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It was almost funny how things turn out. But it wasn’t really funny. It feels as if these days, not a lot could be funny. Nonetheless, they try to laugh. They do. But, with Ochaco front of him now, it feels as if maybe he hasn’t heard her laugh, a real laugh, in ages. Maybe she hadn't.
They did try to make it work. To make them work. Or, maybe they didn’t really try. Maybe they were going through the motions, hoping things would turn out okay. For some time, it did feel like things were getting better but these sort of things come in waves and when a fast one comes, you topple over and start to drown a little.
He knows what they had wasn’t necessarily wrong. Yet, somehow, it wasn’t right, either. He had loved her, does love her, but you can love someone, he had learned, and not be right for them. Maybe in another lifetime they could’ve been something more. Maybe in that lifetime, they were boring people who lived boring lives, without the baggage that could only come from war, from the guilt of surviving, of not being able to do enough.
But, not in this lifetime, not when Ochaco’s eyes rest on him without fully looking at him. Not when he knows she searches in the crowd for someone who will never come home to her. He knows the grief of loss, how a part of you dies with them. Even so, you choose to live on, for you. For them.
Even now, he could never really know the extent of her pain. Maybe it was because he had always viewed Toga in the lens of someone to stop, not someone to save. And now, as Ochaco cries bitter tears, he begins to think what they had was now something that couldn’t be saved either.
“Tell me about her,” he says instead.
So, she does and he began to know her, the real Tog—Himiko, not that she was anything other than truly herself to the very end. He learns but he doesn’t really understand, and maybe he could never really understand her, not the way Ochaco does. Maybe he never will, but she begins to become a person in his head, someone who was worthy of being grieved.
And, as she continued, there is a nagging thought deep in the back of his mind. It starts quiet, like humming, but begins to drown her out and he isn’t able to focus on a word she says. He tries to force it down but it crawls its way up his throat before he could swallow, the question that desperately wants to be asked.
“Did you love her?”
Ochaco gazes at him, a tear slipping away from her before she can catch it. “Love?” she asks, a slight quiver remains in her voice.
“Love,” he affirms, the words come out a little less confident than before.
“Love,” she mouths then averts her gaze to the ground. It feels like a lifetime before she continues. “I guess I did,” she says, almost a whisper. “Or I could have, if I had the chance.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, as if the words could do anything.
There is a silence between them but it’s not uncomfortable, just a moment to process the words hanging heavily over them. She eventually breaks it before he does.
“Did you think we could’ve been something real?”
“You and Himiko?” Or you and me?
“Mm.”
“I don’t know,” he answers, truthfully. “But knowing you, you would’ve made it happen.”
“I wa—would’ve wanted to,” Ochaco smiles wistfully. “If it was just up to me. Not her. Not the world. But I don’t know. She wanted—“ Ochaco swallows before continuing but her voice still comes out a little hoarser than before. “She only wanted to be free. I don’t think that was something I could give her.”
“Maybe,” Izuku replies, quietly. “Or maybe not.” He shrugs slightly. “But you would’ve tried for her. I don’t think a lot of people have tried for her.”
“I would’ve,” she agrees. “I really would,” she murmurs after a moment.
They lapse into the same silence again and his mind begins to drift, back to the beginning when they first met, when she was young girl who only wanted to take care of her family. Would she have not gone down the same route if she knew the outcome? No, he knows she would have. She wouldn’t have changed a thing. It hurts his heart and he presses a hand against it to still the throbbing.
“And you?” she suddenly asks, breaking him out of his thoughts.
“What about me?”
“You know,” she replies. He doesn’t so she continues. “You and him.”
He does know now but how do you put it all into words? The deep, deep history between them. The way he pervades his thoughts and actions. How he is who he is because of him. Maybe it was the same for them, him and Ochaco. Maybe like her, he had realized it then—how could he have anyone else when he had seen Kacchan’s broken body on the ground and the world hadn’t end even though it had for him? But he wasn't ready then. Maybe he would never really be ready.
“I don’t know,” he answers, stupidly. “I didn’t think—“ The words fail him.
“That it could happen?” she offers, helpfully.
“Yes.”
Ochaco looks at him. “You know,” she starts. “There was a time I thought you and I…” She hesitates then begins again, “You know I was always chasing after you. But you… You and him, you were chasing each other. From the beginning. Maybe forever. Even now, he's chasing you. There’s no space for me, for anyone else.”
“I always have space for you.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
He nods slowly. “I—yeah, I do.”
“I know he’s offered you to join his agency but you said no to him.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“I like being a teacher.” She continues to look at him. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to work for him. I wanted us to be on equal footing.”
“Is that important to you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” He cocks his head. “I guess I like how we compete. What is this? Are we playing 20 questions?”
“Dodgy,” she says, with a trace of a smile. “You know that wasn’t all he said. You can read the subtext.”
Izuku stares hard. “Okay but how are you reading the subtext? You weren’t even there?”
She laughs and the relief of it washes over him. He didn’t realize the extent of which he missed the sound of it. “Now you’re changing topics.”
“I guess,” Izuku begins, “I guess I’m a little scared.” The corner of her mouth twitches but she refrains from saying her thoughts. “Maybe a lot scared. I’m afraid if I try and mess up, then there will be nothing after and everything before amounts to nothing.”
“I get it.”
“Yeah.”
“Sometimes,” she says, now tinged with sadness. “We don’t get a chance to have an after.” Her hand reaches up and she pulls Izuku into a hug. He immediately wraps his arms around her. “I don’t want to tell you what to do with your life,” she says, her voice muffled by his shirt, “But I want you to be happy with your choices.”
“I feel the same,” he replies, lamely. “I mean, I want you to be happy too.”
She lingers for a moment before releasing him. “I am happy. I’m not going to cry anymore. Maybe a little. But not as much. But now I have dreams. I know what I’m going to do from now on. I’ve known for some time now.”
“Oh?”
“I’m going to fix the system so no one will be alone again. For her. Also for me. For you. For everyone.”
“And you will,” he says. “I know you will.” His mind flashes back the the work she’s been doing. “You have. A little at a time.”
“I try,” she smiles slowly. “And you?”
“I guess—“
“Don’t say I guess anymore.”
“I won’t be scared anymore,” he says instead.
“Well, it’s okay to be scared while you do it.”
“Yeah,” he nods. “I mean I am scared but not as much as before.” He adds after a moment, “But I’ll do it.”
She looks fully at him now, "You will," she says in a soft voice. "I will too."
As they look at each other, the corner of her mouth begins to twitch then she slowly breaks into a fit of giggles.
"What?" he asks but he finds himself chuckling.
"Oh my god," she says with tears in her eyes. "Is this how this ends?"
"No," he exhales, a little more serious now. "We're just starting."
She smiles at him, her eyes going soft. He reaches for her hand and she holds it. This. This feels right. Somehow, he knows that everything will turn out okay even if it isn’t at times because when it isn't, he knows, he has Ochaco and she has him, and that’s more than enough.