A bit of an author's note on the last chapter. The word Ienobu used to describe Midoriya was "yariman", whose closest English-equivalent is "slut".
"Yariman" in Japan, however, is a lot more crude and personal than "slut" within the English language. It hails from two other words, "yaru", to give, and "manko", a certain piece of female genitalia.
As this is a grave accusation, as well as a cultural taboo, it is rarely utilized by any person with even a below average amount of self-respect. Essentially, calling Ienobu an "asshole" is a bit generous. If Bakugou wasn't currently preoccupied sorting out his feelings, we might have just witnessed manslaughter.
Now, back to the story.
They say camellias were a bad "get well" present.
The reason was utterly simplistic—upon death, the blossoms of a camellia will wilt, and eventually "behead" themselves in dramatic-like fashion. For that reason, Midoriya was glad Bakugou gave her daffodils, for she may have attempted to follow the path of the camellia otherwise.
The clock was nearing midnight, yet Midoriya was still awake in her bed. The reason, like the camellia, was also simple. Bakugou was on her mind—actually, it was more apt to say Bakugou was exploding violently within her thoughts, refusing to grant her even a moment of sleep.
For the studious Midoriya, who for her life had made it one of her nine principles to be asleep by ten, it was rather problematic.
It wasn't a question of "yes or no". Midoriya hadn't even gotten that far in her mind. She was still deciding how she would interact with Bakugou the next day, much less respond to his confession.
I don't know what to do… If there was someone she could confide with, that would be a godsend.
Unfortunately, Midoriya had no friends, and her mother was the overprotective sort. Inko would have loved to give her daughter advice on relationships, naturally, but that knowledge is what kept Midoriya away.
It wasn't just that she felt her mother's advice would be inadequate—she was also embarrassed. And as Midoriya's mind was the analytical type, she couldn't begin to formulate a response before understanding the why.
That was what made this situation so abnormal. Bakugou was firmly acting out-of-character.
If Midoriya had paid more attention, however, she would see that he was entirely acting within the realms of possibility. But unfortunately, she was guilty of the same sins that Bakugou was; she ignored everything except her outward perception. Inside the awkward shell of a bully was a heart of gold, held back by a thousand chains and a superiority that knew no bounds.
It had just begun to dawn at her that Bakugou was more complex than she led herself to believe.
Midoriya was surrounded by a large variety of throw pillows. In fact, the young girl almost appeared to be drowning in them, ready to be carried off to their body pillow overlords. Her white t-shirt was loose-fitting, and her simple plaid pajamas were colored with white and blue lines. In her mind's eye, she appeared an avatar of normalcy. A girl lacking the unique flare that other young women her age had begun to develop.
She was plain. A backdrop for the main story. The personification of acquiescence.
Such a pseudo-human, who looked both ways before crossing a one-way street, did not deserve to be put in the same ranks as Katsuki Bakugou.
If I had to look back at my current nine years of school and point out every one of the thousand individuals whom I had shared the same space, yet were insignificant, I promise you the answer would be very despairing.
I was not somebody who influenced lives.
So what did Bakugou see in her?
Midoriya sprawled outwards, knocking a few of her throw pillows onto the ground.
I guess I'll just act normal around him…
Acting normal didn't work.
Or rather, I suppose you could say it worked too well.
Every attempt at conversation was rebuffed by Bakugou turning heel. In fact, it seemed the fiery youth was taking every opportunity not to look Midoriya in the eye.
For the indecisive Midoriya, it only succeeded in further confusing her.
Does he not like me anymore? Actually, did he ever like me in the first place?
Although Midoriya didn't quite believe it, there was always the option that the whole affair was one large prank. The only thing that kept her sane was the fact that she knew Bakugou wouldn't be big on those.
After all, he had gotten his kicks for the past few years with a more direct form of bullying.
Midoriya let out a long sigh, throwing open the door to Aldera Junior High's rooftop. At the very least, she could get some fresh air during lunch.
That was her plan, anyway.
Sitting against the school's front door was a prune of a man. At least, that's how Midoriya would describe him at first glance.
He was shriveled up, almost like all the energy had been sucked out of him. His face was mostly concave, painting an even further contrast against his lifeless eyes. His hair was unkempt and blonde, painting the appearance of a foreigner. In fact, that would be Midoriya's first assumption, had she not noticed the vaguely-Japanese features that lined his wrinkled expression.
"You look like something's bothering you too, kid. Want to talk about it?"
Those were the first words he said to her.
"Sure."
For some strange reason, Midoriya felt a wave of relief wash over her.
For the first time in her life, someone had offered to listen.
The man—Toshinori Yagi—smiled.
"Take a seat, then."
