Uraraka

Why did that idiot –

The hallways are still filled with voices repeating 'Midoriya left me a letter at my door', 'Where is he?', 'What's happening?'. Yes, that's exactly what I wonder, what is happening?

Why did we have to fight so much only for being left barely on our feet? Why do we have to live in the middle of a ruined world doing our best to push past the rubble? When I first came to become a hero, I did it because I wanted… because I believed I could make a better life for my family, one more comfortable than the difficult one we lived. And look at us now: living in shelters at the center of a city burned to ashes.

Is there even a future that I can achieve anymore?

And when I decided I wanted to be a hero to save people…

Have I saved anyone so far? Have I even protected anyone? The wounded people I pulled out of the buildings while they bled? My friends, who were sent to the hospital for days? Myself?

No, I couldn't. I couldn't be a true hero.

I stomp my way across the hallway. (If I didn't know better, even I would say it sounds like I'm using my Quirk to lift dumbbells and then letting them fall to the floor.)

When I finally get to his room, I smack the door like now I was throwing the dumbbells at it.

"Open the door!" I demand. "Open the door!"

"I'm behind the door, Pink Cheeks!" he roars from the inside. "You don't have to get hysteric!"

"Don't tell me I'm being hysteric!" I tell him. "Just open the door!"

I'm still clutching Deku's letter in my other fist, my hand is already shaking for the lack of circulation.

I smack Bakugou's door yet again.

"Go away!" he yells.

"No!"

Smack.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I want talk to you, you jerk!" I say, continuing with my use of his door as if it was my personal sandbag. (Maybe he was right and I am being hysteric by this point.) "Bakugou, if you don't open the door, I'm going to use my Quirk to send it floating to space along with your entire wall! You know that I will!"

I can hear his groan across a concrete wall and an oak tree door.

When he finally gives in and comes to meet me, the first thing he does is crossing his arms over his chest and look down at me from his ridiculous size.

I go straight to the point: "Did you know?"

"No," he admits, "he said he planned on something like this when I got to meet him at the hospital. I told him to not do it."

"Why didn't you insist harder?" I question, not bothering to tone down the accusing note in my voice.

"What, now you're blaming this on me?"

"I'm blaming this on everyone!" I scream, throwing both of my fists to crash against his chest.

Surprisingly, Bakugou lets me.

"This! Isn't! Fair!" I persist, hitting his chest again and again with every word. "No, no, no!"

Yeah, Bakugou was right, I am acting hysteric, but ask me if I care. For once, I don't. I don't care about anything. I don't need to care. Care about what? About a world where heroes are quitting their jobs and their friends?

It's simple like that. One way or the other hero society is crumbling down, and the ones who were at the top are falling first! I'm still standing because I'm not a real hero! How could I be if I have no purpose? I only copied the ones of other people and told myself that was what I wanted!

Is that why I keep losing?

Like against Bakugou in the Sports Festival.

Thinking about it, maybe he is not the best person to let out my anger and frustration this way, but I can't seem to stop myself not even if I try; my fists keep punching his chest letting out all the fury while my vision becomes clouded by hot tears. I almost – almost – can't see when his posture changes from disinterested to one actually receptive. I guess I shouldn't be all that much surprised, after all, nobody understands rage like Bakugou.

He was the perfect person to come do this!

The tears start streaming down my face the more I get flashbacks to Deku… Himiko Toga… everyone… everything!

I'm right, this isn't fair.

Slowly, my arms and hands lose speed; my muscles are tired from all the tension they've been carrying. And I don't have the emotional energy to keep crying either.

"Made you feel any better?" Bakugou asks once I stop.

"No," I deadpan. My hands are still sore, but all my muscles are succumbing. It was too much adrenaline, too much…

I end up falling against Bakugou, clinging to his shirt for supporting myself.

He actually catches me and… for a brief moment… he helps me stabilize myself, even if he lets go quickly. (But he did it, he was being nice, no take-backs.)

My breath is thick. I exhale great puffs, inhaling the smell of Bakugou's freshly-washed clothes.

It takes a while, a few more breathes of salty tears and Bakugou's soap, but I recover.

"Sorry," I say, putting my forehead against his chest. "For… all of that."

I can feel his shrug, my hands are still grabbing his shirt. "It's cool."

"He left us," I remind. Just because. Just for reality.

Bakugou doesn't answer right away. "It'll be alright."