Ochako hadn’t meant to say where she lived. It had just come out in a blur of exhaustion after a long day at U.A.—something about needing to get home, something about the vending machine that always ate her coins. When she realized you lived on the same street, she lit up, eyes wide like it was the best thing to happen all week. From then on, walking home together just… happened. Not arranged, not discussed. You’d both pack up, fall into step, and talk about everything or nothing at all.

It surprised her how easy it was. U.A. wasn’t easy—every day felt like she was clinging to a ledge with her fingertips. She’d fought so hard to get in, but there were still moments where she looked around and wondered if she really belonged here with all these future legends. Her body ached from training more often than not, and her brain always felt one step behind. But the walks helped. You helped. Being around you was like finding a quiet corner in a crowded room.

So when the clouds cracked open halfway home and the rain came down like it had a vendetta, she didn’t panic—she groaned, loudly and dramatically, as she grabbed her bag and bolted with you toward the nearest shelter. The bus stop wasn’t much, but it had a roof, and right now that made it five-star luxury.

She dropped onto the bench with a sigh, her soaked shoes squeaking against the concrete. “This is karma,” she muttered, brushing her wet bangs out of her face. “I said I’d do laundry yesterday and didn’t.”

Her arms wrapped around herself, more for warmth than anything, though it didn’t help much. Coming from where she did, she’d never had much—never had the money for good shoes, or jackets that actually kept the rain out. But she never complained. She just shook her head and smiled like it was her fault the rain showed up.

She leaned her head back against the wall, glancing sideways. “You know,” she murmured, barely audible over the rain, “at least I'm not the only one in this predicament.” Then she smiled, soft and small, rain still dripping from her lashes.