Archive of Our Own

To a child, it sounds like a myth, a story that sits on the same wavelength as pricked fingers, talking animals, and the promise of true love. It’s mystical, wondrous—a marvelous phenomenon worthy of any bedtime story.

And Ochako loves it.

At night, when she gazes through the slats of her blinds to see the stars blinking back at her, she falls asleep with thoughts of trust, security, and love. A love that’s all-encompassing. Consuming. Too big for her chest, too much for each breath. A love that swaddles her in cotton blankets and silk sheets. A love that lasts and lasts until that final, nebulous star winks from existence, snuffed out like a midnight candle. 

It isn’t until she’s older that she realizes that the myth—the tale, the story, the folklore—hadn’t been a simple fairy tale to put children to bed. It hadn’t been an oath that she’d find her fated soul mate. It hadn’t been a tale steeped in happy endings.

It had been a warning.

--

The first time it happens, she’s sitting in class, one cheek pillowed in her palm, pencil tapping against her notebook, and her attention tied to the clock. Aizawa, while a fantastic teacher in hero studies like training, rescue, and combat, falls flat in academics, voice like crumpled newspapers on a dry summer evening. 

She focuses—she really does! Or at least, she tries! But there’s always something that seems to be more interesting than mathematics. Maybe it’s the way Denki is five minutes from snoring up a storm, or the way Izuku vibrates in his seat, million miles per hour questions foaming at the tip of his tongue. Maybe it’s the way Eijirou and Mina discreetly pass each other notes—she knows Aizawa notices, she just doesn’t think he cares—or the way Tenya sits ramrod straight, a textbook valedictorian in the works.

The clock’s second hand drags its way around and around, yanking the minute hand into its arduous journey. The hour hand is resilient, stubborn as it hauls itself toward the next block of time. Three minutes. That’s all that’s left until the bell. Then, the mad, chaotic scramble for lunch. 

When she sweeps her gaze back to Aizawa, it snags onto the back of a broad-shouldered student who slouches hideously in his seat. 

Bakugou Katsuki, while encompassing all the physical traits of a golden boy— sharp jaw, high cheekbones, athletic physique, even the blond hair depicted in western films—holds the emotional traits of an unstable pitbull. Somehow, it balances out so that he sits, teetering, at the fulcrum, but she can’t deny that he’s grown into himself. 

Physically, he’s taller. Much taller—practically towers over her and many others who attend U.A. And he’s filled out too. Not as bulky as Eijirou, but lithe and strong like a panther. His default expression retains a scowl, but there’s no arguing that losing the baby fat on his cheeks has done wonders to sharpen his features. 

Emotionally, he’s slightly better than he’d been in their first year. Third-year Katsuki no longer rages at every miniscule mishap. Instead, he rages at every other miniscule mishap. Luckily, they occur less frequently now that they’re in their final year. He’s more quiet: instead of pulverizing his opponents with brash, impulsive moves and flying curses, he lets his training and his glare talk for him. 

It’s definitely an improvement. 

As for their relationship Ochako can confidently call him a friend. They spar every now and then, and he doesn’t shove past her when heading toward the men’s shower. Nor does she feel that rickety, nervous energy when she knocks on his door and begs for help on her homework. He always greets her with a grunt before kicking the door shut behind them. 

Once—and she cherishes this memory with every chamber of her heart—she had fallen asleep partway through his help, only to jerk away and find herself tucked into his bed, blankets pulled over her shoulder, and Katsuki slumbering on the ground, arm pillowing his head. 

Through that, she learns that he’s kind and considerate in his own, strange Katuski way. He’s a good classmate and a good hero, but most of all, he’s a good friend. 

The bell jostles her from her thoughts, and she jolts awake, nearly scattering the contents of her pencil pouch. When she glances up, she catches Katsuki’s eye, and he gives her the faintest twitch of a smile. It’s barely there, nearly microscopic, but she sees it anyway. He’d seen her near-blunder—she knows it. 

His not-smile twitches again when she sticks her tongue out at him, and this time, it’s accompanied by a roll of his eyes. Without a word, he slings his bag over his shoulder and follows Denki and Eijirou out the door. The moment he’s gone, Ochako returns to her desk, pulling its contents into her bag in a futile attempt at calming herself.

Her heart thrashes against her ribes, two times too big to remain still. It’s not like she can control it either, no matter how badly she wants to pull it out of her chest and throttle it for cartwheeling toward Katsuki’s direction. It’s been happening more and more, and only in his presence. 

He’s a friend, she reminds herself. He’s a good friend. A great friend. 

And it’s not his fault her feelings have gone awry, twisting and turning itself into the shallow shores of a crush. Here are the facts.

She likes him as a classmate. Check.

She likes him as a friend. Check. 

She likes him a little more than just a friend. Check (reluctant). 

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she slings her bag over her shoulder and waves toward Izuku, who waves back just as enthusiastically before he’s joined by Shouto. The beginnings of a yawn swell in her chest, and she throws up a hand, barely catching it in the palm of her hand. Her eyes squeeze shut as it bursts out of her in a slow, even breath. 

Something strange happens. The faintest colors, the faintest lights, burst behind her eyelids, and she feels something build in the corner of her eye. Except, it’s not a tear. It’s not liquid, it’s not warm. 

It’s cold. Hard. Faceted.

Her eyes snap open in shock, just in time to see it plummet from her face. The light catches it as it falls and falls, and her hand shoots out, years of reflex allowing her to catch it in midair. Pinched between her fingers, she brings it to the light, and oh.

How strange .

--

“You said it fell from your face?” Izuku asks, holding it up toward the sun. The light beams down, refracting to splay an array of colors onto the ground. Concerned and slightly miserable, Ochako waves her hand underneath, watching her fingers pass through the scattered rainbow. “From your eyes?” 

“It felt like a tear,” she admits, “but it…it turned into that.” 

“Hm,” Izuku hums. Their lunch remains forgotten as they observe the little stone. He passes it off to Ochako, who sets it on the tip of her finger and activates her quirk. Slowly, it begins to float up, higher and higher before she pauses it, letting it hover over her palm. There, it shimmers, facets casting small, iridescent spots along her hands and concrete, flashing as it spins leisurely. 

Shouto barely blinks as he joins them, unwrapping a container of soba noodles. But when he catches sight of the stone, he pauses, setting down his food to reach over, fingers curled. “May I?” he asks. Ochako nods, and he plucks it from midair. Their friend remains silent as he studies it, rolling it around his fingers, then pinching it. She doesn’t notice the strength he’s using until her gaze catches the veins in his arm strain with effort.

“We’re trying to figure out what it is,” Izuku says, twisting his head and leaning in closer to get a better look. “Ochako said it fell from her face? Or specifically, from her—”

“Her eyes,” Shouto completes, never taking his gaze off of the stone. His eyes are stormy as they turn to her, a tempest in one iris, a tornado in the other. “It’s a star tear.” 

“A what?” Izuku and Ochako’s confusion is simultaneous as it is palpable. Shouto’s answer barely registers through her head. 

A star tear. Star tears—where has she heard of that? Wracking her brain, she files through her memories, hazy and shrink-wrapped, gauzy to where she can’t see much, but she can still feel enough. 

The drag of cotton against her shoulders, the quiet ribbon of Katsuki’s breath against her ear, the sense of warmth and belonging as he sets her down in his bed before returning to the floor. It’s in that memory that she remembers waking in the middle of the night, everything dark save for the light that had filtered from his balcony, from the field of stars that’d bled into the room.

Stars. Stories. Love.

And oh. Oh. 

When the realization dawns on her, cold as ice, a shock of winter stabbing through her veins, she blanches. She must not hide her reaction well enough because Izuku startles, nudging her shoulder before turning back to Shouto. “What?” It’s not so much a question as it is a demand. 

Shouto sighs. “A star tear, like in the stories.” Releasing his fist, the tear falls to the ground, where he proceeds to place his foot over it and grind down his heel. The scrape is strange, almost musical in a way, an unnatural protest that laughs at Shouto’s mortal effort. “It won’t break, no matter how hard you try to crush it, and the surface will never scratch.” 

“In the stories…” Ochako breathes. The explanation shakes her to her core, her foundation. She knows the stories, the stipulations, the order in which star tears take and take and take. His words are muffled, as if spoken underwater. “No…no, there’s no way.”

“What stories?” Impatience seeps into Izuku’s tone alongside the concern he holds at her reaction. “What stories?” 

Shouto rolls his foot off the tear, and when he picks it up, true to word, there’s no signs of damage. No scratches, no chipped pieces, no cracks. Through the intensity of his gaze, she detects a hint of sympathy, a sliver of pity. She hates it.

“Star tears come from a popular bedtime story. I’m a little surprised you’d never heard of them. When one falls in love, their tears crystallize, hence the name star tears. They’re supposedly breathtaking, and the more that fall, the more beautiful they sound. Like wind chimes or bells.” 

Izuku rears back, then cocks his head, confusion evident in his tone as he regards Shouto and Ochako with knotted brows. “That…doesn’t sound too bad?” Now, it isn’t so much a statement, as it is a question. Uncertainty paints his tone spring green, the first shy buds of a sprout.

It doesn’t. The first half of the story is beautiful, but the second half—Ochako knows the second half, and it leaves no room for desire. 

At this point, she’s nearly numb as Shouto continues slowly, watching her carefully. Judging by the way he casts his eyes to the side, he knows she understands the implications. “The thing is, it only happens when love is unrequited. You’ve heard how unrequited love is one of the most painful feelings one can harbor. Star tears take it to the extreme. The harder you fall, the more tears you shed. The more tears you shed, the more you lose.”

“Lose?” 

This time, it’s Ochako who clarifies it for him, voice as hollow as she feels. “You slowly lose your ability to see. First, you lose your colors: one by one, they slip away, red, blue, green—all of it slowly bleeds out, stolen with each tear you shed. Second, the world begins to blur, more and more until you’ve lost all of your shapes, all sense of your surroundings. And finally, you lose your ability to see—you cry and cry until you lose everything.” 

Their silence is filled. From Ochako, there is numbness, bafflement, a shock that reverberates through her body. From Shouto, a somber silence, one filled with condolences, as if she’s already lost everything dear to her—a funeral’s silence. And from Izuku, disbelief and incredulity that swell in an over-pumped balloon until it pops.

“How does that make any sense?!” he cries. “People feel unrequited love all the time.” Then, he gestures at Ochako, something that would’ve been rude in any other setting, though they’re all in various states of astonishment to register it. “How is Ochako’s unrequited love different from anyone else’s?!”

At that, Shouto shakes his head. Not even Ochako knows, not that she’s able to respond. It’s as if her tongue has been overly stuffed with cotton, thick and too big to twist around her words. 

All at once, there’s too much to process, from the impending doom of losing her sight, a slow laborious process, to the fact that her budding feelings have been poisoned before they can grow. That warmth that’d bloomed in her chest when she realized he had let her take his bed begins to slip away, leaving her cold and bereft. 

Somehow, that one moment had been the catalyst to everything.

Ochako reaches over and plucks the tear from Shouto’s hand. Everything—her friend, her feelings, her tears—all of it had come together to create this tiny star the size of her pinky nail. To think she’s going to lose everything…it’s almost unthinkable. 

“I wanted to be a hero,” she says quietly. “Am I going to lose that now?” 

“No,” Izuku protests vehemently. “No, there are heroes whose quirks hinge on sight, and yours isn’t one of them—” He huffs out a sharp exhale, then sits back, glaring at the offending tear. “What if—you guys said it comes from unrequited love, right? What if we go from there? What if you tell the person who you like—”

“No!” Ochako’s answer fractures their atmosphere, and they all flinch. “No.” This time, it comes out softer. “I don’t want to tell him. I can’t—I don’t want to lose him.” Doleful, she forms a fist around the tear, and its edges dig into the meat of her palms. “I can’t.” 

--

“Spar with me, Cheeks. I want a rematch.” 

She whirls to find Katsuki situated behind her in the kitchen. He leans against the counter, braced on his forearms and already dressed for the gym. If not for her quirk, the glass of water would’ve slipped from her grasp to shatter against the floor— fitting, she thinks, analogous to this fucked up situation. 

Instead, her grip tightens on it, and she scoots back until the edge of the sink digs into her back. Katsuki raises a brow at her lack of answer. Normally, she’d accept with a challenging quip, and if she needs to decline because of homework or other plans, she’d whine and force him to take a raincheck. Either way, there’s more animation than the cautious statue she’s become. 

“Ah, not today,” she says weakly. At that moment, all she wants is to escape and squirrel herself away in her room. Except, his gaze is piercing, rooting her to the ground. With her freshly realized feelings, she can’t help but see him in a new light. At the slope of his nose and the shape of his lips—when they’re not pulled into a scowl, they’re surprisingly plush. 

Her mind enters forbidden territory. What would it be like to kiss him? I want to know. I want to know if he tastes sweet. Or spicy. What would he do if I kissed him?

But knowing that it’s unrequited causes a twinge to ache along her heart. To her horror, heat pricks along the backs of her eyes, and she ducks her head. 

“You afraid?” he taunts, but there’s no heat to it. It’s almost probing, as if waiting to see what she’ll say. “Come on, you’re the one who said you wanted a rematch after last week.” 

“Really—not today,” she chokes out, words scraping against her throat. She doesn’t even want to cry, doesn’t feel the need to do it, but the pressure is building. Building and building. “I’m tired.” 

Apparently, this isn’t the correct response because she hears more than she feels him push off the counter. His steps are near silent, and Ochako whirls on her feet, pouring the water down the drain. Her head hurts as she tries to resist letting those tears fall; he doesn’t need to know why she’s suddenly crying stars. 

A hand closes on her shoulder, holding her still, as another snakes around, palming her forehead. “Oi, are you sick or something?” 

He’s close, he’s close! He’s too close for comfort! She can feel his breath fan against her hair, the heat that radiates off his body, the calluses that roll over his fingertips and the hills of his knuckles. Frantic, Ochako tosses the glass into the water just as two tears squeeze their way into existence, tumbling into her hands. 

Katsuki yanks back, startled at the commotion. Through it, she hears the two stars collide with a gentle tinker, light and beyond beautiful. They shake around her fist like dice, and she squeezes them in her palm, willing their chime to stop. He can’t hear. He can’t know. She doesn’t know what she’ll do if he confronts her about them.

“What the fuck, Cheeks?” He’s farther now—good. She clears her throat and turns away, feeling his touch phantom across her skin, searing it in places they’d connected. The way his palm had grazed against her forehead will haunt her dreams. 

“Sorry,” she mutters because that’s all she’s able to muster, throat lodged from a crescendo of emotion. Without another word, she rushes from the kitchen and pretends not to feel the way his gaze bores into her back. 

--

“I don’t know what to do,” she utters, defeated. Shouto sits across from her, holding the three tears in his hand. They’re comically small compared to the size of his palm, all of them incandescent in the sunset that flares through the sky, casting bubblegum shades against the clouds. Each one is unique, no shape similar to the other. 

In any other circumstance, they’d be a lovely addition to her minimalist room, but as of this moment, they’re the bane of her existence. Ochako flops back, keeping her legs crossed as her arms splay across the ground.

"I didn't even want to cry! It just happened when he got near, and…" she trails off, unsure how to explain that Katsuki had breached her personal bubble out of concern. "Regardless of what happened, there are three now. Three star tears." 

Shouto closes a loose fist around the trio and gives them a soft shake. As they collide with one another, they hear them more clearly, bells that laugh like flower petals dancing through the wind. Their music is melodious, complementary, notes played with playful delicacy. 

Their words falter as they listen to the phenomenon, to the song that dances through the air in leaps and bounds. It’s almost tuneless, a mindless hum one would hear a mother sing to her child to hush and soothe its crying. The effect is similar as Ochako feels herself relax, drawn to its innocuous tinkle. Shouto seems to feel the same, shoulders losing their tension as he shakes his fist once more.

It’s addicting, and she shifts so that she lies on her side, one arm pillowed under her head as she watches Shouto play the tears like instruments. Deep down, she wonders what it would be like to hold a handful of them, what they would sound like if she let them fall from her palm, tear colliding with tear in random, musical intervals. 

Suddenly, Shouto shakes his head and releases his fist. The three gem-like tears clatter to the ground, giving one final sigh before falling silent. Dazed, he shifts until his back hits the wall, head lolling back. “We probably shouldn’t do that.”

Ochako hums in agreement, even though a part of her soul craves their siren song. She can’t tell if it’s meant to be a cruelty or a mercy. Perhaps, for one, it’s meant to act as an incentive—to cry, to feel, within the presence of an uneven love. A mockery. Perhaps, for the other, it’s meant to be merciful, a song of comfort as she loses a fundamental part of herself.

“Probably not,” she says softly. There’s no telling what she should expect. Witness accounts are scarce. She and Shouto had spent the evening thumbing through their phones, scouring through forums and countless claims, but nothing substantial had come up. 

The most they’d found had been an account from someone whose narrative fit the story: slowly, they had lost the ability to see color, almost as if each one had seeped from their vision. Then, everything had begun to blur into shapeless silhouettes. Finally, after a night of extensive crying, they had woken up to…nothing. Nothing, save darkness. 

It all pointed toward inevitability. 

“What do you plan to do?” Shouto asks, mouth quirked at the corners, a habit he’s picked up from Izuku when he’s running through countless possibilities. 

Ochako puffs out a sigh, reaching over to roll one of the tears under her finger. Its edges prick along her skin, cold after being held in Shouto’s right hand. She doesn’t have to try hard to imagine that they’re ice shards that have fallen from his quirk. If only it were that simple. “I don’t know. I mean, what can I do?”

He shrugs, a limp flop of his shoulders. “Avoid him. Out of sight out of mind.” 

She stares at him. He stares back, expression masked in stoicism. The moment slides, basking them in silence, until she breaks it. This time, she’s careful, hyper-aware of what leaves her mouth. “It’s…not that simple. He’s in our year—we practically see each other every day. There’s no real way of avoiding him.”

Her friend shakes his head, still contemplative. “No, it’s definitely possible. You can start training with other people, like me or Izuku. It’ll be different, as we all have various quirks and fighting styles, but it’ll broaden your horizons. It doesn’t have to be with Katsuki, you know?” 

At the name, she bolts upright, hair falling in wisps across her face, slow to respond compared to the rest of her body. Her quirk activates in the fray, and she scrambles to release it, falling to the ground with a solid thump. His guess is the blade that cuts the wire, and Ochako feels like a raw nerve exposed to the cruel bearings of the world.

“How?” she splutters. “How did you know it was Katsuki?!” The drum in her chest stumbles, beating out of sync, out of rhythm, triplets that ride with the syllables of his name. 

“I guessed. You confirmed. And it’s not exactly a secret, not with the way you look at each other. You also spend a lot of time with each other—”

“I spend a lot of time with you and Izuku too!” she interrupts shrilly. It’s only after that she realizes that it adds fuel to the fire, and her head drops into her hands, cheeks filling with heat. Then, quiet and muffled, she adds, “Is it that obvious?” 

This time, amusement tinges in Shouto’s near-deadpan tone. “It’s pretty obvious.” 

Still flustered, she scrubs at her face as if to wipe off the traces of her furious blush. The sudden rush of it sends her into a dizzying spiral; she barely manages to haul the rest of her dignity up. Instead of meeting Shouto’s probing gaze, she stares into her lap, fingers gripping the hem of her shorts. “Then…then you know it’s not possible. I can’t avoid him. I’ll see him in class, I’ll see him during training. I’ll even see him in the dorms.”

“That’s true, but how often do you see Fumikage?” he counters. “We have the same classes with him. We have the same training schedule with him. We live in the same dorm together. Yes, we see him every day, but how often do you stop and think about him?”

Ochako throws herself down, burying her face in her hands, and groans. It’s scratchy, catching on the cracks in her voice. He posits a good argument because he’s right—she sees Fumikage every day, gives him passing greetings, but nothing outside the realm of friendly affection blooms into view. Is this something she can apply to Katsuki? Attend class, train, pass each other with simple greetings, and leave it at that? 

She bites on her tongue and breathes slowly through her nose. It’ll be a hurdle, one she isn’t optimistic about leaping over, lest she snags the top and tumbles onto concrete. But if it’s unrequited, then it shouldn’t be an issue. Katsuki will notice, but if he doesn’t feel anything more than friendship, then he shouldn’t care. 

“I mean,” she struggles, “I can try. This is all. Very new to me. I only just realized I might like him.”

There’s no response from Shouto, and she peeks at him from the ground, only to find that sympathetic furrow of his brows and the slight curl to his mouth. “With star tears, I’m afraid it might be a little more than just liking him.”

--

She’d known it would be difficult, she just hadn’t realized it would be this challenging.

To have her feelings confirmed outside of her control is staggering, almost insulting. Had the universe singled her out for fun? Because that’s what it feels like. Internally, she churns with an unthinkable number of emotions, most of them clashing with one another. Bitterness and loss are the two most prominent that roil in her stomach. 

Passing the U.A. entrance exam, pushing her quirk and body to their limits, experiencing untold amounts of trauma—all of it will be for naught. All because she couldn’t control her emotions. If she can’t stem the flow of time or change the inevitability of her fate, then she’ll need to reorient herself and learn to hone her other skills. Regardless of what happens, Ochako has worked too hard to let go of her dreams of helping others and keeping her family financially stable. 

The thing is, like any other human instinct, when she’s told not to think about something, that something becomes determined to trespass into the sprawling fields of her mind. If she’s told not to think about polar bears, she’ll think about polar bears and their melting ice caps. If she’s told not to think about bubble tea, she’ll think about the strawberry milk tea she had a week ago. 

If she’s told not to think about Katsuki, she’ll stare at him from the back of the classroom, no matter how many times she tries to tear her gaze away. The only problem is that it acts as a rubber band, when she tries to pin her attention on Aizawa’s lesson, it snaps to the back of Katsuki’s head, or the way his blazer wrinkles over the back of his chair. Or on the way he twirls his pen when he grows bored. 

Whatever resolution she has nearly falters until she catches Shouto’s gaze. Though his expression doesn’t change, he gives her a look, one that’s too knowing, too perceptive for her liking. So she tries another tactic, simply listening to Aizawa as he explains the history of quirks and the political hallmarks that come with their existence. 

When the bell rings, signaling their break, she involuntarily shifts to Katsuki, only to find him watching her with a tilt of his brow. Displeasure ripples from him, and as he shifts toward her, Eijirou catches his arm, laughing uproariously as he punches Denki in the arm. The motion remains aborted, a turn toward her direction. 

Something squeezes in her chest; this time, she’s the one who turns away, shouldering her bag as she makes her way toward Tsuyu, Izuku, and Shouto. The latter takes the long way around to grab his bag, but she knows it’s for her benefit. With the way Shouto is situated, his body shields her from Katsuki. 

“Oi! ‘Chako!” Eijirou’s voice has always boomed, something akin to a sonic blast in the quiet murmurs of their classmates. In her periphery, Kyouka flinches, rubbing at her ears. There’s a shuffle of feet, steps that bound toward their small group, and Eijirou’s grin pops into view. Behind him, Katsuki watches her with the same intensity he’d regarded her in the kitchen. “We’re having a sparring match later. Wanna go? I already bet that you’d sweep Katsuki’s ass.” 

Swallowing heavily, her head devoid of possible deflections, she squirms back, only for Shouto to step in between, hiding Eijirou and Katsuki from view. He’s the epitome of calm, easily collected as he answers for her. “Sorry, she already promised to train with us today. Maybe another time.”

With that, he places a hand on her shoulder and steers her in the opposite direction. Izuku, who understands, stays behind to soothe the rejection with hurried apologies. Tsuyu, who she hasn’t told, doesn’t need any explanation; she must sense Ochako’s stirring distress and hooks her arm around Ochako’s in a show of solidarity.

“Are you ok?” she murmurs.

Ochako shakes her head and feels her shoulders hunch. However helpless she feels, her friends make up for it to the best of their ability. It isn’t until they exit the classroom that Shouto lets her go. He doesn’t say a word, he doesn’t need to. All he does is direct them up to the rooftop, where Ochako finally spills the tale to Tsuyu, pulling out the tears and letting them glisten in her palm.

Throughout the rapidfire, almost incoherent explanation, Tsuyu is silent, staring at the stones that scatter rainbows across the wall. Izuku interjects when it gets to be too much, and Shouto takes over at the last minute, tying everything together with a neat, red ribbon. When they finish, Tsuyu reaches over and takes one of the pieces, rolling it between her fingers. 

“Normally,” she finally says, “I don’t agree with avoidance as a tactic, since it only makes you think of them more, but in your case, it’s a little more dire. I can’t really help you, but I’ll do my best.” 

“A few more months and we’ll graduate,” Izuku adds, trying to help. “After that, you can move wherever you want to go. All of the cities are big enough that you won’t run into each other as often as you think.”

The thought only makes her more miserable, enough to where she loses her appetite. After the first star tear had fallen, she’d asked why? Why her? Now, having cried a few, she realizes that the answer doesn’t matter. What’s important is that it’s her life, and it’s a situation that needs to be dealt with now. 

So, while she also agrees with Tsuyu about not using avoidance as a solution, it’s probably best to nip things in the bud. Shatter one friendship to save her future. 

Except, it’s never that easy.

--

A knock on her door steals her attention from her homework, and Shouto pauses in his explanation, pencil hovering over the equation. Now that she’s cut herself off from Katsuki, she’s turned to her other friends, namely Shouto, whose explanations are just as good, if not a little dry. He’s patient, and he explains things well, but Ochako misses the way Katsuki playfully flicks her forehead when she gets a problem wrong.

“It’s probably Tsuyu,” Ochako says sheepishly. “She said she’d return my sweater tonight.” 

He shrugs and sits back for a break. He’s been tutoring her for two hours, and she feels bad that she’s only just getting the concepts. Regardless, he’d finished hours ago and had offered to help when it was evident she wouldn’t finish before his usual training time.

“Hey! I said you could just text…” She falters when she doesn’t find Tsuyu behind the door. Instead, the figure is taller and broader, one fist raised in the midst of knocking. Katsuki blinks down at her, and she barely resists the urge to slam the door. “Katsuki,” she breathes.

“Are you sick?” Always to the point, his question is blunt and concise. 

“What?” 

It’s then that she notices the thermos clutched in his hand. When he notices her gaze, he pushes it into her hands. “You’ve been weird all week,” he grunts. “Figured you got sick or caught some shit.” 

“And this…”

“It’s soup. You haven’t eaten shit this week.”

The thermos is warm, a comforting weight sitting in the palms of her hands. “What—”

He groans, cutting her off, then cards a frustrated hand through his hair. “Just fucking take it. And did you have trouble today? You have a shit foundation in last week’s math lesson—if you still don’t get it, then you’re not gonna get today’s homework.” 

Speechless, she gapes at him at a complete loss. Her mind draws a blank, unsure how to proceed. Is he worried for her?

The urge to slam the door in a fit of panic dissipates. Instead, she wants to launch herself at him and throw herself into a hug, even if she knows he won’t take it the same way she will. All of her plans to avoid him over the next few months fractures within seconds. 

“It’s fine—” The words fall from her mouth, wooden and puppet-like—she can’t let these tears jeopardize her future. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it. Thank you, though. That’s thoughtful.”

“Look—”

“She said it’s fine.” Shouto pokes his head from around the corner. Katsuki freezes, eye twitching at the sight of his appearance. Something quick flashes across his face as his hands fall to his sides. “I’ve got it. I think she’s starting to get it.”

Finally, his expression shutters, and he scoffs. “Fine,” he spits. 

She half-expects him to spit out an insult, but he just turns. There’s a flush that pokes from the nape of his neck, and her guilt swells at the sight of it. All through their second and third year, he’d helped her with her academics. Now, for her to turn to Shouto—he must feel humiliated. 

Her next move is purely instinct as she rushes after him, ignoring the way Shouto calls out her name. Katsuki makes it halfway down the hall before she grabs at his arm, yanking him around. “Wait!” she gasps. “Wait, I was going to ask you, but I know you and Eijirou were training, so I—”

He rips his wrist from her grasp, and though it’s nothing more than a jostle, she feels as if she’s been slapped. “Do what you want,” he snarls. “Fuck if I care.” 

And there it is—the blow that splits her in half and leaves her rooted to the spot, the rest of her explanation jammed at the back of her tongue. 

“Right.” It comes out strangled, and Ochako pivots on her heel so that she doesn’t face him. She doesn’t want to see him, see whatever harsh expression he makes. “Thanks for the soup.”

Then, she makes her way back to her room and shuts the door behind her before leaning against it. Is this what liking—no, loving—someone means? That their words hold so much weight each one feels like a brick thrown through the glass shield of her heart? 

“No, no, no,” Shouto drops to his knees in front of her, and it isn’t until she hears the musical tinkle of bells that she realizes that she’s crying. Each tear drags down the slopes of her face, solid before they roll down her cheeks and tumble into her lap. They strew along her shirt, dipping into creases and falling to the ground. “Ochako…”

“I’m fine.” Lie—it’s an obvious, blatant lie. She can barely see Shouto through the blur of her tears. “I’m fine. It’ll stop in a moment.” 

He doesn’t contradict her. Instead, he begins to pick up each star tear, letting them roll across his grasp. They sing in the midst of her sniffling, each tune quiet and placating. When the pile grows too big, Shouto sets them to the side and begins to sweep them up instead.

Gradually, the rapids of her tears slow to dragging currents, and she catches the last one, feeling it bounce once against her hand. There, it glistens when it catches the light, sending shards of color across her skin. Nothing seems to have changed, and she breathes a sigh of relief. 

Maybe the stories are exaggerated. Maybe she loses nothing when she cries. Maybe this is something Recovery Girl can fix within minutes.

“What do you want me to do with these?” Shouto asks, scooping the star tears into a pile. Ochako rubs at her eyes, half-expecting them to sting from the rough edges of the tears; instead, her fingers come away damp. Glancing up, she gives Shouto a weary smile. “Do you want me to throw these away?” 

She shakes her head, then points at her desk. “Just set them in the corner. I’ll clean them up when I get a chance.” 

--

At night, she lies in bed, unable to sleep. The pile of star tears glimmer in the moonlight, casting diamonds against her bed. While they’re beautiful during the day, there’s something mystical about seeing them in the dark. As if she’d reached into the skies and plucked the stars straight out of the sky, under the moon’s watchful eye. 

It’s strange to think that one by one, they may take, take, take. 

First, color. Then, shape. Finally, everything.

Giving up on the idea of sleeping, she slips out of bed, shivering at the blast of the AC, and settles at her desk. Rolling herself close, she picks the tear that sits at the top of the pile and observes it. They resemble diamonds, yet these had come from her. 

From the emotion that wells from the depths of her, created with the beauty of love and the ugliness of rejection. Katsuki doesn’t know about her feelings, hasn’t uttered a word about them, but he doesn’t have to. The simple existence of the tears tells her everything she needs to know. 

She thinks back to the incident earlier. Thinks to the way he’d torn his hand from hers, the way it’d left her bereft. Empty. Numb. And then—the sudden torrent of fear, anxiety, and hurt rushing in until she’s bursting at the seams. Somehow, that moment of rejection had felt like a rebuff of her person, and that hurts more than any other rejection she’s ever gotten, romantic or not. 

In the silence of her room, she takes the fragile, fluttering shape of her emotions and re-examines them. Gives them the time and patience they’d deserved from the start. She cares for him—that much is clear. But to what extent? Admiration and respect create the foundation of their relationship. 

From their first year, they’ve grown—they’ve seen each other at their best and at their worst. Multiple encounters with villains, multiple triumphs: countless experiences that have shaped them as people. They’ve had loud, bickering moments. They’ve had soft, silent moments, broken only by Katsuki’s gentle snores as she’d slept in his bed.

It’s that last memory she revisits over and over again. The one that she takes and wraps around her shoulders the same way he’d tucked her into his bed, arms curled under her shoulders. It’s the one she remembers when he rolls his eyes and snaps nonvenomous jabs in her direction. It’s the one she takes comfort in when she has a bad day: that feeling of being cared for. 

It’s the memory that clashes the most with what’d happened earlier.

Even now, it stings. A physical pang that reverberates down her body the same way a bell tolls in the distance, lonely and aching. 

Shouto had been right. The stories had been right. 

Somewhere along her friendship with Katsuki, she’d fallen. Hard. Deep. With the velocity of a comet hurtling toward earth, its tail streaking behind, leaving traces of ice and rock not unlike the ones piled on her desk. 

The price of loving someone is high, and now, she’s paying it.

Something taps against her window, the tip of a fingernail scraping against glass. There’s another. Another. Another. Until the tears’ refractions cavort against her room, twisting to the rhythm of the rain. Ochako lifts her head and gazes out of the window, only to find the treetops and the cityline blurring in the sudden downpour. A rumble of thunder promises more in the distance.

For now, she lets herself feel. She allows herself the peace of acceptance. To realize and understand that she loves him so much more than just a friend. Beyond the realm of platonic friendship. This time, she’s aware of the heat that collects at the corners of her eyes, emotional blisters rupturing in a single epoch of time. 

The tears that fall are trapped in the heat of her palms as she cries into her hands. They burn as they escape, harden in the split second they fall, then tinker against one in greeting. Soon, the cadence of rain harmonizes with the song of her tears, a sweet cantabile that acts as the antithesis to the turmoil brewing in her body. 

She cries with the rain, and sleep doesn’t come for a long, long time. 

--

When she wakes, her eyes are puffy from a night of emotional torment. A larger pile of star tears graces her vision, refracting the pitiful sunlight that slips through a charcoal overcast. Sharp polygons flicker along every surface of her room in striking patterns. 

Today, she feels more at peace after untangling the gnarled roots of her emotions. Now, they sit on the calm channels of acceptance. Sometimes, they rock with each hobbling breath, with sharp denial, but ultimately, they’ve settled into something more tangible. Manageable. 

A knock sounds on her door, and she hears Izuku call through the wood. “Are you up? We just wanted to check that you’re all right.” 

We, meaning Izuku and Shouto. Possible Tsuyu, if she hasn’t already been whisked away by some of their other classmates. Bleary-eyed, vision caught in the haze of sleep, she moves toward the door, far from presentable. But that doesn’t matter. Nearly three years of living with her friends has taught her that they all suffer through the same, horrifying ordeal of waking up. 

It isn’t until she throws open the door that she registers something is wrong. 

Izuku gives her an enthusiastic wave that totters when he notices her face and the large pile of star tears resting on her desk. Shouto’s microexpressions reflect that same flabbergasted shock as his friend. They’re quiet as their eyes rake over her face and the tears behind her. 

“You…oh, Ochako. Oh, no,” Izuku moans softly. He looks one step away from pulling her into a hug, but something stops him. A confluence of Shouto’s hand on his arm and the distress that settles along her shoulders. 

She looks at them. Really looks. From the wild wisps of hair that stubbornly stick in Izuku’s hair, down to his untied shoes. From the puckered scar on Shouto’s face, to the bag that’s slung over his shoulder. 

“Ochako?” Shouto tries. The way he says her name is akin to someone addressing a skittish animal, one that’ll startle and run at the drop of a pin. Izuku wavers as well, concern feathering his disposition.

“I…you.” It’s as if the words have been stolen from her tongue, whisked away in a gale of shock. “Izuku…your hair. Shouto…your eyes.” Her lungs contract with each wheeze. They pause, facing her, watching the way she splinters in real time. 

“Yes?” Izuku tries tentatively.

“They’re grey,” she breathes. A mix of horror and understanding flickers across their expressions as they realize what’s happened. “Everything’s grey.” 

--

All three of them are late. 

In her shock and distress, she’d burst into another round of tears. 

She has faced hoards of villains within her three years at U.A, disasters of unprecedented heights, and life-threatening quirks aimed in her direction. She has survived countless attacks, blows meant to maim and kill. She has recovered from injuries that put her out of commission for weeks—broken ribs, fractured legs, gashes that had her bleeding into the grass. But never—never has she felt such fear. 

If there’s one thing she has yet to experience, it’s personal loss. 

This isn’t how she thought her first would go. 

The pile of star tears only grows bigger and bigger, musical trills ringing through her dismayed weeping. Their melody is chaotic, running at presto in frenzied bursts. Laughter that does nothing but mock the situation. 

Izuku and Shouto argue. The former wants her to stay in the dorms while they tell Aizawa she’s fallen sick. The latter wants her to go to class and inform Aizawa because if she’s lost sense of color, then who’s to say what’s next? It’s only after an intense debate that they come to a compromise: they’ll go when and if she feels ready. 

After dropping another handful of star tears, she finds that their silhouettes have feathered out, percolating the same way black ink spreads in water. It’s that change that helps her rein in her panic. Not long after, things begin to blur, and she blinks rapidly, trying to believe that it’s a result of crying too much. 

Maybe if she rubs at her eyes for a bit, things will clear up. Maybe if she blinks hard enough, everything will come into focus. Maybe, soon, she’ll wake from this horrible nightmare. 

Midway to class, she realizes that star tears steal her vision belatedly, as if giving her a chance to prepare herself for what comes next. The next time she cries, she’ll have a brief moment before her vision shifts, withering away with no hope of saving.

When she stumbles on the road, whether it be from shock or missing objects that blur in her path, Shouto and Izuku are there to help her up. They don’t hoist her up, but they’re both at the ready, arms poised to catch her if anything happens. 

They make it to class in one piece, and Aizawa gives them a deadpan look when they arrive. “You’re late,” he states. With her surroundings feathering in and out, spots bursting in behind every blink, she barely catches his perfunctory nod for them to take their seats. His instructions cause Izuku and Shouto to pause, their concern palpable. Neither of their seats are near hers, on the other side of the room. 

“Thank you,” she whispers. In the curious silence of the class, it feels as if she’s shouting. “I can take it from here.” Then, she gives them both a pat, as if they’re the ones that need placation and consolation. She doesn’t see the way Katsuki’s glare pins on her, brows knotted in confusion and concern. Somehow, she manages not to stumble on her way to her assigned seat, keeping her chin up as she walks. 

No one outside of her three friends needs to know this new affliction. Least of all, Katsuki. 

Already, sitting in the back puts her at a disadvantage. Slowly losing her vision only further acts as a detriment. Rather than observing the board, she tries to focus on listening to Aizawa’s lesson. It’s the only thing she can do, but it does her no good when he gives demonstrations. All she can do during then is follow the scrape of chalk. 

Losing the ability to see slows things down, as if she’s at time’s mercy. Never has a lesson felt as long as this, and she learns little, struggling to piece together fragments of noise. Not for the first time, she despairs at the lore, the curse—this random bout of cruelty. 

When classes end, she experiences little mercy. The moment the bell rings, there’s a presence on her right, and she stiffens, fearing the worst until she feels the familiar callused fingers of Tsuyu. Her friend crouches next to her, and on instinct, Ochako turns to her. Tsuyu’s face is blurry and grey, and Ochako can barely make out the general shape of her face. 

“How far along?” Tsuyu murmurs, barely above a whisper.

Ochako shakes her head, then bites her tongue to keep from crying anymore when she responds, “I can’t see your face.” 

There’s a sharp intake of breath, then Tsuyu pulls her up, gentle as she handles her with care. Her friend slips her arm around her waist and pulls her close. “I can walk,” Ochako whispers under her breath, and Tsuyu releases her, keeping one hand on her arm to guide her forward.  

“What’s wrong with her?” The question scrapes across gravel, throaty as Katsuki demands an answer. “Why does she look like that? Cheeks, what’s going on?” 

“She’s not feeling well,” Tsuyu answers promptly. 

Katsuki ignores her as he continues to address Ochako, who feels her heart constrict. “Have you eaten? Are you sick? What the fuck have I said about taking care of yourself—” Suddenly, she feels the back of his hand press against her forehead, the other braced against her shoulder. His silhouette appears in her line of sight—she’d recognize him anywhere. 

Her throat flutters in her throat, wedged between each breath. He’s leaning close enough to where she can see the shape of his eyes, the slope of his nose, and the stretch of his mouth. Close enough to where she can feel his exhale mingle with hers. 

Cruel. It’s so cruel. 

Abruptly, she knocks his hands away, and his features cloud over as he pulls back. “I’m fine,” she lies, steadied by the feeling of Tsuyu’s hand on her arm. She can’t make out his expression, but Tsuyu suddenly squeezes her arm. None of them move, but she can make out the way Katsuki stands in their way. 

When he speaks, his voice has gone uncharacteristically quiet, and she hears the edges of his voice tinge with hurt. “Are you avoiding me? Have I done something to upset you?” 

He’s done nothing. Absolutely nothing to warrant this reaction from her. He doesn’t love her back, nor does he know what’s happening, and those aren’t things she can blame him for. No one can control their feelings, and at this point, she doesn’t know whether there’s any saving her from her fate. 

So she takes a chance and reaches out, meeting her mark when her hand collides with his arm. Her fingers curl around his wrist, squeezing it gently. “No,” she says, then tilts her face in his general direction. It hurts to pull her lips into a small, sad smile. “You didn’t do anything. I’m not mad at you.”

“But you’re avoiding me.” Of course he’d catch that. “Why?” 

Another shadow enters her periphery, and she’s half-convinced it’s Shouto. Instead, Aizawa’s drawl disrupts their conversation. “Dismissed from class doesn’t mean standing around and talking. You’ll be late for hero training.” 

“But—”

“Late,” Aizawa emphasizes. There’s an annoyed grunt from Katsuki, and then he’s turning away, pausing as he looks over his shoulder. Then, his silhouette grows smaller and smaller until it disappears through the gaping doors. 

Before Tsuyu can lead her to the changing rooms, Aizawa stops them. “Uraraka,” he calls, and she flinches. It’s with Tsuyu’s surreptitious guidance that helps her turn to his general vicinity. Aizawa’s silhouette is every bit as intimidating as it is tired. “Are you all right?” 

She blinks in surprise. “I’m fine,” she replies automatically. She can still somewhat see, can make out vague silhouettes and shapes. She hasn’t lost everything. Not yet. When he doesn’t respond, she tries again. “I’m fine.” 

There’s a slump to his shoulders that accompanies his sigh. “Becoming a hero isn’t just training to become stronger,” he says. “You also have to remember to take care of yourself. I won’t pry again, but are you all right? Will you be able to attend training?” 

“I can do it.” She ignores the way Tsuyu’s fingers dig into her arm. “I’ll be fine.” 

His gaze is probing—she can almost feel the way it scans her face. Then, he lifts his hand and flicks his wrist. “Very well. But remember, at any point, if you have to stop, then do so.” 

--

Tsuyu is relentless in trying to get her to go to Recovery Girl. First, she tries to steer her toward her office, but Ochako figures it out immediately. “I can still see enough!” she protests. “It’ll be fine. Today’s lesson is on rescuing, not combat. I’ll be fine. I just won’t save as many people as I normally do.”

Then, Tsuyu lists out all the reasons why it’s a horrible idea, but Ochako insists. She’s fine. She can handle one more lesson. Things will be fine— she just won’t do as much. 

When Ochako makes it clear that she’s not missing this, Tsuyu puffs out a frustrated sigh, and they come to a compromise: Ochako can attend the lessons, but Tsuyu will convince Shouto and Izuku to help her keep an eye out. The moment the bell rings to signal the end of hero training, regardless of any injury she sustains, Ochako will go to Recovery Girl to see if there’s anything she can do. 

It’s the first time she’s heard her friend agree so begrudgingly. 

Out in Ground Beta, fate has other plans against her because outside of a cloudy sky, rain drizzles around them. Today, Thirteen and Cementoss are their instructors, contrasting figures that stand side by side. The former is round, softer around the edges. The latter cuts a sharp figure, intimidating with his arms crossed. 

Today’s simulation? An earthquake. 

Their assignment? Save as many dummies that have been scattered throughout the fake city as possible.

“Earthquakes are unpredictable,” Thirteen lectures. “We all know this, but what most people forget is that things collapse in strange ways. No building has their foundation exposed, lest they break under the weight of the changing seasons. Remember, don’t just look up or down. Remain vigilant. You never know where things go in an earthquake.” 

Cementoss speaks next, baritone voice tolling across their class. “You’ll have five minutes to scatter. Once those five minutes are up, I’ll begin stimulating earthquakes at random intervals. Ready? Begin!”

Tsuyu, Izuku, and Shouto are practically glued to her side. While it’d been slightly annoying at first, she’s grateful for their presence after she misses a boulder hurtling her way. Izuku smashes it to bits as Shouto dives for her, yanking her out of the way. Tsuyu is just as reactive, tongue wrapping around Ochako’s arms, pulling her out of the way of a falling steel beam. 

All around her, the chaos is constant. Their group rescues three dummies—she knows that were it not for her safety, they would’ve each saved five by now. Guilt weighs on her conscious, and she tries to be of help, activating her quirk on broken concrete slabs so that her friends can enter buildings with ease. 

The rain intensifies into a downpour, no longer an innocuous drizzle, and Ochako becomes overwhelmed at the sound of crumbling concrete and groaning steel. There are shouts that echo from the other end of the training grounds, faint under the static of the rain. She can see the vague shape of a broken road, concrete blocking one of the fake shops. Inside, there’s the faint silhouette of a person, and at once, she knows it’s a dummy.

“I think I see one!” she shouts, struggling to stay upright as the concrete rumbles under Cementoss’s quirk. Determination pushes her to dash forward, just as a crack of thunder splits the skies, masking Tsuyu’s scream. Just as she touches the slab to force it out of her way, something hard slams into her from above, striking her shoulder before something else rams into her side. 

Pain bursts along her body, serrated and ruthless. The smell of smoke permeates the air, remnants of an explosion, and suddenly, Katsuki is there, cradling her in his arms as he yells at her. “The fuck were you thinking?! The top of the building had crumbled, Cheeks! You could have lost your fucking arm — you could’ve fucking died!” There’s rage, horror, but most of all, there’s concern for her wellbeing. 

Blood roars in her ears, and to say her shoulder is in tremendous pain would be an understatement. It feels as if she’s been struck by an oncoming train. She barely registers the other three landing near her with varying levels of shouting. 

“Oh my god, Ochako!” Izuku cries. “We need to get you to Recovery Girl now!” 

“No, no, no,” Tsuyu’s words tremble as she hovers over her. “No, no, no.”

“We need to go!” Shouto commands. “Tsuyu, support her. Izuku, carry the dummies. In a real situation, we wouldn’t leave the people just because one of our own is injured. Katsuki, give her to me. Now!”

Instead, Katsuki squeezes her to his chest, arms tightening around her. Through her pained gasps, she realizes she’s crying, involuntary tears cascading from her face. Even with her dimming vision, she can see them catch the glare of lightning—a single strike that illuminates the sky. 

Thunder trails behind, and suddenly everything is converging on her. Her friends shouting at one another. Her jagged breathing. Rain slamming into the ground. Ground, cement, dirt, all breaking apart in horrible wails. Steel protesting in eerie groans. Her classmates and their quirks buzzing all around her. Katsuki’s heaving, his heart racing against her ear.

Her head swims, overstimulated, and the last thing she hears is the gentle tinkle of star tear against star tear before everything fades, her vision succumbing to darkness.

--

Her body is sore, every particle of her body engulfed in fire and pain, all of it concentrated on her right shoulder. She’s almost afraid to move it, and when she does, she flinches. It doesn’t incite any lingering pain, but it does cause a different kind of uproar.

A choir of her name drapes over her in different shades of relief—three of them, all intimately familiar. Tsuyu is situated to her left, Izuku somewhere near her, and Shouto sits on her other side. She flexes her fingers, then feels a cold hand touch her wrist. 

“How do you feel?” Shouto asks, exhaustion lacing his tone. He smells like smoke, rubble, and something charred. In fact, they all do, and she wonders how long it’s been since she blacked out, whether her friends have gotten a chance to go back, bathe, and rest. But knowing them, they probably stayed by her side throughout her recovery. 

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” she croaks, and she recognizes the wry chuckle from Izuku’s end. 

“It took Recovery Girl a few hours, but she says you should be good to go as soon as you wake up,” Tsuyu says. “According to her, there should be no lingering damage.” 

Ochako flips her palm so that faces up, supinated, and Tsuyu understands, sliding her hand over hers. Her skin is warm, callused at her fingertips. With some difficulty, she begins to sit up, and there’s a flurry of movement as her friends scrabble to help her. Her eyes flutter open, and she squeezes Tsuyu’s hand. “I guess she can’t fix everything.” 

“What do you mean?” This comes from Izuku. “Do you need me to get Recovery Girl? She just left, but—” 

“Izuku,” she interrupts quietly. He falters. “I can’t see.” 

The silence that follows is deafening, punctuated by a gasp and the whir of the AC. Her truth hovers over them like a vine wrapped around their necks, threatening to strangle them. It threatens to wring the air from her lungs. The inevitable—it’s happened. 

First, she’d lost color.

Then, she’d lost shape.

And now, she’s lost it all.

Discomfort and grief churn in her stomach, and she feels tears prick at her eyes. With her vision gone, she wonders whether they’ll still fall as stars, as they’ve already taken everything. The sound of her tears bounce against one another, filling the air with the tinkle of bells. 

“Ochako—” Izuku’s voice is strangled, cut off by a fourth voice she hadn’t realized occupied the room.

“What the fuck—” Katsuki’s growl borders on dangerous, low and furious. “—is happening?” 

There’s no way to describe the sheer panic that plagues her in that moment. Whereas the star tears had come, quiet and unassuming, the terror and dread that sit in the pit of her stomach are nauseating. She hadn’t sensed his presence, not with the strength of her friends’ collective relief. 

“Katsuki,” she chokes out. Her grip tightens on Tsuyu’s hand. In return, Tsuyu squeezes back as a reminder that she’s there for support. “What—how—how long have you…?”

“Who do you think carried you here?” He’s been here since the beginning. Katsuki had her admission, had heard her defeat as she’d admitted to losing her sight. More importantly, he’d seen the few star tears that’d rolled off her cheeks. “Why can’t you see? What the hell is falling from your face?”

“It’s nothing—”

“No!” He cuts her off. The heavy stomp of his boots clatters against the ground, as effective as the earthquakes Cementoss had inflicted on the training grounds. “No, something’s wrong, and you’ve been avoiding me. Do these…rocks have something to do with me?” 

Trust him to put the pieces together immediately. People can say what they want about Katsuki: brawns over brain, too angry to function, arrogant and condescending. But Ochako knows that he’s smart—their whole class knows. To want to become the nation’s next symbol of peace—that’s no easy feat, with a path as rocky as mountain trails. She’s spent enough time with him to know that he works nonstop, aiming higher with each achievement. 

“Tsuyu, Izuku, Shouto,” she starts. There’s a responding squeeze on her hand. Fear pounds through her veins, but at this point, she’s already lost her vision. What more can she lose by telling him? “Can you give us some space?” 

Her trio of friends pause, their hesitation unmistakable in the face of her request. 

“Are you sure?” Izuku tries. The end of his question wavers, but she’s nodding before he finishes speaking. 

“I’ll be fine,” she says, and it’s as much of a reassurance for herself as it is for him. “This shouldn’t take long.” Her heart aches at the potential of losing Katsuki’s friendship, but that’s the thing—hiding such an enormous secret from him when he’s at the root of her situation, feels terribly unfair. Deep down, she knows she’s entitled to take her secret to the grave, but the idea of never telling him and pulling away sours the taste in her mouth. 

The room fills with the clatter of footsteps as her friends leave Recovery Girl’s office. A cold hand touches her shoulder, and she recognizes the unnatural coldness to be from Shouto. He gives her a squeeze, then his voice is pouring into her ears, “We’ll be outside. Call if you need us. We won’t leave until you do.”

She turns to his general vicinity and gives him a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Shouto releases her. She listens to the set of his footsteps before hearing the whine and click of the door, sealing her in with Katsuki. In a way, it unnerves her to know she’s not the only one in the room, unable to see where the other person is. It makes her feel so, so alone—small and frightened.

So she lifts her arm and holds out a hand, palm up and fingers outstretched. “Katsuki,” she starts, “I know you’re probably mad—furious, even—but can you…” she trails off. Then, softly, “I can’t see you.” 

He understands her request immediately because there’s a heavy shuffle of boots, and suddenly, he’s situated where Tsuyu had sat. The warmth of his hand engulfs hers, palm searing hot, the tips of his fingers studded with calluses. All of her attention sparks in his direction, and she turns toward him, unsure where to position her blackened gaze. 

He makes a small noise in the back of his throat, and she feels him touch her chin, pulling her a little to the left and tilting it up. “You’re right,” he says as he drops his hand, keeping the other folded over her fingers. “I’m fucking furious at you.” Then, lowering his tone, he adds, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Swallowing heavily, she hangs her head, then blindly searches her lap for the familiar scrape of star tear against her fingers. Frustration wells in her chest when she can’t find what she’s searching for, but before she can ask, Katsuki grabs her free hand, then gingerly places one in her palm. “Is that what you were looking for?” 

She nods, then rolls it so that it’s pinched between her fingers. Lifting it, she presents it. “Do you know what this is?” 

“No?” 

“These are called star tears. The story goes that when you cry, each tear crystallizes to form one of these. And when they fall, they make the most beautiful sounds, like a carol of bells.” It feels rough against her skin, cool to the touch. To demonstrate, she searches for the other, succeeding with his help once more. With the two star tears clasped in her fist, she gives them a gentle shake, and that familiar tinkle rings with each collision. 

Katsuki’s breathing is even, but it hitches at the sound. It turns her smile bitter. “Pretty, isn’t it? The thing is, with each handful of tears, you lose something. I lost all of the colors in one fell swoop, and later, shapes began to blur until I could barely see the potholes and cracks in the road. I’m pretty sure I lost the rest during hero training, which is why I hadn’t seen that the building had begun to crumble. Now, I can’t see anything.” 

He’s silent, hand going stiff under her grasp. Without her vision, she can’t gauge his reaction, but she can guess what he’s feeling: ire, incredulity, disbelief. 

“Why did you go to hero training if you couldn’t see?” he suddenly snaps. “Do you know how dangerous that was? It was raining. It was fucking raining—no one could see anything clearly! What made you think you could still go and come out unscathed?” 

She flinches at his tone, but it’s deserved. His scolding bursts at the seams with barely contained rage. When she tries to pull away, he holds her tighter, now allowing her to escape. “I thought…I could still see shapes, even though they were blurry, and everything was in greyscale. I thought I could do it.”

“You—you—” He splutters, at a loss for words. “You idiot!” There’s a flick against her forehead, and she whines, clutching at the pang. “Look where you’re at now!” 

“I know!” she cries. “I already know.” 

“How did this happen anyway?” he continues, still caught up in his frustration. “How did this happen? Why are you suddenly crying stars, of all things?!” 

At that, she goes quiet, face shuttering and blood going cold. This is where the truth comes out—all of it, and not just skirting around the edges. 

“It’s not someone’s quirk, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Ochako pulls her hand from his. This time, he lets her go, and she folds them in her lap, rolling around the tears. Just the thought of saying it out loud causes her stomach to revolt. “It only happens when one experiences unrequited love.” 

Things go quiet after her confession. Even his breathing seems to stop, and she can’t hear anything more than the rattling AC. The back of her eyes burn, and she lets those tears fall. It feels appropriate: losing a friendship after losing her vision. Poetic. 

“Who…?” Katsuki rasps. Something strange sits in his tone, unreadable. It reminds her of the discomfort of losing such a fundamental sense. Unable to gauge his actual reaction, she huffs out a watery laugh, and more star tears fall into her lap, bouncing off of her hero suit. 

“Who else could it be?” she counters. “Who else?” 

The only warning she gets is a series of rustles and shuffles before the side of the cot dips under his weight. She tilts to the side, hands flailing before they’re caught in his hands, and Katsuki steadies her. “Me?” he tries, surprisingly tentative. 

Her eyes flutter shut, defeated. Of course, he’d be too nice to reject her harshly. She readies herself for a stiff, awkward let down. What she doesn’t expect is for him to shake her, not hard enough to do any damage, but she still feels a little jostled. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands. “Cheeks, all of this could’ve been avoided if you’d said something.” 

“What difference would it have made if I’d told you?” she cries back. “Star tears only happen when it’s unrequited—”

“And how the fuck do you know it’s unrequited?!” Suddenly, he yanks her forward, and she collapses against him, feeling the way his chest expands at each intake of breath. His words flutter against her forehead. “How do you know what I feel?! You never asked, you just assumed, and now…now…”

Ochako can hardly believe it. His questions barely register in her head as she processes the first with infuriatingly lethargy. Dazed, she pushes at him until he lets her pull away, though his arms remain loose around her waist, fingers pressing against the small of her back. 

“I don’t understand—”

He grabs one of her hands and drags her forward until her palm is pressed against his chest. There, against her fingertips, she feels the rapid beat of his heart thrumming against her skin. It’s faster than normal, a sparrow flapping against its cage. 

“It’s not unrequited love,” Katsuki says between the hollow of their bodies, “and this is your proof.” 

Hand shaking, she lifts it until her fingers touch the underside of his chin, and tentatively, she moves to cup his face, marveling that this is something she’s able to do—she’s allowed to do. He leans into her touch, and she runs her thumb along the high of his cheekbone. Then, across the swell of his bottom lip, feeling the heat of his exhale fan across the tip of her finger. 

“I wish you’d just talked to me in the first place,” he continues, “because then I could tell you, wholeheartedly, that I love you, more than you’ll ever know. There’s no one else for me. There’s no one else I want.” 

She’s done so much crying she’s surprised she hasn’t wrung out every tear from her body. A few more escape from the corners of her eyes, and as they continue to roll down the slopes of her face, she realizes they’re hot and wet, no longer crystallizing against her skin. Shocked, she touches her face, then rubs her fingers.

Wet. 

They’re wet. 

Before she can wipe them away, Katsuki gets there first, cupping her face and dabbing away the tears. For him, they also come away wet, and she huffs a watery laugh. “Have they all melted?” she asks, referring to those sitting in her lap. 

“No, the ones in your lap are still crystals, but Cheeks…” He pauses, and she feels him shift further onto the cot. His breath fans across her face, concentrated and hottest at her lips. “Can I kiss you?”

Heat stirs in her chest, spreading along her limbs and twining with the sinews of her body. She nods, arms flying up to clutch at his arms as he leans in close. Even if she can’t see, her eyes flutter shut, and everything in her is lit aflame at the first press of his mouth against hers. It’s gentle, a simple press, but it fills her with inexorable affection, a tide that crests higher and higher, threatening to sweep her under. 

And when he pulls away, his thumb presses against her bottom lip, creating two gentle swells, each of which he kisses before pressing his lips to each corner of her mouth. The sound of bells chimes, and they startle at the sound, separating immediately. 

“What was that?” she asks, alarmed. 

He punches out a surprised breath. “I don’t know. Some of the tears in your lap—they just exploded. Literally, it's like they ruptured.” 

“All of them?” 

“No, just a few. There’s still some, but I don’t know what’s happening. Do you?”

She shakes her head. This time, his silence is thoughtful, and before she can utter another word, he steals a quick kiss. There’s another twinkle of sound, and Katsuki mutters, “Oh.” 

“Oh?” 

“I think I know what’s happening.” 

--

The trip back to the dorms is uneventful. Katsuki carries her on his back, and she’s more than happy to sling her arms around his neck and wrap her legs around his waist. When her friends learn that they’re together and that none of her emotions had been unrequited, they’re more than relieved, ecstatic as they give their congratulations. 

The three of them decide to go ahead, a few paces faster, and Ochako knows they’re giving the pair some due privacy. During their trek, Katsuki grumbles under his breath, mainly insults jabbed toward Shouto, but he nearly stumbles when she presses a blind kiss against his ear.

“What was that for?” His voice carries, volume heightened by surprise. 

She giggles, hugging him close. “Nothing. Just did it ‘cause I could.” 

The dorms are quiet when they arrive, and she estimates that it must be late enough for most of them to have gone to bed, confirmed when Izuku yawns and Tsuyu gives her a quiet, “Goodnight.” Shouto pats her shoulder, and they split for their respective rooms. 

Katsuki continues to carry her, even when she protests that she could probably get to her room herself, but he ignores them and tightens his arms around her legs, hoisting her up. On the fourth floor, he pushes into her room and doesn’t set her down until they’ve reached her bed. 

She sits on the edge, then twists in his general area, reaching out until he tangles their fingers. “Do you need me to stay with you?” he asks, settling next to her. She shakes her head: she’s more than able to navigate her room. Her vision is gone, but her other senses are still present. She can count on them to keep her afloat until she learns to adjust. 

“Do you want me to stay with you?” he amends, and the question causes her to pause. Then, timidly, she nods, and he huffs before pressing another kiss against her nose. Another burst of sound occurs from her desk, and she suddenly understands. 

“Every time you kiss me,” she breathes, “it causes one of the stars to shatter.” Katsuki lifts one of her hands to his face, and he nods against her palm, pressing another kiss to the inside of her wrist. Another tinkle of bells follows. 

Hope flares in her chest, white-hot and star-bright, and she grabs at his hand, clutching for dear life. “Then, do you think, once all of them explode, I’ll be able to see again?” 

Suddenly, he yanks at her, and she flies forward. They fall back onto her bed, her on top, and her heart tumbles at the gesture. They’re a tangle of limbs, knotted together, and she scrabbles to get up when he snatches one of her hands and kisses each tip of her finger. Five bursts of sound follow the motions.

“I don’t know,” he breathes again, and her index finger traces the slant of his mischievous smile, “but I’m willing to test it out until they’re all gone.” 

--

Later, after he tucks her into bed, she’s surprised to feel the bed dip and scoots back to grant him some space. Katsuki pulls her into an embrace, curling a lock of hair behind her ears, then presses his lips against the crown of her head, followed by another burst of bells. Ochako tucks her face into the crook of his neck and breathes him in; somehow, he smells like autumn. Always autumn.

“Do you remember?” she says, tracing indiscernible patterns into his chest, Her voice is quiet, words meant only for the two of them. He hums in question, shifting so that his arm slings over her waist, hand splayed against her back and rubbing small circles. “That one time I fell asleep while you were helping me with homework? And you tucked me into your bed?”

He pauses his ministrations. “You remember that?” 

She nods, hair brushing his chin. “I woke up when you were carrying me, and I woke up again in the middle of the night. You were sleeping on the floor.” 

He snorts and resumes rubbing her back. “My back hurt like hell the next day.” Then, softer, “But it was worth it.” 

With a laugh, she swats at his teasing. The fact that he remembers one of her most cherished memories causes her stomach to dive and swoop in dizzying coils. To know that they share such a fond connection motivates her to press a kiss against the underside of his jaw. “Yeah, well, I think that’s when I started to like you more than a friend.” 

It should be embarrassing to tell him something so intimate. Instead, she feels like she’s flying, quirk activated as she hovers at the zenith of the world. At the same time, she feels as if she’s free falling, arms outstretched to catch the raindrops on her way down. 

“I’ve liked you since the school festival,” he admits, and she nods in understanding.

“So around the same time—”

“In our first year,” he interrupts. First year, she mouths, caught off-guard by the confession. “I’ve liked you for more than two years. I fell in love with you sometime in our second year, when I really got to know you.” 

“All that time,” Ochako whispers, baffled. They’ve taken turns surprising each other with new information, but this fact is what shocks her the most after Katsuki had revealed his reciprocal feelings. With a grunt, she pushes herself onto her forearms, fingers crawling up his arms and neck until she’s holding his face. “All of this time, you’ve liked me?” 

He huffs a mortified breath. “Say it again, and I’ll deny it.”

She leans in close until she can taste the sweetness of his breath. “Say it again, and I’ll kiss you.”

And so, he does, and she kisses him fiercely. 

The tune of stars rupturing around them is beautiful, and this time, she’d like to think they’re cheering for her happiness.

--

She wakes to the sound of Katsuki’s quiet snoring. Still wrapped tightly in his arms, Ochako is beyond warm, but she snuggles closer, basking in his body heat. He smells like smoke and sleep, soothing and homely. When she moves, it’s to further tangle their limbs until they’re a snarled mess.

Except, something pricks at her eyes, and reluctantly, she cracks them open, squinting to find light streaming into her room. And—wait. Light. The realization slashes through her haze of sleep, and she gasps, rocketing up and staring around. Her room is full of blurry shapes, silhouettes of a desk, her drawer, even the lump of her jacket slung over her chair. There’s a small pile of white that glistens at the corner of her table: star tears. 

The shape of Katsuki is big, a warm line pressed against her body, and with trembling hands, she touches his shoulder, fingers dragging down the hills of his muscles and the jut of his elbow. He’s still dressed in his hero costume, devoid of his gloves and gauntlets. There’s a streak of dirt across his cheek that she scrubs away, and he grumbles in annoyance, hauling her close to stop her from moving.

“Katsuki?” Her voice is scratchy, shaking and wobbling with hope. “Oh, Katsuki!” 

He cracks one eye open in a fierce glare before sitting up, raking a hand through his hair. “What is it—”

“I can see you!” she cries, throwing her arms around his neck. He stiffens before relaxing, then embraces her back. “Well, I can’t see all of the colors just yet! But I can see shapes and silhouettes—I can see my desk, the pile of tears. I can see my pencil pouch and the sunlight streaming through the windows. I can see my jacket, my books, my backpack.”

She’s rambling, words riding on the rapids of a current, watching the way her hands fly through the air, gesticulating with each phrase. It’s only when she looks up that she realizes Katsuki is staring at her, soft and rumpled and sleep-addled. He’s close enough to where their noses brush, and she can see the affection in his gaze. 

“And well,” she falters, suddenly shy as she casts her eyes to the side, “I can see you, or at least, the shape of you.” 

He rocks forward and presses a kiss against her temple, and this time, she sees the star at the top of the shrinking pile burst. Like someone has thrown glass into the sky, sparkles falling like rain to disappear from existence. Even though it’s blurry, edges feathering in and out, she can tell it’s a spectacle. 

“Good morning,” Katsuki mumbles into her hair, inhaling deeply, and she relaxes in his embrace, excitement tamping down into something syrupy and warm, sweet like honeysuckle. 

“Good morning.”

--

True to his promise, Katsuki drops random kisses on her when she’s least expecting it, and it becomes something like a game. Now that she can see enough, they separate momentarily to freshen up, and as Ochako heads back to her room, toweling her hair, she comes across Shouto, who’s poised to knock on her door. 

“Shouto!” she cries, throwing up an arm in greeting. He gives her a small wave, then freezes, as if realizing what she’s done. Behind him, she notices the shorter shapes of Izuku and Tsuyu, the latter of which holds a small bouquet of flowers. “Izuku! Tsuyu!”

Tsuyu steps forward and holds out her arms, and Ochako squints to see what flowers she’s been given. Peonies and baby’s breath. Though she can’t see what shades they are, they’re still beautiful. 

“Can you see again?” Tsuyu asks, excitement nuancing her tone. Her friend steps forward and pushes the bouquet into her arms, just as Ochako nods, suddenly bashful. 

Izuku bursts into cheers, and there’s a rare smile pulling at Shouto’s mouth. Tsuyu yanks her into a hug, nearly crushing the flowers between them. When Ochako pulls back, she’s met with newfound enthusiasm as they congratulate her on getting her vision back.

“Well, it isn’t perfect,” Ochako admits, rubbing the nape of her neck. “I can see some shapes—everything is still blurry, but I mean, that’s so much better than not seeing anything at all. I’m hoping everything clears up and that my colors return soon, which might take a few days, given how everything has had a delayed reaction.” 

“Still,” Shouto says, “this is fantastic news. We’re all glad you’re able to see again. Is there anything you’re doing to speed along the process? Or are your feelings enough to aid recovery?” 

At that, Ochako flushes, cheeks heating with the memory of Katsuki layering kisses along her face, save for the last, where he’d tilted her chin up to kiss her deeply. Her face must say enough because Izuku shoves forward, shaking his head. 

“You know what? We don’t need to know all the details,” he says quickly. Though she can’t see the red in his cheeks, his face is scrunched in embarrassment. “We’re just glad things are improving for you.”

Releasing a breath, Ochako hugs the bouquet closer to her chest, heart unfurling with the help and support of her friends. Without them, she wouldn’t have known what to do. Without them, she would’ve floundered. Without them, she doesn’t think she’d get out of this as unscathed as she did. 

“Guys,” she says, stopping them in place. All three of them turn to her, and she tilts her head up, giving each of them a warm smile. “Thank you.”

--

“There’s one more,” Ochako observes, picking up the last of the star tears. “I think it’s the last one.” 

She feels more than sees Katsuki approach her, and he ropes an arm around her waist, settling his chin on her shoulder as they gaze at the final star tear. Slowly, gradually, everything returns. Now, every shape has a defined form, edges sharp and clear. Color has percolated back into her vision, spreading like paints dipped in water. 

Now, she gets to luxuriate in the way Katsuki flushes after she presses her lips against his knuckles, his cheeks, the inside of his wrist. She gets to watch the pink peonies and baby’s breath bloom at the corner of her desk, collected in a vase, their petals open and inviting in the warm glow of the sun. She gets to see the final facets of color splayed across her skin, light refracting from the final star tear.

“I still don’t know why this happened to me specifically,” she marvels, gaze fastened to the star tear that pricks at her fingertips. “I don’t know the cause, I don’t know why this is even a thing.” 

Katsuki sighs, tugging her closer, as if to mold her body into his side. “I don’t either, but at this point, it’s already happened, hasn’t it? There’s no speculating what would’ve happened had you not started crying star tears. There’s no point in wondering about all of the ‘what if’s.”

“I know, I know,” she relents, then turns to face him with a smile quirking on her lips. Framed in the sunlight, limned in gold, Katsuki is breathtakingly handsome. She takes in his crimson irises, the faint flush that sits at the base of his neck, and his wild, unruly blond spikes. Taking a deep breath, she asks, “So, will you stop giving me kisses once we get rid of this last one?” 

Her boyfriend snorts, and as he leans down, her eyes flutter shut just as he presses a gentle kiss against her forehead. From there, he doesn’t stop, pressing his lips to each brow, then each cheek, the tip of her nose, the corners of her mouth. Finally, he kisses her properly, suckling on her bottom lip. 

The final star tear bursts in a sparkle of light and color, the final tinkle of bells singing its goodbye. 

“No,” Katsuki murmurs, “I’ll give you so many more.”