Chapter Text
Ochako goes straight home after school.
She counts her steps. One two three four five six…twenty one twenty two…seventy…one-hundred…one-thousand…
She’s very good at counting. Sometimes, she takes bigger steps than usual to cut the numbers down by half, or she takes littler steps to double them. Regardless of whether she takes big or little steps, she always eventually ends up on her own doorstep.
The house is always empty when she first gets home. Her parents work late into the evening, but her Mother leaves cold dinner in the fridge for her to take out and warm up. If she doesn’t want that, she can cook. She always flinches when she takes out the pots and pans, and they clumsily clang their metal shells against one another, restless iron turtles in her little hands. She always flinches at the heat from the stove kissing her fingertips when she reaches over to add something to the pan. Flinches when the oil pops. She doesn’t like using oil or the stove.
Most likely, she’ll heat leftover rice and just eat that with a few packets of soy sauce. She’ll eat it with a plastic spoon instead of with chopsticks, because it’s easier, because her hands suck at following her brain’s carefully detailed instructions. It starts getting loud outside because everyone’s going home now, and the streets sound like they’re full of giants. The cars rumble and screech against the asphalt, groaning and moaning to abrupt stops at the red lights. The construction men start drilling into the ground outside the window, and the man who sucks leaves into his little machine starts peeling their wrinkled little bodies off the sidewalk.
The walls of her house are thin and sad, and it’s too loud. Her ears ache, like she’s underwater and the pressure is too much for them. She plugs them with her fingers and sits in front of the little TV, watching whatever random cartoon comes on in muteness.
Her Father comes home first, and then her Mother. They both wear something heavier than their clothes on their bones, and they give her weary kisses and weary smiles. They ask questions, and they care about the answers, but their voices are tired too, and their mouths keep sinking down into droopy frowns, tired of holding up smiles. They might say, ‘That’s nice, Ochako,’ ‘Good job, Ochako’, ‘I’m proud of you, Ochako’. But their eyes are worn, and look as though they may start unspooling at any moment. Her parents often look like they’re held together by pins and frayed seams. If she messes up, she could pull something out, and they’ll unravel right in front of her.
Ochako doesn’t know how to sew people back together, so she chooses to only tell them nice, easy things that they don’t have to pay attention to. She doesn’t bother them. She says, ‘Yes, I’ve eaten.’
I’m a good girl, see?
Her Mother’s shoulders sink in relief. She’s been very worried about Ochako’s poky ribs. She’s been very worried about the natto that Ochako can’t finish without banging her fists against her thighs, and the food she’s wasted because of her weird, picky stomach and weird, picky tongue. Sometimes, they will spend time with her before going to bed. But Ochako doesn’t mind that they have to go straight to sleep sometimes. They work very hard to put food in her ungrateful belly. They work very hard for this too loud house, this worn uniform, these scuffed shoes. They work so hard, and there’s never enough money.
She goes straight home after school.
Except, sometimes.
Sometimes, she takes big steps, and her feet lead her to the bookstore not far from her elementary school. The kids who stop by the bookstore are not like her. They have shiny hair, glossy lips, and fluffy cheeks. They have fitted clothes and ears that don’t feel underwater, and they talk in another language sometimes. They say words that Ochako remembers, words like HP, high score, overpowered, co-op, first person shooter, Animal Crossing. They whisper these words to each other as they go to the bookstore with the bright colors and the screens in the windows. They never invite Ochako, but sometimes she goes by herself.
The door to the bookstore has a bell she likes to ring. She walks in and out three times, just to hear the jingling. She stomps her feet in place and wriggles her toes. She hugs the bookstore’s tabby cat, who likes to slink around her legs and sniff her white socks. The lady who owns the bookstore knows her face, and she’s nice to her. The lady has soft eyes that aren’t fraying and a sweet smile and long long long black hair that looks like silk. She always tells Ochako what other girls her age like to read. She hands her pretty copies of shoujo manga, and Ochako flips through a few monochrome pages before placing it back on the display case.
“Do you have video game mangas?” Ochako asks her, and the nice lady smiles indulgently and nods. She leads Ochako to an aisle with green-spined books.
The Legend of Zelda, they read.
She always tells Ochako when there are new ones and never minds that Ochako pays for none of them.
Ochako loves the Legend of Zelda. She spends some evenings curled up in the bookstore, flipping through one manga after another.
“Do you play the video games?” The lady had once asked her. She is what the boys in her class would call, an ‘NPC’.
“No,” Ochako had answered. “I don’t have any games.”
“Hm,” The lady had mused softly, kneeling down to Ochako’s level. “Well, a good girl like you deserves some nice games. Why don’t you ask your parents for a game for your birthday? What game do you want most?”
Ochako had shrugged her little shoulders, clutching the Ocarina of Time manga close to her chest.
“I only know Zelda.” She’d told the lady.
“Well,” The lady had said. “Maybe you can start with that then. You could ask for one of the easier Zelda games to start off with, hm?”
And so, Ochako does ask. She tugs on her Father’s sleeve, and he looks down at her with that warm, tired smile. His voice sounds like a dying hearth when he speaks. She gets excited. She gets careless.
“Could I have a Zelda game for my birthday?”
She blows out his flame. She sees the moment it happens, the light fading from his smile. His mouth goes droopy at the corners. She messes up, she plucks his thread loose, and she stands there, wishing she could pluck herself apart as her Father unravels, quietly explaining to her that they don’t have the money, he’s so sorry, games are expensive, we don’t have a console, he’s so sorry, he’s trying but, he’s so sorry sorry sorry.
Never mind, Ochako says, frantically picking up his loose seams with her forced smile.
Never mind, never mind, never mind.
Ochako loves Zelda. But that’s not fair. She should love this too loud house. She should be better for her frayed parents. She should fix her stupid, picky tongue and stupid, picky stomach and stupid wriggly feet and banging hands and messy brain. She doesn’t want to mess up again.
She doesn’t ask again, and she can’t look at the nice lady’s face anymore. She holes up quietly in the corner of the store and reads books she’ll never buy.
///
Ochako loves Zelda, but so do a lot of other people.
There’s a new game out. She hears from
Deku while they’re all hanging out in the dorm common rooms. Tsuyu is in her pajamas, which are cute and green and fuzzy, and her silky hair is tied up in loops. She sits on the sofa and lets Ochako cushion her head against her pale thighs, her moss cool fingers sifting through Ochako’s brown locks without any fear of catching lice. Girl love is so sweet, Ochako can taste it, and soft as sleep.
“It’s called Tears of the Kingdom,” Izuku is explaining from his cross-legged position on the floor. He’s casually lifting a few weights, and Todoroki is leaning against his shoulder, feeling the flex of his muscles beneath his All-Might T-Shirt and absent-mindedly watching the obscure J-Drama played on the flatscreen. “It’s the sequel to Breath of the Wild, and it’s one of the only Zelda games directly linked to its predecessor, it’s an actual sequel that introduces new lore, and a new style of gameplay, I’ve seen a few playthroughs of it myself on HeroTube. Only problem is, it’s so expensive. I mean, not necessarily, I suppose for Zelda games, it runs a pretty typical price, but—“
“How much does it cost?” Ochako interrupts, and Izuku startles, because they all thought she was sleeping.
“A-Ah, what did you say Uraraka?” Deku stammers over his words a bit.
“How much is the game?” She repeats. “Tears of the Kingdom?”
“Oh!” Deku chirps, like a little green bird. He quirks his head, and his too long green curls sway with the motion. They’ve been growing out. “Mm…I think it’s a little over 10,000 yen.”
“10,000?” Ochako gasps a little, sitting up. Tsuyu’s hand shifts to her arm, and she giggles softly, a laugh more breath than sound.
“Video games can be expensive, kero,” She says, patting Ochako’s shoulder. “Especially ones like Zelda.“
“Are they? My brother Tensei played video games when I was quite young, but I do not remember how much it cost him to keep so many.” Iida says softly, his head is tipped back against the arm chair, his glasses smudged and askew on his sleep flushed face.
“Yeah,” Deku agrees with this sympathetic little smile. “But indie video games can be pretty cheap, or even free! I’ve downloaded a few on Steam, and on my switch.”
Ochako exhales softly. She doesn’t even have that much. Her computer is a little thing that groans every time she powers it up and hisses like a cat being wrangled into cold water when she has to download anything extra.
“What indie video games do you have, Deku-kun?” She asks, rubbing the sleepiness from her eyes with loosely curled fists.
“Um, I’ve got a lot of Chilla’s Art games on my laptop,” He explains, shifting a bit, and Todoroki grumbles vaguely in annoyance when the motion disrupts his position. “Those are some indie horror games, but I also really like Friday Night Funkin’, and some obscure Management games. Are you looking for recommendations?”
Ochako falters, humming softly. “No,” She says finally, since it’s not as if she can play them anyway. “I was just curious, that’s all. I didn’t know you were a video game fanatic. I thought all you cared about was All Might and Pro Heroes.”
Deku flushes, for some reason, and chuckles a bit, shrugging his shoulders.
“Well, sure, Hero stuff is my special interest,” He agrees, scratching at the corner of his jaw. “But me and Kacchan grew up playing video games. We used to go to the Arcade and play the latest Hero games. Hero games are a whole other genre, they even have an All Might series.”
Ochako smiles, easily imagining a tiny Izuku and a tiny Bakugou running around an arcade with All Might figurines in hand. Todoroki reaches over to tug on Deku’s shirt.
“Izu,” He calls softly, and Ochako doesn’t remember when they started using nicknames for each other, but she thinks it’s adorable. “I’m confused.”
Todoroki reminds Ochako of a kid sometimes. Deku hums, slinging an arm around his shoulders and playing absent-mindedly with the fluffy red and white hair at the nape of his neck. The two of them quickly devolve into half whispers about whatever J-Drama is on, Todoroki’s lips puckered in a barely there pout and Deku’s curled around an easy smile. Ochako playfully sticks out her tongue at their bowed heads and lays back down against Tsuyu’s lap. Tsuyu brushes through her hair again, soft and slow.
“I didn’t know you liked Zelda, Ochako-chan.” Tsuyu comments off-handedly. Ochako hums, thinking of those monochrome pages beneath the soft pads of her fingers. The paper cut on her thumb. Ochako’s chest tightens up, but her smile is loose, drooping like slack thread.
“Yeah, I’ve never played,” She explains with a shrug. “I just used to read the mangas. Y’know, Ocarina of Time, Twilight Princess. I really liked it.”
Something in her splinters beneath so simple a word. It sticks, a pin in her throat.
Love, love, LOVE—
But it’s fine, because it’s not like she could ever afford it anyway. Maybe one day, when she’s a pro with lots of money…
“Well, Shou and I are going to the mall this weekend,” Deku pipes up, and Ochako giggles when she notices the way Todoroki has slumped to lay comfortably in his lap like a cat. “We were gonna stop by the game store since Shou’s never gone. Do you wanna come with?”
Ochako grins. She doesn’t have scuffed shoes or too big uniforms anymore, and she’s better at being cute than she used to be. Now, people actually invite her places. She nods eagerly, wriggling her toes in her pink socks.
“Yes, please!” She sing-songs.
See, aren’t I good?
///
Saturday morning drags itself over the foggy horizon very slowly. Ochako wakes to messy bed hair and a deep, aching hunger. She curls up on her side, cradling the soft pudge of her tummy with a palm and groaning into her pillow. She peels herself from her sheets and showers the stick of sleep from her skin. The water is hot and the soap makes foamy bubbles on her pruny hands and shoulders and elbows. She thinks of the cold water back home, the jugs stored in the pantry just in case, the wet smell of mildew. She lingers under the hot spray for longer than necessary, until the aching hunger splinters into a yawning void and coaxes her out.
She brushes the buzzing from her teeth and dresses pretty for their outing, in a flowing pink skirt handed down to her by her cousin, and a slightly oversized crop top with Sailor Moon on the front. She clumsily decorates her hair with a few plastic pink hairclips she bought from a conbini when she was stocking up on anti-nausea medicine last week. She packs her bag full of her savings, some cheap snacks she’s been hoarding for a special occasion, and disposable ear plugs just in case the mall lights make too much sound or the shops are too crowded.
She’s downstairs before Deku or Todoroki. They must have accidentally slept in, since it’s already 11:05 and they agreed to meet by 11:00. Bakugou is there though, dressed in his skin tight running shirt and jogging shorts. He’s damp with sweat, the blonde hair at his nape clinging to his pale skin, so he must have just gotten back, and he’s cooking some eggs and bacon over the stove.
“Mm…” Ochako hums as she toddles into the kitchen, her footsteps slow and shuffling. Her stomach growls.
Bakugou raises an irritated brow but doesn’t turn to look at her, even as she peeks around his shoulder and look down at the half cooked meat and runny yellow yolk.
“Hey, Bakugou-kun.” She greets sleepily, her breath brushing his arm, and he grumbles in annoyance.
He glares at her out of the corner of his eye, pushing her a bit out of his personal bubble. But not all the way. And his hands are gentle as they move her, not pressing too hard into her skin, not squeezing too much.
“Get the fuck outta my face, Round Cheeks,” He grumbles, with far less heat than usual.
He adds another egg to the pan and tips his head sideways to look down at her. It’s always a bit weird, remembering that Bakugou is quite a bit taller than her, and when she stands this close, she has to tip her head back to meet his eyes.
He looks her up and down slowly, picking her apart, or maybe viewing her stats in his head. She shifts self-consciously, adjusting her shirt so it sits better on her shoulders.
“Bakugou?” She ventures.
“Where?” Bakugou grumbles.
“Huh?”
Bakugou rolls his eyes.
“Where are you goin’ round cheeks?”
Ochako blinks. She has a bit of a delay and stands there uselessly like an NPC for a few seconds.
“Oh,” She says, and then she can’t help but giggle a little, because with his damp blonde spikes and soft, disgruntled expression, she reminds him of the grumpy cats she sees on TikTok. “I’m going to the mall with Todoroki-kun and Deku! We’re going to the game store, cause Deku wants to show Todoroki, and I guess me now, since I’ve never really gone and actually looked at the games they’ve got. Deku also mentioned a new Zelda game, but he says it’s expensive, like 10,000 yen—“
“I didn’t ask all that, moron,” Bakugou scoffs, but his eyes don’t waver or flicker away disinterestedly, remaining trained on her. “Deku won’t buy shit, he blew his allowance already.”
“Seriously?” Ochako balks. She knows how much money Deku’s mom puts in his balance. It’s the kind of money she works hard to earn and then stores away in savings.
“He’s an idiot,” Bakugou says simply, as if this is explanation for everything. “Like he needs anymore damn figurines. Fuckin’ otaku creep.”
“That’s mean.” Ochako tells him, but she’s smiling.
“I’m mean,” Bakugou replies seamlessly. “And Deku’s a shitty material girl.”
Ochako giggles, her toes wriggling in her shoes. Bakugou sort of smirks at her for a moment, but as soon as it crosses his lips, it’s gone again, replaced by his ever present scowl. Still, Ochako commits it to memory. It’s funny, that Bakugou has a sense of humor.
The scent of cooking bacon hits the air and Ochako’s stomach grumbles again, the hunger sharpening fast enough to leave her feeling wounded. She groans softly and pats her tummy, pouting.
“I’m so hungry,” She says, pulling her very best puppy dog eyes. “If only there were an amazing, mind-blowingly strong cook who already had breakfast on the stove, my poor stomach could be saved—“
“Shut up.”
“Oh please, big strong muscular Bakugou who’s so good at everything—“
“Shut the fuck up—“
“Won’t you feed a poor girl, King Explosion Murder—“
“For fuck’s sake!” Bakugou growls, rubbing a hand through his spiky hair. He glares at her fiercely, his eyes bright and scarlet as a bloody dawn, but they don’t scare her at all.
“Please?” She says softly, batting her lashes.
Bakugou’s soft mouth is all sharp corners now, his hand clenched around the handle of the frying pan. She can see the toned muscle of his forearm flexing, though she tries not to stare.
“Fuckin’ fine,” He finally says after their silent staring contest ends in a draw. “You’re a shit cook and an even shittier kiss-up, but you make a decent sparring partner, so you owe me a fight later.”
“Deal!” She agrees with a giggle, stomping in place.
“Sit down at the damn table, happy feet.” He shoos her away, and her ears flush pink.
She’s just upgraded to a new nickname. Does that mean they’ve reached a new friendship level?
She takes a seat at the table, though it’s louder out here than in the kitchen. Mina and Hagakure are watching a K-Drama on the TV, sprawled across the carpeting in their pajamas as they gnaw on snacks and shout loudly at the screen whenever anything goes wrong. Sero is on the sofa playing on his switch, and Kaminari is sitting on the armchair playing on his switch. Based on their conversation, she can discern that they’re playing Animal Crossing together. Kirishima comes downstairs freshly showered and in a heated discussion with Ojirou, and Tokoyami and Shouji are playing Mahjong in the corner. It’s nice and homey and gentle, but also loud, and she scrunches up her nose a bit, clenching and unclenching her jaw.
Bakugou leaves the kitchen with two plates in hand. He sets her breakfast down in front of her, and she grins. It’s fresh and hot, the steam curling up from the plate, and he’s placed a serving of rice in a small bowl beside her meal. And he’s placed chopsticks neatly across the rim. Chopsticks. She falters a tiny bit, but shakes it off.
“Thanks, Bakugou! This looks so yummy.” She hums, and he scoffs, sinking down into the chair across from her.
“The fuck did you expect?” He huffs, and she croons teasingly.
“Only the best from you, Lord Explosion Murder.”
“You’re so damn annoying.”
He doesn’t even look at her as he says it, already scooping up his rice and digging in. His voice is soft, relaxed, and his face is too.
She stretches out her fingers, one by one, then all together, and wraps them around her chopsticks. A tiny ache blossoms in the gaps between her knuckles, and several white rice grains wind up stuck to her pink cheeks as she eats. Bakugou glances over at her.
“You’re a fuckin’ messy eater.” He observes. Her face flushes, her stomach heavy. The yawning void is sealed away for now, but the ever-present shame remains.
“Yeah,” She laughs it off, shrugging her shoulders. “And you’re a surprisingly delicate eater.”
“How the fuck is that surprising?” Bakugou growls, scowling. “I wasn’t raised in a damn barn.”
“Neither was I,” Ochako huffs. “I still struggle a little bit from time to time—“
“There’s rice all over your fuckin’ face, Kirby—“
“Why are you looking at my face, see something you like?”
“Cause you’re fat fuckin’ head’s right in front of me, moron—“
“My head’s fat? You’re the one who—“
“Just stop fucking talking,” Bakugou interrupts, slamming his chopsticks down on the table. “C’mere.”
Ochako blinks.
“…Why should I?” She asks carefully, startled by the easy way he makes the request—the order?
“Just c’mere.” He growls, his patience obviously wearing thin.
She crosses her arms.
“Why can’t you come to me?”
“M’gonna fuckin’ kill you,” He says sharply. “Get the fuck over here.”
Ochako rolls her eyes. But he did make her breakfast, and she’s not feeling particularly spiteful, so she stands up and pads around to the other side of the table. She props her hands on her round hips, raising an expectant brow. He grabs a napkin and, to her surprise, gently rubs the rice grains from her face.
“M’not arguing with a girl who looks like she lost a fight with a bowl of rice.” He grumbles, his voice soft.
Her heart squeezes in her chest, and she stays still as he wipes her mouth for her. Like a child. Except, not exactly, because she doesn’t really feel like a child. Just…She just feels warm, and his eyes aren’t judgy or mean or picky. They’re sort of soft.
“There,” He huffs, crumpling up the napkin and putting it aside. He squints at her, taking note of her round eyes and puffy pink cheeks.
“The fuck are you blushin’ for?” He asks, and she swears he’s smirking a little bit. She shakes her head, reaching up to scratch at her hair.
“I’m not,” She denies outright, and his eyes flick up to her plastic hairclips.
“Damn. Can’t dress yourself either?” He says, and he’s messing with her now. Teasing her.
“What do you mean?” She says, and he reaches up, his warm fingers sifting through her locks.
“Your clips are crooked, dumbass. Bend your head down a bit.”
Her ears feel all warm, and her fluttery hands do too. She bends down a bit and he pulls the plastic hairclips from her hair with a tenderness that makes her chest ache.
Doki-Doki-Doki, her heart thumps.
He carefully places them back in a perfect, symmetrical pattern.
“Better,” He grunts, dropping his hands back down to his sides. She stands there, staring at him blankly. He raises a brow. “Ya need somethin’?”
She scowls, breaking out of it. “Shut the fuck up.”
“There you are, thought your brain went AFK,” He huffs, rolling his eyes. “Finish your damn food.”
Begrudgingly, she does so. Bakugou finishes before her and leaves to go take a long, hot shower. He tells her to clean up when she’s done, essentially placing her on dish duty, which makes perfect sense, but still has her sticking her tongue out at his retreating back. As she’s scrubbing the used plates clean, Deku and Todoroki finally come downstairs, fully dressed. Deku seems full of energy, and he darts into the kitchen to give her a tight back hug, his arms squeezing gently around her middle. Todoroki is much more lethargic. He waddles in, dressed in a sweatshirt and an oversized beanie that keeps slipping down over his droopy eyes.
“Sorry for the wait!” Deku chirps against her shoulder, like he’s working in customer service or something. “Shou’s been super sleepy lately, I’m starting to worry he might have hypersomnia, or some other sleeping disorder, did you know that sleeping disorders are comorbid with autism?”
“I did not.” Ochako answers softly with a giggle, drying her bowl with a dishtowel. Deku lets her go, instead latching onto Todoroki’s wrist and dragging him over.
“Look at his face, it’s like he’s not fully awake yet,” Deku begins to ramble. “It took me forever to get him out of bed, and even once I did, he kept dozing, what if he has Narcolepsy? Or Chronic Fatigue?”
“M’fine.” Todoroki mumbles, disgruntled.
Ochako smiles gently, placing the dishes back in the cabinets.
“Calm down Deku, you’re talking about Todoroki like he’s your sick little kitty,” She hums, ruffling Deku’s green curls around. “That’s a fair theory, but maybe run it by Aizawa-sensei before you start panicking.”
Deku makes a soft sound of acknowledgment, tilting his head into her hand.
“Yeah…Yeah, I think I’ll do that. If Shou’s narcoleptic, we should try and find out sooner rather than later, and Aizawa-sensei probably knows lots about sleeping disorders, and he’s a professional—“
“M’fine.” Todoroki says again, his tone unchanging.
Ochako shakes her head, glancing between them fondly.
“Well, we’re all here now,” She says, smiling. “Let’s head out, okay? Don’t want the mall to get too crowded.”
“Right, right, sorry.” Deku says quickly, his smile strung with nerves, and she boops his nose.
“C’mon.” She beckons, leading them to the door. Deku has to gently manhandle Todoroki out, since he’s moving so sluggishly.
They make the short trek to the train station, and Deku fills it with idle chatter. He mentions some newly debuted Pro-Heroes and the video game he played last night and his new All Might figurine and then he rambles a bit about his worries for Todoroki like he’s listing concerns to a vet, while Todoroki occasionally interrupts with a sleepy, “M’fine,” or an, “M’confused,”his feet tired and shuffling, scuffing against the cement. Ochako doesn’t have to talk, so she gets to count her steps and sync them in time with Deku’s.
When they arrive, the station is already starting to swarm with people. Todoroki frowns down at his feet. Deku takes his hand, and then Ochako’s, carefully pushing through the fast-walking adults around them and tugging Todoroki and Ochako behind like little ducklings.
They make it onto the train without any trouble, and Todoroki dozes against Ochako’s shoulder. His hair smells like Momo’s strawberry shampoo. It tickles Ochako’s cheek, soft and feathery, and his soft breaths draw in and out of his parted lips like a dragging tide. He’s beautiful in a way that feels breakable, and sometimes, feels soft like a girl. And while his frequent sleeping actually is a bit concerning, Ochako’s toes keep wriggling around in her socks, and her hair curls and floats a little around her ears. She’s so happy to have people who sleep against her shoulders. She’s so happy that Shouto, who used to flinch away from her, can rest against her body.
The station is more crowded once they get there. Lots of people are going to the mall on a Saturday morning, and they slip between each other like thin little fish packed into one shoal. Ochako nudges Todoroki awake. He startles, his brow briefly creasing before smoothing again, his lashes unsticking slowly. Deku helps him to his feet.
The doors are open and everyone is squeezing out onto the platform. Arms push up against Ochako’s sides, against her ribs and hands and hips. Foreign breaths and hair and heat. A crisp suit scratches her elbow and she bites the inside of her cheek until the pain splinters through her teeth, scrunching her nose at the lingering stench of a too strong cologne and wincing at the buzz of the bright fluorescents.
A woman hits Ochako’s shoulder, her briefcase knocking hard against the back of her knee. The impact rocks through her, shuddering through her thrumming bones, and she stumbles sideways, her throat stuck full of needles.
Todoroki catches her gently around the waist, his touch soft and barely there.
“Are you okay?” He murmurs against her hair. She nods with a smile that sticks like adhesive.
Deku adjusts his grip on her hand and loops his arm around Todoroki’s elbow, pulling them out onto the sidewalk, where everything is a little wider and full of bright, cold air. She drags in an inhale that stings in her lungs, plucking out those needles, one at a time.
“Everyone alright?” Deku asks quietly. Todoroki nods stiffly. Deku wrestles his backpack open, fumbling a little with the zipper, and finds Todoroki’s new blue chew fidget. Todoroki takes it, hesitating. Ochako thinks of snatching it and gnawing on it herself, and feels guilt mouth at her like hunger.
Todoroki pops it between his teeth and bites down. Deku looks to her, and she’s still smiling, teeth full of glue.
“All good!” She says, so sweetly. “Let’s go!”
Deku smiles at her, worry and relief warring at the corners of his mouth, but he voices none of it. He leads them inside, and his red shoes make a small squeak as they transition from hard asphalt to shiny, light stained tile. There’s a bit of an echo, and a bit of a crowd, but they’re scattered enough that it’s not too overwhelming. Ochako and Todoroki follow Deku up the escalator to the second floor, and then all the way down, past the storefronts, until they reach a big shop with glass windows, flashing screens, and a huge Pikachu plush on display.
She’d seen a few game stores like this in the shopping trip by her middle school. She’d sometimes glimpsed into the windows on her way to work. Would sometimes watch some of the other kids spill in and out of the sliding doors, still dressed in their uniforms, their shoulders loose and relaxed, because they had all the time in the world. She’d only had about five minutes, unless she wanted to get yelled at by her boss. Now though, she does have time, and a bit of savings stashed away, a bit that she can spend, that she’s allowed to spend without her stomach burning.
Deku moves with familiarity, like he’s been here a thousand times. He darts around the store fast, a green ball of hyperactive energy as he points out the new stuff on display, pushing past a group of smaller school kids to ogle at the new Kamui Woods Action game and hovering behind flush-faced girls to stare at the dating RPG that Hawks’ agency released, the Wing Hero posing on the case holding the game card.
Todoroki sticks close to Ochako. He doesn’t reach for her, like he does with Deku. They haven’t quite gotten to a place where he can freely nestle his fingers in her sleeve like a kid and trail after her surer footsteps. But when she offers her hand, he takes it, chewing softly on his fidget toy as his eyes flicker over the brightly colored decor.
“Is there anything you want to look at Todoroki?” She asks him, quirking her head and hoping he can’t tell that her hair is floating again, her giddiness stuck under her tongue.
“Mm…” Todoroki thinks for a while, and she waits patiently, tapping her shoes against the floor.
“Over there,” Todoroki finally says, pointing to a bright corner without many people. She smiles and leads him over, peering at the games stacked on the walls.
She realizes that they’re mostly action platforming games. There’s a few Mario games, and she sees Kirby, her eyes widening. She reaches out for the case, her fingers brushing the round, pink character beneath the plastic.
Kirby and the Forgotten Land.
Her eyes flit over the summary on the back.
Todoroki hums softly to himself, looking around, but not picking anything up. His hand rests slack in hers, and he didn’t seem to care that she’s squeezing it a bit, her breath fluttery in her throat. She hurriedly flips the case over to take a look at the price.
¥6,000.
Not…Not too bad. Sure, that’s enough money for a lot of beef and rice bowls at the Conbini. Enough money for a good meal at a good restaurant, but…But no, it’s okay to spend some money on recreational things. It’s okay to buy something that makes her happy, as long as she’s careful. And ¥6,000 yen isn’t too bad. The game’s on sale, and the price will probably rack back up in a few weeks, so now is the most opportune time.
Except, she still doesn’t have a gaming console.
She frowns, placing the case back on the shelf, and looks around until she sees boxes of Nintendo switches stacked side by side. She pulls Todoroki along with her as she goes over to check the price, and he follows after without protest. She kneels down to check the sticker on the box.
¥19,980.
That’s…that’s still pretty good. She read somewhere that the cheapest place to buy a switch is right here, in Japan, but…But that’s still more than she can afford right now. She could, theoretically, spend her savings on it, but that would leave her with only a little saved for emergencies until she could get her balance up again, and she needs to be prepared, just in case. She stands back up, her hair drooping back by her shoulders.
“Uraraka?” Todoroki asks, and she blinks, turning to look at him. He’s pulled his chew fidget out of his mouth, his lips pressed into a small frown.
She hums and boops his nose, and he goes cross-eyed trying to follow her finger.
“C’mon,” She says, shrugging it off, off, off. “Let’s find you some games.”
She escorts Todoroki around the shop, towards games she thinks he’d like. Soft things like Animal Crossing and Stardew Valley and Spiritfarer. Things she’s watched her classmates play from over their shoulders. Things she’s wanted for herself. But Todoroki has money and she doesn’t, and his butchered childhood lies dead in his eyes, bleeding. She can stick a bandaid on it, hand him a game to play, something that makes his hand flutter like a pale bird in a way it rarely does. He has his Father’s card, he can buy a switch, all the games he wants, and she tells him so, her words full of holes, pinched in her throat.
Deku rejoins them. He judges the collection of games that Todoroki’s amassed, the switch Ochako has tucked under her elbow for him. He grins, happy. He’s holding the case of that Hawks RPG game.
“I thought you didn’t have any money.” She says faintly.
“Oh, yeah,” Deku exhales, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I spent it on a figurine, even though Kacchan told me not to—But it was worth it, it was on sale too, and it was limited edition—!”
“If you don’t have money, how are you gonna pay for your game?” She asks. Her voice is sweet and curious, her smile dangling limp from her lips.
“I’ve got a gift card,” He chirps, showing her. “There’s not enough on it to get Tears of the Kingdom, but it should cover the RPG!”
“Lucky you!” Ochako giggles.
Lucky you, lucky you, lucky you—
Todoroki blinks at her, slow and sleepy.
“Are you buying anything Uraraka?” He asks. “You were looking at the game with the pink ball.”
“Kirby,” She corrects him softly, scratching over her palm with her nail, pinching the skin there. “It looks super interesting, but I don’t have a switch or anything, so I’m gonna save up a bit more and then come back!”
“Hm,” Todoroki mumbles. He looks as if he might offer to get it for her—say something like, ‘I can max out my old man’s card’—Which would be considerate, nice, perfectly fine—but she can’t stomach it right now.
“Are you guys all done?” She says quickly, rocking up onto her toes. “M’getting pretty hungry and I saw a boba place by the food court!”
“I like boba.” Todoroki says, successfully distracted.
“Yeah, I’m done.” Deku agrees.
She carries Todoroki’s switch to the counter, careful not to run, not to rush or waver. She watches the cashier type in the Deku’s gift card code, her pale fingers punching in money already spent, something already paid for, already his. She watches Todoroki slip a card from his wallet.
His eyes don’t track the items she scans and packs into a plastic bag. His eyes don’t linger on the total. He pays. He gets what he wants but doesn’t need—but does need, not everyone needs a full stomach, Todoroki doesn’t need to worry about hunger, he has to worry about his Father, he needs this, he needs this, he needs this and you do not—And he strings the strap on his wrist, turning to go.
Deku talks and talks and talks about his new RPG game, how he’s excited to play it, how he heard Hawks voiced all the lines, and posed for all the photos. Todoroki shuffles beside him, tired and happy and listening. She counts her steps. One, two, three, four…ten, eleven, twelve…sixteen, seventeen…
She’s good at counting.
///
“Did you know that Tears of the Kingdom introduces five new powers you can unlock on your Sheikah slate?” Izuku asks her on the train ride home, Shouto asleep against his shoulder.
She smiles.
Her teeth are full of glue.
“I didn’t know that.”
I don’t know anything.
///
When they get back to the dorms, they find Kaminari and Sero playing Mario Kart on the flat screen. Mina is painting Kirishima’s nails red on the sofa, which Iida would scold them for if he weren’t at the library with Tsuyu. Bakugou is sitting in the armchair, reading a book. Which…shouldn’t be surprising, since he’s sort of a nerd, but still startles her a little.
“Hey!” Kirishima greets them as they come in, moving to wave at them. Mina grasps onto his wrist before he can, shooting him a scolding look.
“Don’t move your hands, Ei, you’ll mess me up.” She huffs.
“Hi!” Deku says happily, dragging Todoroki behind him. He gently pushes Todoroki down onto a free chair, and Todoroki immediately curls up against the arm rest, watching Sero and Kaminari’s Mario Kart race with lethargic interest.
Bakugou looks up, noticing the bags on Deku’s wrists.
“Oi,” He grumbles, scowling. “The fuck is all that? Last I checked, you blew your allowance like a damn moron.”
Deku flushes and pouts at Bakugou, as if this is an unfair statement.
“All this stuff’s not mine,” Deku quickly defends himself, huffing in soft petulance. “These one’s are Shou’s,” He lifts one arm. “And then, this one is mine,” He lifts the other. “See, I only got one game, and I bought it with the gift card my Mom got me a while back, remember?”
Bakugou rolls his eyes, exasperated.
“Yeah? And where’s Round Cheeks’ stuff?” He looks towards her, as if searching for any bags or games on her person, and she realizes that she’s still standing in the living room doorway, her hair droopy and her smile dangling weakly from her lips.
She squeezes back into herself, holding on tight as she forces the corners of her mouth back up, scratching awkwardly at the back of her head.
“Ah, I didn’t get anything,” She admits with a little shrug. “I didn’t bring enough money, so I’m gonna save up a little more and then go back!”
“Mhm,” Todoroki hums in agreement, wrangling one of Mina’s fuzzy pink blankets around his shoulders. “Uraraka likes the pink ball.”
Ochako exhales softly.
“Kirby.” She corrects. Todoroki mumbles something indiscernible in acknowledgement. Bakugou’s dawn soft gaze doesn’t leave her, and she feels plucked apart. She feels cracked at the corners.
“Yeah, video games are mad expensive.” Kirishima agrees with a head tilt. “At least, the real good ones from the big companies.”
“Well, I know some free Otome games we can play together, Ochako-chan,” Mina offers without looking up from Kirishima’s nails. “I’ve got loads downloaded on my Ipad, we can play Mystic Messenger, or Obey me!”
Bakugou is still staring at her, his eyes narrowed. Ochako shifts in place, forcing a giggly laugh.
“You mean those games with all the hot guys?” She asks Mina over the sound of Kaminari screaming at Baby Peach.
“Mhm, the hottest!” Mina says, and Kirishima shrugs, looking away from Sero’s side of the screen.
“They’re alright, I guess,” He says. “But they can be really moody and irritating. Mina makes me play with her sometimes.”
“FUCK!” Kaminari shouts, and Todoroki jumps.
“Wanna scream any louder Pikachu?” Bakugou growls, rubbing angrily at the base of his ear. “Maybe you’ll wake up the whole school this time.”
“Sorry, man,” Kaminari says, not sounding very apologetic. “Fuck, I was so close—“
“That’s what she said!” Mina interrupts, and Kirishima laughs, and Deku nudges Sero’s shoulder to ask for a turn next.
“Sure, dude,” He agrees, handing over the controller.
“Yo, Uraraka, you wanna turn?” Kaminari asks her, reaching out to offer his own controller.
Her stomach hurts. Bakugou is still staring at her, and her threads are getting slack, her elbows itching, her poky ribs buzzing like they’re stuffed with static. She shakes her head a little too hard, a little too long.
“No, thank you!” She says, so sweetly, spilling through the cracks. Her fingers twitch. She wants to dig—to pull—
“I’m just gonna go rest!”
She walks away without waiting to hear an answer. Bakugou’s gaze presses against her retreating back, all the way until she’s alone in the elevator, alone with herself. She stares down at her shaky palms, her breaths echoing back at her. She stomps her feet, happy feet, happy feet.
It hurts. The ground shudders through her, and she’s quaking, falling apart. She pushes out of the elevator, counting her steps.
One two three—f-four—six—fuck—start over—One two three four five six—Missed a tile, go back go back go back—
She gets to her room. She doesn’t remember how many steps she took, and the thought makes her hair itch, makes her hands burn and ache for aching, for bruises, for her hair, for her skin, she digs her fingers into the gaps of her poking poky ribs—her picky ribs, still aching, aching, aching with hunger—she breathes.
In.
Out.
Her bones are buzzing. She’s full of static. Offline, online, plucked apart, unspooling, thread and pins and needles like her parents—
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
She scrabbles at herself with furious fingers. Delicate hands smashing into glass houses. She knocks against her head with her fist, choking her cries behind her teeth, biting down until she tastes blood.
In.
Out.
Pins.
Stick them back in. One. At. A. Time.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Fucking breathe, Ochako.
There’s a knock on her door.
She freezes.
Nonononono—
No.
It’s fine.
Be normal.
She gathers herself. Peels herself off the floor, the walls, her hands, and pushes it back in. Seals it up tight. Licks the blood from her lip and stands, slowly, carefully. One step at a time.
She opens the door. Bakugou is on the other side.
“Oi,” He huffs, leaning down to look at her. She stands her ground, even though everything is quaking inside of her. He’s close to her now, bracing his arm against her doorframe as he peers into her frayed eyes.
“Hey.” She says. Smile. She manages.
“Hey,” Bakugou grumbles. He smells nice, she realizes distantly. Like the good soap, like something sweet, but a little sharp too. “C’mere, I gotta show you something.”
She blinks.
“Come where?” She asks. She’s holding herself together by the seams. She’s trying not to break her own buzzing ribs. Trying not to fall apart beneath Bakugou’s eyes, which look, and see.
“My room.” He says, adjusting himself, shifting his weight.
“Your room?” She echoes. No one’s allowed in his room except his closest friends, the people who have managed to carve themselves into his heart, to keep him close and be kept by him in return. She’s not one of those people. She isn’t inside, with him, she’s—she’s outside, looking in, stuck to the window, making the right faces that peel if you pull too hard.
“My room,” He says, firm. No holes or loose ends. “M’not saying it again. C’mon.”
He turns, starts walking away. Just trusting her to follow, leaving her be if she doesn’t. She stands in her doorway, bleeding through herself. The distance between them yawns wider as he steps away, down the hall, one two three four five six seven—
And she follows after, aching to close it, to feed her hunger and kill her shame.
If he hears her steps echoed behind his, he says nothing about it. He doesn’t look back at her, allowing her to be alone, and with him all at once, her eyes trained on his back, her lips free to tremble, her throat free to burn.
He opens the door to his bedroom.
“You first, Princess.” He says, inclining his head. And her ribs are buzzing like there’s static inside them instead of marrow, but her body still has room to flush like it’s feverish.
She steps inside.
It’s both exactly how she imagined it and not what she was expecting.
It’s very dark. Most of his things are black, including his pillows, his comforter, his weighted blanket, and his furniture. But there are a few pops of color. For one, he has LED strips up, lining his walls, and warm, orange fairy lights decorating what appears to be a reading corner, seeing as there’s a black beanbag and a shelf stacked with manga and books. He’s got an All Might blanket folded up on the edge of his bed, and a row of his own perfectly lined Hero figurines huddled on his desk. Everything is very neat and tidy, but also surprisingly cozy. And he has a—
“Is that a PS5?” She blurts out.
Bakugou hums, shutting the door behind him. Sealing them away into soft, gently lit dimness.
“Yeah.” He says, and surprisingly, his voice lacks the usual edge of sarcasm. He walks over to the desk it’s sitting on and turns it on. He’s got it hooked to a large screen, and he has controllers carefully placed on hooks on his wall.
“Sit down.” He tells her firmly, and she realizes she’s just standing there again. She shuffles over to one of his black beanbags and sinks down into it. It’s soft, and it smells like him.
“Is this what you wanted to show me?” She asks, tucking her hands against her sides.
“Hold on,” He grumbles as the screen flickers to life. “Fuckin’ impatient.”
He grabs his controller and navigates to…a library. She squints at the screen, leaning forward.
“Wait…” She says slowly, her heart clenching like a fist. “Wait.”
“Uh huh.” Bakugou says and he is smirking, that bastard.
She shoots to her feet, a knot in her throat.
“You have Tears of the Kingdom?” She splutters.
It’s a useless question. She can see that he has it, it’s right there, displayed proudly in his game library, classified as purchased.
“Duh,” Bakugou scoffs, like it was obvious. “Got it when it first came out. Unlike that damn Deku, I fuckin’ saved up for it, soon as they dropped the release date.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” She huffs, scowling. He frowns at her, his expression thoughtful and stern at once.
“Why the fuck would I?” He asks, which—fair. She doesn’t even know why she’s upset. Her hands are all curled up, her nails pinching into her palms. She exhales, her lungs tight and stinging.
“Look,” Bakugou sighs, rubbing his fingers through his hair. “Your eyes get all fuckin’—“
Bakugou makes a fluttery hand gesture.
“Glowy when you hear the word Zelda, you’d think you were a fanatic, ‘cept I’ve never seen you touch a fuckin’ video game in your life—“
“You’ve only known me two years—“ Ochako interrupts, and he rolls his eyes.
“Never seen you touch a video game, so I figured you weren’t into them or something, just liked the story. But that ain’t true, is it?”
He raises a brow at her. She shrugs and looks away.
“Whatever,” He mumbles. “If you love it, you love it, I dunno why you’re being so damn weird about it.”
“I’ve never even played it.” She chokes out. It slips from her teeth, spills from the cracks. A loose thread she couldn’t sew back in. He doesn’t flinch away from it. He stares at her, steady and sure.
“So?” He asks, and she grunts in frustration.
“So, I don’t know anything about it!” She says, too loudly, too much. “Deku knows more than me—everybody does, and I love it, but I don’t know anything, and I couldn’t get Kirby either, and Deku kept talking about his Hawks RPG that he got with that gift card—“
She’s not making sense. She’s messy, all her threads sticking together, tangled. Her ribs hurt. Her stomach hurts.
Bakugou’s hand lands on her head and she blinks fast, looking up. His palm is warm, and his face is…It’s doing something unfamiliar, something she doesn’t understand yet.
“It’s fine,” He grumbles, his voice startlingly calm. “Calm the fuck down.”
It should sound mean. Maybe even demeaning, or invalidating, but somehow, it’s the opposite. There’s something in his certainty, in his warmth, that makes the messy things seem simple. She takes a deep breath. His fingers brush through her hair, soft and careful, and she realizes she still has her hairclips in, that she’s still wearing her cousin’s skirt and her oversized crop top.
“Sit back down.” He says, and though his voice still possesses that firmness that leaves no room for arguments, it holds a sort of gravelly softness that Ochako doesn’t know what to do with.
She takes a big breath that balloons in her chest and sits back down on his beanbag. He sits down in the beanbag beside her, letting his legs sprawl out in front of him. He tilts his head, staring at her. Looking and seeing, though she doesn’t know what he’s thinking. As loud as Bakugou is, as bright and warm and unrelenting, in these quiet moments, he remains an elusive mystery, his eyes bright with unreadable intellect. His thumbs work over the controller, scrolling through his app library until he arrives at a different game.
Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild.
“You can’t play Tears of the Kingdom,” He tells her, and she bristles. He levels her with a look. “‘Cause it’s the sequel, idiot. You gotta play Breath of the Wild first. Typically, Zelda’s not a linear series, every game has a different version of Link and Zelda ‘cept BOTW and TOTK. These ones are meant to be played in order.”
Ochako’s fingers tingle at the tips, like she’s brushed them against an electrical socket. She stares at the screen, her eyes reflecting the warm LED lights, the cool, bluish TV hue.
“I’ve got rules.” Bakugou says.
Ochako’s eyes widen in realization.
“You’re gonna let me—“
“I got rules, Round Cheeks,” He huffs, interrupting her. “This ain’t a damn free for all, you can’t come in here touching my PS5 whenever you want.”
Rules.
That’s fine, rules make sense of things, rules mean that she has to follow them in order to continue accessing his kindness, which means she’s not a charity case being given a pity glimpse of Bakugou’s soft side. She has to work for it.
“Number one, I’m not doin’ this shit for free,” He grumbles. “Like I said, you’re a decent sparring partner, so you’re gonna owe me some good fights for this. Whenever I want ‘em, unless you’re havin’ some kinda emergency or you can’t for a reason that makes fuckin’ sense.”
“Deal.” Ochako says quickly, her hair curling up, floating around her ears. He raises a brow at her, the corner of his mouth ticking up.
“Number two,” He continues. “You can’t come in here whenever. On week days, you can play after dinner, and you can only come in here Monday, Wednesday, Friday, ‘less, like I said, you gotta good reason. On weekends, you can come in twice, once in the afternoon, then again in the evening, cause you’re gonna wanna get your hours in.”
“Deal, deal.” She singsongs.
“Last rule,” He says. “You can’t bring any of your little friends in here with you. I don’t care if they’re my stupid ass friends too, I don’t want random people just comin’ in here with no warning. You come alone or not at all, got it?”
“Got it!” She says. She’s smiling. She tries to keep her giddiness under her tongue, but she’s like a cracked cup now, unable to hold it all in. Her hands flutter and curl and flutter, little butterflies attached to her wrists. Her hair is floating and her toes are wriggling, and Bakugou snickers beneath his breath, his expression thoughtful, relaxed.
“You look like a damn Studio Ghibli character,” He observes. He stares at her lightly tapping feet for a few moments before looking back at the screen. He navigates to the Profiles menu and presses Add new. “We’ll make you one. I don’t want you fucking shit up on mine. Whaddya want your profile pic to be? Kirby? That’d be fittin’.”
She scoots her beanbag a little closer to him and watches as he skims through the options. Her heart thumps in her chest. Doki-Doki-Doki. She loves Zelda. She’s going to play. She thinks of those pages flipping between her fingers, that bookstore, those shiny haired girls and sticky fingered boys who got to go to the shop before home, no jobs, no hunger in their bellies, no pins stuck in their parents, no messy heads and achy ears, all of them put together right, with money in their pockets. She thinks of her Father’s face when she’d asked, like a wound had opened up, like she’d cut him to bleeding. Bakugou isn’t made of threads that she can pluck out. She doesn’t think she could unravel him, even if she tried, doesn’t think he could ever flinch away from her. Fearless, unrelenting. He doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to. Doesn’t do anything for free.
He’s steady. His room is quiet. Kirby is her profile picture on his PS5.
She loves Zelda.
She’s going to play.
Bakugou types in the letters of her name.
Uraraka.
“There.” He huffs.
She grins so hard, her cheeks ache.
(GAME START!)