Chapter Text
“If you didn’t need to breathe, how far would you go?”
Ochako startled at the question, jerking from her spot on the ground. Grass crunched and protested as she turned onto her side, only to be met face-to-face with Katsuki.
Her cheeks warmed as she realized he’d been watching her for an indiscernible amount of time. His gaze was piercing, irises turning into rubies amidst the glare of the sun. No matter what he said, what he asked, what he wondered—he did it brusquely and with the utmost sincerity.
“What?” she responded intelligently. It wasn’t that she didn’t hear his question—it’d come out of nowhere, a curious undertone that’d been sitting dormant under their shared silence. At his deadpan look, she huffed and reached over to jab at his arm. He merely grunted, unperturbed by her annoyance. “Not everyone can read your mind.”
This time, he couldn’t hide his scowl. Despite maturing from first-years into third-years, he still retained some of his childish antics. So he lifted a hand and returned her jab with fervor, and she pouted at the light sting. She knew, without a doubt, that it’d bruise in the morning. What a brute.
“I mean,” he elaborated, “if you didn’t need to breathe to live, how far up would you go?”
She blinked. Where had that come from? Turning away, she resumed her previous position, back against the grass, arms folded behind her head. Above, cumulus clouds hovered in the sky, lazy and fat, blooming white against its blue backdrop. The trees to Katsuki’s side sighed with turning leaves and old joints, and there was a calm that settled around them.
Together, they contributed to the lackadaisical atmosphere that pervaded the air.
It was just them and their discarded blazers. She knew there would be grass streaks on the backs of their shirts, which would result in scoldings from Tenya and, possibly, Aizawa, but neither of them were present. So what did it matter?
With the lack of students and faculty in their surroundings, it was as if the pair had been thrust into a world of their own.
Not that she minded.
She enjoyed Katsuki’s presence much more than she let him know. It was—hopefully—the same for him. He’d never outwardly said he liked spending time with her; at the same time, he’d never said he’d hated it either. So, she liked to think that he tolerated her to some extent.
“Where is this coming from?” she asked instead. He puffed out a breath, and she didn’t need to turn to know that he’d returned to lying flat on his back. They stared up, watching the clouds drift overhead. He didn’t answer, but the silence remained comfortable.
It wasn’t a difficult question, nor was it urgent. Both were so accustomed to the fast-paced life at U.A. and the rigor of hero training that nothing could shatter the slow moment between them. It was rare for them to get a moment to themselves without their friends hanging off their sides, especially Katsuki.
“Was it,” she guessed, “what Tooru had said this morning? About touching the clouds?”
“Who asks such a stupid fucking question?” he volleyed back. That’s how she knew he was curious. Through their two years, she’d learned a lot about her classmate and tentative friend. A few years ago, she would’ve flailed and stammered her answer, followed by a staunt defense for her invisible friend.
Now, she took him in stride—knew exactly how he ticked, how each of his cogs functioned to create the entity that was Katsuki.
Instead of taking his bait, she shrugged. “If it’s such a ‘stupid fucking question,’ then there’s really no need to answer it, right?”
Oh, she could feel his irritation at being caught in his own net. Still, she remained silent; it was his turn to deal his card, and he was struggling.
Stupid, stubborn, explosive boy.
“First, don’t say ‘fuck.’ Doesn’t suit you, never will. And just answer it,” he finally sighed, exasperated with their tête-à-tête. First-year Katsuki would’ve either a) blown her up for messing with him, or b) got up, left, and suffered in silence. Third-year Katsuki was much easier to deal with.
She hummed, tasting her answer. It was...sweet, a little salty around the edges, but it’d do its job. In her periphery, Katsuki shifted, antsy for her answer, curiosity piqued by the idea of her seemingly limitless quirk.
“To answer Tooru’s question, I’m pretty sure I’ve touched one before.” She crooked a grin at the memory, amusement and residual excitement flooding her veins. “Once, when I went too high, I’m pretty sure I touched a cloud—not one as big as the one we’re looking at, but one closer to the earth. But! It didn’t feel like anything, just felt like cold fog.”
“Didn’t you nearly pass out from lack of oxygen?”
“Yeah, but luckily, you were there to catch me, remember?” she teased. “Mr. I’ll-Be-Number-One nearly forfeited the training grade to save me.”
“Fuck off.”
“You fuck off.”
“Stop saying that. It’s fucking weird,” he grumbled. “All right then, Cheeks. If you didn’t have to breathe, how far would you go?”
She hummed again, openly grinning toward the sky. Overhead, the cumulus continued to drift, unaware, uncaring. Lifting an arm, she peered through her fingers, allowed the sunlight to turn her hand into a silhouette as its rays dappled over her skin. Warmth cascaded over her figure, and even through the white button up, she could feel its light glide over her skin.
“I’d go up and up until it gets too cold.”
“And then what?”
This time, she lifted both arms, as if to say who knows? “I guess I’d fall.”
“That’s stupid. You’d die from the pressure difference and burn up in the atmosphere. If not that, you'd die immediately once you hit the ground.”
Turning onto her side, she met his gaze once more, and he cocked a brow as her grin widened. “No, I wouldn’t.”
Her answer was confident, and anyone would think she’d lost her mind. Or in Katsuki’s case, had ignored a whole year of physics lessons and hero training.
Humoring her challenge, he turned onto his side so that they faced one another. “Oh yeah, why’s that?”
“Because you'd catch me. You always catch me.”