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Her fanged smile dripping with red liquid is the last thing Uraraka sees before she wakes in a panic startle, sitting up from her bed so quickly it nearly knocks the wind out of her. Her bangs fall down on her face blocking her vision, although the tears choking her eyes could be the reason she cannot see clearly. She takes her shaking hands and clasps it against her chest, fisting her shirt so tightly it burns the pads on her finger tips.
She tries to remember those stupid breathing techniques her class was taught, how she should focus her energy on grounding herself with something. The only thing that comes to her aid is the pounding in her chest, the beating beating of her shaken heart. Uraraka closes her eyes yet is assaulted by a mantra of images of that day.
Over and over again, she sees her all too happy toothy grin beaming up at her, Himiko's cheeks a tinted red as she stares down at her. Her blush always reached the tips of her ears.
Her golden eyes lock onto hers as they're still falling down in the sky. Her quirk was still dancing around them like tiny fireflies. In a way it was romantic. It haunts her to this day. In her dreams it plays around like a siren call she cannot answer.
She heaves while in an almost fetal position, sitting upright with her legs close to her chest. Her heart burns with a deep ache that hasn't settled since the war, an ache that became apparent when she felt the tip of that needle give her blood to stay alive.
Truthfully she couldn't recall much of that memory, what Himiko said to her as she administered her own blood to save her life. That thought alone quickens the pacing of her heart.
God she can't breathe. She hasn't been able to in so long. Fat tears roll down her puffy cheeks and she's trying to take in pathetic gasps of air that are too big for her poor lungs. Instead of fisting her shirt she goes for her hair, tugging on the brown strands that have recently grown in length.
“H-Himiko..” The name slips out of her mouth, her voice cracking with each syllable. The cry of Himiko's name could be seen as a desperate plea for her to save Uraraka in some unknowing way. She can't quite do anything now can she? The dead can't silence her suffering. Not to this degree.
Himiko was a villain. It was an undeniable fact which is why no one truly understands the hurt she is feeling. She was a villian. No sane person is going to care for them, for someone like Himiko. She loved her class, truly, but no one understood the deep ache that's been sitting with her ever since she died. They're sympathetic, of course. Of course her class cares about her. They know how hurt she is but yet in a way they don't.
Uraraka felt like she truly got to understand her and still, god, still wanted to know more about her. To get to know her on a deep personal level, more than what she got from the breakdown Himiko had with her. When she poured out all her hurt onto her. She wanted to help her carry that and more.
It felt gut wrenching, the care she has for the fallen villain. It's a type of obsession she can't get out of her head, almost a million questions at the forefront of her brain yet all she can decipher is-
It's your fault she's dead.
Staying in her room isn't bringing her as much comfort as she wished it would.
Instead, she tries to uncurl from her current position, hand still lodged in her hair, and try to stand on her two shaking legs. One could say she resembles a baby deer at this moment. A deer-in-headlights sort of look is definitely on her face, her legs can barely support her body, and her eyes are so wide in fear you cannot see the brown due to her pupils being blown wide. Doesn't matter if she's a deer or not because she's standing, that's a start. It's the small wins.
She's standing yet swaying and, well, not really moving. Her head is casted down low looking towards her floor. Her hand is still fisted in her hair while the other lays pathetically at her side, fingers picking at her cuticles.
Her head feels fuzzy, distracted. Her breathing hasn't quite slowed but the light rocking she's doing is soothing in a way. She can't quite get a grip on her thoughts which were previously all over the place. They feel as though static has formed around the edges and she can't touch them now. Can't access them.
Blinking, she realizes she can't quite see right. Huh. It's a bit fuzzy too. Her vision.
The objects around her appear as just shapes. Shapes she can't recognize that are pulsating with a sudden heartbeat. Mindless things. Her desk is moving. Her carpet is shaking. She isn't crying anymore so her sudden vision crisis can't be due to that. If she thinks about it, she feels kind of numb.
It's not a new kind of numb, surprisingly. It's been there for a while but only comes out in certain situations she herself cannot really understand. It's a type of feeling where she can't really register what's going on. That could also explain why she couldn't feel the stinging in her now bloody finger nail-
Ah. She ripped open her cuticle.
That snapped her out of her standing phase as she walked towards her door, now on a mission to get a bandaid. And maybe water. Yeah, her throat was dry and she probably needed some water. The blood was dripping in the carpet now
She stuck her bleeding finger in her mouth as she quietly made her way down the dark hallway of the UA dorms. She recalls earlier in the day when Sato had accidentally cut his finger while cooking. Cooking what? Uraraka had no idea. She felt numb during that time too but she did remember, however, Iida taking the bandaids out from the bathroom and leaving them in the kitchen while he aided Sato's bleeding finger. She didn't remember anyone putting the bandaids away so she's assuming they're still there. She hoped at least.
Stuck in thought she hadn't realized she made it to the common room. She suckled on her injured finger as she made her way to the opened box of bandaids still present on the kitchen table. Good. She let out a sigh of relief as she plucked one from the box and padded over towards the sink. She turned the faucet on and let her finger run over the cold water.
It slightly shook her from her dazed little headspace and allowed her to register the upcoming footsteps in the darkness. The loud, heavy sound of boots clacking down on the hardware ground.
“You're up pretty late kid.” it commentede. The darkness because of course it can do that. She recognized the voice of her teacher though but didn't respond as she kept watching the pink water run down into the drain. It was more mesmerizing than dealing with whoever was there. She didn't know. Didn't care. She cared about the buzzing that has somehow transfered from her head to the opening of her narley cut.
Without Urarakas knowledge, Aizawa watched his student in her daze who paid him no mind. It's three-twenty two in the morning, not really the time for a student to be out in the kitchen but his class is a bit unpredictable. What his class doesn't know is that he gets an alert if anyone's out and about after curfew. He was lucky he was up doing work or he might've missed the chance to console his student out of this drunk like state.
He wasn't really exaggerating, Urarakas eyes had a hazy look to them. Glazed over like she truly wasn't there to begin with. He's noticed that a bit in recent days. Her seemingly distracted and dozing off at any chance she could, when no one was looking. During class, during training. Unfortunately, Aizawa wasn't surprised his student was exhibiting this behavior, it's been a lot for these kids the past month or so.
He continued to walk up into her space where she was still hunched over the sink letting the water run lazily down her finger. He leaned down to meet her eyes who still didn't really meet his own.
“Hey.” He spoke in the softest tone he could muster. It was the kind of tone he saves for Eri when she was scared. His eyes filled with emotion as he kept looking over Uraraka, who eventually met his eye. She looked a bit startled to see him, pupils dilating a bit as her eyes widened. Like she forgot he was there to begin with.
Aizawas face lifted into a tight, strained smile, “Whatcha doing there?”. He was leaning down now, hands snug in his pockets.
She responded in a deadpan tone, “Cleaning my finger.” It was said in a very matter of fact, like Aizawa didn't know what cleaning a finger looked like.
It was turning pruney with how long that poor finger had been stuck under the raining faucet.
“Hm? I see. I think it's clean now though, don't you?” He posed the question, pointing to her very wet finger. Not an ounce of blood was in sight now.
Uraraka slowly turned her head to look at her finger, again, and lightly hummed in agreement as she reached to turn the faucet off.
Without the background noise of the water, the dorms were silent save for the occasional noise outside. A cricket you could hear if you strained your ears hard enough.
Aizawa spotted the unopened bandaid next to her and took it into his hand, peeling it open. He hesitates to take her hand automatically. He makes sure she can see his palm and waits for a silent offer, making sure not to startle her any further. And to also allow her to process what was happening. He watches as she slowly puts her wrist in his grasp and turns her hand over to look for the culprit. He spots the ripped flesh and quickly places a bandaid on the cut but doesn't yet let go of her hand.
She's still got that awful look in her eye. The look one gets when they aren't really there. He knows it well. Instead, he takes her small hand into his own and squeezes it tightly to bring her attention to his.
“I believe you would be a lot more comfortable on the couch. What do you think?” he asks, internally pleading for an answer.
“Yeah.” her voice comes out so small he's reminded about the fact she's only a kid. A child.
“Yeah? That sounds good. My legs are killing me.” He tries to crack the small joke but he's never been so great at that. It sounds awkward but pulls a rough laugh out of Uraraka. He calls it a win for the night.
He leads her to the couch, hand in hand, and sits them both down on the cushions. It's still pretty dark but the both of them like it that way.
A thick silence lays heavily in the air yet Uraraka now has his hand in a death grip. She didn't let go even when they sat down on the couch. Aizawa could tell, even in the darkness, that Uraraka had something she wanted to say. Something that she's lulling around in her mind that's desperate to get out.
He starts to gently swipe his thumb across her cold knuckle, “Say what's on your mind. It'll save me time to not beat around the bush.”
He pauses before adding, “Doesn't need’ta make sense. ‘Word vomit’ is what I like to say.” The rough gruff of her teacher's voice is soothing in the way he's slowly rubbing circles on her knuckles. An outsider to their class might view Aizawa as a horribly strict teacher rid of emotions. Yet, he's one of the few people who can truly bring Ochako comfort, much like most of her class. In a way he feels like a parental figure, not a father figure but something akin to a paternal relation. No one truly knows the kind of gentleness the man can hold for his student when in a time of need.
Her eyebrows are knitted in a tight focus, even if her teacher's presence brings her a few ounces of comfort. She feels more..in it now, you could say. More there than she was moments ago and her mind is flooded in that same echo of questions. Where all she can get out is-
“Do you think it was my fault, Sensei?” Her voice is quiet and filled with weeks of guilt.
“In what way?” he asks, trying to deepen the question.
Uraraka pauses and plays with the hem of the bandage wrapped around her finger.
“My-..My fault H-Himiko is-” she doesn't dare to finish the end of her sentence. It's clear enough the point she is making.
“I feel l-like-”, she takes a shuddering breath, not unlike a toddler, “-no one understands how I feel.” a gut wrenching whine escapes his students throat as she curls into herself once again, holding back tears unsuccessfully. He unclasps their hands and before Uraraka can cry harder at this sudden rejection, Aizawa drapes an arm around her shoulders, bringing her in for a side hug.
Aizawa muses over an answer as he slowly rubs circles into her arm, letting his student cry to her hearts fullest content. He knows of Toga and Uraraka interactions, the one from the Training Camp and beyond. Yet that's where the details end. All he truly knows is that after the dust settled on the war, they found Toga clung tightly against Urarakas side, transferring blood to his student. It takes no genius to figure out how deeply Uraraka cared for her, as did the former. And he understands that type of care for someone better than anyone else.
“Would you like to know something about me?” he asks, still having a tight hold against his now shaking student. He doesn't get a response at first, only hearing the way his student is trying to breathe. He reminds her to ‘take a deep breath’, ‘there you go’ , and once she can get air into her lungs, she looks up at her teacher and nods.
Aizawa stares out towards the wall and says, “I was friends with a villain too.” he lets the sentence sink in and looks back down to see his student watching him with a tearful eye. He gives a shy smile and she gives her unyielding attention.
“It wasn't his fault though, not really. He didn't have a say in what he became. It was bad luck. What I do know is that he wasn't a bad person, far from it."
He thinks about the boy who showed up to school with no clothes other than a pitiful cloud, holding up the stray kitten Shota so potentially ignored. He thinks about the blue haired kid who used his body to protect a group of civilians from a fallen building. He thinks of the nomu who, despite everything, he who ignored his purpose, saved and sacrificed himself for him and his students. He thinks of the partner he had who wasn't the type to neglect a friend. He then thinks of Toga, someone who he doesn't understand yet his student has grown to accept.
“He didn't want to hurt anyone, he wanted to protect those he could. He hurt me yet saved my life on his deathbed and for that, I am forever grateful. As I know you are of Toga.” he squeezes his student again and her shaking becomes a bit worse, tears again start freely falling down her face. She's never heard his teacher's voice filled with so much emotion. So much hurt. She squeezes her eyes shut trying to cast away her fresh tears. It's all too much.
“We both had someone we wanted to save that day, someone who was worth saving. But I want you to listen to me.” he stops and makes sure Uraraka, if she wasn't listening before, is listening now. After a moment she nods in acknowledgement, eyes still closed.
“What happened to Toga was not your fault and it would be irrational for you to carry that burden. That doesn't take away from how much I know you still care for her. How much you hurt for her.” he rubs his hand up and down her arm and that really is almost the final nail in the coffin for her.
“Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Just because she was a villain, doesn't mean she doesn't deserve your kindness. Your grief.”
Something wet fills in Aizawa's one eye and he lets it roll down his cheek in ease. It's still a barley healed wound, Kurogiri. Oboro. It claws at his chest and sinks its teeth into his skin. It makes his body feel tight and his eyes burn with a hurt that's so many years old. He didn't expect himself to be so open with his student tonight but seing his student in such a state, to know she blames herself for the death of the villain breaks something fragile in his heart. To see such similarities between the both of them, how much they cared for their other half. A care no one else can truly understand.
With a heavy breath he finally says, “You're allowed to grief, Ochako. You're allowed to feel angry at the thing you lost.” and truly, that sentence alone stabs right through the weight in her chest. Without her wanting it to, it explodes into a million pieces, an explosion of red oozing out of her chest as she shoves her face into her Senseis chest and wails. It's ugly. It's incoherent but that doesn't really matter. Not right now. She has a nasty grip on her teachers jumpsuit and he holds onto her just as tightly. He snakes one arm around her back while the other cups the back of her head, loosely combing through her brown strands. He's so gentle, so gentle it hurts the hole now in her chest that's still oozing red.
He speaks quietly into her hair, “You're going to be okay. I know, I know. I'm so sorry Ochako." The comforting rasp of his voice sends her reeling, her mouth agape as her sobs turn a tad louder. They're thankfully heavily silenced by the way her face is plunged into her Senseis chest. Her own chest heaves in the same way it did when she woke up from her nightmare this night. Despite it all, how gross this must be for her teacher, he continues to rub circles along her back, sometimes changing it to draw out endless patterns her brain can't quite recognize right now.
She thinks about the past few weeks, the nightmares she's had and the endless episodes of pure confusion that rattles her body and senses. The way she can't enjoy anything, can't focus on anything and in a way it sounds so pitiful. That this is her biggest problem right now. When she's been stronger than this. Has faced things scarier than such silly emotions.
Its frustrating and it's not fair, she knows. Aizawa knows. It's not fair yet she wants to throw a fit like a child and let everyone know how unfair it is. How hurt she is, but she can't.
She tries to say just that to her teacher, yet it comes out in intangible mumbles of nonsense. Nonetheless, Aizawa continues to speak to her so gently, telling her he understands, that he knows.
And that's all she wanted. Was for someone to know.