Archive of Our Own

Ochako pouts at the sign blocking the entrance to the train station, as if her stare could somehow rearrange the letters upon it to something more in her favor. It’s no use, though. No matter how hard she glares or how many times she puffs harsh breaths through her lips, it remains unchanged.

CLOSED FOR CONSTRUCTION

She doesn’t remember hearing about any planned work on the track. If she had, she really would have made sure to avoid having to walk all the way to her office building. Ochako huffs once more, sending a breath of air upwards to blow at her fringe, and sets off down the street in a hurry.

The crowd of the city has a life of its own, vibrant clothes shine in the morning light and the people move like enchanting shoals of fish. There is chatter between buyers and sellers, old friends catching up, new friends being made. 

It’s busy for sure, the hustle and bustle bringing a life to the streets of Tokyo that Ochako wouldn’t want to be without. She feels the energy and loves the atmosphere, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t crave a quiet tree in a grassy knoll every now and then. Especially on days like today, when she’s forced to forgo her quick train ride and instead make the cross-town trek to where she works.

The feeling seems mutual. The collective sighs around her are a cloud of wistful dreams weighing heavily above their heads, palpable yet just beyond everyone's reach. The swell of humanity closing in on her makes her feel claustrophobic, an agglomeration of perfumes, body odor, and overapplied cologne almost making her dizzy. Even in the bitter January cold, she feels the warmth of all those bodies pressing in. 

Ochako moves with the stream of commuters and tilts her head up to the sky, letting the empty clear blue give her strength to bottle the nerves rattling inside her chest. 

Her attention is brought back down to earth by the comforting smoky aroma of coffee nearby. Ochako follows the scent to a small cafe cart set up in the shade of a building. She shuffles her way through the crowd until she reaches the start of the queue, bringing out her phone to check the time.

“Yeah, I’ve got time,” she hums to herself, anticipation growing for something warm and sweet to make her journey to the other side of town a little more pleasant. 

Ochako is perfectly content with disregarding her surroundings for a moment to scroll her social media, until she hears a gasp and hurried whispers coming from a pair of older women besides her. She peeks at them out of the corner of her eyes. Both women are huddled together with horrified expressions as they stare at a phone held between them.

“Oh, that’s terrible,” one woman says, hand shooting up to her mouth. “Ice on the track?”

The other woman clicks her tongue against her teeth in a soft tsk. “That’s what they’re saying, but who knows what really happened.”

“I hope no one was seriously hurt,” the first woman comments.

“It says here mostly mild to moderate injuries,” the other one replies, seeming to scroll further down whatever article Ochako supposes they’re reading. She clicks her tongue again. “One fatality, what a shame.”

“Does it say who?”

Ochako doesn’t get to hear the answer to that question, as the person ahead of her steps aside and it’s her turn to place her order. 

“I’ll have a white chocolate mocha please,” she says. She gives the cashier a bright smile as she hands him a bill from her wallet, but her stomach is suddenly twisting as she leans against the wall waiting for her order. 

She was so frustrated with her morning routine being disrupted, cursing the inconvenience, when someone had just lost their life, possibly just a few hours before. It leaves a bad taste in her mouth. Ochako picks at the pads of her fingers, feeling an overwhelming wave of panic wash over her. It was as if her instincts were screaming at her to hurry. Hurry towards what? She couldn’t say. Before she has too much time to think about it, her name is being called. Her coffee is ready.

The warmth of the coffee helps ground her. She cautiously blows against the steam before taking her first sip. The mix of sweetness and heat on her tongue is a balm to her worries. It quickly works to melt away the icy coils of anxiety that were previously working their way through her mind.

As she exits the cafe, the warm cup in her hand helps her brace herself against the cold late winter air. The streets are still busy, yet unfamiliar as she tries to navigate a new path towards her office. She manages to steer her way through a few blocks before she realizes she’s going to need more specific directions if she’s going to find her way there. Ochako walks towards a less busy part of the sidewalk so she can input the address into her phone.

A few taps of her fingers on the screen and she’s ready to go again, but before she can dive back into the rush of the early morning commute, there’s a glare of a sunbeam off a glass window that temporarily blinds her. Everything happens quickly then. Ochako is forced to look away from her phone, holding a hand up over her eyes. As she turns to get away from the assaulting rays, she comes face to face with her reflection in a store window. No, not a store: an art gallery; and not her reflection, a painting. Of her.

What the hell? Ochako squints at the portrait in the window. It’s not… an exact match, but it’s close enough to pique her interest. She looks in both directions down the street to make sure she hasn’t slipped into some dreamscape while she wasn’t paying attention and then looks back to the window.

The painting is still there. A woman with a face that looks suspiciously like her own stares back at her. From afar the painting looks realistic but as she leans in the details jump out at her. The heavy brushstrokes across the canvas blend a rainbow of colours in such an unnatural yet purposeful way that causes Ochako’s breath to hitch in her throat. The woman in the painting looks ethereal and other-worldly. Her deep brown eyes hold a sparkle and the curve of her lips suggests the barest hints of a smile. There’s a soft glow to the brown hair in the painting that she could only dream of having. Each brush of paint is like a petal on the canvas and Ochako sighs at the beauty.

Her eyes scan the inside of the gallery. She can’t see another portrait among the whole collection. Before she can even take a step towards the door, Ochako feels her phone buzz in her hand. She really should be on her way. She glances down at the screen—crap, she’s late.

The studio is busy and there is no way to distinguish staff from customers and Ochako really doesn't have the time to go inside. So she bends down to take a closer look at the display. Her eyes are instantly drawn to a tiny card in front of the painting, so small anyone would miss it if they weren’t looking for it.

Her eyes trace over the signature, trying to imagine who the artist was that captured her likeness in such a way that made her look so beautiful. It’s a messy swoop of lines and a splatter of ink that gives it an explosive quality; she can’t quite make any of it out. Lower, next to the canvas, is a P.O box.

She takes out a pen and a scrap of paper from her messenger bag, taking extra care to write the address legibly before she dashes off down the street once more. Ochako wonders if she’s just being silly. There are over thirteen million people inside Tokyo alone, surely there must be a handful with whom she shares a resemblance? This mystery will have to be solved at a later time, though, when she isn’t running late to work.

Ochako hums happily to herself as her office building comes into view. A large sign reading “Yuuei Fashions” sits plastered to the wall, and she grins to herself at the sight. She might not be in love with her line of work, but she adores her coworkers and she genuinely enjoys going to work. As she passes through the door, she nods a greeting to the receptionist, who smiles back brightly at her. Once inside she makes her way to the fourth floor where her office sits, coffee grasped in one hand and her bag slung across her shoulder. Her low heels click against the tile floor, announcing her arrival to her cubicle mates.

A blond head pops over the barrier to her left and eyes her up and down, glance stopping at the coffee cup in her hand. His mouth opens with an audible click of disappointment. “You didn’t bring me one?”

Ochako laughs. “Sorry, Kaminari, I had to walk all the way here.”

“Oversleep and miss your train?” another voice asks from behind the barrier in front of her.

Ochako peeks over the edge to peer down into piercing mauve eyes that have big enough bags underneath them that would cause some concern, if Ochako didn’t know any better. She is well acquainted with the sleep habits (or lack thereof) of one Shinsou Hitoshi; he was one of her closest friends. 

“No, actually,” she replies after a moment, remembering her morning rush.  “There was an accident—Did you even get any sleep last night?”

Shinsou rolls his eyes. “We’re not talking about me right now.”

Ochako flashes him a smirk. “Well no need to talk about me. I was not at fault for my lateness.” She ignores his whisper of ‘this time’ under his breath.

“What we should be talking about,’’ Kaminari interjects, “is me and my lack of a date for this Saturday.” 

Ochako hears a snort from Shinsou’s direction. 

“Weren’t you going with what’s his face to that thing?” She gestures around vaguely.

Kaminari slumps. “Yeah, but he completely ghosted me! I really thought this one was going to work out.”

“Tragic,” Shinsou remarks without looking up from his computer.

“I know!” Kaminari shouts, oblivious to the sarcastic tone of his deskmate. He turns towards Ochako. “So, Chaks, what are you doing this Saturday?” He wiggles his eyebrows up and down at her and she brings a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh.

“For the love of god, will you please be quiet?” The fourth and final member of their cubicle area, Jirou Kyouka, pokes her head around the corner, short-cropped violet hair swaying in front of her eyes from the motion. Jirou puffs a breath of air upwards to move them. “Some of us are trying to work, and Uraraka doesn’t want to go to some lame improv show with you.”

Kaminari presses a hand to his chest, offended. “It’s stand-up comedy, thank you. Tickets for The Joke Box are really hard to get!”

“Maybe if you took your dates to somewhere other than The Joke Box, they wouldn’t blow you off after two weeks.”

Kaminari scoffs. “Well excuse me, we can’t all have beautiful models fall into our laps like some holiday rom-com.”

“Momo didn’t—”

“She asked you out after you interviewed her for a piece you didn’t want to be assigned to and had flowers and gifts delivered to your desk until you said yes,” Shinsou deadpans.

Jirou’s mouth hangs open and then snaps shut with a click. “Whatever,’’ she rolls her eyes, “you losers are just jealous.”

“Yes!” Kaminari shouts, throwing his arms up above his head. “We are!”

“Speak for yourself,” Shinsou mumbles around his cup of coffee.

With that, Kaminari sits roughly back down in his chair with a force that couldn’t be good for the longevity of its legs. “What did I ever do to deserve this?”

Jirou hums. “Well, there was that one time—”

“I wasn’t asking!” Kaminari shouts and glares at the divider between them. He runs a hand through his hair and turns his eyes back to Ochako. She can feel the begging radiating from him.

“Sorry Kami, I’ve—got plans.” Her eyes flick over to Shinsou, who returns her gaze with a quizzical look. Then she gets an idea, and she knows he can see the moment the wheels start turning in her brain because he narrows his eyes and mouths a silent ‘no’ at her. “But I think Shinsou might be free, and he loves comedy shows.”

She hears an excited gasp and shuffling before Kaminari is invading Shinsou’s space, eyes wide as he hovers over the glowering man currently mouthing what Ochako can only assume is, ‘I hate you’, punctuated by a string of various expletives.

“You want to go with me, Toshi?” Kaminari is practically bouncing in place, his eyes wide and very puppy-dog-like.

“Don’t call me that.” Shinsou runs a hand down his face, throws one last glare in Ochako’s direction, and then breathes a heavy sigh. “Fine.”

Ochako knows she looks smug as she sits down at her desk. 

Kaminari is punching the air in victory. “Sweet! You’re not going to regret it my dude.”

The irritation coming from Shinsou is almost palpable, but he’ll thank her for that later. As she sits at her desk she pulls out her laptop, a piece of paper falls out with the motion and lands by her feet. She reaches down to grab it, turning it over to see the address. Researching her assignment can wait, she thinks. Ochako pulls out an envelope and quickly puts pen to paper to write out her letter.

Dear Esteemed Artist,

The chill of this cold winter will surely lead to a lovely spring. My name is Uraraka and I work at a magazine in Tokyo. Due to an unfortunate accident I was forced to walk to work instead of taking the train as I usually do, and I just so happened to come across your art gallery. There was a portrait in the window that, strangely enough, shares a likeness with my own face. It’s quite beautiful and I’m certain we’ve never met, so I was wondering if you would share your inspiration for the piece? I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Sincerely,

Uraraka Ochako

“Uraraka!” a loud voice calls from behind her. She turns to see her boss, a tall woman who insists everyone refer to her as Midnight, pass by her in a fast paced blur. “My office in two!” Her heels click a rapid beat upon the tile floor and her long black hair sways back and forth behind her. She’s dressed to the nines in a skin tight outfit that borders on inappropriate for an office setting.

Ochako sighs, pushes her chair back and tries to prepare herself for whatever awaits her behind the two huge imposing doors. She takes her time, taking a deep breath before moving to push through them.

The office is full of bright colors and hard angles, tasteful furniture that is never meant to be used scattered throughout. Art pieces, magazine covers, and awards line the walls, leaving almost no empty space. 

Ochako approaches the desk, but she doesn’t sit, instead and waits for the woman behind the laptop screen to acknowledge her.

The silence that is filled only with the clicking of Midnight’s nails against the keyboard stretches for so long, Ochako wonders if she should leave and try coming back in again. But just as Ochako makes a move to leave, Midnight’s hands still and she folds her laptop shut, turning her attention finally towards Ochako.

“Uraraka, dear, how are you?”

“Good, thank you.” Ochako fidgets. “And yourself?”

She doesn’t answer, only smiles sweetly at her and motions to one of the tulip chairs beside her. “Please, sit.”

It’s not a chair meant to be sat in comfortably, so Ochako rests as closely to the edge as she can. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” Midnight drawls. “We need to discuss your most recent article.”

Ochako’s pulse pounds in her ears. “Was there something wrong with the photos?”

“Oh, no,” Midnight waves a hand, “As usual your skills with a lens are unmatched.”

“Then…”

“You spend quite a bit of time writing about sick kids in your article,” Midnight says, and from her tone Ochako can tell it isn’t a compliment.

“Well yes,” Ochako replies. “Niami-san prides herself on her company's philanthropy towards pediatric cancer research.”

“And that’s great!” She claps her hands together and Ochako can feel the ‘but’ before it’s even said. “But Yuuei is a fashion magazine. Our readers don’t rush to the newstands with their hard earned money to read about sick children.”

Ochako frowns. “But…” 

Midnight holds up a hand. “Our readers want to look at your beautiful photos and read about clothes they can’t afford to escape their pathetic, sad lives for a few minutes.”

“I just thought—“ Ochako ignores the little voice in the back of her head telling her to shut up. “I would really like my writing to touch on the more serious topics behind the fancy clothes and beautiful people.”

Midnight crosses her arms, unwavering but not unkind. “This is what I hired you for, and that’s what I expect from your work if you’re to remain here.” 

There’s an uncomfortable churning sensation currently taking up residence in Ochako’s stomach, but she still bows her head and says, “Understood.”

“Excellent! I knew I could count on you to make the right decision.” Midnight opens her laptop again and goes back to clicking her nails on the keyboard. She doesn’t spare Ochako another glance and she takes this as a sign to leave. Just as she’s walking through the massive doors, Midnight says, “Always a pleasure Uraraka dear.”

Ochako nods her head at her, then makes her way back to her desk, feeling suddenly very tired for just the start of the workday. Her job may not be all that she was hoping it to be, but if she had learnt anything from her parents, it was that life wasn’t always easy. And so as she sits down at her desk, shaking off her worries and distress and focuses on the job ahead. 

The next week passes by in a blur. Ochako attends the fashion show, snaps her photos, interviews the designer, and sends the files off to Shinsou for edits in record time. She makes sure to focus only on the clothes, spends too many paragraphs explaining the quality of the fabric (with more adjectives than she’s ever used for anything else in her life), names the colors only in words that would sound the most pretentious, all while pretending like it doesn’t kill something inside of her just a little.

What the hell is blood-orange anyway?

She smiles through it all. This is the path she has chosen and the path doesn’t care about the terrain, that’s for her to deal with. Sure, a job in fashion wasn’t her dream career choice, but it made sense and gave her the opportunity to gain more experience in photography. So whatever obstacles come her way, she must keep going. When she gets knocked down, she has to get back up, because there’s no other way. Ochako knows what’s out there for her. This job could be a stepping stone onto bigger and greater things. Something deep inside her tells her it’s going to be worth it.

The universe told her to walk, so she did, and she still does. Her parents had encouraged her to follow her dreams even when she only wanted to help support them. And so that’s what she did: she reached for the stars and the universe told her to keep reaching. It tells her at the end there will be peace, and she has to stay on the path even when it hurts. Sometimes it has, sometimes so much that she just wants to stay down and let defeat consume her… then she remembers why she started this journey and finds her feet again. She can’t say it hasn’t been lonely though, and she thinks some company along the way would be nice, if only she was brave enough.

There’s a flash of movement in front of her and Ochako looks up to see the mail delivery walking away. She calls a quick thank you and then looks down at her desk. A letter. She had nearly forgotten, the portrait in the gallery seemed like a distant memory to her.

She stares at the letter with wide eyes, lips parting. She carefully rips the side of the envelope to open it. When her eyes land on the first line she sees there is a grace to the slope of the handwriting, to the way he curls the loops and gives flow to the arcs. It has a look of practiced sophistication, someone who puts great care into everything they do and does nothing by halves, a person Ochako would admire. The content of the letter, however, says otherwise.

Dear whoever the hell you are,

Ochako scrunches up her nose. Okay, not a good start.

I don’t own any gallery and I definitely don’t paint stupid portraits of stupid people so you must have made some mistake. Also, it’s fuckin 2017. Not 2019. This winter has been abnormally hot, are you really this stupid or just batshit crazy? 

I don’t know why I’m sending a reply. Leave me alone,

It’s signed with the same odd signature that she saw on the painting at the gallery. So, that puts mistaken identity out of the realm of possibilities. He is definitely the same person.

Who the hell does this person think he is? All she did was ask about his inspiration for the portrait in his gallery, a gallery that very well exists. The audacity of this man to insult her and claim it’s two years in the past, and then call her crazy? Ochako puffs out a harsh breath of air, mumbles a few choice words under her breath, and then (with more force than the poor thing deserves) pulls open her desk drawer in search of paper and a pen.

She’s not sure why, but she suddenly feels like she has something to prove. So, she scribbles out a reply of her own.

To my mystery correspondent,

You could do with learning some manners. I’m sure your mother would not approve of this kind of language, especially towards a stranger!! I am definitely not the crazy one here, as it is February 16th, 2019. Are you sure you’re okay? I know how artists like to party so maybe you went a few fingers too deep on the glass, hm? I hope your hangover finds you well.

Regards,

Uraraka

As an afterthought, she writes out a quick P.S with the address to the gallery, just to prove a point. She smiles, satisfied with herself.

“Someone looks satisfied with themselves,” Shinsou remarks as he passes by her desk.

Ochako throws him a pointed look. “How was your date?” she asks in lieu of a proper response.

The amusement instantly drains from his face as he leans in towards her. “It wasn’t a date,” he whispers through gritted teeth. “And it was fine, for your information.”

Ochako mimics him, leaning in until she’s close enough to drop her voice to a level that’s barely audible. “Will there be a second not-date?”

Shinsou’s face blooms a dozen shades of rose tinted hues as he quickly straightens up to make his way to his desk.

The next letter comes a few days later. A strange feeling washes over her as she pulls at the corner of the envelope. It travels up her arms to the back of her neck, bringing the hairs there to stand at attention. When she pulls out the paper and unfolds it, she takes the first breath that she’s taken since she laid her eyes on it.

Damn, cheeky aren’t you?
Listen Cheeks...

Cheeks!? The nerve of him! Ochako then realizes she’s puffed out her cheeks in her anger and quickly lets the air out of them as if this mysterious stranger could be watching her from around any corner. She reads on.

Nice try, that address is nothing but a garbage empty store front. The only thing being displayed there are the feral neighborhood cats. You must have the address wrong, which isn’t surprising since you can’t seem to get the date right either. Also, excuse the fuck outta me, I don’t put any of that shit in my body.

Ochako rolls her eyes. This guy really does have quite the inflated ego. His comment about the gallery rolls over and over on repeat inside her head. That… can’t be right. She’d walked right past it, seen it with her own eyes. She takes a closer look at the envelope and notices the postmarked date says March 3, 2017 . Her eyes blow wide. There’s no way this is happening.

 She doesn’t write back a response right away, shoving the note into her pocket. Ochako finds a good stopping point with her work before it’s time to head out; she’s supposed to meet with Mina and Midoriya for dinner. Her mind races as she walks the short distance to the restaurant where her friends are likely already waiting for her.

There’s no way her letters could be traveling through time to two years in the past… But, what if they were? Stranger things have happened, right? Things that seemingly have no earthly explanation. People call them miracles but really, no one knows why some things happen. Although, this feels more like a curse.

All thoughts of her abrasive pen pal vanish from her mind as soon as she steps through the large ornate doors and sees her two best friends already sitting in a booth at the far end of the restaurant. As she approaches them, she sees they’ve ordered her favorite drink, the condensation on the outside of the glass barely starting to form from its spot atop a coaster off to the side, waiting for her.

Ochako can feel the tension already easing out of her body. The mere sight of her friends’ excited faces is enough to lift the stress from her day off her shoulders. They drop slightly with each breath, settling loosely as she slides into the booth.

“Babes! You made it!” Mina shouts as she launches herself at Ochako, wrapping her arms around her in a tight squeeze.

Ochako laughs around the mess of Mina’s pink curls pressed against her face. “I see you’ve gotten a head start without me.” She returns her friend's embrace before she’s released.

“Only like one drink,” Mina says, unconvincingly.

Midoriya tsks beside her. “Try three, and we haven’t even ordered appetizers yet.” He laughs when Mina glares at him before shifting his eyes back to Ochako. “Hey Ochako.”

“Hey Izuku.” She smiles easily. Ochako feels light, she loves her friends. She glances down at the menu, flips to the list of appetizers. “So what are we feeling like tonight?”

“Tequila!” Mina shouts, and Ochako and Midoriya roll their eyes in tandem.

Ochako takes a long sip of the drink her friends had been kind enough to order her, the exhale afterwards long and slow.

“Okay,” Mina drawls. “What’s that about?”

“Huh?” Ochako turns her head to see both of her friends staring at her with wide eyes, eyebrows shot up close to their hearline.“What?”

There’s a few seconds where neither of them answer, just stare at her as if they can’t quite recognize the person in front of them, until Midoriya asks, “Long week?”

The letter in her pocket is written on a regular feint-ruled paper. There’s nothing special about it, but in that moment she feels the weight of it as if it was built of the heaviest osmium alloy. “Not long,’’ she sighs, “just… strange.”

Mina bites. “Strange how?”

Ochako begins to pick at the pads of her fingers, a nervous habit she can’t seem to escape. This motion doesn’t escape the watchful eyes of her friends, who wait patiently for her to speak. “You’re going to think I’m crazy,” she says in a rush. “But I passed by this gallery downtown and there was a portrait in the window that looked like me! So… I wrote the artist a letter.”

She looks at her friends, and when she doesn’t make a move to continue they wave their fingers around in the air, signalling her to continue. 

Mina says, “And?”

“ And he was an asshole!” Exasperated, she goes on, “I think he’s messing with me, because he said he doesn’t have an art gallery downtown and was really rude about it.”

Midoriya hums thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s better if you don’t contact him again.”

“Wait a second,” Mina says, then turns to Ochako with a smirk. “What if he’s hot?”

Ochako rolls her eyes. “No matter what he looks like, that attitude makes him ugly all on its own.” She takes another sip of her drink and mumbles stupid explodey idiot under her breath.

“Wait, what did you say?” Midoriya sounds like the wind was knocked out of him and when Ochako looks up his eyes are wide, almost frightened.

“Oh, it’s just… his signature.” She shrugs. “It reminded me of an explosion.”

“What’s his name?” Midoriya asks, voice rushed.

“I don’t know.” All of a sudden something feels wrong, like she should know something that she clearly does not. “He hasn’t said.” She reaches into her pocket and hands the letter over to Midoriya, who takes it with a shaky hand. He looks down at the letter, eyebrows furrowing together and mouth pressed in a fine line.

“Izuku?” Her voice comes out much lower than she had meant it to.

He doesn’t look up at her, eyes fixated on the piece of paper in his hands, gripping it so tightly she’s afraid it might tear. “You received this recently?”

Ochako doesn’t know why, but she feels a pang of guilt as she says, “Just today.”

Midoriya’s shoulders slump, she hadn’t realized how tense he had gotten. His eyes take on a glossy sheen of tears that threaten to fall. “Sorry,” he apologizes, voice soft. He hands her back the letter. “It just reminded me of someone, but that’s impossible.”

“Zuku, you okay?” Mina places a hand on his shoulder. 

He instantly perks up, a smile plastered back on his face and any trace of the tears that had been teetering on the edge of his eyes gone. “Yeah, I’m fine! Of course I’m fine, I’m here with you guys aren’t I?” He smiles.

Ochako puts the letter back inside her pocket. Whatever had struck Midoriya seems to have passed, but she can’t help but notice a dark distant look in his eyes that wasn’t there when she first arrived.

When the waiter comes, they let Mina order them a round of margaritas, but make sure to order a few different appetizers that sounded good, all of them fried of course. Somehow the mood is light again. Next to her, Mina makes mmm noises as she chews on a spring roll and instead of feeling irritated she’s surprised that it only makes her grin. The very presence of her friends contains more healing magic than all the drugs created by man. They are clear water over rocks, a shelter in any storm.

Ochako has her third gyoza halfway to her mouth when Midoriya clears his throat. “So,” he starts. “How’s the job going?”

She groans, she should have known this was coming. “It’s… going.”

Midoriya hums. “You know, you could always come work with me, I’m sure Shouto won’t mind.”

“I am not going to take a charity position at your boyfriend's studio, Izuku,” Ochako says. “And that wouldn’t solve much of my problem anyway.”

“Pottery has feelings too, Chaks,” Mina says, her voice slurring a bit at the end.

“He doesn’t just make pottery!” Midoriya squawks. His voice is more steady than Mina’s is but he’s swaying a little bit in his seat, a tell that he’s not far behind her in his inebriation.

“Guys.” Ochako laughs as her friends bicker over what separates a boring old vase from a work of art deserving of an ICAN award. “No matter the medium, it’s still the same.” She sighs. “I want to get out into the world, be out there taking pictures that mean something.” 

Oh, damn. She squeezes her eyes shut.

Ochako’s head whips towards her friends. Their eyes are soft, sympathetic, showing none of the anger that she probably deserves for her comment. She waves her hands in front of her anyway. “Not that what I’m doing now doesn’t mean anything, or what you’re doing, Izuku… I just—”

There’s an acute pressure against her arm and she looks down to find Mina’s hand laid gently on top of it. “We know, babe, it’s ok.” Then Mina lifts her hand to dramatically flip the side of her hair out of her face. “Besides, we all know dancers have all the real artistic talent.”

They laugh and finish off their appetizers, sip on their drinks as the clock ticks on. By the time they realize they forgot to order actual meals, all of their stomachs are close to bursting with hors d'oeuvres and fruity cocktails. Ochako doesn’t mind, this is easier on her wallet anyway.

After some hours, they walk out of the restaurant into a deep tapestry of blue, blemished only by a woven blanket of hearth-spun gray. There is too much light pollution in the city to see the stars that surely dot the dark expanse, but Ochako knows they’re up there. She imagines how they look back in her home town and that brings a comfort all its own. She hears a small oof from behind her. When she turns she can’t help but giggle at the sight.

“You need help with her?” Ochako nods her head towards Mina, slumped against Midoriya’s side.

He chuckles. “Nah, I’ve got her. Kirishima’s on his way to pick her up.”

Ochako smiles. She’s quite fond of Mina’s roommate/friend with benefits that she’s sure will eventually be upgraded to boyfriend before long. “Tell him I said hi.” She parts with a wave and manages to make her way to the train station easily enough without getting lost, feeling especially proud of herself for not falling asleep and missing her stop once she boards the railcar.

Once inside, the mixture of exhaustion and the alcohol coursing through her veins have her yawning and stumbling through her living room. She’s shrugging out of her clothes before she makes it all the way to her bedroom, when something catches her eye. Reaching down, she takes the small square of white between her fingers and pulls it out of her pants.

It’s the letter. She exhales a harsh breath. What the hell is she going to do about this? Should she just forget about it? Let whatever idiot on the other side of this exchange win whatever sick game he’s playing and move on with her life? Something in the back of her mind won’t allow her to accept that decision.

She’s definitely not in her right mind to write out a coherent response. She makes up her mind to think about what she wants to say in the morning as she slips into her favorite comfy pair of pajamas. But as she stares at the hurried kanji on the page she feels a pull, like a distant memory she’s all but forgotten and desperately needs to remember.

Ochako surrenders control to that feeling as she rummages through her closet, not exactly knowing what she’s looking for until her eyes land on an old shoe box behind a pile of old purses. When she takes off the lid, she’s met with a stack of photographs haphazardly thrown inside. She thumbs through them, her only sense of direction this vague whisper in the back of her mind.

Then she sees it. A photograph of her and Midoriya, who is nothing but a green and gray blur next to her. They have giant smiles on their faces, radiating with a joy that inner passion brings. It’s from two winters ago, and she knows Mina is behind the camera laughing so hard she could barely hold it still in her hands. A ballerina photographing two photographers, she had joked. They’re surrounded by snow, more snow than they had seen the entire year put together. That winter had been hot, abnormally hot, but then a freak snowstorm came out of nowhere and threw the entire prefecture into a delayed flu season. She turns it over to look at the date on the back. 03/21/17. 

If she sent her letter now it would make it to him just in time.

Everything about this situation screamed at her intuition that it was a bad idea, that somehow she was walking right into a trap. But that part of her brain was currently quieted under half a dozen strong cocktails so she walked right in and let that door swing shut.

Dear Mr Boom Man,

Do you need help with directions? I saw the gallery with my own eyes. I’m not sure who told you this time traveling joke is funny, because it’s not. It’s stupid. You’re stupid! And your signature sucks. What even is your name? Explodey man?

If you really are in the year 2017, you better bundle up and drink lots of fluids! There was a late snow storm that year, a lot of people got sick. Check the date on the photo.

Uraraka Ochako

She grins, satisfied with herself. This should put an end to that.  

She places the letter along with the photo inside an envelope, scribbles on the address and slaps on a stamp. With a surge of energy and coordination she should not be capable of at this hour, especially in the state that she’s in, she runs downstairs and tosses it into the mailbox. 

Later, when she’s brushing her teeth back in her apartment, she feels a wave of accomplishment wash over her. And when she slips into bed right before her head hits the pillow, she thinks she’s heard the last of her impertinent correspondent.

She wakes to her alarm blaring loudly in her ear, and she prys her eyes open in the dimly lit room. She squints, dry mouth sticky with thick saliva, and moans before retreating under the duvet. Ochako is more aware of her cracking headache than the layer of dehydrated saliva that coats her cracked lips, but a few more moments laying there bring her thirst to the forefront of her brain and she leaves the comfort of her bed in a search to quench it.

Once on her feet the room sways, nearly causing her to lose balance, and she reaches out for the wall to catch herself. Her hand slips along the high sheen paint and she sprawls onto the carpet with a crashing thump. The room swirls before becoming stationary again and she uses the bedframe to pull herself to standing.

The smells of the sweet alcohol last night had been intoxicating, yet this morning it adds to her growing  nausea. She makes her way to the bathroom, and sticks her head under the faucet to take gulps of cool liquid. The thirst persists after each slow drink of water and her head feels fit to crack open.

No matter what, this day was going to suck. Ochako figures she might as well drag herself to work so she can go over the final edits of her photos and successfully submit them in time for this month’s spread. Maybe her coworkers would take pity on her and keep the chit chat to a minimum—and by coworkers she really means Kaminari.

Everything hurts, the lights of her office assault her eyes as if she is staring directly into the sun despite having her darkest pair of sunglasses on to shield them.

She can hear Kaminari gasp before he’s even in her line of sight. “Well, shit.” Ochako winces against the volume. “Uraraka Ochako, as I live and breathe.” So, she would be spared none of the dramatics even in her weakened state.

Ochako groans. “Kami, please not so loud.”

“Kaminari, you idiot,” came Jirou’s voice from around the corner. She appears beside them, looking pointedly at the blond. “How many times have you shown up for work like a useless slug?” Ochako does not like that imagery.

He holds up his hands. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Then make yourself useful and go find Uraraka some coffee!” Jirou snaps.

Kaminari holds one hand to his head in a salute, jerks it towards her as he confirms with an, “Aye aye!”

Jirou gives her an almost sympathetic smile.

Ochako groans, smacking her face as she falls back in her chair. "Vodka is evil and I make terrible decisions.”

"Don't be so hard on yourself. That was only one type of alcohol, there are many others."

Ochako turns her head towards her and raises a brow. "That’s not helping.” She shakes her head. "I am never drinking again."

Jirou smirks, and laughs. "You say that now."

"No, I really mean it."

"I'll be sure to remind you of that next time you drink."

"There won't be a next time."

"Sure, sure. Whatever you say."

Ochako sticks her tongue out at Jirou before she turns away and starts up her computer, going right to her email. It’s a new month, and that means a new assignment for the magazine’s next edition. Her new assignment is already sitting in her inbox, waiting for her.

Staring at the glare on her screen is not helping the throbbing in her head, so she presses the heels of her hands into her eyes to try and relieve some of the pressure behind them. She’s just about to put her head through her monitor when she feels a buzzing in her pocket. One swipe of her thumb unlocks it and brings up a new text on the screen.

[Izuku]: how r u feeling???

[You]: 😫🪦

[Izuku]: that bad huh?

[You]: woooorse

[Izuku]: sorry ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ♡ 

The next message comes in before she could decide if she was going to respond at all. She really wanted to lay her head on her desk, or pound into it a couple dozen times… whichever.

[Izuku]: i actually wanted to ask you something about your weird pen pal

Oh, right. She remembers telling them about her rude letter exchange last night. Ochako responds, urging him to go on.

[Izuku]: how often do you get the letters?

[You]: maybe once a week, why?

Ochako watches as the little dots that indicate Midoriya is typing appear, then disappear, then reappear, then disappear again. She huffs a harsh breath from her lips and considers putting her phone away to go search for wherever Kaminari went and some of that break room coffee that never seems to taste quite like coffee when she feels the phone buzz in her hand again.

[Izuku]: will you tell me if you get another one?

[You]: feeling protective eh?

[Izuku]: haha yeah, something like that

[You]: is everything ok?

[Izuku]: yeah… i’m probably just being dumb

[Izuku]: forget i said anything!!

[You]: it’s ok! I’ll let you know when i do 🙂

The exchange leaves her feeling confused. It’s like in order to understand what he means she would need to take a step back and observe the conversation from an outside perspective but she’s stuck in her own stupid hungover brain. Ochako’s mind wanders to the letter. 

She stares at her computer screen until it goes black, her reflection in it staring back at her. Ochako winces at the state of her face. She looks like garbage, she feels like garbage, and there’s no use trying to force herself to finish her work in this condition. Groaning, Ochako ends up placing  her head into her hands. After a few short breaths, she feels someone approach behind her and turns, only to see Shinsou, coffee cup in one hand and what looks like two white pills in the other. She takes both when he hands them out to her and looks at him with questioning eyes.

He gives her a crooked half smile. “Tylenol.” And Ochako doesn’t wait another second before she tosses them into her mouth and gulps them down with a big chug of some of the worst coffee she’s ever tasted. Shinsou laughs as her face twists in disgust.

“Sorry,” he says. “They were all out of creamer.”

“It’s ok.” Ochako shakes her head and then looks around him. “What happened to Kaminari?”

“Got in a fight with the coffee machine,” Shinsou says and looks like he’s having way too much fun recalling the memory. “He’s in the bathroom right now trying to get the stains out of his shirt.”

Ochako can’t help but laugh, the actions sending another wave of painful shockwaves through her head. She winces and brings a hand up to her temple.

“You should go home,” Shinsou tells her. His voice is stern but soft with genuine concern. “We can cover for you.”

“I can’t afford another mess up.”

“Please.” Shinsou scoffs. “They’re not going to find a better photographer in the whole city and your last piece is going to get eaten up by the target audience.” The way he says ‘target audience’ makes Ochako smile.

“Are you sure?” Ochako looks up at her friend like he’s her saving grace.

“It’s still early, you can get away with slacking off for one day.” He gives her another smile. “I can reach out to your new assignment and set up a first meeting if you want.”

“You’d do that?”

“I don’t have anything to do until I get Jirou’s raw image files anyway.” He shifts back and forth on his feet, rubs a hand at the back of his neck. “Also… I might owe you one.”

Ochako lifts an eyebrow and watches as Shinsou’s face flushes pink. 

“For the non-date,” he whispers.

For a moment her migraine is forgotten as a wide smile stretches across her face. She stands up to wrap her arms around Shinsou’s waist. “Don’t mention it,” she whispers against his chest.

The train ride home is sweet meditation, the jungle of buildings outside passing as one masterpiece of art. The motion of the car rocks her gently back and forth as if to soothe her into calmness.

She tugs her jacket closer to her face as she makes the short walk to her apartment, the chill in the air hanging on to the last few weeks of winter by it’s fingernails. Soon, the sunny reach of the spring will grow longer, she can see it begin in the new life growing in the crevices of the sidewalk—tall wands of green upon wind blown soil.

The air inside her apartment is warm, comforting, and she sighs as she slips from her coat and shoes in the small genken. 

As she lays in her bed there are two tracks of thought occupying her mind, running parallel to each other. One track is safe, routine, free from weird letters and rude strangers. The other is taking a chance on the impossible, full of unknown variables. Ochako had always taken the safest route and worked hard to push herself ahead without needing to take many risks, but the buzzing under her skin that she had felt upon receiving that first response refuses to cease. 

For once, she chooses the track full of mysteries, taking a chance on something new and unknown. It’s like reaching out into the vast expanse of space, looking for new discoveries and challenges just beyond her reach. She chooses the unknown. 

When her inner battle is fully resolved, she turns to reach towards her nightstand drawer where she’s sure she must have placed the letter, only to find no trace of it inside. What has she done with it? The events of the night before are fuzzy, but she distinctly remembers reading it before she fell asleep. 

Ochako huffs in defeat, that was a lot of contemplating for no reason. 

It’s no matter, anyway, she’s just as fine with dropping the whole thing all together. At least, that’s what she tells herself as she spends the night tossing and turning between her sheets.

She spends the weekend recouping, and when she goes back to work on Monday she feels refreshed. Perhaps it was all just a weird daydream, a coping mechanism to get her through her long and boring days at a job that she didn’t enjoy. She needs to come back to earth, back from her silly musings of beautiful paintings and letters from strangers. She’s the last to arrive at the office, but regardless of that she feels relief at the fact that she won’t have to deal with any more strange happenings. Which is why her eyes nearly bulge out of her head when she gets to her desk and sees a square envelope waiting for her, familiar handwriting adorning the front of it.

What exactly was this guy playing at? She hadn’t responded to his last letter. Was that not enough of a hint that she was done with this childish charade? She carefully opens the envelope and slips out the letter, preparing herself for the onslaught of ridiculous insults that await her inside. When she opens it up and runs her eyes over the words, however, the difference in tone takes her by surprise.

Dear Cheeks,

Holy shit, you were right about the snow. You’re either some sort of clairvoyant or you’re really two years in the future, and since I don’t believe in any of that supernatural seeing eye shit I’m inclined to believe the later. Which is… fucking insane.

By the way, guess I wasn’t too far off the mark with the nickname. Talk to you soon, Roundface.

So, he believes in time travel but not, say, ghosts? Ochako chuckles to herself before she realizes just what this means. 

She lets her hands fall to her lap, then lifts them up to bring the letter back up to scan over it again, re-reads it two more times just to be sure she’s not seeing things. The memory of rummaging through her closet comes to her in fuzzy bits and pieces. That night she had dreamt of the snowstorm that had blown through two winters ago, but perhaps it wasn’t all a dream.

Heat rises to her face as the memory of writing a letter in her drunken state and somehow making it downstairs to mail it out solidifies in her mind. At least she had been smart enough to put the address for her work instead of her apartment in the return. But she was still stupid enough to mail him a picture of her. Which brings her back to the last part of his letter.

Roundface?! If Ochako felt hot before, now she was practically an inferno.

“Shinsou!” she yells. It’s not a second later that his head appears above the divider between them. “Is my face round?”

Shinsou’s eyes flick back and forth as if he’s trying to locate the nearest exit. “Uh,” he starts. “No?”

Ochako huffs. “Is that a question?”

His eyes narrow. “Is this a trap?”

It’s all Ochako can do to exhale in short puffs and keep from reaching across to flick him in the forehead. Actually, she thinks that sounds perfectly reasonable. So she does.

“Ow!” Shinsou brings a hand up to press against his freshly flicked forehead. “It’s not a bad thing! You have a very cute face, with perfectly pinchable cheeks.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better!” Ochako once again resists the urge to puff out her cheeks in annoyance.

“I’m serious,” Shinsou says, hand finally coming down from his face. “What’s brought this on anyway? Did someone say something to you?” 

“Not exactly,” she replies, unsure how much she should say. “It’s more like someone’s given me a nickname based on the shape of my cheeks.”

Shinsou’s face goes very serious, as if he’s ready to duel out whatever consequences need to be given to such a person. It melts Ochako’s heart, just a bit. “What kind of nickname?”

“Roundface?” She winces.

Shinsou rolls his eyes. “What inarticulate brute came up with something like that?”

The tension Ochako had been feeling slowly starts to wane, her shoulders relax and she feels the corners of her mouth twitch up in a smile. “Someone with no manners.”

A crooked grin creeps its way onto Shinsou’s face. “You okay then?”

Ochako nods. “Yeah, thanks Toshi.” The smile drops from his face at the nickname and Ochako laughs.

“I knew you were the one who started that!” Shinsou huffs as he disappears behind the screen.

Ochako’s still laughing when she looks back down at the letter and throws all caution to the wind as she picks up a pen and puts it to page.

I’m sorry for... my previous letter. I had gone out with my best friends and had a few too many drinks. I don’t usually let myself get like that but work has been very stressful and I only meet up with my friends once a month. You probably didn’t need to know that. So, I’m sorry. If it was weird. I’m not really sure what to think of all of this time traveling stuff. Is it time travel if it’s only letters? This isn’t some kind of joke? Are you really in the year 2017?

It doesn’t take long at all to get a response, a new letter getting placed on her desk not a week later.

Yes, genius. I’m really in the year 2017. Your friends sound like real losers if they can only make time to see you once a month. Are these the artists you said you know? No wonder you thought I was three sheets to the wind if these people are your basis for which you compare every professional. 

This can’t actually be happening. Can it? It’s impossible. 

Ochako eagerly takes out her own sheet of paper to write her response.

I’ll have you know my friends are very well respected in their fields! It’s not their fault we can only meet once a month, it’s mine. I throw myself into my work so much I end up isolating myself. I just have so much I want to do and I feel like if I slow down, I’ll never get there. You know? Sorry, I’m rambling to a stranger who may or may not be from the past that I don’t even know. You asked if this can be happening. I’ll ask you a question in return: why not?

The next time Ochako comes to work to find a solitary piece of mail on her desk, she finds herself ripping open the envelope as soon as she lays eyes on it. The anticipation of getting another letter from her unconventional pen pal had been steadily increasing over the last few days. Her eyes rapidly scan the words on the page, and she sucks in a quick breath at what she reads.

Impossible things happen all the time right? Yeah, Roundface. I know exactly what you mean. This may come as a shock to you, but I don’t have many friends. I think you’re the only person who’s willingly had a conversation with me that has lasted this long… other than annoying ass Deku, who I guess you can call my best friend. I’d threaten you with bodily harm if I thought you knew who he was and could tell him as much though.  Do letters count as a conversation? Ah, fuck it.

She shakes her head. There was something about this guy she just could not figure out. One minute he was being rude and vulgar, and the next he was showing a vulnerable side that was particularly introspective.

If you can call him your best friend he must not be that annoying. Don’t worry Mr Grumpy Gills, your secret is safe with me. 

Ochako laughs, unable to help herself.

Trust me, if you met him you’d understand. The dude cries over cute animal videos. It’s pathetic. If our moms weren’t best friends I’d have ditched the loser a long time ago. So tell me, what’s the future like? Any cool shit in 2019?

~~~~

That’s funny, he kind of sounds like this friend I have. The world’s pretty much the same. Except we all wear shiny metal jumpsuits and drive flying cars and no one talks anymore because we can all read each other's minds.

~~~~

Is he a useless baby nerd? And haha, very funny.

~~~~

No! He’s one of the sweetest people I know. I’d be lost without him. The truth is, not much has changed since 2017. Sorry to disappoint.

~~~~

Yeah, yeah enough of the sappy shit. You said your friends are artists, so what do you do?

~~~~

I’m a photographer, sort of. I work at a fashion magazine but what I really want to do is travel the world and photograph real people and endangered species and real world issues that fall under the radar. I’d like to make a difference in the world instead of just taking pictures of expensive dresses on bodies that get photoshopped so much they perpetuate negative body images for every little girl that looks at them.

Ochako almost doesn’t send it. She grips the envelope so hard in her hands that she nearly ruins the seal. In the end she tosses into the outgoing mail and doesn’t look back. It takes her a while to open the one that comes in return.

Woah, Cheeks. Tell me how you really feel, huh? Don’t be so hard on yourself. Fashion photography is real fuckin work. I used to work for my parents design company before I decided to do my own thing. My mom was less than thrilled, the salty bitch. It might not be ideal, but it allows you to do what you love. At least there’s that. This is just the first step towards where you really want to be. If you’re anything the spitfire you seem to be, you’ll get there.

Ochako presses the letter to her chest as she takes in the aroma that lingers on the page. If she closes her eyes and breathes deeply she can smell the faint scent of paint among the ink. She had begun keeping the letters with her, taking them out and running her hands along the neatly written kanji when she needed to remind herself that this was not a dream; that she wasn’t going crazy or imagining this person that seemed to know exactly what made her tick.

They begin to grow close, to the point where Ochako no longer feels like she was talking to a stranger. It feels more like she was talking to a distant friend that she had lost touch with and they were finally able to reconnect.

There was something else, something simmering just below the surface. A feeling in her gut and behind her ribs that Ochako was refusing to acknowledge. With every new letter she pretended not to notice the fluttering in her stomach, the flush of her skin that seemed to be ever present while she read them. Her best days are becoming the days when she has a letter waiting for her, and it scares her; how much influence someone she’s never met has on her life.

“So what’s the problem?” Mina asks as Ochako lets her head drop to the table with a thud on a Thursday night.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” Ochako mumbles in response before lifting her head to face her friends across the table. “Look at the date on this letter.”

Midoriya grabs the letter and Mina leans in to get a good look. Then she turns towards Ochako with a skeptical look. “So?”

Ochako’s brows draw together. “Mina... it’s dated two years in the past!”

Mina waves a dismissive hand. “Details.”

“Details?!”

She  laughs. “Chaks, we’re artists who have worked crazy odd jobs to make rent. At one point we’ve all seen weirder shit.”

At that, all three burst into a fit of laughter until they’ve got tears shining in the corner of their eyes. 

“So,” Ochako starts when they’ve caught their breath. “You guys believe me?”

“You’re happy,” Midoriya says, reaching over and giving her hand a squeeze. “That’s all that matters.”

“You should probably get his name before you start planning the wedding though.” A new wave of laughter runs through the three of them, and Ochako feels the warm start of something squirming in her gut, begging to be acknowledged.

Sorry I haven’t responded in a while, the end of the month is always a crazy time at work but I want to thank you for what you said in your last letter. Really, it meant a lot to me. It’s come to my attention that you know my name, but I don’t know yours. Which hardly seems fair.

~~~~

Don’t mention it, Cheeks. Thought I had scared you off for a minute there. If you’re working at a magazine in Tokyo now, what were you doing in my time, two years ago?

P.S. Bakugou Katsuki

~~~~

Dear Bakugou,

Nice to meet you. Two years ago I was working for my parents. They own a construction company just outside of Kameyama.

~~~~

If we’ve just met, what do you call everything before now? Damn, you really are a country girl. How have you liked the wonder that is the big city?

~~~~

But now we’ve been properly introduced! Well, I’m ashamed to say I haven’t seen much of it. I’d never really been to the city until I came here for work, and now I feel like that’s all I ever do. Don’t get me wrong, I love my work… I just can’t help but feel myself getting stuck with no way to move forward.

~~~~

You’re shittin me! You’re a photographer for crying out loud and you’ve never gone sightseeing?

~~~~

Cut me some slack! It’s not that strange. I’ll get to it someday.

The next delivery she gets does not come in a small white envelope, but a large brown padded thing that takes up half of her desk. Inside she finds a letter, longer than usual, along with a map. Ochako opens the map to see a series of numbered red stickers and sticky notes that create a weaving line through the city of Tokyo. Her eyes widen as she realizes what it is, she quickly unfolds the letter. There are several pages, but the first one reads only:

Cheeks,

Make ‘someday’ now.

Her heart is racing, her hands shake as she flips to the next page. ‘Take a walk with me this Saturday’   is written at the top, the following paragraphs are numbered one to seven, the same number of dots on the map.

That Saturday she’s up before the sun, anticipation electrifying every nerve in her body. Ochako couldn’t possibly sleep a minute longer. She takes the train to the first stop, which takes her to Tennozu Isle, a piece of reclaimed land not far from Odaiba. Her eyes fall to the letter.

There are dozens of large warehouses in Tennozu, which make the best canvases for street artists. One of my favorites has to be the shamisen player. The artist is from the US but it’s inspired by Japanese ukiyo-e woodcut print, and the use of spray paint and brushes make for great details on an impressive mural. If you’re hungry, check out TY Harbor. I recommend the sashimi and a table overlooking the canal.

Ochako has to agree, the mural of the shamisen player is incredible, his coat of many colors and soft expression are truly breathtaking. She skips out on the sashimi, but enjoys a nice citrus tea overlooking the water.

Next on the map is Nakameguro, a trendy Tokyo neighbourhood best known for the Meguro River that runs through it and the revamped shopping area under the train tracks . The river is flanked by cherry trees that create a magical landscape of falling blossoms as she walks.

If you’re the type of sap that loves cherry blossoms, enjoy the trees.

Ochako rolls her eyes.

When you’re sick of that, head away from the riverside and follow the train tracks and you’ll find art galleries and stupid hipster shops. Don’t stop at any of them, keep walking until you reach the older buildings and you’ll find a collection of old murals from the early 2000’s, the colors will blow your mind.

Once again, he’s right. Ochako stands in awe at the painted flowers that seemed to jump off the concrete walls. The colors were still so vibrant, especially considering they had been painted ten years earlier or more. Bakugou suggests she grab some Tex-Mex from Junkadelic, which she does, and it’s delicious.

Her next stop is in Shibuya. She follows the directions for a path underneath the railway tracks near Tower Records. Ochako’s confused for a moment, as she doesn’t see any art immediately. Until she looks up and spots a pixelated Astro Boy on the overpass and smiles.

This little fucker is one of the only illegal pieces of art in all of Tokyo. Usually, all graffiti within the city is done with a permit, not this one though. For some reason they still haven’t taken it down. Just your daily reminder you gotta say fuck it to the rules sometimes.

Ochako ignores the skeptical faces of onlookers as she laughs out loud to herself. There’s only two stops left on the map and she simultaneously feels excited for what’s to come and sad that it will be coming to an end soon. To her surprise Harajuku is next, best known for its fashion and sweets.

I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. Give me some damn credit! Avoid all of the sugar high teenagers and walk all the way down Takeshita St. Now you’re in Ura-Harajuku, where you’ll find some kick ass street art and no annoying ass kids. Take your time and look around, there’s plenty to see. If you can find Design Festa, there’s a weird three eyed baby that some people would call iconic.

She tilts her head as she spots the baby, who looks a little rough. He’s standing hunched over next to a moose head and a chicken riding what looks like another chicken wearing a fox mask. Ochako laughs, and hugs the letter close to her chest as she walks towards her next destination. It’s not far from Design Festa, a cozy looking Harajuku bar called Bonobo. On the side of Bonobo is a giant painting of a Harajuku zombie, a haunting piece that combines classic zombie movie imagery and Japanese motifs. Ochako thinks she looks like she’s had one too many late nights in Bonobo.

Walk a little south to Makubaza and order the curry, trust me.

She does, and she can’t believe the combination of flavors that explodes on her taste buds. Ochako heads to the last spot on the map with a full stomach and a heavy heart.

It gives her pause when she’s led to a nature reserve just outside the city. Feeling a little skeptical, she turns to the last page of the letter.

There won’t be any real art here, this is a place that’s more… personal to me.

Oh, so he was getting soft on her.

Shut up, I’m not getting soft.

Ochako chuckles.

Head over to the first path marker, and take a close look.

She rushes over to the park map, eyes sweeping across all of the possible trails to take. Ochako’s not sure what she’s looking for, until her attention falls to a part of the sign that has something carved into it. Ochako leans closer to get a better look and gasps at what she sees. ‘Take this one’ is carved neatly into the wooden post. There are no identifying marks, but she knows exactly who it’s from. Excitement bubbles up inside her as she heads towards the mentioned path.

It’s windy and steep, so I hope you wore comfortable shoes. Maybe I should have mentioned something about that in the start... 

Ochako looks down at her old worn sneakers and thinks they’ll have to do. No way is she turning back now. She follows the path up the hillside, her breathing getting more heavy and ragged as the incline increases. At one point she has to grab onto a rock and pull herself up and she thinks, what the hell is he trying to make me do?

But when she finally reaches the top, she forgets about all of her grievances she had thought of on the way up. There’s a small marker naming the spot Yakuouin peak. The view is absolutely breathtaking. She sits on a ledge that overlooks a large valley filled with giant trees. In the far distance she can make out Mt. Fuji. The breeze plays at her hair, moving it around her face in buoyant waves.

She wishes he could be here with her now, and then she takes another look at the marker, sees a carving there as well. ‘I’m here with you, Cheeks.’

Ochako whips her head around, nearly expecting him to be there standing beside her. It’s a ridiculous thought, she knows, but she still feels her stomach drop when she realizes she’s all alone.

I come to this spot when I need to be inspired, or when I need to think. Sometimes the world is demanding, and unforgiving when you don’t live up to its expectations. Sometimes, it’s us putting those expectations on ourselves.

We artists put our living dreams into our work, pictures of our souls that we’re desperate for others to see. The heart demands a hearing, a chance to render the static of emotion into colors and forms, into something that can speak our truths.

You’re capable of more than you think. So go out there, and tell the world your truth Ochako. I’ll be rooting for you all the way.

She touches the letter as if he could step through the page and into her arms, and in a way, with his words, he does. Ochako knows it’s impossible. She knows Bakugou is two years in the past, but she can feel the whisper of a presence next to her. Watching the sun go down, she feels something inside of her catch fire. The warmth that had been slowly growing in her gut bursts to life, consuming her in a golden flame that ignites the night, outshining the stars.

Falling in love, she realizes, was the easy part, it’s admitting to herself what’s happening that’s hard. Her eyes fill with tears as the reality of the situation comes crashing down around her. All of the time between them might as well be thousands of miles. How can she love him, when she’s never even seen his face? It’s all so silly. It’s all so real. It’s all so frustrating and painful.

Ochako breathes out a steady exhale. “I love him,” she says to the wind. It carries her words through the trees, and they sway in acceptance of another whispered secret to join the countless others that make their home nestled between the leaves. Once she acknowledges it, there’s no going back. She has no regrets. Though, if she could wish for a magic carpet to bring him to her, she would. She’d wish for it and wait by an open window.

With each stride back down the hill her mind becomes more clear, more resolute, as if the physical distance between them is an emotional chasm she needs to cross. As the dwindling sunlight caresses her skin, she pauses to close her eyes and take in a deep breath of dewy air. She steels herself to only think of the future—a future she would mould, build, direct. Then with each stride after that she feels more in charge, in command of her own mind, body and soul. She is a girl walking into her own destiny, a destiny that lay squarely in her own hands.

Thank you for taking me to so many wonderful places, the curry was especially unforgettable. Every new place opened my eyes to something new. It’s feelings like those that made me fall in love with photography in the first place. So, thank you for the reminder. I wish you could have been there with me… I wish I could be there for you like you’ve been for me.

~~~~

I was there with you, Cheeks. Even if we’re far apart, I’ll find a way to get to you.

~~~~

I want to meet you, for real this time.

~~~~

Pick a place. I’ll be there. Two weeks from today, what do you say?

~~~~

It won’t be two weeks for you, Bakugou… you’ll have to wait two years.

~~~~

I don’t care. I’ll wait.

~~~~

Are you sure?

~~~~

I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.

~~~~

Okay, I’ll see you in two years then.

~~~~

I’ll see you in two weeks. Where would you like to go?

Ochako stands in front of Aragawa, a two Michelin star restaurant and one of Tokyo most stand out places to be. Reservations need to be placed months in advance. It’s the kind of place where no pricing can be found on the menu, if you have to ask you probably can’t afford it. She had been mostly joking when she had suggested the spot, but Bakugou had insisted it once she had brought it up.

She takes a deep breath when she feels the nerves start to buzz underneath her skin, a marker that she needs to find her bravery and move forward. Without hesitation, she pushes open the doors and walks to the hostess station.

“Name?” the hostess asks, barely looking up from the notebook in front of her.

“Uh, Uraraka?” Ochako says, unsure. And then, “Maybe Bakugou?”

The hostess's head snaps up, her face lights up with all the emotion that it was missing moments before. “Bakugou? You’re sure?”

Ochako looks around nervously. “Mhm.”

The hostess smiles, soft. “Sorry, we’ve been waiting a long time for you.” She sighs a small laugh as she walks Ochako to a small table in the middle of the restaurant. “Your waiter will be right with you,” she says as she lays a thin menu in front of her and one in front of the empty seat beside her.

It isn’t more than a few minutes when a waiter comes by with a complimentary glass of wine, which she gladly takes. Ochako is brave, but a little liquid courage never hurts. She says her thanks and takes a sip and hums as the soft yellow liquid runs smoothly down her throat. After just one sip she feels a nice warmth spread through her limbs. She watches the candle in front of her flicker as if it can feel the excitement coursing through her.

She drinks two glasses of wine and the candle burns a little shorter when she finally lets herself voice her fear. “Maybe he isn’t coming,” she whispers into her third glass of wine, half empty. Ochako looks around at the happy faces surrounding softly lit tables and her eyes start to sting. 

She looks down at her lap as the candle burns out, unable to lift her head and meet the curious eyes of the wait staff. Nearly every table is empty by now. Ochako doesn’t cry until she’s made it outside into the cold frosty night air.

You weren’t there. You didn’t come.

~~~~

I don’t understand... something must have happened. I’ve got two years, let me try again.

~~~~

No, Bakugou. It’s too late. It already happened. It didn’t work.

~~~~

Don’t give up on me, Cheeks.

~~~~

I’ve spent the last two years letting myself get caught up in my work. I gave up on my dreams, I felt uninspired, and then I found you. I let myself get lost in a beautiful fantasy where time stood still. But it’s not real. I have to learn how to live the life I’ve got. I have to move on.

She doesn’t read any of the letters that follow. They come in fast, one after the other, at first. It takes a few weeks, but the time between each letter slowly stretches until it’s weeks between them. Ochako puts each one in a box and shoves it under her bed where she can’t see them, but she can’t bring herself to throw them away.

“Hey, did you hear?” Shinsou’s voice shakes her from her thoughts. “Nat Geo’s looking for new photographers.”

“Oh?” Ochako knows exactly where this conversation is headed.

“You should apply,” he says, taking a sip from his coffee mug. Impressively keeping the smug look off his face, which she knows is waiting just below the surface.

Ochako sighs. “My portfolio isn’t ready, someday maybe but—”

Make ‘someday’ now.

She hears Shinsou’s questioning voice muffled behind the volume of her thoughts. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I…” She looks up at him, determination filling her veins. “I will. I’ll do it.”

He nearly spits out his coffee. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s…” Shinsou stutters, and then smiles. “You’re going to kill it.” Maybe, she thinks. Maybe she will, but she’ll never know if she doesn’t put herself out there.

It takes some work, and a lot of help from her friends, but in the end her portfolio is finished. She’d returned to all of the places on Bakugou’s map, snapped pictures of all of the pieces he had shown her, some of the people there too. It wasn’t a shock to anyone that she had gotten a call back for an interview in the States. Well, except to her. Ochako had nearly fainted when she had gotten the call. 

There was no convincing her to stay, though Midnight did try.

She holds a first class ticket in her hand, dated three weeks from today, when her phone buzzes in her pocket.

She glances at the contact photo before answering. “Izuku? What’s up?”

“Ochako!” She has to bring the phone away from her ear from the volume. “Please tell me you aren’t doing anything right now!”

“I was thinking about packing now so I don’t have to worry about it... but,” she drawls the last word.

“But we both know you’re going to procrastinate until the day before you leave me forever.”

Ochako laughs. “I’ll be back. It’s just an interview.”

“Yeah,” he starts. “And then you’ll get the job and be sent on location and I’ll never see you again.”

“Izuku…”

“Anyway!” Midoriya shouts. “I need your help. I’m working a job as a favor to a family friend and our other photographer bailed!”

 “What kind of job?”

“Have you heard of Mitsuki?”

Ochako’s eyes nearly bulge out of her head. “ The Mitsuki?”

Midoriya laughs. “The very same!”

“Of course,” Ochako says. “Ping me the address!”

“No need!” Midoriya says. “Just go downstairs!”

There’s a taxi waiting for her when she exits her apartment building, and she’s almost annoyed at how predictable she must be to her friends. The feeling doesn’t last long, because when the taxi reaches its destination, it will be in front of the office of one of the biggest names in high fashion in all of Japan.

Midoriya is waiting for her out front when she arrives, and he looks as much as the nervous wreck he had sounded like on the phone. Her eyes widen at the massive skyscraper behind him. “You said this job was for a family friend?”

Midoriya gives her a tight smile. “Kacchan was my best friend growing up, Mitsuki is his mom.”

Ochako doesn’t miss his choice of words. “Was?”

His shoulders drop. “He um, died. Almost two years ago, in an accident. A train went off the rail.” Ochako suddenly recalls a day she’d nearly forgotten about. A day she had been forced to walk to work and stumbled upon a painting that had changed the course of her whole life. “This will be Mistuki’s come back season since she left to grieve, and she wanted someone she knows to help out with the photos.”

“Oh, Izuku.” She doesn’t know what to say. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah it was… rough.” They make their way into the building and towards the elevator. Midoriya hits the button for the top floor. “But it’s nice being around his parents. It’s like still having a part of him here.”

Ochako nods and remains quiet the rest of the ride up. There’s a soft ding and then the doors open to a rush of activity inside. Models glide around the room is an array of different gowns in the most fiery combination of colors. Reds, oranges, and yellows light up the room in an explosion of radiating warmth. Ochako is mesmerized and allows herself to be pulled along by Midoriya, not paying attention to where they’re going until she stops in front of a tall woman with blonde hair that’s spiked in every direction. Her scarlet eyes peer down at Ochako critically, as if she’s looking directly into her soul to appraise what kind of person she really is.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mitsuki-san,” Ochako says, bowing low. She hears a chuckle and stands up straight.

“Just Mitsuki is fine.” Mitsuki’s expression softens as she looks at Ochako. “Are you a friend of Izuku’s?”

“Yes ma’am.” She resists the urge to bow again.

“Our families have known each other for a long time, he’s a nice boy,” Mitsuki says. “A little emotional.”

Midoriya groans next to her. “Do we really need to talk about me?”

Mitsuki smacks a hand on the back of Midoriya’s head, not hard enough to hurt. She’s smiling when she does. “I’m your elder, I can do whatever the hell I want.” She turns her attention back to Ochako. “Izuku here was friends with my son, though I never understood why… He was such a brat.”

Ochako allows herself to bow her head slightly. “I give you my condolences.”

Mitsuki waves her hand. “Thank you dear, but us Bakugous have never been the kind to stay down for long. This whole collection is a celebration of Katsuki’s life.” She looks around at her creations, anyone could tell how proud she is at that moment, and completely unaware of the alarms suddenly going off in Ochako’s head.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice coming out barely above a whisper. “D-did you say Bakugou?”

“Family name, I don’t use it for my company,’’ she gestures around, “It’s my creation after all.”

“I see…” Ochako’s brain seems to delay as it recalls everything she’d learned about Bakugou through his letters. His mom was a designer. She had her own company. He had left to become an artist, something she wasn’t happy about. Mitsuki is Bakugou’s mom. Bakugou was the man on the train.

Bakugou Katsuki.

No.

She clears her throat and bows. “Please forgive me.” Ochako doesn’t wait for a response as she runs back towards the elevator. 

Midoriya calls after her, but she can’t waste any time. Not when she can fix this. She will fix this.

Her journey home feels like it takes years, each minute stretching itself into an infinite black hole that she can’t escape. She wastes no time once she’s inside her apartment, rushing to grab a scrap of paper and an envelope. If she can catch the mail before it goes out, maybe there’s still time.

Katsuki, I know why you didn’t show up that night. The day I found your gallery, the line was shut down after a train went off the track. A man died, and that man was you. Please don’t go. Please don’t try to find me. I know we’ll meet one day. Because I love you. It’s taken me all this time to say it, but I do. So wait. Please.

As she runs downstairs, she catches the mail carrier on his way out of the building.

“Wait!” she yells. “Please, take this!” She shoves the letter into his arms and watches as he gets into his van and drives away.

Time seems to slow down as she makes her way back upstairs, a deep numbness settles in as she goes through the motions of slipping out of her shoes and jacket, going straight to her bed, and burying her face into her pillow.

She should probably call Midoriya and apologize again. Instead, she lets the tears that had been threatening to fall flow from her eyes. Ochako cries until she feels exhaustion take over her, and doesn’t stop even as she falls asleep.

Ochako dreams of twilight. Of two tall trees, their tops round as if drawn with mathematical precision. As she gazes at them for a moment, a kind of moment that could be any length of time in the twinkle of eternity, she sees the eyes of an owl, great and wise. Before she can take another breath, before her brain is capable of any other notion, she’s behind those owl eyes; up in the sky looking down upon the black-cradled ground. She feels safe and happy, so at home there in the sky, in a place that touches her reality and yet belongs to another. And then she is plummeting down towards the earth, unafraid of what awaits her down on the ground.

She blinks and she’s sitting in a field of green wheat, the stalks bend lazily in the wind and she marvels at the grains. Her worries of yesterday are already fading from her memory, as if they were erased from history altogether. Casting her eyes around her at the waves of green, listening to the birds, she feels herself begin to relax. The warmth of another hand in hers feels familiar and when she squeezes, a larger, calloused hand squeezes back. She looks down to find only white petals, which she instinctively releases into the breeze and watches them float away.

Ochako sits at a table, looking out the window as the rain falls. She’s tired. She hasn’t been sleeping well but it’s not exactly a new development. She hasn’t been sleeping well for the last several months. She doesn’t know what brought on this sleeping issue but she can pinpoint almost exactly when it began.

Every night she spends tossing and turning, unable to truly rest. There’s an urgency in the back of her head telling her to hurry, that there’s something she needs to do, but what it is, she can’t remember. The thought keeps her awake and leaves her exhausted to the point that no cup of coffee can cure in the morning.

“Hey, Ochako.”

Ochako turns to smile at Midoriya as he slides into the chair across from her. “Hey Izuku, it’s good to see you!”

Midoriya reaches across the table to take Ochako’s hands in his own, the golden ring on his finger glinting in the light. “How are you?”

Ochako shrugs. “Same as always, but I don’t want to talk about me. Tell me about Shouto and the new place,” she says, a smile still on her face. She relaxes into her chair, sipping at her coffee as she listens to her friend catch her up on his life.

“So,” Midoriya says, tone turning more hesitant. Ochako can guess what’s coming next. “Heard anything from Nat Geo?”

Ochako shakes her head. “Nothing yet, I’m sure they’ve found someone better by now.”

Midoriya’s hands come down harshly on the table, drawing the attention of a few people nearby. Ochako winces. 

“I don’t believe it!’’ He huffs, “You’ll get the call any day, I just know it.”

She buries her smile in her cup. “I don’t want to get my hopes up, you know?” Ochako hasn’t been able to shake the feeling that there’s something she’s missing, something she’s been waiting for. It all started right around the time she stopped being able to sleep through the night. She had chalked it up to anxiety over her job interview but something tells her it’s more important than that. Ugh, she really needs a distraction. “Do you think Shouto will let me borrow you this weekend? I could use the distraction.”

Midoriya smiles, big and bright. “I think I have just the thing!” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two rectangular shapes to thrust in front of her. 

Ochako takes them from his hand only to find herself looking down at two tickets to a very exclusive art exhibit that had sold out within minutes of going live. “How did you get these?!”

“I have my ways,” he says, uncharacteristically smug. Ochako narrows her eyes. Midoriya deflates. “My mom sent them, okay? The artist is a family friend.”

Their laughter fills the cafe, bright and playful.

There are hundreds of people outside the building when they pull up, all of them in fancier clothes than she is. Midoriya assures her she isn’t underdressed. She’s not sure if she believes him.

Once inside she’s awestruck by the paintings lining the walls. The artist speaks through his pictures, each one whispering sweet music to her ears. The art upon the gallery walls are polaroids of emotion, the kind of communication that would take volumes of the written word to convey… and even then, not nearly as well. From afar the paintings look so realistic but as she leans in the details jump out at her. The heavy brushstrokes across the canvas blend a rainbow of colours in such an unnatural yet purposeful way that causes Ochako’s breath to hitch in her throat. She feels a weird sort of nostalgia as she looks from one canvas to another, though she’s sure she’s never seen any of these works before.

She lets herself wander away from Midoriya, getting swept away in a wave of brilliant mysticism as each painting guides her around the room. She’s so mesmerized, she moves until she catches a glimpse of spiky blond hair moments before she locks eyes with a set full of scarlet fire staring back at her. Her breath stalls as a sense of recognition settles in her chest.

Ochako doesn’t know how, but she feels like she knows he's what she's been waiting for. There’s something so familiar about him but she just can’t pinpoint exactly why she feels this way.

Time seems to slow down as they stare at one another in wonder as everything else around them seems to fade to black. It’s as if suddenly, they’re the only two people left in the room; they might as well be the only two people left on earth.

He’s beautiful—the hair that frames his face just a little too long, broad shoulders, eyebrows drawn in close even as his eyes widen as he looks up to meet her gaze. She smiles as something blossoms in her chest. Then they’re both moving towards each other until they’re only an arm’s length apart.

They both open their mouths to speak at the same time and then chuckle at the silliness of the whole thing. 

“Sorry, um, have we met?”

“No,” he says. His voice’s strangely soothing. She’s struck by some unknown feeling of relief for some reason.“This sounds weird but—there’s something I have to show you.”

There’s probably some saying about following strangers through weird doors in the back of dimly lit art galleries into an even darker room, but Ochako has never been a fan of old wives tales. She doesn’t hesitate as she follows him, having to stop herself from reaching out to grab his hand. They’re nice hands.

 A light flickers on, illuminating the small space in a soft glow, and she blinks as her eyes adjust to the new brightness. It takes Ochako a minute to register just what’s in front of her, but when she does her eyes go wide and her breath freezes in her lungs. Scattered along the walls are canvases of many sizes and shapes, art styles varying from the ultra realistic to abstract, but they all have one thing in common: they’re paintings of her. A hand flies to her mouth as her eyes glide over every piece, a greater sense of disbelief settling in with each one.

Her voice shakes as she says, “This is…”

He’s looking everywhere but at her face. “Fuckin’ insane, I know.”

Ochako spins and doesn’t think as she throws herself at him; she just lets go. He picks her up into his arms without thinking, and she’s never known a moment quite like this before. 

It feels like she’s just come home for the first time, overwhelmed with love and a feeling of rightness. It doesn’t make sense, and yet here they are.

Ochako smiles as he sets her on her feet again. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He grins down at her, they stand there for a moment before he shakes his head. Yet, she can’t stop smiling.

“My name is Uraraka Ochako, what’s yours?”

“Bakugou Katsuki.” He’s staring at her like a man who’s seen the beacon of a lighthouse on the shore after being lost at sea. It’s nice, exciting, and thrilling.

“Bakugou… it’s nice to meet you.”

“Well, Cheeks,” his voice is soft, “I know this is going to sound crazy but—”

The nickname sparks something inside her, and Ochako doesn't think before she cuts him off with her lips. He doesn’t immediately respond and she’s worried that she’s read all this wrong but right as she starts to pull away, his hand weaves through her hair and he’s pulling her closer. 

As the kiss deepens Ochako feels like she finally understands, like a long lost dream that keeps slipping through her fingers.

He’s here.

When they break apart there are tears on both of their faces. “You found me,” she whispers as she reaches up to press her palm to his cheek.

“I think we found each other,” Bakugou mumbles before leaning down to kiss her again.

And for the first time in a long time, Ochako feels whole.