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MHA105- Misery-chan Loves Company
🕑 Added 2025-05-10 22:01:52 +0000 UTCMirko cackled. "Nah, nah, you gotta OWN IT. Next press conference? Show up in the dress."
I swung at her. She dodged, still laughing.
"You think this is funny, huh?"
She grinned. "Bro, this is the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever seen."
I exhaled, staring at the city again. "...I need to wipe my existence from the planet."
Mirko stretched, cracking her neck. "Too late, maid boy. You’re a legend now."
I walked into class the next morning expecting respect.
I expected nods of approval, pats on the back, people looking at me like I was the second coming of All Might. Maybe even some admiration from the girls, hell, I earned it.
What I got instead?
Kaminari fucking dying on the floor, clutching his stomach, Mineta wheezing so hard he almost passed out, and Sero holding up his phone like it was a holy relic. And on the screen?
The goddamn maid meme.
"Nighteye-sama~!"
I stopped in the doorway.
The room exploded.
"OH MY GOD, HE’S HERE!" Kirishima practically roared, like I had just walked into my own execution. "HOLY SHIT, DUDE!"
Mina slammed a hand on her desk, choking on laughter. "RYUU, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?"
I closed my eyes. Took a breath. Opened them.
Jiro had her head buried in her arms, shoulders shaking. Yaoyorozu was trying to look disapproving but kept glancing at her phone. Even Todoroki, who barely reacted to anything, was looking at the screen with the faintest trace of what the fuck? on his face.
"Yo, bro, you gotta explain," Sero said, grinning ear to ear. "Like, were you forced? Or was this voluntary?"
I took a deep breath. Walked to my seat. Calm. Unbothered. Like my face wasn’t currently plastered all over the internet in a goddamn maid outfit.
Then I saw Bakugo’s shit-eating grin.
“Oi, Maid-oriya.” His voice was smug, too smug. “Where’s the feather duster? Nighteye cry when he saw it?”
Kaminari fucking lost it, practically collapsing onto his desk. “BAHAHA! MAID-ORIYA! Bro, you’re done! That’s it! You’re a legend!”
Mina looked like she was giving birth to a scream and a wheeze at the same time. “I… I can’t… I… PFFFT…!”
Sero, holding up his phone, flicked through at least six different memes. “Nah, nah, this one… LOOK at this one. Someone edited you doing the little anime maid pose with cat ears. Holy shit.”
Mineta wheezed. “Maid outfit’s nice, but imagine thigh-highs.”
Kaminari tried to laugh and inhaled wrong. Started dying. No one helped. “Oh my god, say it again. Say it again.”
“Nighteye-sama,” Mineta choked out, wiping tears. “I-It’s not like I disobeyed orders because I like you or anything, b-baka~”
Sero started choking on gum and slammed into his desk like he’d been shot.
I took another breath. Don’t react. Don’t. The more you react, the worse it gets.
Kaminari was face down on the floor, shoulders shaking. Mina was pounding the desk like she was trying to break it. Mineta looked like he just discovered religion.
And Bakugo… oh, this smug motherfucker was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “Oi, Maid-oriya, you take special requests?”
The room fucking lost it.
I sat down.
Didn’t speak. Didn’t react. Just pulled out my notebook and flipped it open like I didn’t just walk into my own execution.
It didn’t help.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Mina gasped, wiping at her eyes. “Which one is funnier, the maid one or the romance movie poster?”
Kaminari looked up, still grinning. “Oh, the movie poster, no question. ‘A Quirk Too Far’? Who the hell made that? I need to shake their hand.”
Mineta snickered. “The caption is what kills me…‘When Overhaul meets Underdog, love gets rewound.’ I’m fucking dead.”
Sero pulled himself back up, clutching the desk. “I still can’t get over the Giga Chad edit. ‘I will burn this city down before I let her go back.’” He wiped his face. “And then, next to it, you in a maid dress. Bro, the internet is undefeated.”
I flipped another page in my notebook. Calm. Unbothered. These bitches weren’t worth my energy.
Bakugo tapped his fingers against his desk, eyes locked onto me. “So? You gonna say anything?”
Nope.
“C’mon, Maid-oriya.” He smirked. “At least tell us if you picked the dress yourself.”
Kaminari choked. “STOP…”
I stared at my notes. Pretended I didn’t hear him.
“Oh no,” Mina gasped, voice dripping with fake concern. “Did Nighteye-sama make you wear it?”
Kaminari practically threw himself onto her desk. “Oh shit, are we kinkshaming now? ‘Punishment for disobedience’ type beat?”
Sero fucking collapsed again.
I didn’t move.
Mineta wiped a fake tear. “Man… wish that were me.”
This is my hell now.
–
I found her sitting on the steps outside the dorms, hoodie up, knees to chest like she was trying to disappear into the sky. She did that sometimes. When things were loud. She would just… vanish without leaving.
“Hey.”
She blinked, looking up like she didn’t expect anyone to find her. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she forgot I knew how to look for people.
“Ryuu?” she asked, eyes narrowing slightly. “What are you doing out here?”
I pulled my hands from my pockets, “You said I ditched you before I could take you somewhere. So I’m fixing that.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Now?”
I shrugged. “You busy?”
She picked at a loose thread on her sleeve, chewing her lip, “...Give me five.”
She didn’t take five. She took three. Showed up with her scarf, hoodie zipped to her chin, looking like a marshmallow with a grudge.
“Where are we going?” she asked, trailing behind me as I started walking toward the main road.
“You’ll see.”
“If this is a villain sting...”
“Relax. I left my bat at home.”
A lie. It is in my inventory.
"Ryuu! I am serious. No villain chase."
“You wish.”
She snorted. “That’s somehow more suspicious.”
We cut through alleys that smelled like piss and faded ambition, passed vending machines older than some Pro Heroes’ careers. When we hit the alley lined with rusted pipes and flickering neon signage that said “Tonkatsu” even though the place didn’t serve tonkatsu anymore.
Parked like it belonged there, matte black, a little scratched on the side, one mirror duct-taped in place. Helmet resting on the seat like it was judging her existence.
“Now,” I said, stopping beside it, “you cannot mention this to anyone. And if you do, I will burn down Misery-Chan and deny everything.”
She blinked. Looked at me.
Then looked at the bike.
Back to me.
“…Who the hell is Misery-Chan?”
“That,” I gestured, “is my baby. She only screams when she’s cold. Do not piss her off.”
Uraraka stared. “You named your motorcycle Misery-Chan?”
“She is beautiful, emotionally unstable, and louder than societal expectations allow. It fits.”
“You need help.”
“I have you, don’t I?”
That earned a blink. Then she laughed, she shook her head and swung her leg over the seat behind me like she had done it a hundred times. She hadn’t.
“Hold on,” I said.
She wrapped her arms around my waist.
The restaurant wasn’t flashy.
Hell, it barely had signage. A faded wooden board above the door just said “Naka”, half the letters missing. No glass front. No glowing OPEN sign. Just a thin curtain hanging over the entryway and a single cracked lantern flickering in the breeze.
Inside, it smelled like sesame oil, smoke, and ramen broth that had been simmering for at least two generations.
Uraraka looked around as we stepped inside. “Is this…?”
“Family-owned. No chain. No delivery app. They barely take cash.”
She blinked. “Is that legal?”
“Who’s gonna snitch? The udon is killer.”
I waved to the old guy behind the counter, who looked up and gave me a squint like he hadn’t decided if I was here to eat or rob the place. Then he saw Uraraka and grunted approvingly.
A waitress with more eyeliner than patience dropped two laminated menus on the table without a word.
I passed mine to Uraraka. “You choose.”
“You’re not eating?”
“I’ve had everything on this menu. Twice. You haven’t.”
She stared at me for a second like she was trying to figure out if I was serious. Then she looked down at the menu. “Is this… affordable?”
“Yes.”
She hesitated.
I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you to some five-star rooftop nightmare. You’re not paying.”
“I didn’t say I would...”
“You were thinking it.”
She shut up.
After a minute, she pointed at something. “This. What’s this one?”
“Shoyu pork ramen. Comes with extra egg if you flirt with the waitress.”
She shot me a look.
I smirked. “Kidding. Sort of.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. That one.”
“Good choice.” I flagged down the waitress and pointed. “Two.”
Uraraka leaned back, arms folded, eyes sweeping the room. The place was mostly empty, just a couple guys at the bar and a salaryman sleeping in his noodles. Dim lighting. Music playing low from a busted speaker in the corner.
“I like it,” she said, after a beat.
“It doesn’t try to be anything it isn’t,” I said.
She tilted her head. “Kinda like you?”
“I try to be less charming.”
She snorted.
The ramen came fast. Two steaming bowls dropped on the table, the waitress vanishing like a ghost before either of us could say anything. Uraraka stared down at hers, steam curling around her face.
“Eat.”
She did.
She made a noise.
Then another one.
“…Holy shit,” she mumbled through a mouthful. “You weren’t kidding.”
“I never kid about noodles.”
When her bowl was almost empty, she spoke again.
“…Did you ever think you’d end up like this?”
“What, eating soup with a gravity gremlin in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant after derailing a police operation and publicly bodying a Yakuza?”
She blinked.
“Yeah,” I said, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “About right.”
Uraraka stared down at her bowl. “You scared me, you know. That day. When you grabbed Chisaki.”
I didn’t answer.
She looked up, serious now. “You weren’t just angry. You were… somewhere else.”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Where?”
I tapped the side of my head. “Somewhere that makes bat-swinging seem reasonable.”
She didn’t smile.
“I get it,” she said instead. “I mean… not all of it. But the rage. The helplessness. I’ve felt it.”
I stopped.
Honestly? I had never asked Uraraka much about her personal life. I picked up scraps here and there. Her family was broke, like really broke. The kind of broke where coupons are currency and "heat" is seasonal.
Someone once joked her wallet had a suicide note in it. That if you opened it too fast, you’d hear it whisper, “kill me.”
So, yes. She got helplessness.
She knew what it was like to lose before the fight even started. She had seen what this society did to people who didn’t have the right name, the right money, the right timing. How the world didn’t just kick you down, but stepped over you like you were part of the pavement.
She didn’t grow up with a silver spoon.
She grew up watching her parents break their backs so she could maybe, maybe do a little better. She knew what it was like to check the price tag before dreaming. To weigh dreams against rent. To sit at the bottom of the hero food chain, staring up at glass ceilings and wondering if even the climb was allowed.
Uraraka wasn’t soft.
People see her and think bubblegum and good vibes. But that’s not what she’s made of. She was survival in pastel sneakers.
I leaned back, watching her cradle the last piece of pork in her spoon like she was debating whether to eat it or frame it.
“You gonna worship it, or finish it?”
She rolled her eyes. “Shut up. It’s called savoring.”
“It’s called dramatic food hoarding.”
She popped the pork into her mouth. Chewed slowly, eyes closed. Then let out a soft, quiet sound that was 80% food bliss and 20% spiritual healing.
When she set her chopsticks down, her fingers brushed the side of the bowl.
“…I used to hate people like you.”
I blinked. “Okay, not the follow-up I expected.”
She smirked, just a little. “The ones who didn’t care about rules. Who just… did things. Took risks like they didn’t have anything to lose.”
I tilted my head. “I have things to lose.”
“I know,” she said, quieter now. “That’s what pisses me off.”
I didn’t say anything.
She kept going, her eyes still on the empty bowl. “You scared me because you didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second. Not when they told you to stop. Not when they said ‘wait’. Not when the plan was almost done. You saw Eri and moved.”
“Yeah.”
“And I thought, ‘Why couldn’t I do that?’”
I frowned.
“That’s not fair to you.”
“It’s not about fair,” she said, brushing a finger through the condensation on her glass. “It’s about knowing if there was a kid in front of me, terrified, and would I still look at the plan first? The mission? The bigger picture?” She exhaled. “I’m training to be a hero. But would I acted like a soldier on a payroll so I wouldn't lose my job?”
I leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You didn’t freeze.”
“No.”
“You didn’t walk away.”
She looked up. Her eyes were clear, sharp now. The soft brown looked darker under the shitty lantern lighting.
“No,” she said again.
“Then you’re fine.”
She huffed. “You really suck at comfort.”
I shrugged. “I comfort people I don’t care about. People who are too weak. People I see no light in. The ones already half-buried, just waiting for a pat on the back so they can stop fighting and blame the weather.”
Uraraka raised an eyebrow.
I kept going. “I learned a long time ago, when the world tries to shove you into the dirt, you don’t cry about it. You push back. You bite the Earth until it bleeds.”
She blinked.
“And yes,” I added, “I learned that from Zoro. Bite me.”
She giggled.
“I talk straight to people I know got potential,” I continued, picking at the rim of my glass. “The strong ones. People who fight even when they don’t want to. You? You don’t need comfort. You don’t need hand-holding. You need someone who’ll look you in the face and tell you that you’re good enough, then dare you to prove them wrong.”
I paused.
Scratched the back of my neck.
“…That said, ...It’s a date. So yeah. I’ll hold your hand. I’m not a complete asshole.”
Uraraka blinked.
I blinked.
“…I meant that to sound smoother.”
She grinned. “You sure?”
“I mean, like, you get it. You mean what I know.” Shit, "I mean you know what I mean, damn it!"
She laughed her ass off.
“Shut up,” I muttered.
“You shut up,” she fired back.
I rolled my eyes, but didn’t say anything.
We sat there a bit longer. Her with her arms crossed on the table, chin resting on them, watching me with that tilted head she did when she was trying to figure something out. Like I was a puzzle someone had dumped all over the floor with half the edges missing.
When we finished, I paid. She tried to object, again, and I glared at her until she shut it.
“Consider it your reward,” I said.
“For what?”
I sighed like I had just murdered a national treasure and felt sort of bad about it.
"You did good in the raid, Ochako. Real good. You helped people, backed up others, held your ground, didn’t flinch." I paused, hand over my chest like I was about to cry. "But alas, the world is cruel. You did not get the recognition you deserved. For what can I do? I am cursed, you see. Cursed to shine, Ochako. Shine!"
She blinked.
I nodded somberly. “Like the North Star. A tragic, blinding beacon of raw charisma and bat violence. Forever stealing the spotlight. Forever beautiful.”
She stared at me for three whole seconds.
Then snorted.
Then laughed.
Then full-body cackled into her arms like I had just confessed I moonlighted as a pop idol in drag.
“You are the absolute worst,” she wheezed.
“I know,” I said, voice full of sorrow. “Imagine living with this. The burden. The pain. The blinding reflection every time I pass a mirror...”
She tossed a napkin at me. “Shut the hell up, North Star.”
I caught it mid-air. “Jealous of my celestial form? Understandable. It’s tragic to peak in your teens.”
She coughed, nearly choked. “Phrasing!”
I smirked, leaned back again, arms stretching over the booth. “You’re welcome for dinner, by the way.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She rolled her eyes, but I could see the smile sticking behind them. “I guess you did okay.”
“Okay?” I gasped. “I took you to a secret udon heaven, let you pick food without judging you, and didn’t make a single joke about your tragic budgeting habits.”
“That’s because you have tragic budgeting habits,” she shot back. “You live off vending machine soup and store-brand coffee.”
“It’s called grit.”
“It’s called sodium overload.”
“You’re sodium overload.”
She blinked. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
I shrugged. “Neither do emotions. Yet here we are.”
She tilted her head again, that little studying look. “So… this your version of romance?”
I stared at her.
Then pointed toward the counter. “I could steal that neon sign for you if you want. That’s pretty romantic.”
“Ryuu.”
“What?”
She shook her head, lips twitching.
We left the place with full stomachs and shit-talk. Uraraka pulled her hoodie tighter, glancing sideways. "So? That it?"
I shook my head. "One more place."
She sighed, half-smiling. "You just keep dragging me into corners of the city like I’m not gonna ask questions."
"Would it help if I said it’s not a villain trap?"
"Little bit."
"Then yeah. Totally not a villain trap."
"Ryuu."
"Look, if you die, I’ll write something nice on your tombstone."
She gave me a look that said fuck you, but not entirely.
Misery-chan waited faithfully in her alley. My sweet girl. We climbed on. She wrapped her arms around me again. She likes it more than she shows.
I started the engine.
She screamed.
Misery-chan shrieked like a banshee with rust in her lungs. The whole alley lit up with sound, the exhaust coughing out the kind of roar that made dogs bark three blocks away.
"She’s warm now," I muttered.
"You named her Misery because that’s what riding her feels like, huh?"
"She’s got character."
"She’s got issues."
"Exactly."
When we finally stopped, it was in front of a tiny second-story café tucked above a bookstore no one remembered. No glowing signs. Just a red bulb over the door and a hand-painted plank that said “Ame.” Rain, in kanji. The lettering was faded, chipped at the edges like it got tired halfway through existing.
The windows glowed warm from inside.
I parked. Uraraka stared.
"...How many places do you know like this?"
I looked up. "Too many."
"You just collect obscure buildings in your free time?"
"Yes."
She blinked.
"That wasn’t sarcasm," I added.
"...You’re weirder than people think."
"I like places nobody knows exist. Like secrets. Or trauma," I said, pulling the door open. "And untouched. Like your wallet."
She stepped past me with a shove to my shoulder.
I heard the soft shh of slippers before the voices came.
"Ryuu-kun~!"
Konan-chan floated out from behind the bar, purple streaks in her hair and a smile sharp enough to cut discounts. She wore the usual: oversized hoodie, apron with ink stains, and socks that did not match.
"Oi, Pain-chama! Look who's here!"
From the back, a deep grunt. "Tell him I haven’t forgiven him for the chair."
"He can hear you," I said, walking in like I owned the place. I kind of did. Spiritually.
Pain, the barista, not the Naruto cosplay he absolutely wore during Halloween, peeked around the corner. Half-lidded eyes, shaved head, pierced nose. The most patient man in the world until he wasn’t.
"You replacing it?"
"Nope."
"Then don’t break anything else."
"Tell your furniture to be stronger."
Uraraka looked between us like I’d just walked into a secret society.
We sat at the corner. A little two-seater booth by the window, tucked behind a crooked bookshelf stacked with cookbooks no one ever read and art magazines from the 90s.
The table wobbled when I touched it. Perfect.
Konan-chan drifted over like a caffeine cryptid, dropping two mismatched mugs in front of us. One had a cartoon bat with fangs. The other just said "No." in plain black text. Fitting.
She winked. “Rain roast, house blend. No refills unless you cry.”
I raised a hand in solemn promise. “Tears optional?”
“Only if you’re dramatic about it.” She vanished back to the bar.
Uraraka lifted the mug, sniffed it like it might bite.
“What is this?” she asked, blinking. “It smells like... like a storm.”
I smirked into my cup. “They brew with rainwater. Real shit. Something about purity or clarity or ‘letting nature cleanse your bitter ass,' I wasn’t listening.”
She took a cautious sip.
Paused.
Took another.
Then narrowed her eyes like she had just made a pact with the devil and wasn’t sure if it was worth it.
“…That’s good,” she muttered. “That’s criminally good.”
I nodded. “Told you. Rain roast. It slaps.”
“Why haven’t I heard of this place before?”
“Because you’re a law-abiding citizen and this place is only recommended through crimes of passion and existential dread.”
She stared at her mug like it had just rewritten her religion. “This tastes expensive.”
“It isn’t,” I said. “Konan makes most of her profit selling blackout poetry and depression stickers.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
We sat in the silence for a minute. The low murmur of lo-fi static hummed through the air, interrupted only by the occasional clink of ceramic and the sigh of old floorboards. Uraraka blew on her coffee again, holding it with both hands.
Then she grinned.
Not the small, polite smile she wore when things were good.
No.
This was teeth. Mischief. Cat-staring-at-the-fishbowl energy.
“So,” she said, tilting her head. “Who’s next on the date list? Nejire? Mirko? Ryukyu? Jiro, maybe back to Yaoyorozu?"
I stared at her.
She didn’t flinch. Just tilted her head like a smug little chaos goblin.
I exhaled—hard. Real sigh. The kind you let out when your brain’s too tired to keep up with the rest of you. Like my whole chest dropped a few kilos.
“I didn’t make the damn list,” I muttered. “You did.”
She hmphed. “Don’t get cocky. I just said I’d go for coffee.”
I leaned back, one eyebrow raised. “Uh-huh. Sure. You got ramen. Underground coffee. Illicit caffeine. Rainwater roast brewed by an emotionally stunted barista named after a Naruto villain. You’re halfway to a lifetime contract.”
“I’m halfway to calling the cops.”
I snickered. “Yeah, and now you gotta kiss me.”
She flushed, full cheeks lit up like her blood just realized how fast it could embarrass her.
“I do not!” she snapped.
I shrugged, sipping from my mug like this wasn’t the best part of the night. “I don’t make the rules.”
She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might roll out of her head. “If you did…” She stopped. Blinked. “You know what, I’m not finishing that sentence.”
I leaned in, smirking. “Coward.”
“I’m protecting my dignity.”
“What dignity?”
She stuck out her tongue.
Then flicked sugar at me.
Directly at my face like she was baptizing me in spite and granules.
“You’re lucky I like this shirt,” I said, brushing it off.
“You’re lucky I didn’t dump the whole bowl.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t charge for this date.”
She almost boiled. I could see it. That twitch in her jaw. The way her eyes narrowed like she was trying to burn a hole through my forehead with sheer feminine fury. I laughed my ass off.
She opened her mouth like she had a full-blown verbal airstrike ready to launch...
And then the pain came.
Not metaphorical.
Physical.
From behind.
“I know that laugh.”
Pain squinted at me like I had just insulted his ancestors through interpretive dance.
“Fuck off, Pain-chama. I’m not breaking your shit.”
He huffed. “That’s exactly what someone who’s about to break my shit says.”
Uraraka muffled a giggle behind her cup.
Probably imagining me crashing through a table mid-sip like some caffeine-fueled Looney Tune.
Pain stepped closer, towel slung over one shoulder, arms crossed like a tired monk who had seen too much nonsense and just wanted peace in his goddamn temple. “You cracked a leg on my bench last time.”
I raised an eyebrow. “It was structurally unsound.”
“It was bolted to the floor.”
“And yet, I improved the feng shui.”
Uraraka bit her lip, trying not to laugh. I gave her a look. She coughed into her cup, because of course she did.
“Just don’t do anything stupid,” Pain muttered, retreating back to the espresso machine like it was the only sane thing in the room.
“I’m not the one named after existential suffering,” I called after him.
“Talk to your therapist about that, bat boy.”
“Bold of you to assume I can afford therapy.”
“Touché.”
He disappeared into the back, leaving us alone again in our little caffeine shrine.
Uraraka was grinning when I turned back to her. “You always this charming to small business owners?”
“Only the ones who serve coffee like it’s a middle finger.”
After the third cup, yes, third, it is holy, bite me, we finally left.
Misery-chan howled like a banshee as I kicked her to life, coughing smoke like she had tuberculosis and vengeance in her lungs.
I parked Misery-chan back in her alley, patted her tank like she had feelings, and led the way toward the school.
She glanced at me. “Why don’t you bring her to school?”
I rolled my eyes. “Because if my mom finds out, I’m getting grounded.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re Midoriya Ryuu. The same guy who blew up part of the school, almost punched a government official, and made a villain cry during a rescue. You’re telling me you’re afraid of your mom?”
I looked her dead in the eye. “She’s Mom. You think Chisaki was scary?”
She nodded. “She would kill you.”
“Exactly.”
The dorms weren’t far now. The windows glowed with soft yellow light. Some laughter echoed from the second floor. Kaminari was probably showing someone another meme. I could already smell microwave disasters wafting from the kitchen. Uraraka stopped right in front of the building.
Just looked down. Bit her lip.
I paused. Waited.
She took a breath. “This was nice.”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
She looked up. “Not, like… in a ‘you’re trying too hard’ way. Just… it felt real.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You thought I was gonna take you to a rooftop with lanterns and ask you about your dreams?”
She laughed, “You mean, like an actual romance anime?”
“I’d rather let Bakugo design my wardrobe.”
She grinned. “That’s the scariest thing you’ve said all night.”
“Good. I’m consistent.”
Her fingers twitched like she wanted to tuck her hair behind her ear, but it was already up.
“I liked it,” she said, quieter now. “I liked that it wasn’t... complicated. Or expensive. Or some big flashy thing where you were trying to impress me.”
I shrugged. “Couldn’t afford flashy.”
“That’s not the point.”
I met her eyes. “I know.”
She stared for a second.
Then looked away. “...You think I’m soft?”
“No.”
She blinked.
“I think you’re solid,” I said, stepping a little closer. “I think you’re real. I think you’re the kind of person who gets written off too easy. ‘Cause you smile. ‘Cause you’re nice. ‘Cause you act like the world doesn’t weigh you down even when it’s pushing on your spine.”
She didn’t speak.
So I kept going.
“You carry more than you say. But you keep carrying it. That’s not soft. That’s steel.”
Her eyes flicked back to mine.
Soft brown. Honest. The kind of look that didn’t hide behind walls.
I hated people who built themselves out of masks. She wasn’t one of them.
She stepped in, just a little.
Not dramatic. Not slow-mo romance garbage.
Now we were barely inches apart. Her scarf brushed my jacket. She was looking up at me with that look, half challenge, half dare, all heat.
“…I still don’t have to kiss you,” she said.
“No,” I agreed. “But you want to.”
She exhaled.
Then smiled.
Small. Real. Dangerous.
“I’ll think about it.”
She turned.
Walked inside.
Left me standing there like a dumbass.
A smiling, caffeine-drunk, star-punched dumbass.
Damn you, Uraraka Ochako!
Comments
SacredLoneWolf
Nice ch now I’m also curious who next on the Ryuu Date list
Marvin Baltes
"Someone once joked her wallet had a suicide note in it. That if you opened it too fast, you’d hear it whisper, “kill me.”" my fav line in the chapter
Marvin Baltes
wholesome ochaco moments. very cool, much swag, i like it.
hector lyng
At first, I didn't know who it was, but when you mentioned the name, I found out. This episode is epic. Honestly, I'm stuck between two people: Ochaco and Mina. With the others, I feel like I don't see Ryuu, I just see a mask. But with Ochaco and Mina, I feel like they complement each other. I hope I end up with one of them.
