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Izuku walked down the street, light from the grey clouds reflecting off the fallen rain. It was a dismal day, but he could appreciate the weather’s adherence to the mood.
It had been six years since the day of the final battle with All for One—with Tomura Shigaraki.
He quickened his pace through the crosswalk, keeping his umbrella aloft. The puddles splashed beneath his feet as he walked up the hill to his destination—beyond the shrine to a graveyard. He passed through the gate and up the walkway. The shrine courtyard was fairly empty, probably due to the rain. He walked briskly to the temizuya and set his umbrella down.
Taking the dipperful of water, he went through the motions of ritual cleansing, washing his hands and mouth thoughtfully. Letting the water drip down the handle, he returned it to its place and stooped to retrieve his umbrella.
This was the sixth time he’d made this venture—every year on the anniversary of it all. He walked the pathway through the forest of tombstones, making his way to the place he now knew by heart.
Tenko—Tomura Shigaraki had no family grave. The Shimura family, or at least existing members, refused to allow him to be memorialized near their relatives. They hadn’t even realized who he’d been until after the war. It was a similar case with Himiko Toga. The League of Villains laid together in death, being the only family many of them had had after ostracizing themselves.
So Izuku stood before Tenko’s grave, feeling again the weight of his regrets. They were all very familiar regrets, as he’d sat with them six years now. Had he met this boy as a child, had he been able to help before it had become impossible to change his path.
Regrets were one thing, but his guilt had diminished. He couldn’t force Tenko to break free of his burdens. He couldn’t take away his choice. His hand was extended though, and that’s all he could do—sometimes that’s all anyone can do. It’s up to that person in need to reach back.
Tenko remained Shigaraki. That was his choice—and together they had destroyed All for One. Izuku knew he had to accept that as success in his endeavor to save that crying boy. Shigaraki was no longer that crying child in the end. He was who he’d decided to be—no more pushes and pulls towards a nefarious end. No more master behind the curtain. Just Shigaraki and his own ideals.
So, though he couldn’t condone the man’s actions, he did honor the life that he’d had a hand in ending.
He left the incense in his bag, due to the rain, but retrieved the bottle of water instead. He pulled the cork out and poured a stream of water over the already wet tombstone. The water spilled over the stone, streaming down across the name written upon its face.
Izuku bowed low, then clasped his hands before him. He was never entirely sure what he should say to this person he didn’t really know, and yet knew so well—those shared memories still lingering in his mind. But… his life had value. He was a person, despite what he’d done, despite what Izuku had had to do. So Izuku kept his promise to Spinner, and every year he prayed for Shigaraki’s soul to find peace.
When he’d finished, he turned to another grave. Every year he offered a very different prayer at the tomb of Himiko Toga. He paused when he saw a bouquet of white flowers laid across it. He looked around and stilled when he saw across the way underneath a pergola was a woman wearing black, her brown hair catching in the breeze.
He bit his lip, understanding washing over him and filling him with concern. He turned back to Himiko Toga and bowed low.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “For saving her.”
Her back was turned as he walked up to her. She held the rail tight, and he could hear the soft sniffles of tears.
“Ochako,” he whispered, touching her shoulder.
She turned, and her eyes widened briefly. “Izuku.”
“You haven’t come here in a long time.” He looked around at the graveyard. “Why now?”
Ochako’s shoulders fell as she wiped away her tears. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here. Shouldn't you be teaching right now?”
“Aizawa understood. He’s covering my class for the afternoon,” Izuku replied. “Were you trying to avoid me?”
Ochako bit her lip, then shook her head. “No? Maybe? I don’t know. I feel all stirred up…”
She breathed a sigh and sank onto the bench, looking out into the rain. “I don’t know what I was hoping to find here.”
He’d noticed for the past little while up to this point, Ochako had seemed bothered by something—hiding her thoughts as she was prone to do. After all this time they’d been together, he’d learned to walk a line with her. Sometimes he crossed it and forced her issues out, sometimes he gave her time to open up on her own—it just depended on what the problem was. This time, he’d waited for her to come to him. Looks like she’s been hiding this time…
He sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and gently pulling her into him. “Tell me,” he said, his voice kind but firm.
Ochako sighed, flicking away another tear. “You sure can be pushy when you wanna be.”
“Only when I have to be,” he said, kissing her temple. “You sure can be stubborn when you want to be.”
She gave him a small smile, then sighed again.
“I feel like… I’m failing,” she said after a long pause. “Like… no matter what I do, it'll never be enough.”
Izuku blinked, confused. “What're you talking about?”
Ochako shook her head, looking down. “I don’t know, everything? This stuff I’m doing to help kids out. All the work I’ve done to make these programs reach out to everyone—how come it… it just-“
She stood and walked with frustration, hugging her arms around herself. “How do I know if I’m even reaching the right kids? How can I know if there’s another little Himiko out there, just needing a hand to reach her?! I see so many kids, but there’s still juvenile correction centers and troubled kids and crime in the younger demographic. Sure, the numbers are down from what it was, but this isn’t a numbers game if we're talking about the individual kids!”
Her tears began to fall again and she covered her face with her hands. “Like how many kids are gonna end up like her?! Like Shigaraki and Dabi?! How many kids are just gonna fall through the cracks and just be thought of as an evil, selfish villain?! Not even a stranger—someone’s kid!”
Ochako sobbed then. “Himiko’s parents- they didn’t even care when I told them how she died! They just- apologized! Like her saving my life meant nothing- but of course I hate what she did to so many people, but it’s not the point! It’s that every person must be capable of good—because we’re all human, right?! And they didn’t even see her as human- and what kind of parent-?! All these kids-! What am I supposed to do-?!”
Her words stopped abruptly as Izuku grabbed her up and cradled her to his chest, holding her firmly. Her words turned to broken sobs as she wept into his jacket.
“Ochako,” he breathed. “You’re not a failure—what you’ve done has already changed so much!”
She just continued to cry, and he felt her shake her head.
Izuku bit his lip and elected to just hold her as she cried—waiting until his words could actually reach her. So he held her, letting his fingers stroke through her damp hair, keeping her wrapped up in him. He shut his eyes and thought back to that night under the stars when he’d held her like this that first time, Ochako crying her heart out as she clung to his hands. He could still remember the feeling, how tiny her hands had felt in his. How fragile.
Today was not much different. Ochako—his wonderful, kind, selfless Ochako—continued to hide her pain away. She loved to support others. She let herself smile happily while she did it. But it was like when she lifted someone else’s burden, it had to create a counterweight on her own heart. He hadn’t seen this one coming—it was a long, slow-building burden, it seemed. Usually he could see right through her and help her through it before it got this bad. She must’ve wanted to tell him—she often expressed that. It was just so big, he was sure she hadn’t known where to start.
The biggest difference now, or course, was time. Much had happened since that fateful day. His own grief regarding it didn’t hurt so much anymore—and the loss of his power—his dream—no longer brought him so low. Being a teacher helped, raising the next generation of heroes was incredibly rewarding. Being with Ochako helped—having someone to love was beyond healing. Or so he’d thought.
Ochako, it seemed, had not felt the same amount of healing as he had. She’d let this guilt fester within her heart.
He refused to spare a moment to those pervasive—‘I’m not good enough,’ ‘I’m not doing enough,’ ‘Why won’t she just talk to me?’ etc. etc.—thoughts, then turned his attention back to her. He knew this had nothing to do with his capacity to give her support and love.
Her bitter weeping had calmed, but she still clung to him tightly, her face hidden under his chin. He stroked her hair again, and he pressed a kiss into her hair.
“Ochako,” he whispered, voice quiet through the rain. “Love, I’m sorry you’ve been hurting so much.”
Ochako didn’t say anything to that, so he held her tighter.
“I’m glad when you tell me these things,” he continued. “I know that you’re strong, but bearing them alone only breaks you down.”
“I know…” she whispered. “I don't… want to shut you out… I don't know what's wrong with me…”
“Nothing’s wrong with you, it’s just how you’ve learned to manage,” he said. “You’re trying to learn better ways now, I know you are. It’s gonna take patience to unlearn your natural tendency to shut it away though.”
He hugged her tighter, rubbing her back. “Patience from both of us, remember?”
“You’re more patient than I am,” Ochako muttered.
Izuku squeezed her tight before pulling back and placing a hand on her cheek. “Well, then I’m glad the woman I love is dating someone who is patient with her.”
Ochako’s face was still tear-streaked and her eyes red-rimmed. But she gave him a wan smile. “And dorky too.”
“That too,” he smiled back at her, then kissed her forehead.
She’d changed the subject already. She probably didn’t even realize that she’d done it. It was just second nature to her to deflect away from the thing that caused her the most pain.
So he took her hand. “Ochako, you’re expecting too much of yourself. Do you think the work for those kids stops when you do?”
She sighed. “I know it doesn’t. I know that I’m being overly critical. I know that it is helping. I just…”
Ochako gripped a hand to her chest. “I see her face in my mind so often—the way she smiled at me as she- gave up her life… for me-“ her voice caught, but she continued.
“That sort of relief from her pain… I wanted the pain to not exist in the first place.” Ochako got out, a tear sliding down her cheek. “Maybe it’s not realistic, but… I feel like I will never be able to do enough, because the kid my heart wants to help the most is already gone.”
“It’s okay to feel grief,” Izuku whispered, reaching out to hold both her hands in his. “It’s okay to be discouraged. Feel it, but let it drive you on, not drag you down.”
He leaned in, easing her eyes up to meet his. “But that peace she felt, because you reached out to her, that matters too. And I know that she would feel happy seeing what you’re doing now.”
Ochako bit her lip, her eyes full of tears, but she nodded. She let go of his hands and reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck. “How do you always know what to say?”
“I don’t,” he sighed, squeezing her tight. “I just know you.”
She breathed out a long breath, her frame sagging in his grasp. “You ever gonna get sick of this?”
Her words were so quiet he’d barely heard her. But he wasn’t surprised. This wasn’t uncommon for her to feel down on herself after closing herself off and needing him to pry her open again. They had been together for years now, and he knew her about as well as he knew himself. When he'd been younger, their relationship only budding as it once had, that kind of question would fill him with all sorts of worries and insecurities. But not now. He knew.
"Never," he said simply, brushing her hair across her neck. "As long as I'm yours, I will always be here to lift you back up."
"How long?" she asked softly.
At that, he eased her back so he could stroke her face. "Forever." Then he leaned in, touching his forehead to hers. “But you know that.”
At that, Ochako gave a small laugh. “Maybe I’m just sick of me.”
Izuku bit his tongue at that. She was prone to that sort of language when she was low like this. She didn’t mean anything by it—but still, he thought the world of her, of everything she was, everything she did, she was amazing. Wonderful. The sunshine in the rain. And she had been that for him since the moment they met, since she’d gone out of her way to save him, to protect him, to cheer him on, and to love him.
“There is no one in this world I’d rather give my heart to,” he whispered.
Ochako sighed, her hands tightening on him. “I’m sorry I’m keeping you waiting.”
His mind flitted back to that night of tears, and of joy and promises as he’d given her that tiny ring—years ago now. They had been quietly engaged since their third year at UA. No one knew but them, and he was honestly grateful for that. The media hounding them about their relationship would be far more prevalent if they knew that small detail. It was something private just between the two of them, and he cherished it.
He wanted to be married to her. He wanted to devote his life to her, share a home with her—but she wasn’t ready. He knew she wasn't, and he knew why. He’d had times when he was frustrated with it, but he understood. The grief and guilt she carried was deep. And she genuinely didn’t feel like she deserved him and the happiness of a life together, no matter how much he assured her that she did—it was just too deep a pain for her. So she worked hard every day to right the wrongs of their society, making good on their promises to the dead.
He was happy to wait for her though, and he gave his love to her as best he could.
But he wondered… if this was something he needed to push her on. Knowing how she thought, and where it was coming from—he wanted to be delicate—but she also often would not share her burdens to this day unless he caught her and forced her to.
I couldn't do that to her… not about this.
“Ochako,” he sighed, then he freed a hand and touched her cheek. “You are worth waiting for.”
She looked torn, pain on her face. Then she grasped his hand and melted into his touch. “Deku.”
“Yeah?” He breathed.
“I- I won’t make you wait much longer,” she said softly. “I know that I’m being selfish, but I- I wish it didn’t feel so stirred up in my heart.”
He searched her face, pondering.
“How about this,” he said, and he grasped her hands between them again. “What if we give ourselves a time? Let’s decide on how long we will wait, and then you have something solid to prepare your heart for.”
Ochako bit her lip, looking torn, but she nodded anyway. “That seems fair.”
“I mean, we’ve already waited this long, right?” He chuckled, which brought a faint smile to her lips.
“So, how long?” He asked. “Five years?”
The heartbreak deepened in her eyes.
“No? Then one year?”
Now there was a touch of panic, and he laughed again.
“How about three years?” He asked, his voice still quiet. “Do you think that will work?”
Ochako looked up at him, her mouth opened for a moment, then she nodded. “Yeah… I think I can- Yes. Let’s do it.”
“Alright then.” Izuku nodded, then grasped her hands tighter, leaning a little closer to her face. “Ochako Uraraka, three years from now, will you marry me?”
Her eyes were wide and the breeze blew her hair about her face, almost like she was flying. Then she smiled and, although it was a small, tentative smile, it was dazzling as her eyes shined brightly. "Yes. Yes, in three years, I will marry you, Izuku Midoriya."
Izuku smiled, reminiscing on that day years ago when he was just eighteen, proposing to his girlfriend in a frantic, poorly thought-out rush, not nearly enough of a plan, but with all the love in his heart. He still felt that love, exactly as he knew he would. Izuku knew himself well. He always had. He knew his capacity for commitment, for devotion to something, and for having the drive to see anything through. Although he’d never experienced romance before Ochako, it was easy to know what these feelings in his heart were. It was easy to commit and devote himself to her. She made it easy. And he knew he would never look back—even at just eighteen. Heck, he’d even known at seventeen, but that was besides the point.
He took her into his arms, folding her into him. “Then we’ll plan for that,” he sighed.
“Maybe it’ll be earlier,” Ochako said hesitantly. “I just… no later than that. I promise.”
Izuku squeezed her tighter, wishing that would end up true. “I’d marry you today if you’d let me, my love.”
“I know,” Ochako swept her hand through his hair, and he shut his eyes at her touch. “I know you would.”
He pulled away from her and smiled gently. Then he took her hand and picked up his umbrella.
“C’mon, I’ve got the rest of the day off,” he said happily. “I’ll make you some dinner.”
“Thank you,” she sighed. “My fridge is getting pretty sparse.”
He hummed, then he released her hand and held aloft the umbrella. Ochako took his arm and together they walked out through the graveyard toward the shrine. He looked back at the place where the League of Villains was laid, a somber weight on his heart once more. He looked down and saw that Ochako was doing the same, a faraway look in her eye.
Izuku reached over with his freehand and laid it over her hand. She looked back to him, a wan smile matching his own.
“Thank you, Izuku,” she sighed.
“Of course,” he hummed, then leaned in and touched his forehead to hers. “My dear Ochako.”
And she smiled.
With that, with grief and joy both existing within their hearts, they walked side by side back out into the rain.