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Ochaco would never be capable of putting into words how much Toga Himiko meant to her.
Even in their short time together, Ochaco was hit by a beam larger than light and was crushed under the weight, permanently scarred with the feeling of Himiko. Love wasn't the word she was looking for to express the sentiment, no. Love was shallow, a vessel unable to contain the debts of her longing and immense sorrow. It was something that rested in her soul beyond a simple phrase. It was something that made her dizzy and weak, making her feel like toppling over just by the idea of it. It felt as if her heart had grown the same size as her head but still stayed trapped in the confined space against her ribs. It kept her unbalanced. She could only feel down to earth in one person's hands… But it wasn't love. Himiko didn't make her stammer or blush, not the way she did with Izuku. Himiko's sole presence made her feel full, like she had a grand portion of a steamy hot meal. She made Ochaco feel fuzzy inside, and lose all sense of herself. Himiko made her feel like she needed to do anything in her power to pry a smile onto Himiko's face even if it was by force.
But it simply wasn't love.
Love is a useless term, according to Ochaco, people use love even for the simplest things. They love to go on walks, yet they also love to be huddled against their partner and feel their warmth. It wasn't the same. How could they feel the same about something so small compared to their lover? There was a big difference between simply saying the words "I love you," and, "I want to mend your soul into mine, connect your body and blood with mine and still, after we die, I want to meet you in every life." See? It's not the same. Those things were very different from one another. Though at times, Ochaco could admit that she felt envious of that. She would imagine how it would feel—to simply be able to say the words, "I love you," to the person you wished to become. But it could never be the same for them.
Love didn't understand them.
Himiko smiled at the sight of Ochaco's bruises twisted into her skin by her hand. While on the other hand, Ochaco felt lightheaded with warmth at the sensation of her hands wrapped around Himiko's neck. And even despite their roughness, Ochaco still wanted nothing but to go back to the time when she and Himiko rested in their last breaths; blood mingling together in the still air. Because if she had to be honest about anything, that was when she felt most whole, most complete.
She knew it was the same for Himiko—she had felt it in that moment. Her vision was blurred, but she still saw the love pierce through her eyes and reflect itself in Ochaco's being. In her voice, "Thank you, Ochaco. You've made me so happy..." It lingered over her tongue. No, it wasn't love; it dripped with more. Ochaco realized quickly that that feeling would never be replicated in another being than Himiko. It wasn't like she didn't want to experience the feeling beyond Himiko: She did. But leaving her behind felt like stepping into hell. Ochaco couldn't want to leave Himiko. She ached to cradle Himiko’s memory, the ghost of warmth still echoing in her empty arms. No matter how many times she looked into the mirror and screamed: "I love you, I really do love you, Himiko-chan!" Still, she couldn't shake that hollow feeling away.
Never love. Love never worked.
Ochaco couldn't resent her, nor could she love her. God forbid, she would hate her… All she could do was draw in shallow breaths, clutch her pillow close in the darkness of her empty room, and sleep. Pretend her heart beat that reflected through the plush object was Himiko's and that if she squeezed hard enough, she would be answered in her dreams.