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It started with something stupid, as it always did.
A refusal to hold her hand.
Ditching her to hang out with their friends.
Sitting slightly farther away from her than normal.
And now this hoodie. This stupid hoodie.
Jirou needed to do laundry. She avoided doing it all week, but she was getting to a point where almost none of her t-shirts were clean. So, early Saturday morning, she hauled herself out of bed at eight to ensure she’d get a washer. Usually, her classmates slept in until at least eleven, but there was always an oddball or two. Bakugou was always up at an ungodly hour, but that’s what you get when you go to bed at nine every night. Sometimes she’d catch Shoji up early, but not very often. Getting to the laundry room by nine at the latest seemed like a good bet.
Jirou looked around the laundry room to find it empty. Score! She loved her classmates, but socializing that early in the morning seemed like a chore. She began to load her clothes into the closest washer. T-shirt, t-shirt, sweats, gym uniform, school shirt, school shirt, skirt, hoodie, leggings-wait, hoodie? She dug around the washer to find the article of clothing. It wasn’t too hard to identify, seeing as it was bright orange and the rest of her clothing were shades of blue or black. What was this?
Oh.
Shit.
She forgot that it was in her hamper. Jirou held the hoodie out in front of her, taking the vibrant color in with her eyes. Her stomach dropped. This was the last time she would ever touch this hoodie, probably. Sighing, she threw it into the washer and sloppily dumped the rest of her load in the machine. She started the machine and quietly left.
Jirou could do this. It was just a stupid hoodie. And a stupid guy. She was over it. It had been a week. It had been over for months, they both knew it. Everyone did. Fuck. No, she could do this. Hesitantly, Jirou knocked on the door.
There was silence for a moment. Maybe he wasn’t in his room. Oh well, better luck next time. She could return the hoodie tomorrow. Of the day after that. It wasn’t that pressing.
Jirou started to walk away, but as she turned her back, the door creaked open.
“Jirou?” an all-too-familiar voice called out. Awkwardly, Jirou turned around. The blond stared at her.
“Uh… what’s up?” Kaminari asked sheepishly. Jirou willed herself to move, but she couldn’t. Her eyes, wide and scared, remained locked on to Kaminari’s. “Jirou?” he prompted again. Swallowing hard, Jirou forced herself to walk back to the door. She self-consciously held out the hoodie.
“I found this in the wash,” she choked out. She hated how her voice sounded. Why was this so hard? She was fine yesterday. She had been fine for days. Why was this so fucking hard?
Kaminari looked down, suddenly noticing the clothing. He gently took it from her hands.
“Thanks,” he spoke softly. Jirou could only nod in return. With all her might, she forced herself to turn around and get herself out of there.
“Wait!” Kaminari called after her. She froze. Why did she stop? She had nothing to say to him. She had so much to say to him. She didn’t need to talk to him. She wanted to talk to him. Fuck, why was this so hard?
They stood in silence for a moment. Jirou couldn't see him, but she was certain Kaminari was making the face he always did when he was struggling to find his words. He would blink a lot, eyebrows furrowed, as his mouth struggled to shape the words he desired. She used to think it was cute. Now it just reminded her of all the fights.
“What?” she whispered.
“Do you… do you think we can ever be… okay?” She could tell he was struggling to get his thoughts across. But she knew exactly what he meant. Jirou could feel her eyes welling up with tears.
“No.” She shook her head, still facing away from him.
“Oh.” He sounded almost… dejected? “Why not?” Why not? Why not? Was he kidding? He had to be. Did he honestly think that after everything that happened, that everything he put her though, they could just be okay?
Hot tears streamed down Jirou’s face. Finally, she turned to face him.
“Because.” And that was all she said. Jirou quickly spun around and sprinted out of the hallway. She ran faster than she thinks she ever had in her life, almost breathless when she got to her room. When she reached her room, she fell onto her bed. Sobs wracked her body. Tears fell from her eyes like waterfalls. She laid there crying for what felt like hours, letting it all out.
She let out every petty fight, every time they walked away feeling empty, every stupid annoyance. She let out every unheld hand, every lonely night, and every empty seat next to her.
Why not?
Because I remember all of it! I remember the good and the bad and the amazing and the terrible. I remember how my lips felt against your forehead and how my head felt on your chest and I remember every time you wouldn’t tell me you loved me and every time you broke my heart. And I want to get angry, but it's just so much easier to be sad.