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Ochako feels...kind of bad for Bakugou.
It’s not often that she does, not because she doesn’t like him as a person or anything, but between his yelling, cursing, and his ability to spray it not say it, he doesn’t exactly inspire sympathy on a day to day basis. But he’s still human. He still messes up, still gets insecure, still fails like everybody else.
And after a failure like today, she can’t really blame him for feeling down.
“Dude, that test was like thirty percent of our final grade,” Kaminari whispers loudly from the center of 3-A’s homeroom. “That’s like half!”
“It’s no wonder you failed too, Kaminari,” Jirou responds dryly, rolling her eyes.
“Yeah, but I mean that’s a given! This is Bakugou-”
Kirishima reaches forward and prods the back of the electric blond’s shoulder. “Come on, man. Be cool! No use making him feel worse than he already does.”
Ochako’s eyes roam to the front left of the class, naturally resting on that poof of ash blond hair. It’s normal for Bakugou to be slouched in his seat-at least that’s what all the ‘kewl’ kids do, according to Kaminari-but something about his posture makes Ochako think this is a different kind of slouching. Normally she would have expected Bakugou to snap at his friends by now, but he’s just...quiet.
Who would have thought that would be something to be concerned about?
Deku seems to be thinking the same thing as her, for he reaches out a hand as if to touch Bakugou’s shoulder but then decides against it at the last moment. Maybe that’s for the best. While the rivalry between the two had pretty much settled to reluctant teamwork, Ochako wouldn’t call the two boys chummy. As much as she’s sure Deku wishes he could help, some things you can’t fix with just words.
The gears in Ochako’s head start turning.
---
“Two please!” Ochako requests of the worker behind the counter. She rocks back and forth on her heels, waiting with barely contained excitement as two, white, delectable desserts are packaged away. She’d give herself a pat on the back if it wouldn’t send her floating to the ceiling.
The idea to get Bakugou a small ‘cheer up!’ present had manifested sometime between lunch and last period. She can understand why he would be upset at failing his written exam, not so much because of the test itself, but because it’s him.
Grouchy though he may be, Ochako knows how hard Bakugou works to be the best at everything, including his studies. It’s a really admirable quality of his. But sometimes life can throw you for a loop no matter how hard you work. Nobody’s perfect. Not even Bakugou.
Poor guy. He must be so frustrated with himself!
Ochako might not know him very well as a person, but she does know that whenever she’s feeling down, mochi always cheers her up! She’s sure Bakugou will be the same.
She had debated getting him a strawberry flavor but ultimately had gone for red bean, figuring that was a safe bet for anyone she didn’t know the tastes of. When she has her mochi safe in her possession, she can’t help but take a quick peek inside the bag. She needs to make sure their condition is in tip top shape if she’s going to present them as a gift.
Ochako exits the shop, walking down the street as she fumbles with the packaging. Her fingers skid along the cardboard container inside, but end up flitting across a piece of paper instead. Frowning curiously, she withdraws the slip and discovers she’s just scored a lucky coupon for three free mochi!
Ooo, the temptation to go back to the shop and buy some for herself is too great, but Ochako decides she’ll give the coupon to Bakugou as well, in case red bean doesn’t do it for him. Humming to herself in satisfaction, Ochako tucks her offering under her arm and rounds the corner with an extra skip in her step.
“Hey! Look out!”
Ochako screeches to a stop, instantly on high alert as screams tear through the air. Her eyes latch onto an eighteen-wheeler in the center of the street, skidding dangerously close to the edge of the road, it’s back tires completely blown out.
“It’s gonna crash!” someone shouts, and Ochako furrows her eyebrows.
Not if I can help it.
Mochi and coupon abandoned on the sidewalk, Ochako sprints into the center of the street, directly in the path of the oncoming truck. It’s going to be tricky, but this is just the kind of thing her training has prepared her for!
“It’s going to hit her! Quick, call a pro! Somebody help!”
Ochako knows she must be quite the sight, still in her school uniform, hands braced to intercept the oncoming truck. She’s probably giving her observers a big scare since she isn’t in her hero costume, but she doesn’t have time to explain herself. She’s the only thing standing between these civilians and certain death. She feels the familiar ping of her quirk in her fingertips, the pavement rumbling from the approaching vehicle.
It’s headlights flash into her eyes, and everything goes white.
---
When Ochako opens her eyes again, her breath leaves her lungs. She clutches her chest, doubling over and struggling not to vomit, despite the fact she knows she hasn’t used her quirk yet. Her fingers dig into her knees as an overwhelming sensation of vertigo hits her.
She stays like that for several seconds, just trying to remember how to breathe when she notices it’s completely quiet.
Ochako raises her eyes steadily, sweeping the area for the disaster scene, for the civilians. Where is the truck? Where is...where is everybody?
Okay. Something is seriously wrong here. She knows for a fact this is the same place she was a moment ago because the landscape is like it was before but…
It’s like every building and road in sight has been replaced.
Before she can figure if it’s a good idea or not, Ochako’s feet take her down a small path, once a large, multi-lane street. She doesn’t recognize a single business, and the ones that look vaguely familiar in architecture are all advertising brands she’s never even heard of.
“Did I...die?” she wonders out loud, glancing down at her hands. Hadn’t it just been this morning she was walking back to campus, Bakugou’s mochi in tow?
A deep sense of foreboding fills Ochako’s chest, but she has no time to ponder it, for a great crash resounds inside a residence across the street, effectively shattering her pensive state. Ochako’s attention snaps to the house in question, a quaint little thing with wooden panels and peeling coffee-colored paint. There’s a front porch with a swinging bench, rocking chairs, and a yard big enough to play a cramped game of badminton. Just as Ochako’s debating whether or not to go and investigate the disturbance, a yell echoes from within. A man’s voice.
“Uh! Coming! Don’t worry, Sir! Help is here!” Ochako announces, her school loafers pounding on the pavement as she answers the call of distress.
Okay sure, so she might have been prepared to deadlift a truck a few minutes ago and now she’s busting into some poor person’s home-a home that was definitely not here before-but a rescue is a rescue! She can’t afford to ask questions right now.
She crosses the lawn, scampers up the creaky wooden steps of the porch and wraps thrice on the door. “Sir? Sir, are you alright?”
Ochako is met with silence, and she bites her lip, conflicted on what to do. She knows for a fact someone cried out, so should she…?
“Sir! Please open the door, or I’m coming in!” She tries knocking one more time, but when there’s no response she pushes aside the last of her reservations and prays she won’t be sued for breaking and entering.
The door is unlocked which is surprising, but like many things today, Ochako isn’t going to question it for now. The house, which had seemed tiny and quaint on the outside, is deceivingly large on the inside. She travels down a long hallway with wooden flooring covered by a thin, gray throw rug. The walls are decorated with pictures of family members, old and new alike, and Ochako suspects the occupant of the residence must be a grandparent.
“S-Sir?” Ochako calls softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She doesn’t know what she’ll find when she rounds the corner, but she hopes for the best while preparing for the worst.
Her feet lead her to a study of some sort, although Ochako could be fooled into thinking she’d stumbled into an indoor garden. There’s an absurd amount of plant-life, specifically bonsai trees, cut in all different shapes and sizes. It looks like somebody has a hobby that’s bordering on obsessive.
Ochako takes another step forward, and her foot crutches over a pile of broken pottery and soil. It looks like one of the bonsai trees had met an unfortunate end. That explains the massive crash she heard earlier. Before she can plan her next move, the wooden floor creaks behind her, and she stiffens. She turns, an apology already on her lips, when she comes face to face with the sure resident of this house.
Ochako’s mouth opens, about to form her first word, but sound never manifests in her throat. She was right about the occupant of this house being an elderly person, but she never expected that person to be someone she recognized.
And how could she not? His hair is flatter, softened to a dull whitish-blond, the skin of his face pinched and wrinkled. His eyes are beadier, and his earlobes sag on either side of his head. His hands are large but with fingers permanently curved with arthritis as they grip the brush and dustpan that undoubtedly had been intended for the ruined bonsai. The furrow between his brows is as prominent as ever, but the creases swimming down to his ruby eyes is far more pronounced, whether from age or scowling, it’s difficult to say.
Ochako can’t speak even if she tried, but he doesn’t seem surprised in the slightest.
He studies her for a moment, and then grunts, muttering something to himself that sounds an awful lot like ‘Well, shit,’ and then, ‘Alright, you win.’
The rough growl, soft but with the promise of an explosion is what shakes Ochako back to reality.
“Bakugou?” she whispers.
“Hah?” the man belts, far louder than is appropriate for normal speaking volume. Ochako watches as one of his hands reaches up to tamper with something behind his ear. “Speak up, damn it! My hearing’s shit!”
“O-Oh! Sorry!” Ochako bows without meaning to, but she can’t help it. He is her elder. She watches him hesitantly, hands twisting together. “Do you...do you know who I am?”
This older, somehow crankier version of Bakugou scoffs. “What do you take me for? An idiot? I’m half-deaf, not blind.”
And then, as if things today haven’t already been strange enough, he brushes right past her and sets down his dustpan, opting to pick up a pair of bonsai trimmers with shaky hands and continue with what is clearly his obsessive hobby.
“Um,” Ochako manages, after a few beats of silence, punctuated by the snipping of his clippers, “you don’t...seem surprised to see me.”
“She told me you’d be here.” Bakugou doesn’t even look up from his work. Ochako watches as he clips a branch he doesn’t mean to with slow, uncoordinated movements, and he mutters a quiet, “Damn it.”
“W-Who?” she asks, half-wondering if all of this could be the side effects of delayed vertigo.
Bakugou exhales, his shoulders, once so broad and powerful, seem to almost cave in on themselves. “Look. Only thing you need to know is you were hit with a quirk from some rookie pro trying to save you when you didn’t need saving. Idiot will figure out how to bring you back in about two hours. That’s what she told me.”
He continues his clipping.
Who?! Ochako wants to scream, more confused than ever, but despite her growing confusion, a wave of relief washes over her.
So she’s not dead. She’s just in the future. She knows that probably should have been obvious the moment she came across her old classmate-no pun intended-but part of her had wondered if somehow the gods thought her version of the afterlife would involve a wrinkly Bakugou and an unhealthy amount of bonsai. Regardless of her prior theories, she knows now this isn’t permanent.
She wonders if she should leave and wait out the remainder of her time here by herself. Bakugou clearly isn’t interested in her company-he hasn’t turned away once from his bonsai since he started sculpting it-but something about watching him like this concerns her, and the questions that rise to her lips aren’t the ones she expects.
“Bakugou?...Are you all alone here?” Ochako asks quietly.
“Hah?” Bakugou sets down his trimmers and grips the edge of the table as he finally pivots himself towards her. “I told you to speak up, damn it!”
“Sorry!” She cups her hands over her mouth. “IS THIS OKAY?”
“Fucking hell, I said I’m half-deaf.” His withered hand goes back to his ear, making more adjustments.
“Sorry,” Ochako repeats, wringing her fingers once more. “Um, I just wanted to know why you’re here by yourself? Where’s your family?”
“It’s just me.” He reaches for the trimmers again.
“What about your children? I saw you have some from the pictures-”
“The brats are up North living their own damn lives. They don’t need me after ‘em. Don’t want them breathing down my neck all the time anyway.” Snip, snip, snip.
“What about your wife then?”
The trimmers stall. “Dead,” he replies before his movements continue.
“Oh…”
Ochako feels very uncomfortable now. She knew she shouldn’t have pried! She should just go. But at the same time, how can she possibly leave now?
She cocks her head to the side, watching Bakugou’s huddled posture as he works the bonsai into the shape of some sort of bird. His sullen nature shouldn’t surprise her, but it feels different and yet also familiar. Sure, she could chalk some of it up to his ailing physique, but the way he carries himself reminds her of the Bakugou she knows. The one she had been picking mochi up for to lift his spirits.
It’s a shot in the dark, but she decides to try something.
“Well, since I’m only going to be here for a couple of hours, I think I might sit on your porch and wait it out if you don’t mind,” she tells him.
“Do what you want. I don’t care. Just don’t break anything.”
Ochako makes for the long wooden hallway again, but she lingers in the doorway. “I sure could use some company to pass the time though!”
“There’s some squirrels out there,” Bakugou responds dryly, without budging.
“It sure is a nice day out!”
“Tch. If you like a damn wind chill.”
Ochako pouts, but quietly admits defeat. Clearly this Bakugou is just as set in his ways, and it’s not like they’ve ever been close to being with. She should just leave him be.
“Well...okay, but I’d like to talk to you. If you change your mind, I’ll be out there.”
She leaves him to his trimming and exits his home, finding a place on a cushioned rocking chair and looking around the neighborhood. She can’t believe this place used to be a crowded freeway with shops lining every corner. Now it’s a quaint and almost shabby neighborhood with cozy homes and neat gardens. When land changed, wasn’t it usually the other way around? To be honest, Ochako doesn’t mind in the slightest. In fact, she would want to live in a neighborhood just like this one someday.
She jolts as a plank in the wooden porch creaks to her left, and she tries not to get too excited when she sees two brown slippers shuffle into view. She waits until Bakugou situates himself in the cushioned rocking chair a few feet from her, his wrinkled face pinched with disgruntlement.
Ochako’s gaze trails up his enlarged earlobes, to the paper thin skin of his face, and finally rests on the creases between his eyebrows. How many years of glowering did it take for those lines to form? She doesn’t think it’s polite to ask his age, but his sharp, jerky movements give him a little spring in his step, so she guesses he’s probably even older than he looks.
Suddenly, she can’t help herself. “I’m glad you came,” she says.
Bakugou rotates his head slowly, one weathered lip curling. “I might not be able to hear what you’re saying, but don’t think for a second I don’t know an insult when I hear one!”
But you just said you didn’t hear…?
“Um, sorry!” Ochako stammers, raising the volume of her voice. She cocks her head to the side when he tampers with his hearing aids again. “How long have you had to wear those?”
“Too long,” Bakugou grumbles. “It was bound to happen. I’m old as hell and my quirk didn’t do me any favors. Lucky I still got what I have.”
“Do you miss being a hero?” Ochako questions, turning her rocking chair towards him.
He scoffs. “I’m fucking over working. I ain’t doing that shit. And I still could by the way.” He points a finger at her. “The brats today don’t have to deal with half the bullshit we did.”
As he talks, Ochako can’t help but have her attention drift to the wedding ring on his finger. It’s a thick, gold band but otherwise simple in design. It’s not what she would expect from Mr. Flashy Grenade Gauntlets. Before she can look elsewhere, Bakugou notices, and he snorts when she gets flustered at being caught.
“Go on,” he grunts. “Spit it out.”
“E-Eh?”
“Well, you got questions, don’t ya? Out with it!”
“Oh! Um, okay!” Ochako sits upright, tapping her pointer fingers together. “H-How long were you and your wife married?”
“Fifty-two years since March.”
“Oh.” Ochako’s shoulders sag. “So it was pretty recently then that she…” Her voice trails off here, not having the courage to say it.
“She bit the dust two Decembers ago.”
Ochako knows that timeline doesn’t line up, and she realizes he must be counting the years since his wife’s passing as well. She notices how Bakugou’s eyes squint, and Ochako discovers he’s glaring at an ant by his foot, as if he’s silently goading it to crawl onto his slipper. His hearing may be damaged, but his vision must have withheld if he’s able to see something so tiny.
“I’m sorry,” Ochako responds, dipping her head.
“Don’t be. She was always an airhead.”
Harsh words coming from anybody else maybe, but Ochako knows Bakugou well enough to hear what he isn’t saying. She watches him bite the inside of his lower lip, his glare intensifying. He raises his slipper up an inch, looking like he’s about to crush his ant attacker, but he ends up moving his foot to the side instead. Ochako watches him watch the ant crawl away.
Her chest seizes.
“I’m surprised you live here,” she blurts, quickly changing the topic for her own selfish reasons. “It seems so old-fashioned for you.”
“You think this is my only home?” Bakugou eyes her incredulously, a soft breeze ruffling his white-blond hair. “Tch. I made a killing back in my prime. This is one of five of my homes. This one was just her favorite.”
“Oh,” Ochako replies, unsure of what to say to that. “It is a really nice neighborhood. So quiet and peaceful. She had good taste.”
A muscle by Bakugou’s mouth twitches upwards, and she isn’t sure if it’s voluntary or not.
Suddenly Ochako gasps, and she bolts straight up from her chair. “Oh no! The mochi!” She grips her hair. “No, no, no! It’s probably all melted by now. And who knows if that coupon is still there. It’s probably all sticky!”
“The hell are you yammering about? And pick a volume, damn it!” Bakugou reaches behind his ear.
Ochako’s face droops. “You were having a really bad day!”
“Hah?!”
“Well, not you but... you. The younger you! I was going to get you this really yummy mochi to cheer you up, but now I’m here and it’s definitely melted, and ugh! That was a really good coupon too! Damn!”
Ochako plops back into the rocking chair, disappointed beyond belief. She’s so busy stewing in her own self-pity that it takes her a few seconds to realize Bakugou has been rummaging in his pocket. She observes him curiously as he finally withdraws a wallet, opening it and procuring a faded paper slip, folded so many times that the writing inside must have rubbed off long ago. But there’s no mistaking it.
“This stupid thing?” he asks, shaking it lightly at her.
Ochako’s jaw bobs. “How did you…?”
Bakugou rolls his eyes, but the color in his irises sparks a bit. “When you get back, look under the mailbox by the post office. You find it on your own anyway, but at least that’ll save you two hours of looking for it. Tch.”
“But...but how do you know that?”
“Cuz she told me about it!” Bakugou fires back. “Fuck. How many more questions I gotta answer?”
Maybe it’s an inappropriate time to giggle, but Ochako can’t help it. He’s exactly how she imagined he would be. Cranky and grouchy, but with a wise little twinkle in his eyes, like he knows the answer to every riddle in the world, and he wants everybody to know it.
Bakugou ignores her giggle, choosing to shoot her a half-hearted scowl. It only takes a matter of moments-she doesn’t know why, maybe it’s an after effect of being sucked through a time warp-but Ochako’s mirth is replaced with a profound sadness.
“I don’t want to go yet,” she tells him.
Bakugou raises an eyebrow. “What are you going on about now?”
Ochako bites her lip, staring down into her hands. “I don’t want to leave you like this, Bakugou. I just...it makes me really sad to think that you’re here by yourself and…”
Something swats her clothed knee, and her head jerks up just as Bakugou is withdrawing his aged hand. Her eyes go as round as saucers, and she blinks the moisture rapidly forming there.
“Oi,” Bakugou says sharply, “don’t look at me like that.”
Ochako sniffs. “L-Like what?”
“I’m not some old, sad thing for you to cry over. I had a good life, ya hear? She made it good. Fucking better than good.”
Ochako reaches out and grips the arm of his rocking chair, stilling his slight movement. At first he fights her, but ultimately he gives in, choosing to shoot her a dirty look.
“Don’t say that like it’s over!” she protests, her voice passionate. “Your life isn’t over yet!”
Bakugou stares at her, and then his face slips into a faint smirk. “I knew you’d say something like that. You always gotta go and do that. Cheer people up.”
Ochako doesn’t know what to say.
They hold each other’s gaze for a while, and eventually Bakugou clears his throat. “Do me a favor. When you get back, just go kick his ass. It’ll work out.”
“Kick his…?” She knows he’s talking about his younger self, but he’s completely lost her. Rather than ask more questions and risk his wrath, she lets it go. “Okay.”
Ochako starts to move her hands off the arm of his rocking chair, when she feels a slight tug by her uniform sleeve. She glances down, realizing a few of Bakugou’s curled fingertips have latched onto the material. The grip is firm but ailing, and Ochako knows she could break away from it if she really wanted to.
“What are you doing?” she manages.
“‘M just looking. Got a problem with that?” It’s the quietest thing he’s said yet.
When Ochako looks up again, Bakugou’s face is unreadable, but the corners of his eyes are wet.
“Good to see ya.”
The statement is barely above a mumble, but it’s the last piece of a puzzle Ochako hadn’t been trying to solve. Sure, she could ask Bakugou more questions. She could inquire why he’s kept a silly, ratty coupon in his wallet all of these years, why he didn’t flinch when she appeared in his study, why in the photos of his family there’s a woman who looks like her baa-baa.
She could ask, but she doesn’t think he would answer. She’d rather find out on her own anyway.
---
“Hey! Hey Bakugou!”
Ochako watches the blond’s shoulders seize as she runs to him in the hallway, finally having caught him at a time when their classmates aren’t around.
Bakugou’s sullen mood has improved over the last couple of days-in fact, he’s almost back to his yelly, explosive self again-but Ochako would rather be sent through another time warp than not do this.
When he shoots her a look of disdain, she thrusts the coupon at him, the corner a little torn from where it got caught under the mailbox.
“Here! Have my coupon for three free mochi. I recommend strawberry!” she declares confidently, her face turning bright red as she almost loses her nerve.
She lets out a startled ‘eep!’ as Bakugou snatches the slip from her, scrutinizing it before glaring at her suspiciously.
Ochako doesn’t give him the chance to reply. “I also made a promise to kick your ass!” she informs him, putting up her dukes and bobbing back and forth from foot to foot.
Bakugou jerks his head back, his upper lip disappearing into his gum line. “The fuck? You on drugs or something?!”
“I swear I’m not!” Ochako thrusts out a fist in demonstration. “Now, fight me!”
Bakugou looks from her to the coupon and back to her again, clearly at a loss, but Ochako knows one thing for certain-something that’s a given for every Bakugou she meets.
He’s always up for a challenge.
“You actually think you can kick my ass, Cheeks?!” he demands, the two of them already speed-walking towards the gymnasium.
“I don’t know! I’m sure I could!”
“Hah?!”
“I SAID I’M SURE I COULD!”
“WHY ARE YOU FUCKING SHOUTING?! I’M NOT DEAF!”
“Right! Sorry!”
Bakugou scowls, but Ochako doesn’t miss how he shoves the coupon into his pocket, only after having folded it. Without entirely meaning to, her attention goes to the space in between his brows, noting the little crinkle starting to form there.
“You know, if you keep making that face, you’ll get lines,” she informs him.
“What the hell did you just say to me?” He frowns even more.
Ochako laughs.