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The city looked gentler in winter.
Not because it was safer, Ochaco had learned not to mistake decorations for security, but because the lights tried.
Strings of warm gold and soft white wrapped around lamp posts and shop fronts, and the sidewalks were lined with stalls that smelled like sugar and spice and something fried. People walked in pairs or groups, shoulders brushing, laughter rising like steam in the cold.
It was easy to pretend the world was normal.
Ochaco tucked her hands deeper into her coat sleeves and moved with the crowd. She wasn’t on patrol. Not officially. Tonight was meant to be… a break. A few hours where she could exist as a person rather than a symbol.
She tried to let herself have it.
She passed a stall selling paper ornaments shaped like little heroes and villains, cartoonish and harmless, and almost smiled. A group of kids ran by, scarves trailing behind them, their parents calling after them with mock sternness.
Ahead, near a stall with hot drinks, she spotted familiar silhouettes.
Midoriya stood with his shoulders
slightly hunched like he was trying not to take up space, his breath fogging the air as he listened. Next to him,
Hagakure’s presence was announced by the bouncing scarf and gloves and the way Midoriya kept angling his head toward where her voice came from, attentive even when he looked flustered.
Ochaco felt something soften in her chest at the sight.
She didn’t envy them. Not exactly.
It was more like… recognition.
They’d found a way to be close without making it complicated. They’d stepped over the first hurdle, admitting it, and now they got to stand in the warmth of it.
Near the far end of the street,
Yaoyorozu and Todoroki walked side by side, their pace unhurried. They weren’t holding hands. They didn’t need to.
There was a quiet gravity to the space between them, like they had decided long ago that it belonged to them.
Kaminari and Jirou were a little noisier,
Kaminari talking with big gestures, Jirou pretending she wasn’t entertained, her shoulder bumping his like an unspoken reply. Kirishima was laughing about something with Bakugo, who looked like he was scowling purely out of principle, not because he wanted to leave.
Everyone… paired off, in their own way.
Ochaco exhaled slowly, watching the couples and the almost-couples and the people who’d found someone to lean on.
She wasn’t alone. She knew that. She had friends. A class. A future.
So why did she feel like she was standing a half-step outside the warmth?
Maybe because her world had gotten too big.
Maybe because when she closed her eyes at night, she still saw blood and broken streets and faces she couldn’t forget. Maybe because there were people she could save and people she hadn’t, and the line between the two still haunted her.
She told herself to stop thinking about it.
To focus on the present.
To let the festival lights do what they were meant to do, make the cold feel bearable.
Then she bumped into someone.
The impact wasn’t hard. Just enough that her shoulder shifted and she had to take a step back. She turned automatically, apology already forming.
“I’m so sorry-are you-”
The girl she’d collided with looked up at her with bright eyes that were just a little too sharp.
She wore a red knit cap pulled low over messy blonde hair. A scarf covered the bottom half of her face, but Ochaco could still see the curve of her smile.
“Oh!” the girl said, voice light. “That was my fault. I wasn’t looking.”
Something in Ochaco’s instincts tightened.
Not danger, at least not the way she’d learned to feel it in battle. Not the clean, obvious alarm of an incoming threat.
This was… off.
The girl stood too close. Her gaze flicked over Ochaco’s face with an intensity that didn’t match the casual tone. Like she was cataloguing details.
Ochaco forced a friendly smile anyway.
“No, it’s fine. Everyone’s packed in tight tonight.”
“Mm,” the girl hummed, head tilting.
“You’re very… nice.”
Ochaco blinked. “Uh, thanks?”
The girl’s eyes gleamed. “You’re Ochaco Uraraka.”
It wasn’t a question.
Ochaco’s smile held, but her muscles went slightly still. “Yeah. That’s me.”
“Wow,” the girl breathed, like she’d stumbled upon something rare at a market stall. “I didn’t think I’d get lucky like this.”
Ochaco’s pulse ticked up. She glanced around instinctively.
There were people everywhere.
Families, couples, groups of friends.
Laughter. Music. A thousand distractions.
If this was someone dangerous, they’d chosen an odd place to approach her.
Unless the crowd was the point.
“Do I… know you?” Ochaco asked carefully.
The girl leaned in a fraction, voice dropping into something conspiratorial.
“Not yet.”
Ochaco’s stomach gave a small, uneasy twist.
But she didn’t step back.
Not because she was careless.
Because she’d learned something in the last year: fear made distance, but understanding sometimes required closeness.
She kept her voice neutral. “Okay.
Then, what can I do for you?”
The girl’s eyes widened, pleased. “You can talk to me.”
Ochaco held her gaze. “About what?”
The girl’s grin sharpened around the edges. “About love.”
Ochaco’s breath caught, just slightly.
In another context, it would’ve been absurd. In this context, with that look, that tone, it felt like a test.
Ochaco tried to laugh it off. “That’s… kind of a big topic for a stranger.”
“Is it?” the girl asked sweetly. “You’re a hero. Heroes do big things.”
Ochaco studied her, searching for the seam where the act might split open.
“Do you have a name?” she asked.
The girl’s eyes flicked away for a heartbeat, then back. “Call me… Himi.”
It wasn’t an answer, really.
But Ochaco nodded as if it was.
“Alright, Himi,” she said. “What about love?”
The girl clasped her gloved hands together like she was excited about the question. “Do you get lonely?”
Ochaco stared at her.
The directness hit like a shove.
She’d expected something flirtatious, maybe some fan nonsense, maybe even a provocation. But this… this was too intimate for a stranger.
The girl watched her reaction like it was the whole point.
Ochaco exhaled slowly. “Sometimes.”
“Even with all your friends?” Himi asked, head cocking.
Ochaco’s mind flashed to her class. To shared meals, late-night training, laughter in dorm hallways. To people who would show up for her if she asked.
But asking… wasn’t easy.
“Yeah,” Ochaco admitted. “Sometimes especially then.”
Himi’s eyes brightened. “That’s… interesting.”
Ochaco’s instincts prickled again, but she kept her voice soft. “Why do you want to know?”
Himi leaned closer, close enough that
Ochaco could smell winter mint on her breath. “Because I think you’re like me.”
Ochaco’s stomach dropped.
“No,” she said quietly, and surprised herself with how certain it sounded. “I don’t think that’s true.”
Himi blinked, then smiled again, unbothered. “Maybe not.”
The pause stretched.
Music drifted from somewhere ahead, a slow, cheerful tune that made the moment feel surreal.
Ochaco cleared her throat. “Are you here alone?”
Himi shrugged. “Alone is easier.”
Ochaco felt something in her chest tighten, an old, familiar ache she
couldn’t name.
She glanced at the crowd again, at the warmth and closeness everywhere, and then looked back at the girl who stood too close and smiled too sharp.
“Do you want to walk?” Ochaco asked.
Himi’s eyes widened like Ochaco had handed her a gift.
“Yes,” she breathed. “I do.”
Ochaco nodded once, decisive.
“Okay,” she said. “Then let’s walk.”
And she led a stranger into the heart of the festival, even as every instinct told her she was stepping onto thin ice.
It was so easy to find heroes in crowds.
Not because they were loud.
Because they glowed.
They glowed with attention, with purpose, with the invisible weight of being watched. Even when they weren’t in costume, even when they were pretending to be normal, something about them pulled the world toward them like gravity.
Ochaco Uraraka glowed.
Himiko watched her from the edge of the festival for a long time before she moved. She watched the way Ochaco smiled at vendors, the way she stepped aside for children without thinking, the way she looked at couples with an expression that wasn’t jealousy exactly, but something close to hunger, buried deep under politeness.
Himiko knew hunger.
She knew it the way she knew her own heartbeat.
She also knew what people assumed about her: that she was chaos, that she was violence, that she was only teeth and blood and childish obsession.
That wasn’t wrong.
But it wasn’t all of it.
Sometimes she wanted something simpler.
Sometimes she wanted to know what it felt like to be held without having to steal it.
So she dressed like a normal girl. A cap. A scarf. Gloves. A coat.
She stepped into the festival like she belonged there.
And she waited until Ochaco drifted a little away from her orbit of familiar faces, just enough that the moment could be hers.
The collision was easy. A small bump, a startled turn, the hero’s instinct to apologize first.
Himiko smiled behind her scarf, delighted.
Ochaco was even prettier up close. Her eyes were wide and warm and tired, like she carried too much and still tried to smile anyway.
When Himiko said her name, Ochaco didn’t bolt.
That alone made Himiko’s heart kick.
“Do I… know you?” Ochaco asked.
Himiko wanted to say yes.
In a way, she did.
Ochaco knew her face from wanted posters. Ochaco knew her voice from recordings. Ochaco knew her as a problem to be solved.
But Himiko wanted something else tonight.
So she gave her a nickname instead.
“Himi.”
Ochaco accepted it like she accepted
everything, carefully, but without cruelty.
It made Himiko feel… oddly seen.
Then she asked the question she’d been circling for months.
Do you get lonely?
Ochaco said sometimes.
Himiko almost laughed. Of course she did. Heroes were always lonely. People loved them, but love wasn’t the same as understanding.
Himiko leaned closer, watching every flicker of emotion in Ochaco’s face.
When she said, “I think you’re like me,” she meant it in the only way she knew how.
Not morally. Not politically. Emotionally.
Hungry. Wanting. A little hollow in the center.
Ochaco rejected it, but gently.
That was good.
Himiko didn’t want Ochaco to be like her. She wanted Ochaco to be Ochaco.
When Ochaco offered to walk, Himiko’s breath caught. She hadn’t expected it to be that easy.
She expected fear. She expected distance.
Instead, she got an invitation.
So she followed.
They moved past stalls of sweets and
trinkets, the lights turning the snow into glitter. Himiko kept her hands tucked into her pockets so she wouldn’t reach out too soon. The urge was constant, touch, claim, close the distance.
But she was trying something different tonight.
“Do you come here every year?” Ochaco asked, voice casual.
Himiko hummed. “No.”
“First time?”
“Sort of.”
Ochaco glanced sideways. “Sort of?”
Himiko’s smile sharpened. “I’ve watched it before.”
Ochaco’s steps slowed a fraction, suspicion flaring briefly.
Himiko let it hang there, letting Ochaco feel the edge without giving her the blade.
“You don’t talk like a fan,” Ochaco said after a beat.
Himiko’s eyes widened, pleased again.
“No?”
“No,” Ochaco replied. “Fans usually tell
me I’m inspiring. Or ask for photos. Or talk about merch.”
Himiko giggled. “Do you want to be inspiring?”
Ochaco’s mouth twisted, honest. “I want to be useful.”
Himiko stared at her, genuinely
fascinated. “That’s sad.”
Ochaco blinked. “It is?”
“Yes,” Himiko said, too quickly. “It sounds like you don’t think you’re worth anything unless you’re doing something for someone else.”
Ochaco’s shoulders stiffened.
Himiko waited for anger. For denial.
Instead, Ochaco exhaled, slow.
“…Maybe,” Ochaco admitted quietly.
Himiko felt something sharp twist in her chest. Not jealousy. Not hunger. Something else. Something like… frustration. Like the world had taken something sweet and taught it to call itself ordinary.
“Why are you here?” Ochaco asked suddenly, stopping near a stall selling little paper charms. Her eyes were steady, searching.
Himiko’s heart thumped.
Ochaco was smarter than people gave her credit for.
Himiko tilted her head, playing innocent.
“To see Christmas.”
Ochaco’s gaze didn’t waver. “That’s not
all.”
Himiko smiled behind her scarf. “You want the truth?”
Ochaco nodded once. “Yeah. I do.”
Himiko leaned closer, voice low. “I wanted to see what it looks like when people love each other… without fear.”
Ochaco’s breath caught.
Himiko continued, words spilling now, because once she started she didn’t want to stop. “They laugh. They touch.
They look at each other like the world is soft.”
Ochaco’s eyes flickered, something
painful and tender.
“And you?” Ochaco asked carefully.
“What does love look like for you?”
Himiko’s smile turned sharp again,
reflexive. “Messy.”
“Messy how?”
Himiko’s fingers clenched inside her pockets. “Like wanting to crawl inside someone’s skin so you can be close enough. Like wanting so much you don’t know where it goes.”
Ochaco stared at her, quiet.
Himiko waited for disgust.
Instead, Ochaco said, very softly, “That sounds… lonely.”
Himiko’s breath hitched.
She didn’t like how accurate that felt.
The crowd pressed around them, laughter, music, light. A normal world.
Himiko felt like she was standing at the edge of it with her toes in the snow.
“Do you ever want to stop being good?”
Himiko asked, because she couldn’t help herself.
Ochaco’s lips parted, surprised.
Then she looked away, gaze tracking a couple as they shared a drink, their hands overlapping naturally.
“…Sometimes I want to stop being tired,” Ochaco admitted. “But I don’t want to stop being me.”
Himiko’s eyes narrowed, thoughtful.
Ochaco turned back. “Do you want to stop being you?”
Himiko’s smile flickered, real, brief, and strange.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I don’t know if I’m allowed.”
Ochaco’s face softened in a way that made Himiko’s chest ache again.
“You’re allowed to want things,” Ochaco said.
Himiko’s heart kicked hard.
Ochaco didn’t know who she was. Not yet.
And she was still saying things like that.
They moved again, slower now, walking until the crowd thinned at the edge of the festival where an old stone archway marked the entrance to a quiet side street. Lights hung in strands overhead.
And there, tied neatly above the arch, was a sprig of mistletoe, bright green against the snow.
Himiko stopped dead, staring.
Ochaco paused beside her, noticing it a second later.
They both went very still.
Himiko’s mouth curved into a grin. “Oh.”
Ochaco’s cheeks warmed. “Of course.”
For a long moment, neither moved.
The mistletoe wasn’t magic. It didn’t force anything. But it named the moment, like a signpost pointing to what was already there: tension, curiosity, longing.
Himiko’s voice went soft, almost reverent. “On Christmas, people kiss under it.”
“I know,” Ochaco murmured.
Himiko tilted her head, studying her. “Do you want to?”
Ochaco’s eyes widened.
The question wasn’t playful. It was direct. Dangerous.
Ochaco swallowed. “I-”
Himiko leaned in slightly, not touching.
“You invited me to walk with you,” she whispered. “You didn’t leave.”
Ochaco’s breath fogged in the cold.
“I’m still here,” Ochaco said quietly.
Himiko’s heart hammered.
She could hear it like a drum in her ears.
She should have been laughing. She should have been teasing.
Instead, she found herself asking, very softly, “Why?”
Ochaco stared at her for a long moment.
Then she said the truth.
“Because when you look at me… it feels like you actually see me,” Ochaco whispered. “Not the hero version. Not the cheerful version. Just… me.”
Himiko’s throat tightened.
“Do you see me?” Ochaco asked, voice trembling just slightly.
Himiko’s smile softened in a way that felt unfamiliar on her face. “Yes,” she breathed. “I do.”
Ochaco’s gaze flicked to the mistletoe again, then back.
Her voice went quieter. “Then… maybe this is okay. Just for a second.”
Himiko didn’t hesitate.
She closed the distance and kissed her.
It was gentle, shockingly so for Himiko, because the moment demanded it.
Because anything rough would shatter the fragile permission Ochaco had given.
Ochaco’s lips were warm against the cold air, her breath catching as she froze for the briefest heartbeat, then she kissed back, soft and uncertain, like she was stepping onto ice and finding it held.
Himiko felt the kiss like a revelation. Not possession. Not hunger. Something cleaner. Something she didn’t know how to name.
When they pulled apart, the world rushed back in: music, distant laughter, the faint crunch of snow under boots.
Ochaco’s eyes were wide, shining.
Himiko’s chest hurt.
They stood there under the mistletoe, breathing like they’d run.
Ochaco whispered, “That… was real.”
Himiko laughed softly, a sound that was half delight, half disbelief. “Of course it was.”
Ochaco’s brows knit, as if she wanted to say more, but her gaze sharpened suddenly, focusing.
Something in Himiko’s posture must have shifted. Something small. A crack in the disguise.
Ochaco’s eyes dropped, just for a second, to the line of Himiko’s scarf, the way it hid too much.
Ochaco’s voice went very quiet. “Who are you?”
Himiko’s smile returned, sharper now, instinct reasserting itself like a blade sliding back into her hand.
She lifted her fingers and tugged the scarf down just enough for Ochaco to see.
Ochaco’s face drained of color.
Himiko watched the fear flare, honest, immediate, followed by something else.
Not hatred. Not screaming panic. A kind of wounded understanding.
Himiko’s chest tightened again.
“I told you to call me Himi,” Himiko whispered.
Ochaco’s voice shook. “Toga.”
Himiko’s grin widened, almost proud.
“Hi.”
Ochaco’s hands curled into fists at her
sides, but she didn’t lunge. She didn’t shout.
She just stood there under the mistletoe, breathing hard, trying to reconcile the kiss with the name.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Ochaco said,
voice tight.
“I wanted to be,” Himiko replied simply.
“Just for tonight.”
Ochaco’s eyes glistened.
“That kiss-” Ochaco started.
Himiko’s gaze sharpened. “Don’t you dare say it didn’t mean anything.”
Ochaco flinched, then whispered, “It meant too much.”
Himiko’s smile faltered, a flicker of something almost vulnerable.
Ochaco swallowed hard. “You can’t just… step into my world and take pieces of it.”
Himiko tilted her head. “You gave me this piece.”
Ochaco’s breath hitched.
The truth of it sat heavy between them.
Himiko stepped back, the cold air rushing into the space she’d warmed.
Ochaco didn’t follow. She couldn’t.
Himiko’s voice softened, almost careful.
“You wanted to know if you were seen.”
Ochaco’s eyes stayed locked on hers, desperate and furious and sad.
“You were,” Himiko whispered. “You are.”
Ochaco’s lips parted.
Himiko took one more step backward, letting the crowd’s noise creep closer around them again.
“Merry Christmas, Ochaco,” Himiko said, like it was a blessing and a threat all at once.
Then she turned and disappeared into the festival lights, just another girl in a red cap, swallowed whole by normalcy.
Ochaco stood under the mistletoe long after she was gone.
Her lips still tingled, like her body hadn’t caught up to what her mind already understood: that she had kissed Himiko Toga in the middle of a Christmas festival, and it had felt… real.
Not safe. Not right. Real.
Her chest ached with a complicated grief she couldn’t explain.
She should have chased her. She should have called it in. She should have done something clean and correct and heroic.
Instead, she stood there, breathing in cold air, watching couples pass beneath lights and laughter like the world wasn’t cracked open.
Ochaco lifted a gloved hand to her mouth, touching her lips lightly.
She didn’t regret it.
That scared her.
No, she corrected herself, forcing clarity.
She didn’t regret the human part of it.
The moment of being seen. The split-second where the world was simple.
She regretted the truth behind it.
Regretted that Himiko didn’t know how to want without taking.
Regretted that she, Ochaco, had wanted anyway.
A couple brushed past her, laughing, and she stepped aside automatically, reflexive polite