Work Text:
Her parents were always tired. It was a truth that went as far back as Ochako could remember. On workdays, of course, it was a forgone conclusion. Not just for her parents, but everyone’s parents—well, all the adults everywhere, surely! But there were other times that didn’t make as much sense.
In the morning before they had even gone to work. On their all too few and far between days off of work. On her birthday or when they were out and about, Kocha and Sansaka Uraraka would do their best to try to wake themselves up. And even when it worked, at the end of it all, they went to bed just as exhausted as if they had worked a full day at the company.
Ochako still wanted to play sometimes—she was a kid, of course—so she would ask. She didn’t have many fancy toys—a lot of stuffed animals and “Uraraka-brand,” aka homemade Pro-Hero merchandise—but nothing was too costly or anything that couldn’t be easily fixed under their own roof. She would have one in hand and sometimes a second tucked under her arm when she asked, “Daddy, wanna play with me?”
He wasn’t always in the same spot. Sometimes Kocha was at his drafting board. Occasionally, he was at the dining table, papers spread out in front of him, with his phone lowering from his ear. Or, very rarely, he would be laying on the couch, his legs sprawled (as much as they could be) and one arm over his face. No matter what, the answer was almost always the same.
“I’m sorry, Sunshine, not right now.” His tone was somber, but when Kocha looked back he would force a smile, the exhaustion bleeding through on a face that (in retrospect) was all too wrinkled for as young as he was. “You play on your own; Daddy’ll join you in a bit.”
She couldn’t hold it against him or her mom, though. It wasn’t like they didn’t want to spend time with her—they did spend time with her on occasion still—but they were just so out of it. So caught up in a grown up world that she didn’t really understand, a world they didn’t want her to be privy to.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t still see it happening, no matter how quickly they pulled the curtains shut. She could overhear their one-sided phone calls with accountants, lawyers, and potential clients alike. She could feel the callouses on her father’s hands from helping with his construction projects. Overhearing her parents bicker in the hallway over how to pay the bills. And then there were the days Ochako would see her mom coming and going at different hours, working a second job at a local restaurant when the phone calls grew sparse.
It didn’t matter if they tried to hide it. Ochako knew the truth. The horrible and nasty truth of the matter.
They were poor.
It didn’t matter how hard her parents worked because it seemed the best jobs were snatched out from under them. Kocha and Sansaka were good and honest people, but to anyone looking to save a quick buck, that meant little.
Few cared that the Urarakas' construction company was the only one around that refused to cut corners in their work. It was easy to gloss over that they refused to only hire folks with strength-enhancement Quirks because that was a form of discrimination they didn’t want to contribute to. Their overall quality was the best around, even if it was more expensive, but that didn’t matter to the big leagues.
Why would it matter that you were building up to code when the inspectors were willing to turn the other cheek for select companies being propped up by the underworld?
The Urarakas were always fighting a losing battle, choosing to play the game as honest and fair, but it never deterred them. And Ochako never let that fact ruin her feelings about them.
But then somewhere along the way, Ochako realized the futility. And by the time she was seven, she knew there was no point in asking. From then on, her parents would approach her whenever they had the time and energy to spare. So she would make due when they didn’t. They would play with her on occasion, ask for her help in the kitchen, and sometimes they would free up enough space (and spare change) to do something fun out of town.
It hurt less that way. There was no rejection, and no inkling in the back of her mind that maybe her parents didn’t actually want her around. No, she would settle for the underlying, unspoken longing. Ochako would keep to herself—lock her wants away so she could be surprised when her parents did reach out to her, rather than disappointed when they couldn’t. She was full of wishes and hopes, but they were always her little secrets.
And she got really good at keeping secrets.
Not that Ochako enjoyed having them, but at the end of the day, the secrets were there to help her parents and to keep her tethered to the ground. Her dreams and desires had a tendency to send her floating off into the atmosphere—a sort of buoyant indulgence—before harsh realities knocked back against them, sending her to an inevitable crash landing on Earth and shattering her into nothing but meaningless scraps. She would rather take on the additional weight of an anchor than reassemble her all-too-fragile feelings over and over again.
One of her most commonly kept secrets came in during the company’s busiest times. She could never forget the first time it happened.
It was somewhere around Christmas Eve, at least a couple of days before since Christmas break always started before the twenty-third. Ochako was nine—well, very nearly ten, considering the month. She shuffled up to the front door after her half-hour commute from school. She was wearing a size-too-small coat to combat the early winter weather. It had cooled off significantly since November, but they wouldn’t hit the worst of it until after the New Year. Hopefully, by then, she would have a new coat from the holiday or her birthday rather than this ever-shrinking one...
The apartment was unlit when she made her way inside, and she didn’t bother to flick on the lightswitch as she slipped her shoes from her feet. She would be the only one home until long after dark anyway.
The Urarakas had the good fortune to have taken on a major construction project for the season. They were so excited at the beginning of the month that Ochako remembered Sansaka saying they may be able to have a feast for the holiday and celebrate her birthday if everything worked out. Ochako smiled despite knowing it meant they would be working overtime—despite knowing it meant being left alone to fend for herself for hours after school to help them keep up with the workload.
The last few weeks weren’t so bad, though. A lot of the time was spent doing homework, and once she finished, she would make herself dinner before working out in front of the TV. She had to have the extra exercise if she wanted to join UA in a few years after all! But thankfully, with break starting tomorrow, she could postpone working on her winter homework for a few days yet—maybe start that on the day between Christmas and her birthday.
With that decided, Ochako made her way to the kitchen to contemplate what she might make for the night. She knew their cupboards and fridge were beginning to run a bit bare these past few days, between her and her parents making lunches for work and school, as well as breakfast and dinner and all. But she didn’t expect that even the instant noodles would be gone from their usual corner of the cupboard. She could’ve swore that when she had some last week there had been five packages left—had they taken them for their lunches since then? Or had a late night snack when she was asleep and didn’t notice?
Ochako took a step back in an attempt to see if, perhaps, there was any long-forgotten food on the top shelf, but there was only a rather deflated bag of brown rice roasted tea flakes hidden up there. Lips pressed themselves into a thin line. The fridge was empty, too. She’d finished off the last of the food when loading up her bento box and helping make breakfast that morning.
“Cereal it is,” she murmured, voiced laden with a sigh as she went to grab the footstool her parents bought for her. Pouring it out only added to the disappointment, the minimal amount of tea flakes revealing exactly why the bag was so deflated. The dark flakes didn’t even fill up her bowl halfway. Their smoky scent was as potent as ever, causing it to smell as though her bowl was filled to the brim, but the pungent aroma wouldn’t exactly trick her empty stomach into thinking it was more.
It wasn’t her parents fault, she reminded herself as she added milk to her meager bowl. Honestly, it was less them and more a bit of bad luck on her part. Her mom told her earlier in the week to leave a note if she needed them to pick up anything. Ochako took it for granted and forgot to actually check before leaving for school in the morning. It was okay. She could bite the bullet for the night at least; she was pretty sure she remembered Sansaka saying that she was taking the next day off (even though Kocha would be working), so they could go grocery shopping together.
There was no point in getting mad or making them feel bad. How many times did she realize her parents took smaller portions during meals to save the rice for her lunch the next day? How often did they defer second helpings to her when she said she was still hungry? Even if it happened to be the last of Kocha’s favorite omurice or Sansaka’s preferred recipe for chicken curry? They gave so much to ensure their little girl had never gone to bed hungry, so…
Well, she could take a grumbling stomach for a night.
Of course, having been used to being full, her midsection was rather angry with her while she waited for her parents to come home. It felt as though there was a monster in her belly; it roared, and she could swear that when it was silent, the monster’s sharp teeth gnawed on the lining of her stomach in an effort to sate its immense hunger.
Ochako let it yell. She let her stomach throw a fit as she washed her dishes. One of her hands patted her stomach consolingly as she looked through one of her favorite astronomy books. It could wail and claw and bite in effort to tell her that it wanted more food, but with no nourishment to give, she only prayed for it to wane. A noisy stomach would be a dead give away to her parents whenever they came home, after all.
And thankfully, after an hour or so, it subsided. Well, more or less. Sometimes the pangs came back for about twenty minutes or so, but it was less of a bellowing roar and more of a forlorn gurgle. Her parents usually came home around eight or so, and that night was no exception. She spent some of the time between rehearsing her words, testing out sentences aloud to see how they sounded to make sure she was believable to protect the careful white lie.
Eventually, the silence in the apartment was broken by the sound of the front door being unlocked and subsequently pushed open. Her parents spoke back and forth as they came into their home, and Ochako closed her book before getting to her feet. She set it on the coffee table as the door from the now-lit hallway swung open.
Her father had one hand rubbing the top of his back, and he tilted his head the opposite way, like he was itching to crack his neck as well. His eyes were scrunched closed even as he stepped into the room, breathing in through clenched teeth. He must have had another day of heavy lifting. Maybe she could help lighten his load ever so slightly, so Ochako beamed and made her way toward him with as bright a grin as she could muster. “Daddy!”
Kocha’s eyes flew open, and he returned her smile with a lopsided one of his own. He took a couple steps forward while throwing his arms open for the incoming hug. “Sunshine! How was your last day?”
“It was good,” Ochako said as she hugged him tight. He always gave her bear hugs, and they were easily one of her favorite things—but not usually after work, especially considering how sticky his skin felt. “Oh, gross, you’re all sweaty!”
“Ya walked into it, darlin’!” Kocha simply laughed, hugging her tighter and lifting her off her feet even as she struggled to be released. “Y’know, my hugs are like those finger traps, if ya want out, ya gotta relax for a sec.”
“Da-ad…!” She pulled her head back enough to expose her pouty lips for him to pity, but he returned the sight with his own variation, despite still looking all-too amused. Ochako groaned, but let her legs cease their overdramatic kicks, letting herself go limp as she maintained a frown.
The door closed behind him and she could hear her mother’s voice as she walked further into the room. “Are you roughhousing already? I thought you said you were exhausted, Kocha.”
“She started it,” he insisted even as he lowered Ochako back to the ground proper. He chuckled when he glanced down to find she stuck her tongue out at him. His all too large hand reached out and ruffled her hair as he moved to pass her. “All right, you two, I’m gonna wash up.”
“Good, ‘cause ya stink!” Ochako wrinkled her nose at her dad’s fleeting back until her mom called her name and took her attention instead.
Sansaka set her purse down on the coffee table alongside the abandoned astronomy book. And despite how delicately the bag was set down, she flopped backwards onto the couch and let herself sink heavily into the aged cushions. The sigh she gave while doing so said enough, but Ochako still posed a question as she approached. “Long day?”
“To say the least…” She waved the fingers of her closer arm in a “come here” motion, and Ochako acquiesced by sitting just beside her. Ochako leaned toward her, her gaze captivated by the wrinkles and bags that found a place under her mother’s eyes, and she leaned her head against her outstretched arm.
Even after her long day of work, she still smelled like her perfume. A faint, fruity sort of aroma glided through Ochako’s nose as the other’s hand found the top of her head. Her eyes shut as Sansaka’s fingers began to curl through her hair. Ochako hummed softly throughout the action, almost missing when her mom spoke once more. “Glad to be home again. How ‘bout you? Last day, right?”
“Yup, two weeks off.”
“Oh, I miss being your age.” She gave a mirthless laugh even as her fingers continued to carefully scratch at her daughter’s scalp. “What I wouldn’t give for two week breaks again.”
Ochako’s eyes fluttered open, her eyebrows furrowing a little in confusion. “Really? But seems like ya always wanna work.”
“Oh, Ochako”—her other hand reached over to tap the tip of her daughter’s nose as she gave a faint smile—”I don’t wanna work but...what we want and what we need don’t meet in the middle much as we’d like.”
“Whaddya mean?”
“You shouldn’t worry ‘bout it now, not while you’re this young.” There was no way Sansaka could know how much Ochako hated when her and Kocha said things like that. They probably didn’t mean anything by it, but it felt like it meant that she wasn’t smart enough or something.
Well, she thought she was plenty smart, thank you!
Regardless of that, though, Sansaka’s fingertips retracted from her daughter’s matching hair as she smiled again. “But luckily for both of us, I’m takin’ the day off tomorrow! Noticed before me and your dad left that the kitchen’s lookin’ a tad empty.”
The nearly bare cupboards, an unstocked fridge, and a nearly empty bag of cereal sprung readily to mind. She only gave a noise of affirmation in reply as one of her hands balled up the material at the end of her shirt.
Her mom’s face grew concerned as eyebrows knitted closer. “I know you said you were gonna make your lunch this morning, but you saved some of the food in the fridge for your dinner tonight, right?”
No, she didn’t think about it at all.
“Yeah,” she lied with a smile. Her heart lurched painfully and Ochako shrugged, deciding to be a little more honest. Just so her head wouldn’t call her a total liar on repeat. Lies were bad—but they weren’t as bad if they were meant to help people feel better. “It wasn’t much, but enough to get by, y’know?”
“Good, good.” Knowing that it was good didn’t keep the guilt from running over Ochako’s person, even when Sansaka believed her. It couldn’t stop her from mentally apologizing and promising that she would do her best to never have to lie again. Her mom was oblivious, though, to the moral dilemma and pulled her in for a hug. “We’ll go together in the mornin’ then. Maybe we’ll go get breakfast first—y’know how bad it is to shop on an empty stomach.”
The Urarakas did their very best to keep food on the table—and more importantly, in Ochako’s belly—but there were some days where the timing just didn’t line up right. Life was just...like that. It sucked, no doubt about it—
But explaining it to other people, once she was older, that was the worst.
It wasn’t something that came up often by any means. But sometimes, when they were out and about, she would get into little spats with classmates. The first (and probably worst time) had been with Iida. Sometime back during first year when only Iida and Deku had been told of her parent’s plight.
In retrospect, she wasn’t even sure why she told them. Confessing that her family was struggling her entire life wasn’t something she ordinarily readily divulged to other people.
Maybe it was her trying to prove herself. She knew both boys were trying to become heroes for honorable reasons. For Deku, it was to save everyone like All Might, and for Iida, it was to continue his family tradition and follow in his brother’s footsteps. Using her easy excuse of “money” and dropping it like that made her feel embarrassed and almost unworthy of being friends with people with such honorable motives. So the truth just sort of...spilled out of her. They never did tell anyone, though, not that she knew of, anyway.
But they didn’t really need to because Ochako’s big stupid mouth was more than willing to do that job itself.
It all started with her cellphone. That silly little, pink flip phone her parents had gotten her for her tenth birthday—ironic, wasn’t it, considering the whole debacle those few days before? But after six years, her phone seemed to be nearing the end of its lifespan. It just did not want to function properly anymore. She would flip it open, and the damn thing would take a good thirty seconds to show the home screen. And clicking on buttons? Just as long, if not longer! After five minutes, she might have a number dialed, if she was lucky.
She happened to complain about it to Iida one day while they were downstairs in the dorms, and he tried to help by looking up some diagnostics to fix the issues. After fiddling with her phone and going through the list one by one though, he handed it back to her and gave a resigned sigh. “Apologies, Uraraka-kun, but nothing in the checks appeared to correct the problem.”
“It’s okay, Iida-kun.” She looked down to her closed phone with a sad smile. “Thanks for trying, but it’s not like it’s a huge deal.” She gave a lackadaisical shrug when she continued, “So it takes five minutes to dial a number—no sweat! I don’t call people that often anyway.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Uraraka-kun!” Iida chopped one of his hands toward her with urgency, his eyebrows furrowed as he reminded her that they work in a fast-paced work environment and speed was of the essence. He didn’t appreciate it when she joked that he only thought that due to his Quirk. “I’m being serious, you know. What would happen if you’re out in a situation that you can’t handle on your own, but your cellular phone is ineffective in helping you call for help? Those minutes are precious and are best left as brief as possible!”
“Well, yeah, I guess so.”
“Have you considered getting a newer model?” Iida didn’t seem to notice the way her shoulders stiffened up at the prospect.
Her mind raced even as her mouth fell silent, contemplating a decent answer to give while they were down in the common room, where a conversation could be easily overheard. Ochako’s eyes flicked back to him momentarily while spinning her phone in her hands. He was staring at her openly, waiting for a response. She looked at her pink phone, her fingers ceasing to flip it over again and again to reply with an attempt of disinterest. “Nah, not really an option.”
“Not an option—?” He shook his head, scooting to the end of his seat so he could move closer without actually leaning one way or the other. His own cell phone was back in his hand in an instant. “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m certain that you’re due for an upgrade at this point! If you’d like, we can look up models to see what you’re interested in—”
“It’s not about upgrading it’s just—” Ochako cut herself off with a sigh before getting to her feet and stuffing her phone into the pocket of her shorts. She smoothed her face over, however, when she looked back to Iida, whose expression was still levelled with concern. “Thanks, Iida-kun, really, but I’m fine like this.”
She thought that would be the end of it, but as it happened, Iida couldn’t let the idea go.
Ochako found that out on March fourteenth. That’s right, the fourteenth of March. The notorious White’s Day to return the gesture of obligation chocolate—so it should be easy to guess what happened.
Once the school day had finished and the class made their way back to the dorms, the exchanging began—except for Momo, who already had a small bag of white chocolate cookies waiting on her desk that morning. The top of the bag was sealed shut with a white rose phone charm wrapped securely around it and a small piece of paper tied along it as well. She asked who left it, but none of the boys in their class fessed up. Apparently, there was no name on the accompanying note which only said they owed her thanks for her bravery. Judging from their faces though, some of the other boys in class didn’t seem happy someone got a jumpstart on giving out return gifts.
So it was no surprise that some of the boys were in a rush to get back to the dorms before Ochako and all the other girls in an effort to get their own return chocolates handed out as soon as possible. Class A was always the same: no one ever liked to be outdone even over something as mundane as giving returns on obligation chocolate.
By the time she and the other girls finished their stroll over (they may have been walking slower just to give them a helping head start), a few of the boys were downstairs with their gifts to hand over. Most of them were the stereotypical sort of gifts. Candy from Kaminari, Sero, and Mineta—they all looked similar, so they probably worked together to make them. Cookies from Satou, Bakugou, Deku (his were All-Might-themed, and she had to keep from laughing), and Kirishima. And marshmallow-themed treats from a few assorted others…
But when it came to her gift from Iida, she knew right away that it was something different. All of the other girls received an assortment of macarons in a see-through bag from him, each in colors that matched their respective hero costumes alongside a thank you card, but when he approached her, he held a small white gift bag aloft. “Thank you for the chocolate last month, Uraraka-kun!”
“Iida...” Mina sidled up beside them, somehow squishing between Ochako and the arm of the couch, and eyed the bag rather notably, “I had no idea Ochako was so special for you to get her own special gift.”
Before Ochako could even comment on it—she was sure Mina was angling for some kind of crush confirmation—Iida replied with a waving hand. “I suppose it is a little unorthodox, but I had a feeling that Uraraka-kun might appreciate something more practical in addition to all the sweets she would be receiving today.”
“Practical?” The word certainly stirred something in her, and she was never one to really turn down anything she could actually use on a day to day basis. And all these other sweets could probably last through the next month or two anyway. She reached down into the bag and shifted the tissue paper inside to find an unmarked box around the size of her hand. Odd. “Can I open it?”
“Of course! It’s your gift after all.” He continued to talk even as she set the bag down on the coffee table to free up her other hand. “Our conversation from a while back was on my mind when I tried to think of what to get you—it just felt right.”
“What conversa...” Ochako’s voice trailed off as she separated the top portion of the box from the base to reveal a slick, white flip phone. It felt as though her Quirk had been brought to her limit; her stomach churned violently like the tiny, white phone was greater than her five-ton weight capacity.
She could feel the eyes of their surrounding classmates on her, hear their hushed voices, and the confusion from Mina just beside her. Iida’s voice sounded far away when he spoke and her jaw was left agape as he did, like a fish desperate for water. “I happened to stumble upon it while I was out and about in Hosu with Manual! I know you’ve said before you prefer your flip phone to our smartphones, so when I saw it and considered the approaching day—”
“Why would you...” Ochako trailed off as she replaced the lid back onto the box without removing the cell phone from its package. Her voice was quiet when she spoke again to keep herself tempered, but without her usual high-pitched tone, it sounded noticeably off even to her. “I told you I was fine.”
“You may have said that, but you wouldn’t have complained about the issue in the first place if it was really tolerable.” His tone, in contrast to hers, was so ordinary; it conveyed his steady logic, and he delivered the words as if he was stating something as indisputable as the sky being blue on a sunny day. “I figured you would be bothered if I went out of my way to find you anything too expensive, but when I found this it was actually on sale for—”
“I appreciate the thought, but I told you not to worry about it.” Her hands shook as she leaned forward to place the box back into the gift bag. When she stood, she could hear the nearby voices again, speaking her name in astounded whispers. Who they were, Ochako didn’t know, and to be honest, she didn’t care as much as she cared about rubbing at her face while beginning to lead herself away. “I can’t accept it, but thank you.”
“Uraraka-kun!” There was a tremor of concern that bled through his voice as she passed by him. His presence was stronger than normal, and she could hear the shuffle of the gift bag followed by his heavy—and quick—footsteps behind her. The tissue paper crinkled and she was sure he was attempting to hold it out for her to take. “Please, allow me to—”
Ochako spun back around, and she could see his blurry form stumble back from the sudden movement in an effort to keep from invading her personal space. He was one of two people in class who knew about her home life, and she knew that his family was in a considerably more cushy state than her own. She knew that he probably didn’t intend for it to be interpreted as such, but she couldn't help feeling embarrassed and cornered by the whole situation. She finally choked out through a hiccup, “I’m not your charity case, okay?”
Not another word passed between them as she went to storm up to her dorm room. She could tell he wanted to say something, but Iida was all too flabbergasted to let out anything more than stammers.
She didn’t turn around until the elevator door shut behind her. She grasped at the handrail to stabilize herself as it began to move. Her legs felt wobbly, and her stomach still tumbled as the embarrassment of it all settled over her person like a thick layer of concrete.
That just happened.
There were so many classmates around them, and now they would all be talking.
They would all be wondering why in the world Iida would have bought her a cell phone. Wondering why Ochako would have flipped out so much. Wondering why she didn’t simply pass the gift back with a smile or an uncomfortable laugh like most everything else that inconvenienced her.
It was different, though.
She eventually stumbled into her room, but rather than make her way to the bed, she simply sat down with her back against the closed door. And with the barrier finally up, sitting in her unlit bedroom, she buried her head in her arms and let herself wring out the ache the moment had hammered into her.
Ochako knew she wasn’t as well off as everyone else. The Uraraka family never was, and she could deal with that on her own. She spent her whole life learning to live and survive on her own terms, through her own means. She knew how to keep quiet so people—neighbors, friends, even her parents—didn’t look at her or her family’s way of living as something pitiful. Something to look down on and act like she was a poor helpless person rather than someone who was strong and capable in spite of the unfortunate luck that life saddled her family with.
How was she supposed to explain that without making them feel bad? Without them offering her help and aid when all she wanted was for them to understand her perspective and not try to “fix” it.
They were poor. It was okay to say. But somewhere along the way, for people who don’t have to worry—who don’t have to think about it—poor became synonymous with charity. It wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t Iida’s fault, either. When they were okay, they didn’t have to think about it. It was like a distant and unknown nightmare.
But, growing up like she did, even when she was okay, it was all she could think about. It didn’t matter that she got money from the work study with Ryuukyuu, it didn’t matter that she had more than enough to get by with the school’s provided housing. Because there was always this gnawing and very real fear of but what if she forgot and what if something happened?
Could she afford a new phone nowadays? Maybe, but what if something happened to her parents, and she spent the money on something as frivolous as a cell phone? It was a fear burned into her person by seeing toys that she knew she would never be able to own, clothes she’d long outgrown, limits on water and electricity, and occasional nights spent hungry—
How was she supposed to explain to someone that she couldn’t spend money like that when there were things so much more important that they had the good fortune of being able to take for granted?
Knock, knock, knock.
Ochako could feel the rapping against her door as strongly as she could hear it, still leaning against the wood. There was silence for a moment outside of her sniffling, and then his voice came through, his tone measured, “Uraraka-kun, I’m deeply sorry if my gift hurt your feelings.”
She sniffled again while lifting her head from her arms to glance toward the barrier between them.
“I had a plethora of reasons I felt it appropriate to buy this gift for you, but I understand now that doing so without your approval—when you already asked me not to trouble myself—was out of line.” He paused to release a disappointed sigh while she slowly got back to her feet. “I should have at least spoken with you more properly on the matter rather than forcing you to take it out of obligation. And, if you wish for me to, I’ll return it and get something else, because how you feel is much more important to me than something as frivolous as a gift.”
When she opened the door to the hallway, it was to find Iida more than doubled over in a bow, his head still focused down at the ground even if he had to have heard the door open already. “Iida-kun,” she paused to clear her throat since her voice came out rather thick, “I know—I know you didn’t mean it like that, I just…”
“With all due respect, my intention is irrelevant,” he spoke again, his voice just as confident, even with his head bowed. “The fact of the matter is you’re my friend, and I ought to respect your thoughts and feelings, even if I don’t understand them. And the next time I offer you anything, you have my word that I’ll respect your answer.”
Ochako stared at him, still hunched over in his over the top bow, and she couldn’t help but give a soft laugh even as the tears built back up. “Iida-kun, I ‘ppreciate that, but stand up straight. I can’t keep talkin’ to the back of your head!”
“Of course!” In an instant he was ramrod-straight, his arms both at his sides and her laugh transformed into a full blown giggle at the movement. After doing so, he lifted one of his arms, revealing her assortment of White’s Day sweets crammed into one bag and offering them to her. “You left these downstairs in your haste, so I thought I’d come bring them to you while issuing my apology. But I can leave you be now if that’s what you desire.”
“No, you’re fine, really.” She accepted the bag, but as she reached out to take it, she noticed his gift in his other hand. It was obvious from what he said, he wasn’t going to force her to take it, but hearing his apology and that he had a “plethora of reasons”, she had to admit she was a little curious what he meant by that. Ochako bit her lip for a moment, considering, before she stepped back toward her door and nodded in its direction. “Wanna come in and talk for a second?”
It was an uncomfortable conversation. Explaining the differences—the struggle—in living always was, but she learned it wasn’t something she could always shy away from. Sometimes, she had to explain or listen. And sometimes it was okay to accept help, or to even let herself spend money on things a little more inconsequential if it meant making her life even just the slightest bit easier.
Her parents always told her that she worried too much. That their little Ochako tried to take on too much responsibility for her age, so they reminded her that it was okay to just live while she could. It was a lifelong lesson, and probably the one she struggled with the most. But between her parents and her friends, she received constant reminders that it was okay to give in to the most whimsical of her desires every once in a while.
Because, at the end of the day and if she had the means, living was so much better than just surviving.