Chapter Text
She knew he was going to be there.
She just hadn’t expected the sight of him to knock the air out her lungs anyways.
“H-Hey,” Ochaco said, and immediately hated how tight her voice sounded. Her shoulders crept up toward her ears as she took him in.
He was taller. Enough that she had to tilt her head back just a little to meet his eyes now. His curls were still there, but tamed. It was like he’d finally figured out what to do with them. A white collared shirt, tie loosened just enough to suggest he’d come straight from work. Dress shows instead of scuffed red sneakers he used to swear by.
He looked…grown.
A tap against the glass snapped her back.
“Hello?” Jirou’s voice came muffled through the window, followed by exaggerated waving. They definitely weren’t as subtle as they thought they were. Heat rushed to Ochaco’s cheeks.
She felt his eyes on her, waiting.
“Ochaco?”
Her stomach dropped.
Her phone. She was still on the phone.
“Yeah–yeah, Mom, I’m here,” she said quickly, lifting it back to her ear and willing her pulse to slow.
Her mom’s voice was gentle. “Just remember what I said. Don’t stay out too late. And grab your dad’s juice on the way home–the coconut one.”
“I know the one,” Ochaco said, exhaling. “I’ll be home soon. Call me if you need anything.”
She hung up.
And there he was again. Still watching her. Still real.
Midoriya stared at her like he was afraid she’d vanish if he blinked. Mouth slightly open.
“Uraraka?” he said, hesitant. Like saying her name out loud might cross some invisible line.
She smiled–the practiced one. The one that kept things light, shallow, and safe.
“Sorry about that,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Guess I wasn’t watching where I was going. It’s…been a while, huh?” Two years?”
Stupid. Of course he’d know exactly how long it had been.
“Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. His scarred hand tightened around the strap of his bag. “I guess it has.”
“How’s it been?” she asked, then immediately wanted to rewind time to stop herself.
What right did she have to ask that?
“I’ve been okay,” he said after a moment. “Just working. But–” he gestured awkwardly near his head. “Your hair…it grew.”
The way he said it–soft, almost amazed–made her fingers twitch. She ran them down the longest strand without thinking.
Another tap on the glass. Louder this time. They were definitely being rushed now.
She turned back to him, ready with another apology and froze.
He was smiling.
Not forced. Not guarded. Just…gentle.
Butterflies slammed into her ribcage.
“It looks nice,” he added. “It suits you.”
Her breath stuttered. “Th-thank you.” She cleared her throat. She didn’t dare correct him that she had cut it to its original length a few months ago and had grown it just at a little past her shoulders. “We should probably go inside.”
“Yeah,” he said easily. “They’ve waited long enough.”
He held the door open for her.
She caught a hint of citrus as she passed—clean, subtle. Cologne. That was new. Everything about him felt new. Older. Grown.
And she had missed it.
She told herself –again–that she’d had her reasons. That distance had been necessary. That he would’ve dropped everything for her if she hadn’t disappeared.
But walking beside him now, heart racing, she couldn’t stop thinking about everything that could’ve been.
Stop it.
She led the way to the booth, acutely aware of every step, every sway of her skirt. Being seen by him…felt exciting.
“Looks like you found him,” Jirou teased.
There wasn’t much room left.
Ochaco slid into her original spot beside Tsu, palms already clammy.
“Early bird gets warm, Midoriya,” Tsu added cheerfully.
He hesitated, then set his bag beside Todoroki. Relief flickered through her.
“Actually,” she heard someone say, “I think Kirishima is stopping by too.”
Oh. No.
Midoriya looked at her, those stupid, earnest green eyes softening. “Is it okay if I sit here?”
Her pulse spiked.
“It’s fine,” she said automatically, smiling again.
He squeezed in beside her. Their legs brushed.
Her entire body short-circuited.
Tsu’s grin widened.
While Ochaco tried to collect herself, the conversation around the table buzzed on without her. Something about an interview. Agencies. Positions. She caught pieces of it, but every time she tried to focus, her attention drifted back to Midoriya.
There was a strange awkwardness she hadn’t been able to shake since they’d walked in the restaurant together. Like an invisible thread pulled tight between them. He hadn’t looked at her once while he spoke, but she still felt him there–felt his attention in a way that made her skin prickle.
Almost like a secret they weren’t supposed to name.
“Ochaco?”
Her shoulders jolted.
Yaoyorozu tilted her head, eyebrows raised. “Did you hear me?”
Ochaco winced. She really hadn’t. She’d come here to reconnect, not spiral over a former crush.
Former, she reminded herself firmly.
“Sorry,” she said with a nervous smile. “Can you ask me again?”
Jirou snorted. “Girl, you need rest. You’re probably exhausted–late patrols, long commutes, all of it.”
A few nods followed. And then–shef felt it.
Midoriya’s gaze. No longer imagined. Real.
“You’re still at Ryukyu’s agency, right?” Yaoyorozu asked, stirring her coffee and tapping the spoon against the cup. “Last I heard, their recovery department was really getting back on it’s feet.”
There it was.
Ochaco’s eye flicked instinctively to Tsu.
She never claimed to be able to read minds, but right now she doesn't need to. Tsu’s expression said it all.
You need to tell them.
This is why you’re here.
Tsu had dragged her out tonight for this exact reason. For help. For honesty.
Ochaco swallowed.
She needed to stop hiding. Stop pretending she could carry everything on her own.
“Everything okay?” Jirou asked gently.
Ochaco realized everyone was watching her now. Tsu gave a small, encouraging nod.
“You should tell them,” Tsu said quietly.
Ochaco exhaled.
“I actually quit Ryukyu’s agency.”
The reaction was immediate. The table erupted like she just confessed to a felony.
“You what?” Jirou leaned forward, palms slapping the table.
“When?” Yaoyorozu asked, concern etched deep into her voice.
Ochaco felt heat bloom along her right side. She didn’t need to look to know Midoriya was watching her closely now–but she did anyway. His eyebrows were drawn together, confusion and worry mixing as he tried to piece it together.
“I left a few months after graduation,” she said. “Right before fall. I put in my resignation and moved back home.”
Another wave of shocked murmurs.
“Uraraka,” Ida said, voice tight. “You left hero work and didn’t tell anyone?”
She drew in a breath. This was it. No more skirting around it.
“I felt like I didn’t have a choice,” she said softly. “ I needed to move back home.”
“But why?” Midoriya asked. It was the first thing he’d said since sitting down, and it landed heavy.
Before Ochaco could answer, Tsu spoke up–firm and protective.
“Let her finish before we jump in.”
A chorus of apologies followed.
Ochaco nodded gratefully and continued.
“My dad got really sick. Suddenly.” Her voice wavered, just a little. “I couldn’t be away knowing that. And…I wasn’t in the right headspace to be patrolling or running recovery ops while my mind was always at home.”
The table quieted. Expressions softened.
She pressed her lips together, fingers twisting into the fabric of her skirt.
“He’s not getting better,” she admitted. “And I don’t regret choosing to be at home either. I’m not giving up on being a hero entirely–i’m interviewing for smaller agency positions. Office work. Support roles. I’m still training too. I just…need to adjust.”
A hand landed gently on her head.
Ochaco looked up to see Ida, glasses fogged, tears slipping down his face.
She glanced around the table.
Everyone was crying.
“Oh–no, no,” she waved frantically, “That wasn’t my intent!”
Jirou sniffed. “Then why didn’t you tell us?” she asked, voice thick. “You know we would’ve helped.”
Ochaco smiled sadly. “That’s why I didn’t. I didn’t want anyone putting their life on pause for me.”
As she spoke, something inside her loosened. The words spilled easier now. The weight she’d been carrying finally had somewhere to go.
They listened. Really listened.
And slowly, she realized–they understood.
“Don’t shut us out again,” Jirou said, dabbing her eyes. “We’ll help you figure it out. All of it.”
“There might be specialists my family knows,” Yaoyorozu added quickly.
Ida cleared his throat, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Class A was always a team. And we still are. When one of us stumbles, the rest step in.”
Ochaco swallowed hard, blinking fast.
“Spoken like a true class representative,” she teased softly.
That earned a few watery laughs–and for the first time that night, her chest felt lighter.
They kept asking questions after that–about her dad, about doctors, about what came next. Ochaco answered as best she could, even when she didn’t really have answers herself.
There wasn’t a name for what her dad had. No clear diagnosis. No cure. Just guesses and trial medications and long pauses from doctors always sounded hopeful but never certain. Some of the questions they asked were ones she’d already run through in her own head more times than she could count.
Would he get better?
Was there something else they hadn’t tried?
Were they missing something obvious?
Questions that never seemed to lead anywhere when she asked them herself.
Todoroki refilled cups around the table, steam curling into the air. Time slipped faster than she expected, and she knew she;d need to head home soon.
“So,” Todoroki said causally as he set the kettle down, “You said you’ve been looking for smaller positions in agencies. How’s that going?”
“She actually had an interview today.” Tsu piped in. “You still haven’t told me what happened.”
Ochaco glanced away, rubbing her fingers together. “Uh..not great, actually.”
A few heads tilted.
“They wanted to hire me as a hero,” she admitted. “Full department placement. I turned it down.”
That earned a round of surprised looks.
“I can’t take a hero role right now,” she added quickly. “They didn’t really love that answer.”
“Whose agency was it?” he asked.
“Captain Celebrity, actually.”
Todoroki and Midoriya exchanged a glance and winced. Almost as if they knew something about the hero.
“Well,” Todoroki said with a shrug, “I’ve heard that agency sucks anyway.”
Midoriya snorted into his coffee before he could stop himself.
Ochaco smiled despite herself.
“Aren’t you dealing with something similar?” Ida leaned forward, directing the question at Midoriya.
Midoriya straightened. “Not really the same,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “ I don’t think anything I’m dealing with compares to what Uraraka’s going through.”
“That’s not what he means, you dork,” Jirou cut in. “Your job hunt.”
Ochaco glanced at Midoriya before she could stop herself, then quickly looked away again.
“Oh–well,” he said, thoughtful. “I’ve only turned down one position so far. Teaching primary school.”
That surprised her.
She bit back a laugh, instantly picturing a swarm of kids clinging to him like jungle gym equipment, pointing at his hair and asking why it looked like broccoli.
“Yeah,” he added with a laugh, “I like working with little ones, but I think I’d be bullied all over again if I taught them as a permanent position.”
His eyes flicked up–and she caught him looking at her.
The butterflies in her stomach spiraled immediately.
She dropped her gaze just as quickly, suddenly even more aware of how they were sitting. The thin fabric of her skirt felt too light, too insubstantial, with his leg pressed alongside hers.
Please, get a grip. She thought faintly.
Ida and Todoroki reacted with disbelief as Midoriya explained more. He wasn’t being rejected—he was rejecting offers. Weak contracts. Underselling his experience. Positions that treated him like an assistant rather than someone with real expertise.
And the more he spoke, the more it made sense.
He had helped save the country, hell, the world. He knew heroes, quirks, combat theory inside and out. Anyone above him might feel threatened. Anyone below him might try to take advantage of how kind he was.
Still, it made her chest warm to hear the he knew his worth.
“Well,” Ochaco muttered into her coffee before she could stop herself, “they don’t know what they’re missing.”
The table murmured in agreement.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Midoriya shift. WHen she looked back at him, she caught the faintest flush creeping up his cheeks.
Oh.
She looked away again, heart doing something stupid.
“It’s fine,” he said after a moment. “I already know where I want to work.”
“And that would be?” someone asked.
Ochaco already knew.
“UA,” Midoriya said simply.
His home.
The table reacted warmly, unsurprised. It was easy to picture him there–calm, earnest, lecturing a room full of students who would absolutely tease him relentlessly while secretly admiring him.
And he would never notice.
“So why don’t you ask the school to hire you?” Tsu asks from her spot in the booth.
“Actually…I kind of already did,” he admits, embarrassment threading his voice. “I taled to Aizawa. He told me I have to apply like everyone else.” He exhales softly. “ I need six letters of recommendation just to be considered.”
“Wow.” Yaoyorozu says, resting her chin in her palm. “He’s really not making it easy for you, is he?”
He was his problem child back in school.
Midoriya shakes his head. “No, but I don’t mind. I kind of like being treated like a regular applicant.” He smiles. “It makes things fair. I just have to make sure all my letters are solid–or I'll have to wait until next spring.”
“I can write you one,” Todoroki offers, lifting his hand slightly.
“Oh! Me too!” Jirou chimes in.
“I’ll send one as well,” Ida says, adjusting his glasses. “I already have several ideas.”
“I can write something quickly,” Tsu adds.
Ochaco is the only one who doesn’t speak.
She would–without hesitation. But would he even want her to? She disappeared. Two years of silence. Two years where he had to navigate a world.
No one seems to notice her pause.
Tsu turns to Ida, already asking what he plans to write, and he launches into a passionate explanation of Midoriya’s leadership.
“I could talk about how he helped calm me down after confronting Stain,” Ida suggested.
“He didn’t give me the exact location,” Todoroki replies faintly. “That might reflect poor judgement if he wants to be a teacher.”
Blunt as always.
“Well,” Jirou says, “besides fighting All for One and Shigaraki…what else?”
“Oh! The Muscular fight at the campsite!”
The image flashes in Ochaco’s mind–Midoriya battered and bleeding standing alone because he’d gone searching for Kota against orders.
Then the war.
Even after everything, he still saw Shigaraki as human. Not a monster–someone broken, cursed by a quirk that was never meant to be his. Where others saw someone who needed to be stopped, Midoriya saw someone worth saving.
That alone was worth writing about.
Maybe she should send him a letter.
“I could–”
Her phone vibrates.
She looks down. Mom.
Midoriya notices immediately and begins to scoot out of the booth.
“I should take this outside,” Ochaco says.
Everyone waves her on, telling her to hurry. And suddenly, she realizes–in this moment–that she still needs to get home, pick up juice, and catch the train.
It was time to say goodbye.
“I’m heading out,” she says quickly.
A few of them protest half-heartedly until she shows them her mom’s caller ID.
“Let us know if you need anything,” Momo says, smiling softly.
“And don’t try to figure everything out on your own!” Jirou adds, “Call us!”
“I will,” Ochaco nods.
Tsu slides over and pulls her into a hug.
“Sorry I didn’t get to see Kirishima. Tell him I said hi.”
“It's okay,” Tsu says in a whisper, letting her go, “We just wanted Midoriya to sit next to you.”
Ochaco pulls her back, sees the smirk, and mouths, “I’ll get you back.”
Grabbing her bag, she nearly collides with Midoryia.
“I should probably go too,” he says, glancing at the table. “I can walk you out.”
Her stomach drops.
“Um–yeah. That’s fine.”
She knows exactly what the girls’ faces look like right now. This will absolutely be discussed later.
As everyone rattles off their emails, Jirou grins. “Still using AM_Fanboy715?”
A flush resurfaces on his cheeks. “Y-Yeah.”
Some things really never change.
Outside, the winter air bites at her skin, her breath fogging instantly. She answers the call.
“Mom?”
“Oh, Ochaco! I just wanted to tell you–you don’t need to stop by the store. I picked up the juice while your dad was napping.”
Ochaco exhales, half amused, half relieved.
“You know you could’ve texted me.”
Her mom laughs. “Too many buttons. I’m still learning this thing.”
Ochaco smiles, imagining her mom squinting at the phone.
She glances back and sees Midoriya waiting by the door, scarf bright against the dark, hands tucked into his jacket.
“I’ll be home soon,” she says before hanging up.
“Everything okay?” he asks, stepping closer.
“Yeah. I don’t need to stop anywhere anymore.”
She doesn’t quite look up at him. If she does, she knows she’ll smile too much.
“I—” he starts, then stops.
Here it comes.
She braces herself—criticism, disappointment, anger. All the things she deserves.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Her eyes snap open. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I didn’t know about your dad. And I should’ve pushed harder when you stopped replying. I should’ve trusted my gut.”
Her throat tightened.
“I should be apologizing,” she whispers. “ I left you. I left everyone. I didn’t check up on you, on everything. What kind of a friend does that? Maybe a cruel one.”
“No,” he says firmly, stepping closer. “You’re not cruel. I don’t blame you for disappearing, Uraraka. I really don’t.”
He meets her eyes.
“I don’t exactly have room to talk,” he continued. “When things got hard during our first year, I left everyone behind too. I dropped the truth on the class, left a letter, and disappeared. I thought I had to handle it on my own.”
At least he had given them something, Ochaco thought. A letter. An explanation. She had vanished completely.
“I went to a really dark place,” Midoriya said, forcing her to hold his gaze. “I convinced myself that doing everything alone was the only way forward. I tried to face everything by myself–and instead of being someone people felt safe around, I became someone they were scared of.”
His breath fogged in the cold as he exhaled.
“It wasn’t until you–and the class–pulled me back that I realized something,” he said. “If we were ever going to save anyone, we had to do it together. I know it’s not the same as what you’re dealing with right now, but… Jirou’s right. We can help you. You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”
Ida’s voice echoed in her head. “When one of us stumbles, the rest step in.”
“You’re right,” Ochaco murmured. She lifted a hand, brushing away the tear that threatened to fall.
“Don’t apologize,” Midoryia said gently. “If I’d been a better friend, I would’ve noticed sooner. I would’ve tried to talk you out of leaving the agency.”
She blinked. “What do you mean? That was my decision.”
“Yes–but I would’ve told you this,” he said, stepping closer. Her breath caught. “You shouldn't have left hero work. Not to be stuck behind a desk or running errands. You belong out there.” he motioned to the city, “As a hero.”
The look in his eyes was achingly familiar–earnest, honest.
“You’re strong,” he continued. “You see the good in people when others don’t. You advocate for them. You come up with creative solutions when no one else can and–” he stopped, inhaling like he’d run out of air. “You’re one of the best heroes I know. It doesn’t feel right that you’re not out there.”
Her heart hammered painfully against her ribs.
She opened her mouth to argue, but he beat her to it.
“I know,” he said quickly, lifting his hands. “You need to be there for your family. I won’t argue with that. But maybe–just maybe–there’s a way to do both.”
The idea lodged itself somewhere deep in her chest.
Before she could respond, a phone vibrated between them.
Ochaco glanced at her pocket. Nothing.
“It’s mine,” Midoryia said sheepishly, holding up his phone. “Looks like my mom’s calling too.”
Ochaco laughed, breathless. “Our moms must be on the same wavelength tonight.”
“That, or they both secretly have telekinesis quirks we don’t know about,” he said, smiling as he answered.
She turned slightly away, giving him privacy, though every instinct screamed not to move. It felt wrong to leave when there was still so much unsaid. After two years, she only pictured that he would be resentful with her if they ever had a reunion. After two years, she was only just realizing–
He had never been angry with her.
Midoriya ended the call quickly and stepped back to her. “Sorry–where was I?”
She watched his breath fog the air, her heart dangerously full.
Probably somewhere around completely rearranging my life, she thought.
But when she checked the time on her phone, reality snapped back into place.
“I think you were getting ready to say goodbye,” Ochaco said, shifting her weight. Her bag bumped lightly against her knees.
Disappointment flickered across his face before he smiled. “Right. My mom was making sure I didn’t stay out too late.”
She laughed softly. “Looks like we still have curfews.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not really a curfew, it’s more like–”
“I’m teasing,” she said, giving his shoulder a gentle push.
His eyes widened, startled.
“It was nice seeing you again, Midoriya," she said, voice sincere. “Truly.”
For half a second so brief she imagined it–his breath hitched. His eyes flickered, something unreadable passing across his face, like he’d been caught off guard by the sound of his own name in her voice.
Then it was gone.
He smiled anyway. Softly as he always had.
“I feel the same.”
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
As Ochaco turned the corner, the sound of his footsteps faded behind her.
It really was nice seeing him again.