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Izuku awakens suddenly, feeling the chill across his shoulders even before he’s aware of the rest of his surroundings— he bolts upright, eyebrows pinched in alarm, as his body reacts to something in the deepest recesses of his mind that both fades and lingers… none of the images are solid enough to grasp as they dance beyond his reach. The coldness seeps through his T-shirt, freezing the beads of sweat that had somehow condensed upon his chest, and for a moment Izuku is suspended in time.
Breathe. Breathe, breathe.
He closes his eyes, trying to settle a heart determined to throw itself from his ribcage and abandon him. As payback for Izuku’s failure to acquiesce, it sends tremors coursing through him
So cold.
So hot.
He stares at his closet door as he pulls his arms in, cradling himself. Almost instinctively, without thinking, both hands curl over his wrists. They’re cold too, he thinks, and it rips a shiver from him. A phantom weight clamps tight around them. He feels it on his ankles, too.
The lump that knots itself in his throat is all-encompassing, and it takes a lot to remind himself to just keep breathing. Being helpless is not something he’s unfamiliar with… but it still hurts, every single time.
It takes a lot to convince himself that ropes were things he’d snap with ease once he was stronger.
It takes a lot to remind himself that he no longer had to be afraid, that there was nothing here that could hold him down and prevent him from moving, from protecting himself, from protecting those around him.
It takes a lot to realize that he’s back in his room.
He glances up, to the posters on the wall and figurines on his desk, shadowed by the post-midnight darkness and looking more like out-of-reach fantasies than anything Izuku could ever hope to replicate. He’s imitated that famous grin countless times, had spent his whole childhood rehearsing. It brought him comfort then, and it brings him comfort now. But, just as ever, Izuku sits in the shadow those figures cast.
Helpless.
His heart pounds. Uncontrollably. It’s the only thing he hears, aside from the blood rushing behind his eardrums. Expression falling, he lowers his gaze, recognizing the feeling.
He tries to focus on the real things. The softness of the bed beneath him. The faint glow of his alarm clock. The warmth his weighted comforter provides. He’s here, now, and he’s safe. They both are.
Ever still, he feels so impossibly small in the caverns of his room.
All Might’s visage guards him… Izuku thinks back to the long hug they shared after Kamino. He’d give up a lot, as well, to hear his mom’s voice right now, his friends beside him, to tuck into his bed at night and feel at peace. It’s selfish, and he knows it. He knows it as he pulls his legs up, resting his chin on his knees. His sweatpants are fuzzy and soft, and it comforts him. Perhaps he should buy some throw pillows to hold, in order to trick himself, even just a little, into thinking he wasn’t terribly, completely, utterly alone— except for venomous thoughts that had never truly released him from his imprisonment.
Thoughts like what if.
What if Ochako hadn’t broken him free?
What if he hadn’t found her in time?
What if this happened again because he couldn’t get stronger?
What if… that monster had killed his best friend?
A sob bubbles up through his chest, and his fist is across his mouth, muffling it. He doesn’t want to disturb his dormmates. How is he supposed to explain himself? That even though the ropes had fallen away, he still feels so caged? For some reason, his body urges him to run. To sprint all across campus and do jumping jacks and cartwheels and launch himself into the sky with One for All just to prove that he could, because his hands and legs aren’t tied anymore—he’s free. But the sinister nightmare that holds him in its clutches does not give serenity of release. The weight is still heavy along his wrists and ankles.
Out of all the things that happened to him that night, Izuku can’t believe it’s the restraints that’s had the lasting impact.
It’s the part he’s had the most nightmares about, the part he can’t escape, when all the world has gone to bed and he only has himself for company. The feeling of pulling and pulling, ropes burning already-blistered skin, strapped down against his will, unable to help anyone—least of all himself. Let alone her.
I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… Please, I never meant to let this happen…
His whole body shakes— molten anxiety curls into his midsection and fastens around his throat. He knows there’s no stopping it now that it’s begun. He can only feel. Izuku blinks away the burning in his eyes, but it keeps returning, spreading to his nose. How many times has he apologized to her? Countless, it seems, but it never feels like enough.
He curls further in, hyper-aware now of how exposed his body feels. How a chill caresses his shoulders, spilling ice into his bloodstream, as his swollen throat fights to take in air. His motions don’t stop until he’s tucked his head between his knees and locked his arms around them, shielding himself from the rest of the still world, but even this isn’t enough to make him feel safe.
Trembles and shudders and silent hiccups tear through his stiff throat. He hasn’t had an attack like this one since Overhaul. Kamino, before then. He’d learned very well how to hide his pain, quite a while ago, before even starting at UA—he never liked how his mother’s eyes brimmed with tears of her own as she held him. How his uncontrollable breathing scared them both as the air that rushed through his lungs felt like a vacuum instead of like life.
He’s cried for so many of them. Iida, All Might, Kacchan. He cries now for Ochako, for the hurt she had endured and how scared she looked and how she clung to him. To someone so unqualified to protect her. In his heart, Izuku knew that he loved her. It wasn’t lustful and it wasn’t petty but it was there and it made his heart ache. He never, never wanted her to be hurt if he could help it.
That’s why the dream that’s haunted him these past nights cuts so deeply. Her face, bruised and bloody as shackles lock over them and prevent him from getting to her, holding her… so fragile, so unlike the Ochako he knew… only able to watch as that man stands over her with a knife and a stone masonry block… ready to silence her beautiful voice and smile and courage and heart forever—
“I’m sorry,” he hisses, to his empty room. To no one that can hear him. Please. I’m sorry. I’ll try so hard. I’ll never let it happen again.
Ten percent. He could not break free. Twenty percent. He could not break free. One hundred percent, he could not break free, and Ochako pays the price. Defenseless Izuku. Hopeless Deku. One for All’s Ninth Bearer, and still, someone terrified of having his hands chained to the ground so that he could not protect someone who had never failed in protecting him.
She was, in every sense and way she could be, invaluable. Invaluable as a hero, as a daughter, as student, as a comrade. Invaluable to him, as all of those things, and so many more.
He almost lost her.
If he could just move… feel relief, instead of hands that hurt him… keep her safe…
Izuku vaults to the bathroom.
Pressure is building in his sinuses, and before he allows himself to choke on it, he turns on the sink to drown out his hysteria. He’s a mess, and his mirror doesn’t mince words. His big green eyes are sunken with purple, bruise-like bags underneath. Pale skin is splotchy beneath the remaining bandages, especially his cheeks, which give off a heat reminiscent of fever. Perhaps this episode had conjured one. It wouldn’t be the first time.
His ragged hair falls over into his gaze, which hold no light to be found. Somehow, this frightens him too, and he chokes out the last of his sob before grabbing a towel and releasing into it the rest of his tears and whatever other gross things that come from crying your heart out in the dead of night.
Anxiety and defeat battle for control over his body as his legs struggle to support him. He’s so, so tired. But sleep promises nothing but more pain.
Had they escaped, really, when this was just another form of torture?
He sinks to the bathroom floor, letting the panic ride itself out as his body quivers beneath it.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Scarred hands hold a soft face, and more spectral apologies spill from Izuku’s lips. He want to apologize. He’s so sorry—he doesn’t know for what anymore. Inadequacy. Indecisiveness. Selfishness. He lays himself bare, flowing as freely as the sink running above him.
“I’m sorry…”
He cries so often that sometimes he forgets it can be cathartic.
The throb behind his eyes—the rush of emotion—pounds and pounds, but with each gasp and each new mark Izuku creates from digging his nails into his skin, it fades. The blur across his vision subsides as tears fall in clumps down his reddened cheeks, and he can make out the individual blue tiles on the bathroom floor again. He’s rested his head against the sink pipes, too weak to lift it. He stares off into space as these tangible things make themselves known.
Every single time this happens, it takes a lot out of him. But the pressure that had been hanging low in his sternum for half a week now has unraveled, finally, its web primed to capture in his heart whatever next horror he found himself facing.
He would be okay.
The guilt would still remain, but as always, he would be okay.
He’s used to dealing with it alone.
Vaguely, he remembers reading somewhere that crying so hard for so long leads to dehydration—this was part of healing. He reaches up, blindly catching the rim of the sink and hauling himself to his feet. His hands shake as they steady him. Chancing another look in the mirror, Izuku realizes he looks twice as bad as before. No light in his eyes. Skin even paler. He sighs, going to grab a cup from his dresser. He fills it with water from the sink and downs it in one go.
He counts the beads of water left at the bottom.
He’s still sorry.
His body trembles as he shuffles back to the bed, his bedroom still dark and All Might still smiling. He imagines the man’s voice now, but the grin seems strained. “Where’s that smile, Young Midoriya!”
Izuku hates himself more.
Slowly, carefully now that his arms shake in order to support him, he eases himself back onto his bed. He pushes his legs under the blankets, shifting weight to his elbows, and then to his shoulders as he finally lets his head rest into his pillow. Immediately, it’s as if exhaustion increases his gravity, and he opens his weary eyes to look at the unpainted ceiling above.
Alone.
Blinking back more tears, Izuku presses his lips together, turning onto his side. He has a small solution. It wouldn’t be much, but it would be enough. And that would keep him going.
He reaches above him, to the bed’s shelf headboard, patting along the rim. After a moment, he strikes true and his hand closes around what he’d been searching for. His hand’s in front of his face again, and Izuku flicks the switch on the device’s side, the home screen bursting to life in deep primary colors.
He does his best to ignore the cracks and chips and the missing chunk that was once his home button. He concentrates instead, on the light, and how much it hurts his sensitive eyes.
Thumbing through the scant notifications on his home screen, a rare smile graces his lips. A goodnight from his mom. A reminder about Tuesday’s exam from Iida. An outdated meme from All Might. Most, though, are grouped together under one banner, and this is the one that Izuku swipes open. Class 1-A’s group texting app.
Mina, Sero, and Kaminari are going strong, even at this time of night, and he can see from previous messages that Tokoyami and Todoroki have chimed in recently as well. They were telling jokes. Talking about internships. Making plans for the weekend.
Normal things.
He’s about to exit the app, lulled into something resembling contentment, when something on the sidebar catches his eye.
A small pink icon, lit up in green, which would normally be dark at this hour.
It’s not a second later that his phone begins to ring.
A chill shoots through his heart, and any peace Izuku has found shatters as a name he knows so well flashes up on his screen. He sits up, swinging his legs over the mattress’s edge, the very same urge to run crashing upon his senses and forcing concern into every nerve still exposed to the cold air. He’s confused. Why would she be calling him, now, of all times, when they hadn’t seen each other since… since then?
He answers.
“Uraraka?” he breathes, free hand curling around his opposite sleeve. “Hey, is everything okay?”
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
“Deku.”
Her voice… it’s as gentle as it always is, complete with the soft tone she reserves just for him, and his heart flips in his chest for a different reason than before. She feels so close. Somehow, it soothes him. Moreso than anything he’s done to calm himself that night, hearing his best friend’s voice, hearing her say his name, shines a light in him that could stave off any pedestrian bump in the night. “I saw you online. It’s really late for you to be up, ya know… is everything okay?”
“O-Of course!” He winces—he’d meant to go for chipper, but with the hitch in his voice she’d easily be able to tell he was faking. He chuckles instead, trying to play it off. “Just… got through with some homework.”
“We’re excused from homework right now, Deku.”
His expression falls. His hand moves from his shirtsleeve to his collar, pulling at it— suddenly it feels too tight. Biting his lip, he stares at the All Might poster across from him, meeting the man’s eyes as if trying to summon a fraction of his ability to reassure. “I’m fine, Uraraka-san.” He’s softer this time. “Nothing to worry about at all!”
She’s silent for a moment, and he can’t decipher why, but he hears the static crackling and wonders if she’s getting ready to bid him farewell. He tries not to let disappointment force its way in. But still, he knows he’s not the only one in need of rest and healing.
All that changes, however, with the next words that cut across their line.
“Is it okay If I come check on you?”
His eyes widen, and while a touched warmth stuns him, he’s immediately drawn to protest. She shouldn’t have to go out of her way, not for him and not like this. His mouth dries and he knows that his next sentence will betray him. His voice breaks.
“Uraraka, you should get some rest.”
Somehow, on the other end, Izuku hears a similar pain. Suddenly the worst parts of him feel dirty and cruel for avoiding her for so long.
“I know.”
He misses her.
It’s been two days since discharge, and Izuku hasn’t left his room. Iida, bless him, has staved off the questions and visitors by reminding his classmates that he and Ochako had both been involved in an attack that night and deserved to heal in peace. But peace isn’t the reason Izuku has forgone breakfast and dinner, or even class, though he’s excused until next week. It isn’t the reason he stares at wall as the days pass and twilight falls upon his closed and locked door.
It’s not the reason Izuku hasn’t seen Ochako.
He misses her— so, so much.
But he wonders if he has a right to see her. He’s selfish. For too many reasons.
He doesn’t want to be a bother, a reminder of that night that’s shaken him as viscerally as the worst of his encounters and left him convulsing breathless under a comforter that wasn’t heavy or caring enough. But beyond that, how can he sit and force a smile to make her feel better… when there has to be something, somewhere, he could’ve done to prevent it all in the first place? He plays the night over and over again in his mind, and all he can hear is Ochako screaming. Even though it was over, her broken body had been seared into his mind. He was scared to see her, scarred and bandaged and smiling gently against heartache she kept bound as tightly as their hands had been under the villain’s mercy.
You’re my hero, she told him.
Even now it brings tears to his eyes. He was no hero to her. He couldn’t protect her, save her, fight with her, hold her. Here, now, he can’t even face her. His heart had filled with too many emotions and contradictions to accept what she’d said, and he spirals even worse.
Mr. Aizawa had said that he’d be the only one who truly understood what she’d gone through, that they needed each other to heal through this mess… but didn’t that make it worse?
Why couldn’t he be that strong for her? To smile and tell her, ‘It’s okay, Uraraka-san, because I am here?’
He’s a terrible friend.
You’re my hero, she’d said, and kissed him.
Maybe that was where this had gone wrong.
Because if he had known then how selfish he’d end up being… when she’d pulled him into that hospital bed with her and let him sleep in her embrace for hours on end... he would’ve fought harder against the relief and care he felt for her—and the pain meds fogging up his good sense. Because now, he feels the consequences burning inside him with every new nightmare that steals him away: a soul rattling longing for one more night like that. For someone stroking his hair, patting his arms, slipping their hand around his waist and holding him close— whispering in his ear that they were so grateful he was alive, and how they cared for him so much, as he whispered back the same through their tears.
And every time, it’s Ochako in his fantasy.
He doesn’t want to take advantage of her in her weakness. She’d been through so much worse. But he felt safe beside her. He felt safe knowing she was safe, beside him.
He misses her.
He wants to hold and protect her, even though he failed enough times to know he should never want anything like that with Ochako.
He’s selfish.
She misses him.
It’s a strange thing for her mind to come back to. But in this odd haze of doctors and medication and discharge and friends and teachers, it’s something that always lingers in her mind. It’s the one constant, the only thing she can count on, as her life takes on new routines in the wake of what has happened. He’s on her mind, day and night—and truthfully, his presence protects her there, too, because when it’s not him the other things are darker. Scarier. Much, much more confusing.
It’s like her life is on pause, though time passes around her. And Ochako finds herself doing strange things.
She’s always been good at summoning a smile in the face of questioning glances, but now it doesn’t come as naturally as it once had. Her eyes are drawn to Deku’s empty seat in the dormitory’s kitchen when he doesn’t meet her for breakfast. Her food goes half-eaten. She feels aches deep in her bones. A weight hangs heavy in her chest.
She flexes her hands, still wrapped in bandages, tracing with one finger the thin white scar that stretches from her pinkie to the base of her right thumb.
A fist on her collar bone, breathing deeply, feeling the air as it moves unimpeded in and out of her lungs.
She leaves the lights on at night. She can’t sleep without them like she could before.
She can’t sleep at all.
Ochako wonders, as she counts the stars, how many other heroes feel what she does.
Heroes don’t cry. Or so she’s always told herself. But the greatest hero she knew cried more than anyone. So why did she feel guilty for feeling so weak? Especially after the things that had happened.
Alone. Darkness. Restrained. Alone.
Pain, pain, pain.
Suffocating.
Guilt for not being strong enough. Guilt for bringing her closest friend into it. Mourning for something she’d always taken for granted— security. How many other heroes had felt these things in their final moments…? How many villains out there reveled in breaking down the façade until there was nothing left except the hideous vulnerability underneath?
Most of all, she hates that she feels as if she’s come to terms with the hurt.
This is what she’s signed up for, after all. This was not the first horror and will not be the last. There will be so many more hellish trials she will endure and she will do it with understanding that she suffers so innocents don’t have to. But she knows, better than anyone, that underneath the flashy costumes and fancy Quirks that heroes are more people than idealisms.
When a hero is in pain, who will protect them?
She wants to shoulder that burden herself. But another hero had protected her that night. She doesn’t want to worry them all, not when heroes are brave, so she cries alone. Why would she want them to share this pain, when it was so all-encompassing? Heroes took the pain away. They didn’t spread it.
A thought lingers.
When sense of duty overcomes humanity, is mourning the victims okay? But even more than that… what happens when the hero becomes the victim?
She and Deku weren’t heroes that night. They were students. Innocents.
She was cold and half-conscious and unable to move when gentle hands reached into the darkness and found her light again. Izuku. He’d been there for her, right beside her, holding her, protecting her. Doing his very best against a villain they didn’t have a prayer of defeating. She was so ready to give up, but he shared his light—shared his pain—and Ochako wanted nothing more than to survive. To see the future she wants, to become a hero, to uplift her parents, to walk beside Deku and Iida, to achieve their dreams… to give Deku that same chance.
All because he had searched for her.
He’d saved and protected her.
She would be dead, right now, if Izuku Midoriya had not come looking.
It’s a terrifying thing to come to terms with, but it’s also caused her to understand something else.
Heroes need each other— this is a fundamental truth Ochako has come to realize since waking up alone that morning in the hospital. On the battlefield, as partners. On the streets, as colleagues.
In hearts, as friends.
No one can do any of this alone. And why the pros would ever pretend like they could, she would never know. Most of them, in retrospect, definitely weren’t well-adjusted members of society.
She doesn’t want that to be her. She doesn’t want that for her friends. But most of all, she doesn’t want that for Deku, already one foot down that path as it was.
So Deku distracts her, in the very best way, as she ponders this newfound wisdom and sees the darkness her best friend has entrenched himself within.
He’d effectively disappeared after the night they spent together.
She still gets jitters about it. Perhaps letting emotion overcome her hadn’t been the best reaction, but kissing him was the only way she’d seen to convey all the gratitude and love and protectiveness she felt for him. Making him sleep beside her… was different. She was worried, for a long time after, if it was the wrong thing to do. But there was no denying the deep sigh he gave when he embraced her, or how every tense muscle in his body had relaxed. A blush crosses her nose when she realizes she wanted that to happen, but it was the only way she knew how to comfort him.
Deku spent so much time worrying over her that he forgot he’d been hurt by than man, too. That was just in his nature. He cared so little about himself that it made her sick. Somehow, she expected him to still be there after it was over—through the doctors and their friends and even in her room. She would never try to use him as a tourniquet for her pain, but having him there through the scariest parts only to suddenly not have him was jarring. And knowing Deku, he probably thought he was doing her a favor.
She misses him.
So, so much.
She misses his soft smiles. The familiarity of his voice, the quietness he spoke with and the gentle consideration of his words. The way he’d made her laugh and cry with thankfulness. The way he’d protected her. Held her so fiercely. So… reassuring. He was her best friend, and she wanted him to be with her. She wants to know he’s okay.
His absence weighs heavy on her heart, and somehow, she knows he is suffering in silence.
Like she did.
Like heroes did.
He was never selfish.
They sit against his wall, a hair’s breadth between them as the mattress adjusts to their weight and ever-so-subtly skews them toward one another—neither acknowledges this distance, because it is common now, but Izuku still can’t tear his blank gaze from the clock above his desk. The lights are still off, so neither can see the other’s face. Izuku figures it’s for the best, since the puckered lashes around his eyes haven’t yet completely receded.
Ochako frowns, looking at the thermometer. It’s higher than it should be. “I uh… I wonder if, um…” She’s clearly trying to figure out how to phrase this, and he matches her expression. “Stress. I wonder if stress made you sick, and it’s only turning up now.”
Stress, he thinks with a sigh. Maybe having your clothes ripped to shreds and parading around in the mid-January freeze barefoot while nursing open wounds and touching all manner of rusted equipment only to go for a late-night swim in the dirty ocean swell had something to do with it, too.
He’d been feeling warm, even before his attack. Maybe that was what finally triggered it. “I-I guess so. Thank you, Uraraka-san. Sorry for making you come over here for this.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Deku,” she says with a smile. “I wanted to. But, you know…” She pulls her arms in to hug herself. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine!” he answers automatically. “I’m okay. It’s okay.”
She doesn’t look like she believes him. He sucks at many things and acting is one of them, so he turns it on her. “Are you?”
Her eyes dim, and she says, “Yes,” with an expression that suggests its what she supposed to.
Izuku feels sicker.
He can smell her perfume—a gift from her mom for her birthday—still lingering on her skin. The smell of cherry blossoms, reminding him she was so close. He can touch her if he just reaches out.
Selfish.
She looks away and an air blankets the two, Izuku realizing that, for one of the only times in their friendship, it isn’t the pleasant comfortable one he’s come to feel at home in. This one is… heavier. Loaded. Laced with something he can’t quite identify because it is something that’s never violated their companionship before. Even with silences like this between him and Kacchan, Izuku knew what to expect. Here, it’s different. Ochako is mirroring him, holding herself tightly, doing anything she can to avoid facing head-on the melancholy that’s permeated the space between them.
He can tell by the look in her eyes that Ochako wants to say something, but she comes up short, just as he does. What can he say, to make all of this right again? Izuku doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if he ever will.
Smile. Smile for her.
He can’t.
It’s all he can do to blink back the tears.
Suddenly, the silence dissipates. Tension heightens every inch of his body as he turns from her. He’s hyper-aware of it all. The ticking of the clock, as the second hand spins in place. New pit-patters as rain begins to tap against his balcony door. The elevator dinging. Mineta’s snores though the walls. He hears it. He hears it all. The pounding in his chest. How Ochako’s breathing is now audible, sounding as strained as he feels. It gets louder. Each noise blows more intense across his nerves. It rises, the footsteps, the shaking, Ochako too close beside him, crescendoing until there’s nothing left to take—
“Deku-kun—”
“Uraraka-san—”
His phone slips off the corner of the bed.
He sees it. Watches it as it falls. But somehow, time grinds to a halt. Izuku’s muscles wind tighter than they have since he’d awoken crying in a hospital bed. He feels like he’s watching from outside his body as his phone’s slow descent meets its corner to the floor, the hard plastic smashing against the floor several more times and knowing even more glass loose. It comes to rest on its back, home screen bursting to life in deep primary colors.
Ochako yelps, muffling the sound with her hand, and pitches back until she’s sliding off the end of his bed.
Izuku’s reaching for her before his brain’s processed exactly what happened.
His arm snaps out, and he wraps his hands around her fingers, with enough force to catch her but not enough to scare her worse—Ochako has never flinched under his touch, and he will not give her reason to. Her eyes blow wide, as she returns his hold, taking his hand so he can pull her back before she falls.
She leans in, both on their knees now. They’re hunched over, breathing deeply, and Izuku squeezes her knuckles. “Are you okay?”
“Y—” She releases a shuddering breath, closing her eyes. “Deku—”
“I’m sorry!”
His voice is urgent. Because he knows. He saw the fear in her eyes, the way her body tensed, at just the vision of a small plastic thing lighting up on his floor— he knows she was back there, for just a moment, scared and so alone. And as much as his heart hurts for what they’ve been reduced to, he will not let her feel alone. Not when he is right beside her.
As long as there is breath in his lungs, he has to try.
Ochako’s eyes close tighter, and she tries to turn away, but there’s not much room when they’re facing each other like this. She still has not let go of his hand. His eyes soften. “I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. The sniffle is heavy in her voice when she replies. “For what, Deku?”
“For…” He swallows, and a shadow crosses his face. His free hand balls up the blankets they’d ruffled and he trembles right alongside her. For what?
For all of it.
For getting separated, for not finding her faster, for letting her feel this fear, for not being what a hero is supposed to be. But most of all…
“For not protecting you.”
“Is that what this is about?” She looks up, and the fear in her eyes is replaced with fire. “Is that why you were crying so hard you made yourself sick?”
He bites his lip, taken aback. How could she...? “I was—”
“I know what a panic attack looks like, Deku.”
Their connected hands drop, swinging like a limp suspension bridge but Izuku’s face scrunches up in shame. It was foolish of him to hide from her. They had been through it together. They had hurt her so badly, wasn’t he allowed to grieve that?
Her shoulders go slack. This time, there’s defeat in her voice, and she sounds just as tired as him. “Deku. Please. Please. You have to stop apologizing. It’s not your fault and you can’t keep carrying this guilt with you when you know you couldn’t help it.”
“That’s…” He shakes his head, hard enough that spots dance in his vision. “No.” This was wrong. “You—you’re not supposed to be here comforting me, Uraraka. I—-I—” He rubs the tears away. “I’m supposed to be helping you—”
“Deku, we are not keeping score here.”
“But—”
She reaches out, placing one hand on his cheek. It’s so warm. He has to fight the urge to lean into it, to ask for more than she has already given, but she lifts his eyes. He’s surprised to see them shining. Glinting with tears. She lets her hand fall but she’s got his full attention now—there’s no turning away even if he wants to. For some reason, she looks affronted. “You really have no idea just how much you’ve saved me, do you?”
He can’t breathe. “I—”
She tightens her hold on him. “Deku, it’s okay to cry over this. Okay? You—you keep saying that they hurt me worse. That… that man… he tried to kill me. But, Deku. He tried to kill you, too. He beat you and tied you up and kept you someplace locked alone—and I can only imagine how scared you were. I was unconscious for most of it. I got to wake up to you beside me, holding me. But you? You had no idea if a friend was alive or if something had happened to them, but you pushed on anyway. How did you feel, Deku? When you found me?”
Images flash through his mind. All conflicting. Relief. Horror. Hope. Sorrow. But most of all…
“I was terrified, Uraraka-san.”
She looks down at their hands again. She slips from his grasp, and he’s already missing her warmth, when she slides her palm next to his and measures their fingers against each other. Her hand is slightly smaller, a shade tanner, and now she has a scar across her wrist like he does.
So similar, they are.
It’s painful.
One bandage still covers her thumb so she has no qualms about lacing their fingers together. Izuku, stunned, looks up at her again. “Deku, you are a hero. But you’re still just a person. You were hurt, too. So if you need to cry then I’ll be right here to listen and remind you you’re strong because of that, not in spite of it.”
“Uraraka…”
He can’t believe what she’s saying. No one, no one in his life, had ever been so kind. It draws more tears, pulling a smile from the depths of his soul. Ochako wasn’t upset with him. She never had been. And he knows he’s stupid for ever thinking so lowly of himself when someone whose opinion he regards so highly has yanked him to his feet again. This time, his crying is softer, streaming gently down his face—but there’s something else he realizes, too.
He can picture it, clear, in his mind: Ochako’s pretty smile, the way she deflects their friends’ questions, the way she sits, half-interested, until she stares at a wall for minutes straight and Mina has to snap her back to their current moment. He pictures her laughing, the light in her eyes dimming when the attention isn’t focused on her. Waving away the sympathy because she’s never wanted to burden others, either. He pictures this, because it happened with him and Iida that morning.
“Uraraka-san,” he says, looking up from her hands to her watery smile. He breathes, knowing that what comes next will be hard for both of them. “Thank you so, so much. I can’t tell you how much that means to me. But—” He sets his jaw. Summoning his determination from whatever hole it crawled into when he wasn’t fighting, he met her eyes. She blinks, startled, and he does his best not to bristle under such an honest gaze. “The same goes for you.”
She chuckles. “Deku—”
He gestures to his phone, and it doesn’t take more words than that. The blood leaves her face, and he knows he has her trapped. It’s underhanded, and he hates forcing anything from her. But he cannot ignore what he knows to be true.
His friend needs him. She always had; but now, he has the strength to face her.
“How did you feel?” he asks gently, brushing his own thumb across the back of her hand. “Because I can only imagine how scared you were.”
“Deku,” she mumbles, a warning in his name.
“Uraraka, please. You saved me, so let me save you,” he begs. “We… we improve each other. Right?”
Her eyes screw shut again. He's worried for a second that he's only annoyed her, but the strangest tinny sound comes from her next.
She quivers. “M-Me? I—I—“
”It’s okay, Uraraka-San.” He swallows. “You can tell me.”
She dodges his gaze. Her shoulders tremble. She hides in the shadow of her bangs, but it’s not enough because the sobs that fall through next cannot be held down.
Izuku jumps as he watches his best friend crumble in front of him. Her hand goes limp in his, but he holds it stronger. A silent cry rips through her, twisting her face, and she curls in on herself. Her shoulders heave and heave with every emotion that’s been hidden for too long. Izuku wants to take her. He wants, again, to hold her close. He cries, too, watching on helplessly as her world shatters and he’s once again unable to pick up the pieces
“You already saved me.” Her voice is thick with latent sobs. “You saved me just by being there. Izuku Midoriya, you—” She hiccups, and he does too, his first name unfamiliar in her voice. “I would be dead. But you came for me.” She cries freely as the words pass through her lips. “I am alive, here, right now, because of you.”
His breath hitches and his voice breaks as he tries to see her through his swollen eyes. “Uraraka—"
“I think I’m drowning sometimes,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. Words meant for his ears only. He takes them, hangs upon them, like a lifeline. “I close my eyes and all I see is the dark. And I can’t breathe.” She lifts her hand between them, curling it into the fabric just over her heart. “…Sometimes, you’re there too. But you aren’t saving me. You’re chained and drowning… just like I am.” She covers her eyes with her arm. “And there’s no one else to save us.”
Disgust pours into his chest. “Uraraka…”
“But you’re here.” She drops her hand, snatching his from its pace in thin air. Despite it all, Izuku feels heat across his nose. “I care so much for you, Deku-kun. So much that I don’t even understand it sometimes. You are here and you are sweet and you are smart and it makes me think, too. Think about what would happen if heroes didn’t have each other. What would’ve happened if I didn’t have you.”
He pulls her hands in close to him. Gently, he reminds her. “But you did, Uraraka-san.”
“Exactly! So getting hung up on all the what-ifs and the guilt and the doubt is stupid, Deku. Do you understand?”
He does. And he regrets it all.
"This night won't define our friendship, okay? It won't. Not unless we let it."
His hands slip from hers, knowing that it’s time to let go. Still, he misses the comfort of her touch, the softness of her hands. His hang in the air for just a moment, and then he pulls them back, replacing them around his midsection where they had been when their conversation began.
Izuku knows Ochako’s watching all of this. And he prays that his body language hides it enough. He doesn’t want to freak her out. But his shiver is enough to let her know.
“Deku,” she says, “do you want to be held, too?”
His head whips up, eyes widening. The heat on his face is so intense now he’s sure it’s no longer just his sinuses. “I-I-I—um—”
“It’s okay, you know,” she says, defeated.
After a long moment, he nods, trying not to cry more.
She holds her hands out, but he replaces his in them—she’s clearly taken aback. She meets his eyes, and he still feels unsure. He just wants to do this right. Ochako seems even sadder. “You don’t have to be afraid to touch me, Deku. I trust you. I know you won’t ever hurt me on purpose.”
This is enough to placate him, so he pulls closer.
His hands move across her wrists, up to her elbows, caressing upper arms so small but so strong. He stops at her shoulders, tightening his grip there. Ochako, whose eyes had been closed, opens them again. She bears a blush too. Somehow, knowing that he’s not the only person nervous with intimacy fuels an urge to be more tender. No pretenses. Comfort. They love each other. They need each other.
A hug.
He leans in. She leans in. Their foreheads touch, and her big beautiful eyes fill his vision. They still sparkle, because she still hasn’t stopped crying. Neither has he.
Something flutters in his sternum. He brings one hand up, and he doesn’t know why, but he wants to cup her face. To feel it there, real and alive.
She rings her arms around his neck and they’re chest-to-chest.
A hug.
“You’re still my hero,” she whispers, and those words reverberate through his soul in a way he hasn’t experienced very many times in his life.
“You’re still my best friend,” he whispers back.
He leans in. She leans in.
Her lips are on his, as warmth explodes from his heart and tears cascade down his cheeks.
For the first time Izuku knows what it’s like to hold love in its tangible form, so rare and so beautiful. She tastes like salt, from crying all night, and Izuku thinks it isn’t so bad. His whole body buzzes, like the aftereffects of One for All, and he wishes to stay suspended in this moment. He winces, though, as one of them turns and their teeth collide. Their noses are too in the way. He longs for something deeper. As far as first kisses go, it isn’t like the movies, but Izuku isn’t sure he’d want one of those anyway.
First kisses are supposed to be clumsy.
First kisses are supposed to be heartfelt.
First kisses are…
Supposed to be shared with someone you care about.
Reality rushes back, and Izuku’s eyes fly open, realizing what he’s done. He pulls away, Ochako looking as shaken as he feels. He separates every inch of his skin from hers, throwing himself back. He’s disgusted. What has he done?
“Uraraka,” he rasps, shaking his head. “Oh, oh no—”
“Deku.”
“I can’t believe I—”
“Deku.”
He’s ruined it. He’s ruined everything. With his heart cracking anew, he deflates, scrubbing at the blush and tears on his face. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve at least asked—”
Her hands are in his hair, and suddenly she’s pulling him down, reconnecting what was lost.
Izuku hates that he goes slack with astonishment and slight confusion, but Ochako takes the lead, so that means she wants this, right? So, he lets her. He lets her, and finally, finally surrenders.
This kiss is different from the last. Something inside of her is desperate, holding him tightly, like he’ll disappear if she lets go. He does his best to match her movements, returning the pressure only as much as she does. One hand drops around her waist, and the other returns to her cheek, letting her know that yes, he is here, he isn’t going anywhere. The fluttering in his chest is fit to burst but he doesn’t leave her. Now that she’s firmly in his grasp, she slows, spreading the fingers in his hair and brushing it back in a caress he can only describe as enrapturing. Against his better judgement he whines as she stops the motion, and he can feel her smile against him.
She only responds by tilting her head, deepening their kiss, and the indiscriminate wonder and passion he feels for her rushes through his veins in the most dizzying of ways. He’s light-headed. His heart might be doing the rumba. And his arms are fiercely locked around Ochako Uraraka, and it would take someone much stronger than her to ever pry them away.
Finally, eventually, her hands drop down to cradle his own face, and she pulls away. She doesn’t go far. They’re panting and crying as she rests their foreheads together again, and they wipe each other’s tears.
“Deku,” she whispers. “You give great hugs.”
He bursts out laughing, his blush never fading. “Yeah, well—I, um…” He swallows, confidence waning fast. “Are you sure that was okay?”
She nods. The blush is ripe on her ears, too.
They stay there for a moment, breathing in each other’s presence. Izuku is still so tired. He can tell by the way Ochako is drifting off that she is as well, so he removes his hands. She sways where she sits on her knees. “Uraraka? Would you um…” He shakes the nerves away. “Like to spend the night in here? I’ll sleep on the rug.”
“Rug,” she mutters. “Like we didn’t just kiss and also, we’ve slept in the same bed before.”
“Just trying to be polite,” he grumbles.
She ignores him, crawling up the length of his bed as he goes to retrieve his phone. It is incredibly surprising how weak his knees still are, and how his heart still hasn’t settled. But he steals a secret smile as he turns the bathroom lights off.
He’d just kissed his best friend.
Holy whoa.
He climbs in next to her, and they face each other. Tiredness still overcomes him. Sleep has not been kind, and despite his happiness, he’s hesitant to close his eyes.
He feels a hand in his hair again and man, she’d have to quit doing that or he was gonna get addicted.
Ochako’s bright eyes look shyly at him. He pulls the blanket over his nose, feeling just as self-conscious. But she settles into his pillow like she belonged there. “I still mean it, you know. That you’re my hero. I wouldn’t trade you for the world. You’re my best friend, too, Deku, so if kissing me was… bad…”
“Oh my God are you kidding it was great,” he squeaks before he can stop himself.
He wants to smother himself with the pillow. How lame can he get?
Ochako is nearly as red as he is, which is impressive. “O-kay noted.” Then, she closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. “All of this. Healing. Heroism… you and me.”
For some reason, Ochako can’t quite say it. So this time, he takes the lead, smiling over the edge of the comforter. “One step at a time?” he offers, because he’s not sure he’s ready to define any stage of healing or anything else, either.
Ochako returns his smile. “One step at a time.”
She tucks into him, and he embraces her.
She runs her hand through his hair. She pats his arm. She hooks her arm around his waist, and tells him how grateful she is to have him. Izuku’s crying by the time he’s able to return the gesture. He holds her tight, her temple tucked against his cheek, as their legs intertwine. It's the greatest feeling he's ever known, and he never wants it to fade.
Their breathing falls in sync.
They don’t sleep, but at least now they feel safe. And Izuku has Ochako.
2:02 A.M.
These are fundamental truths.