' a flower to the rain '

━━━━━

Yuko slept soundly that night, her head finally cleansed of the murmurs of weak weak weak, and just the feel of his warm hands occupying her mind.

It rained when she awoke the next day, the sound of raindrops hitting the gutters and the rills occupying the whole expanse of the shabby apartment where she stayed. The raindrops coalesced outside, forming puddles and flooding the canals, reflecting the sky covered with dense clouds outside.

"Good morning!" she greets herself as she heads to the bathroom and washes her face. Yuko has never liked wet mornings or anything that was connected to winter or rain and that's precisely why she's trying so hard to be in a good mood.

If she was in a mood twice as positive as the norm, she believed that passing this day without problems would be a breeze.

On her way to school, she passes a scraggly man with light blue hair who's holding some flowers by the river. Overwhelmed by curiosity, she slides on the grass patch and approaches the man.

"Good morning!" Yuko greets with a bright smile. "May I ask what you're doing here?"

"Thinking," he replied and he had a deep, raspy voice that piqued Yuko's curiosity even more. "I'm wondering if it's time to start a new level in the game."

"Game?" Yuko tilts her head to the side, eyes pinned on the beautiful flower with peach and pink blossoms. "What kind of game?"

He turned to her, but his face was still masked by the slight overgrowth of his blue hair. He toyed with the petals of the flowers with his hand and eventually handed them to Yuko who was secretly grateful because the flowers were the most beautiful she had seen. Drenched with small droplets of rain, the white linings of the petals the same color as her hair, the stem strong and sturdy.

"Do you like games?" he asked her.

"It's okay, I guess," she replied. "I like making stuff more. Not the gadget kind of games though, I'm poor."

He turned his head away from her and watched as the river water flow and carried some dead leaves and tree branches. "I see..." his voice was low and knowing. "What things do you make?"

She grinned at him, smile brighter than the dull sky for this day. Her smile was the first beam of sunshine that struck through the dense expanse of the grey rainclouds.

"Quilts and wind chimes," she answered. "And calligraphy! I love calligraphy."

He gave her a thoughtful groan, put his hands on the pockets of his pants and watched the river. "Aren't you going to be late?" he asked her.

"Probably," Yuko replied and begun playing with the petals of the flowers he had given her. It wasn't the first time she had delved into conversation with a stranger, but she had to admit, this was the very first time a stranger was nice enough to give her flowers.

"What are these flowers by the way?" she asked.

Hw paused as if contemplating his answer then shrugged. "I don't know," he answered. "They just look like they suit you."

Yuko nodded, but she failed to understand anything at all. It wasn't like he was trying to make her understand anything anyway so it didn't matter.

"Thank you," was the only response she could muster. "You look like you love them, would you want them back?"

He shook his head and beneath those fringes of light blue hair, she saw crimson eyes and chapped lips. "I can't—" he held one petal and it disintegrated into ash— "I'll just destroy it. I suppose that is why I lose things easily. Why I'm losing things even now."

Big, surprised eyes looked at him and blinked. "Your quirk's amazing!" she says. "Are you a hero?"

He shook his head, tilted his head back and laughed a little. "Quite the opposite." And went on her opposite direction.

Yuko didn't pay any attention after that, just dried the damp petals of the flower on her way to school and hid it between pages of her notebook. She'd put it somewhere in her house at night. It was just a beautiful flower.

"Akihisa, you're fifteen minutes late," Aizawa said. "Homeroom's already done."

"I apologize," Yuko said with a smile.

"I would send you to detention right now, but I don't need you missing more classes. Take this slip and carry out your detention during Hero Training."

She received the detention slip, nodded as a sign of respect and headed back to her seat where she's chastised by a concerned Iida.

"I'll be okay," she replied, because really, when was Yuko never okay? She was a ball of positive emotions, a springtime breeze that brought about jubilee and freedom beyond measure. She was always present to be better and make things better.

"Please be mindful next time," Iida says before focusing on Aizawa's lessons on quadratic formulas and their importance.

"I will."

"Do you need help, Yuko-san?" Kouda asks and she sees Uraraka's concerned face too. "You're pale."

"No problem here~ Everything's peachy."

And the rest of the morning went like that, Yuko zoning in and out of focus, the hours of sleep that had been sacrificed to her part time job demanding their payment.

When lunchtime came with the regular chime bell, a prompt idea had hit Yuko. Something with regards to the bicoloured haired boy who sat on a lone lunch table at the edge of the school cafeteria.

"Shouto!" Yuko called, practically dropping the black tray which held the contents of her lunch on the table where he sat. "I need to ask you a question."

It was time to clear the murky waters that was her relationship with Todoroki Shouto. No matter how trifling or a chore it might seem, labels held meanings. And as current matters stood between them, they were complicated. It was a matter of knowing whether they were friends or classmates or acquaintances or lost souls seeking solace during cold evenings in fleeting touches.

Yuko especially admired how poetic the last one sounded but she needed to know. "It's important that you answer it honestly because really I don't particularly like walking up to you and greeting hello and saying awkward things like the weather and how all this seems relevant even when it's not and baring myself metaphorically speaking and yet I'm struck with a chord then I can't help but ask what— what is this?"

He looked at her with those heterochromatic eyes, aghast and sputtered, "What?"

"What what?" she asked too. "What I'm asking or what's happening to me? What's happening to the world or what's happening to the wreckage inside our flimsy human bodies? Or what's inside the tray I have between my hands or what I'm asking in a sense?"

He didn't say anything, just stared at her with those eyes of pure confusion. "Yuko, what were you asking me?"

She plopped on the seat in front of him, sighing as she did and lifted a fork and pointed it at his general direction. "I'm asking"— she pointed the fork back and forth— "what in the name of your father's flaming beard is our relationship?"

He blinked, once, twice and then thrice and then looked at her with that cool expression on his face. "Classmates," he replied and didn't even ask her for confirmation.

"I see..." she said and put the fork down. Classmates. She felt a little relieved and after all the confusing things her mind had conducted, this answer was like the reprieve she had been waiting for. Although Yuko couldn't deny how there was a part of her that sank to the ocean of woes after figuring out that his point of view of their relationship was different from hers.

People weren't always meant to be on the same page, she thought and left it at that, picking up the fork and began twisting the spaghetti.

Lunch was spent in silence and Yuko actually wished that she had sat at Uraraka and co.'s table. At least they had people there who weren't afraid to admit their friendships. Not that she could blame Shouto, she was being selfish and not taking into consideration the fact that he probably had a rough childhood what with the grumpy Endeavor as a father.

The past shaped people and although it was just a pastiche of past actions and reactions, it coalesced and created your present.

Yuko just wished that he wasn't being such a bitch about it because everyone had their fair share of misfortune and there were seven billion people in this planet and he was just one of them.

She knew she was also just one of that large number but she hoped that to other people, she was more than just a stupid number. That to Todoroki Shouto and the rest of her classmates who she hoped to form bonds with, that she was not just a classmate or a bubblehead girl with a bubbly personality. She was a friend.

If only friendship was like a flower to the rain, opening up easily and receiving its bountiful presents.

And so, with a leaden stomach and a heavy heart, the girl by the name of Akihisa Yuko who craved friendship spent the rest of the day in detention.

━ × ━

"Oh, it's you, Katsuki," she said and dipped her head as a sign of greeting. Yuko didn't know what it was about Katsuki Bakugou that made her want him to like her, but she decided to follow that gut. Lips curved in a mischievous smile. "I almost didn't recognize you. Must be because you're an extra, right?"

"Fuck you," he said, hands still on the pockets of his black jeans. There were the buds of a headset hanging low on his shoulders and he looked like one of those boys your parents warned you about. The ones with the beautiful grins, the ones meant for worshipping. "I'm not an extra."

"Oh yes you are!" she chimed. "If you look at it in an objective, unbiased point of view, everyone is an extra. We are all the main characters in our story and in others, they are therefore that makes us extras."

"Spare me the philosophical shit and get out of my way," he said.

Yuko merely shrugged and did as she was told, moving to his side so they looked like friends up for a lovely stroll. Except Yuko wasn't really a lovely person and same could be said for Katsuki's personality. The weather was not lovely either, rainclouds had started to gather again, and she wondered if a jagged rod of lightning would pierce through the heavens soon.

They passed through busy corners of the streets, receiving few murmurs from the passers-by about how it was that boy from the sludge incident. Yuko would have liked popularity but it must have been tough for him at first. Being identified as a victim when he wanted to be the rescuer among anything else.

"They never stop, do they?" she asks softly as they pass by numerous shops, Katsuki's eyes never darting towards her, always straight ahead. And they were close but he was so faraway.

She was prepared for a curse, silence, but then she was surprised for he nodded. Even talked, talked to her. "That's all they're talking about. That's why I'll win that darned festival. Make them finally shut about me being the fucking victim."

He was serious when he said it, a cool sort of silence that she actually liked. What Katsuki was underneath all that explosion of expletives. "You can do that," she said. "I believe in you."

"Strange," he murmured, wide-eyed as he stared at her. Finally looked at her. "You actually looked fucking sincere when you said that."

A soft smile tugged at carnation lips and it feels like the distance between them is shortening. "Is it wrong to believe in you?"

He clicked his tongue and averted his gaze away from those enticing pools of sapphire. "We're not even friends, dumbass," he said.

And she looked back at him and when he smiled that amused mile, something tugged at her memory, like the flower bursting with color atop her bedroom table, and Yuko reverted back to a grinning creature. "We're almost there."

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