as her tiny arms snuck around her waist Eri couldn’t help but inhale her cherry-blossom scent and be reminded of a home she didn’t have.
“You did this for Deku?” O-chan whispered.
She lifted her hands to Ochako's back. “I-I don’t want him to die,” she sobbed.
Ochako held her closer, rubbing her head against Eri. She understood. She understood, more than anyone else, the love she had for that boy who had touched both of their lives.
“Me either, Eri. Me either.”
Ochako rocked her for a moment, and Eri relished in the soft hold the older girl had. After a moment, Ochako's arms loosened. She leaned back, and to Eri’s surprise, she was smiling despite the sparkling tears in her eyes and the cracks her voice was making.
“There’s something you should see," she said, and guided Eri's hand to Aizawa's.
“Recovery Girl?” Eri whispered, looking nervously through the darkened halls of UA’s main building. The sun still hadn’t fully risen yet, and even though she stood here with Ai-san it felt as if she was in a place forbidden to her. She pulled her hands close, staring at the door. It was too early for her own doctor’s visit.
“Todoroki told me everything,” he said. His eyes were unusually soft. Ai-san had always been incredibly gentle, as long as she had known him, but now he wore an expression she had not seen on him before. Guilt. “I’m sorry it had to happen this way, but… well. Here.”
He slid the door open.
The bright fluorescent lights were overwhelming compared to the hallway, and Eri’s eyes ached so badly that she had to shut them. But upon opening them again, she saw the little old lady herself, propped on her stool and hunched over a filing cabinet as she scribbled away.
She looked up, face unchanging as if she expected to see Ai-san, but then she scowled when she saw Eri. “Aizawa, I know why you’re here but that girl needs her rest—”
“She needs this more. Trust me.”
“Ai-san.” She was tired. Couldn’t they see? She just needed to know. O-chan had said nothing, and neither had Todoroki. Where was Deku? Was he… was he even still alive? “I know.” She knew death. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t afraid, she wasn’t afraid—
She was shaking.
Ai-san stopped. “What is it that you know?”
“Deku… he’s…”
“Mr. Aizawa? Is that you?”
Eri’s eyes shot open. She glanced to Ai-san, who looked down at her with understanding in his gaze. Tentatively, she took a step deeper into the office. There was no way, right? He was supposed to be in the hospital, right?
“Yes, Midoriya,” he said simply. “We’re here to see you.”
“…We?”
Eri sprinted.
The curtains fluttered as she passed them, moving into the second half of the room, where the lights were off and the whole corner was shadowed by the privacy divider. Eri’s knees shook as she ran, and nearly fell out from under her, as she leveled her gaze on the opposite side.
Because there he was. Deku, sitting in a chair— eyes open, breathing, and completely unharmed.
“D-Deku?” she whispered, unconsciously reaching out.
Like she was staring at a ghost.
She froze, unable to move, as his green eyes looked over her with surprise written into them. He was in his hero costume, and that was all she could really process. She was only aware that Ai-san had stepped beside them when he nudged her. “She wanted to see you.”
He raised an eyebrow, and stood. “Really? But—”
“Deku.”
She was still rooted to the spot, unable to face him. She was so confused. “Deku, I thought—Ai-san said… they said you were in the hospital. They said you weren’t fast enough, and that you got hurt.”
The brightness in his eyes faded, just a little. But despite that, his smile was gentle as he stepped toward her, just as it always was. “Yeah. I wasn’t fast enough. But I’m not hurt, Eri. See?"
"But then, what--"
"There was another boy who got mixed up in the fighting," Aizawa explained. "You misunderstood what I said to Uraraka and Bakugo. Midoriya wasn't fast enough to reach him in time, and that's the one who got hurt. Not Midoriya."
Deku's face fell. "Ah, Eri, you thought it was bad, didn't you?" He bowed his head. "I'm so--"
Eri lunged.
Her tiny arms circled around his midsection, and he instantly stiffened, unsure of what to do—but after a moment, he lowered his gloved hands, cradling her head against him. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his hero costume. She heard him breathe deeply.
He was here.
She wasn’t sure she understood it, because she hadn’t completed her task. She wished, more than anything, that Deku would be okay. And here he was. She knew she hadn’t made it, knew she hadn’t been enough, but somehow her prayer had been answered. Deku was okay. Despite it all her wish had been granted.
She held him, fiercely, until something vibrated against her cheek. She leaned back, watching as Deku pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He frowned.
“What is it?” Ai-san said.
“It’s from Uraraka,” he said, and Eri blinked curiously. “She said to look out the window.”
Deku guided her there, and as he drew back the curtains, Eri was surprised to see gold tinging the horizon. But it was just in front of them that something floated, unmistakable, outside of Recovery Girl’s window.
One paper crane inscribed with the number 1,000.
Tears sprang to Eri’s eyes.
“That’s so weird,” Deku mumbled, opening the window and tugging it inside. O-chan was nowhere to be seen below. But that was okay. She’d said all she needed to. And as Deku mumbled something about that not being how the legend worked, and what was she trying to wish for anyway, Eri understood.
Eri didn’t really know if she believed in magic.
But she believed in the people who were always there to help her. And help each other, no matter what. She believed in heroes.
And that was enough.