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It’s dark in the dorm kitchens when Ochako steps out of the stairwell and into the common area, the only light coming from the windows to the outside. It’s a bright night though, and she can see the moon among the stars in the clear, navy-dark sky. The curtains are drawn, and she’s grateful because otherwise she’d have to turn her phone’s flashlight on to see and she left it upstairs in her room, stupidly enough.
She walks over into the kitchen, her socks sliding a little on the cool tile floor. She can hear her own breathing as she stops in front of the pantry, opening the door and hoping it doesn’t squeak. She looks over the food lining the shelves, boxes of granola bars stacked next to a bunch of those squeeze packets of applesauce. There’s dried fruit, too, next to a carton of nuts. On the bottom shelf, there’s an entire case of instant ramen and an assortment of canned soups, their labels impossible to read in the darkness. On the top shelf, there’s baking supplies and spices, all neatly labeled in matching containers.
The school really spoils us, huh , she thinks to herself, frozen in her pajamas, looking at everything they’ve got. Her parents’ voice fills her head as she stares, bringing back memories of grocery stores and hungry nights.
(Ochako, seven years old, standing in the dried goods aisle at the grocery store, picking up a jar of cashews and tugging at her mom’s sleeve.
“Oh, honey, maybe next time. They’re too expensive,” her mom replies, gently guides her back to the shelf where she got them from. Ochako nods, smiles, bounces after her mom.)
How much did all of this cost? She wonders as she picks up an unopened box of what looks like chocolate mint protein bars. She’s never had this brand before. Her fingers freeze over the top, not quite able to open it.
(Her dad, smiling at her mom over their dinner of whtie rice and soy sauce.
“I get paid tomorrow,” he says, setting his chopsticks down to take a sip of water. “They’re giving me a raise, soon.” And Ochako wonders if that means she can get new shoes before the school year starts, but she doesn’t ask because she doesn’t want to get told no. Her stomach grumbles, but both she and her parents ignore it.)
Ochako puts the box back in the pantry. She’s hungry, sure, and Aizawa did tell them anything in the kitchen is fair game for them to eat, but she doesn’t think she should, not right now. She can wait for breakfast. It’s embarrassing, to be the one to use up all this expensive, nice food. Ochako takes a step back from the pantry, shutting the door quietly.
She almost ruins all of her stealth when she turns around to see Aizawa standing in the shadows, his dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She has to cover her mouth to smother the surprised shriek that she makes on instinct, and Aizawa’s raised eyebrow tells her that he’s amused by that, at least. She can feel her face heating up.
“Um, hi sensei!” She whispers, glancing off to the side. “Did you need to get in here?” She steps to the side, out of the way.
“Uraraka,” he says, not whispering but just as quiet as Ochako nonetheless. “Are you hungry?” He doesn’t look annoyed, necessarily, when she looks back up at him, but there’s something showing on his face. She just doesn’t know what it is.
“I-I’m okay!” She replies, feeling her face get even warmer. “I can wait until morning, I just, um, wanted to see what we had...” She trails off as he raises an eyebrow at her.
“You can have any of the stuff that’s in the kitchen,” he says, moving past her to the fridge, which he opens. The light inside is pale and casts shadows across the kitchen as Aizawa rustles around. “Here,” he says, and he’s tossing something at her that she catches before she can even think.
She looks down at the onigiri in her hands. It’s one of the nice, pre-packaged ones that you pull at the wrapper to get the seaweed onto the rice. The label indicates that it’s tuna mayonnaise flavored.
Ochako isn’t sure why she starts to cry, but she realizes what’s happening with a sense of horror. Her eyes sting and fill with hot tears as Aizawa shuts the fridge and turns back to her, holding two rice balls in his hands.
“If you don’t like tuna, there’s-” he cuts himself off, his eyes widening just the slightest bit. “Uraraka?”
“Sorry, I-I’m okay,” she says, wiping her eyes with her free hand. “I d-don’t know why I’m...” she gestures at her face, hoping that gets the point across. It seems to work, because Aizawa sighs, his shoulders dropping.
“You don’t need to apologize,” he says, shifting the onigiri so he’s holding them both in one hand. “You know you can talk to me, or any of the other teachers for that matter, right?”
Ochako nods. “I know!” She wipes her eyes again. “I’m just, um, I’m really happy UA has all this stuff,” she says, and she watches Aizawa’s eyes flicker with realization. He sighs, then pats her on the shoulder with his free hand.
“Like I said, you’re welcome to eat anything in the kitchen any time. And if you need anything that isn’t here, or we’re out of something, you can ask me or one of the other teachers to order it. There’s no shortage of funds here.” He makes eye contact with her until she nods, and he drops the hand from her shoulder.
“Okay!” she replies, a little louder than she meant to, but not too loud. Hopefully.
Aizawa might smile at her just the tiniest bit, but in the dim lighting, it could have been her imagination.