title: with the girl at the rock show
pairing: togachako
genre: romance, friendship
notes: I know this isn't my best, but I've been fighting with this piece for a month and I've decided to let it loose on the world. I dunno. I'm just having a hard time writing lately, but I wanted something for TogaChako on Valentine's Day.
Ochako supposes she has spent Valentine's Day in stranger ways, but going to a concert during a polar vortex has got to be up there.
It's her first rock show in the city, more specifically, her first pit concert. Her parents had taken her to concerts when she was little, back when her young parents still had a little money and time for such things. Those were summer afternoons where her dad would put her up on his shoulders, above the crowd, in a too big band tee shirt, cheering on the noise that reverberated around them.
She hasn't been to a concert since she was six or seven.
And this is a whole new experience.
The bar was blacked-out, stacks of stereos and music shaking the walls. People bumping into each other shoulder to shoulder with drinks sloshing over plastic cups, and a rare cigarette lit in the vague mass of it all.
Kirishima's hand locks around her forearm and he pulls her into a pocket of the crowd, just off the center between the awkward swaying and mumbling singers who aren't as jazzed about the opener. His smile is almost apologetic. "They suck, don't they?"
"Oh no, they—" Ochako glances back to the stage and then back to Kirishima's placating gaze. Vaguely, she remembers her resolution to stop lying to herself and two months into the new year, decides it's now or never. "Yeah. I mean, rockabilly? Really?"
Kirishima crackles and drops her wrist, making her skin feel cool after the contact. Kirishima was her first friend when she moved to the city; when she swooped in to take over the lease that Kirishima's previous roommate left vacant. He was grateful, and funny, quick with a joke and always had plans for the weekend that she is always more than welcome to join in on.
And, newly single, Ochako felt more obligated to join in on.
"Oh, but you're gonna like the main band." Kirishima says over the banjo that has begun to string up. His face scrunches into a wince. "They're, like, totally cool. Real edgy sound. A little political. The lead guitarist does this face paint and it's kinda hot."
Ochako nods along, swaying with the music. Even if it sucks. She's just happy to be out of the apartment on a Friday night.
She spent most of her previous semester moping around the apartment, trying to find her footing on campus and in the city. Her time has been largely eaten up by classes, work, and phone calls from her ex.
But that was then, trying to do long distance with a relationship that wasn't working when Ochako was trying to grow into herself.
"Who's kinda hot?" A loud voice breaks from her reverie and Ochako turns to find a beer bottle being shoved at her.
Bakugo Katsuki. Their super's hot and hot-headed son, and Kirishima's crush.
Kirishima grins when Bakugo passes him his beer. "Oh, just talking about you. You know, the usual."
No one could ever say Kirishima didn't shoot his shot.
No one.
Ochako snorts when Bakugo nearly chokes on his first swig. But, quickly turns her attention back to the stage, giving a curtained illusion of it being just the two of them as they banter back and forth. She's not going to lie, the more she hangs out with the two it feels more and more like she's third wheeling than hanging out. More and more, she's curtaining and leaving early and drifting into her own space at parties, giving the space to talk and bicker and flirt.
Still, no dating dice yet.
She'll have to ask Kirishima what that's about later.
There are a couple more mind-numbing minutes of rockabilly and sweaty tie-dye clad people dancing before their set closes. Thank God.
Kirishima lifts his beer in salute and Bakugo let's out one loud whistle. Ochako shifts in anticipation as the crowd thins and fills up on either side of her again, the crush of bodies and lights, and neon filling her senses. Good thing Kirishima told her not to bring a purse.
She and the rest of the crowd wait in the dark as the stage crew makes quick work of the band shift. A new amp is brought out. Two mics. Wires are taped down. She can't really keep up, so she lets her mind drift as in-between music plays.
Something older. Something with a bit more bass than she's used to.
The pit begins to fill up and the move to higher ground off the dancefloor at Bakugo's behest. They set up their party leaning against the railing that rings the pit, caging in the dancers below. Ochako shifts her weight against the rail, takes a drink, hums noncommittally to the music and tries to keep her nerves from sinking too deep into her.
She hopes tonight isn't a bust. She's already feeling left out and resentful of the Kiri-Baku situation. She just wanted to get out of the apartment and have fun tonight.
She leans against the railing separating the pit from the rest of the venue. To her left, Bakugo and Kirishima are deep in conversation with fellow fans. Although Bakugo's body is turned away, he has his hand on Kirishima's lower back, keeping him close.
She picks up pieces of the conversation, what the band will play, how they've changed their sound, and rumors of the lead singer's vocal therapy.
She hasn't really heard the band before. Heard of them. But listen to their music, she has not. Not one on one in her room where she can peel apart the lyrics and let the music take over her. Just like her dad would with his old rock anthems.
She likes the classics. Guns and Roses and Metallica, Nirvana and Smashing Pumpkins. Her dad's old music.
Mind made up, she reaches out and taps Kirishima's arm. His eyes snap to her expectantly, curious. "I'm going in."
Kirishima's eyes round. "You're not." He says, awed and then, delighted but concerned. "Are you? Here, wait, take Bakugo with you."
"I'm good!" She says chipper as can be, but she can feel the unease in her tone. She wraps her hands around the bar and nods, once. "I'm going in!" Then, with no fanfare, she drops her weight and swings under the bar, launching herself onto the lower floor.
She lands, quite miraculously on her feet, but the crowd quickly swallows her up.
In the moment, she regrets it. The crowd is taller than her, broader shouldered, and stronger. She is swept up from the tide of the crowd, quick-footed as she weaves between the shoving bodies until she finds herself in a pocket of space as a whine from the speakers announces the arrival of the main band.
And then, she is shoved again, faster and faster as the crowd falls into the hype. She shoves back, getting her grounding and planting her feet, her thrifted boots keeping their own against the Doc Martens that trample by her feet. She shoves her way through again until she hits a wall.
It's the stage barricade.
She's by the stage.
Holy shit—
Ochako tips her gaze up and follows the line of long legs to the face of a man. His hair is long, stringy and pale blue. His hands reach up, in a dramatic moment of shadow and glint of silver bracelets and rings, he cups his hands around the microphone before he lets out a guttural scream. The accompaniment of music rises up with him and the stage goes black.
Ochako is left jostled, confused, thrown, and then—
The lights snap on, bubblegum pink and noxious yellow, evergreen and sunset orange, and the crescendo of noise that had been rising up, up, up finally pile-drives down into the crowd, through Ochako, and straight to the soles of her feet.
And it is amazing.
There is a moment, in the pit, between the crush of bodies and her hands in the air, dancing and letting the music move through her, that Ochako notices the bassist spinning around the stage.
She had noted her before, a girl in a guy band, with her hair in two space buns and a school girl skirt. Ochako thinks it's an interesting look. More and more, her eyes shift over to the bassist, dancing in place, spinning around, and making a general spectator throughout the show.
Once or twice, the lead singer passes her the mic to let the girl scream or moan into it, the sound sending a shockwave through the audience.
She's enjoying herself. The music is loud and the words spilling from the singer's mouth teetering on the right side of manic as instruments and voices clash. She knows she'll have to look up the lyrics later if she's really curious. She also knows that if she takes out her phone she will loose it under all the stomping feet.
The bassist, however, keeps catching her attention on stage. She has been given the longest extension cord and enough space between her notes to mess with the other band members.
There is something about watching her that gives Ochako butterflies in her stomach. It's that feeling she gets when she sees someone truly passionate at what they're doing. Like watching her ex play basketball, or Kirishima talk about his classes.
She is watching someone in their element and sharing themselves with others. It's the purest form of expression.
The bassist puts her back to the crowd, still playing and swaying her hips in time to the beat, her feet planted a shoulder width apart, and then she leans back. For a moment, Ochako thinks she is going to fall, but her knees bend and her back arches; her body working in perfect tandem as she curves into a backbend.
Her blonde hair is brushing the floor, the sweat on her brow like a crown and her smile beaming at the crowd, white teeth shining in the neon lights.
And she is still playing.
Ochako stares at her with a strange mix of confusion and appraisal as the girl takes her hand off the body of her bass, still perfectly balanced on her stomach, and extends her arm, pointing into the crowd.
For that weird, trippy, dopey moment, Ochako swears she is pointing at her.
After the show, she meets up with the guys at the bar as they promised in case they got lost.
Kirishima's hair is a wreck, but Ochako suspects its not from the pit if Bakugo's newly acquired 'neck bruise' is anything to go by. She curves her eyebrows at him over her rum and Coke. Kirishima gives her a big boozy boy-grin, and orders them another round. It's still too cold to go outside, but the storm had died down enough for them to plow the streets.
So, they sit together, crushed together on tiny stools, shoulder-to-shoulder. Bakugo looks annoyed, but cowed some, his fingers curled under Kirishima's stool, so he could lean back against his arm. It's intimate. It's cute.
It makes Ochako feel like she should advert her gaze as Bakugo snuggles in.
It's not that she had a crush on Kirishima, per se, but more that he represented what she wanted—or thought she wanted. He reminded her so much of her high school boyfriend, sweet, kind, and genuine; it makes her miss him a little, but not enough to do anything about it.
She just relishes in the comfort of him, his familiar, easy presence, and how he helped her feel at home in such a big city. She doesn't want to lose that.
Even though, she knows she wants something different than a sweet boy with a kind disposition.
As per her New Year's resolution of not lying to herself, Ochako has become slowly comfortable with the fact that she likes girls. And even that has taken some uphill battles.
Ochako is drying her hands on her jeans when she makes a discovery between the shadows of the backroom and an unused payphone. There nestled on the ground under a big, black jacket is a girl. A girl Ochako almost stepped on coming out of the restroom. "Whoops, sorry, I—hey, are you okay?"
Which, in retrospect, in all the times Ochako has cried in public, she knows that is exactly the wrong thing to say, but when the girl looks up at her, big weepy eyes and smeared mascara, what tumbles from her mouth is not a teary speech, or declaration, but a somber, if not slightly slurred, "I broke my heel."
It catches her so off-guard that Ochako has to pause for a minute.
Then, her eyes shift to the girl's lap, where the offending boot rests, its heel snapped back against the arch of the shoe. It looks like a nasty break. A nasty snap-your-ankle kind of break that makes Ochako ruffle.
"Are you okay? Did you twist your ankle or something?"
The girl eyes her, not defensive, but curious. It's the same look Ochako gets a lot. Small town hospitality in the big city is a rare and dying practice, it seems. "Nah, I'm fine. They're just old." She runs a hand along the boot and its knotted laces. "Its just one more thing happening today, ya know?"
This close, Ochako has a clear look at the girl's face, the long sweeps of eyeliner, the highlight, and the glittery red heart stamped on her cheek. She had to have been crying awhile because the makeup was smudged, but it still looked good. She might have to reaffirm her of that, later.
"Valentine's Day?" Ochako offers.
"Hm? Oh, no. I love Valentine's Day." The girl smiles, lips curving to reveal a dimple in the corner of her mouth. "I really like Valentine's Day. I like the candy, the colors, the presents. I don't know why people hate it so much." The girl sniffs, swiping her thumb across her cheek. "I mean, I would just, you know, rather be spending it with someone."
"Yeah, I feel that." Ochako shifts, feeling the ache building in her thighs. "Can you stand? Maybe they have some glue or something at the bar."
The girl looks up at her a moment, silent as if contemplating sitting in the backroom awhile longer before nodding. "Okay." Ochako stands, leaning back to give the girl some room. The girl shifts her legs, mindful of her skirt, but once she puts her weight on her ankle, her face twists up and she sinks back down against the wall. "Yeah. Nope, I definitely hurt it."
Ochako bites her lips together. "If you want," she starts, drawing the girl's attention. "You can lean on me."
There is another awkward pause, a wobble, as the girl looks Ochako up and down, as if deciding whether or not to trust her. Finally, the girl reaches out a hand.
"Oh, really? Thanks." Ochako readjusts her grip, tucking the girl's arm around her shoulder. She is suddenly very thankful that she picked up going to the gym again. The girl's jewelry smacks her once or twice, chain necklaces and lockets, a star-spangled choker and handcuff earrings. She is so weighed down by jewelry.
"I don't mean to be weird or anything, but your hair smells amazing." The girl hums, mouth suddenly too, too close to her neck. Ochako recoils, if only out of sheer surprise, but keeps her arm looped around the girl's waist. "And strong too!" She giggles as she holds on a bit tighter. "You know, I may be a little drunk."
"Maybe?"
"Just a little." She grins at her. "I don't really drink when I'm sad, but free drinks are free drinks!"
Ochako snorts. "Well, we'll get you a water then. Alright?"
As they circle the corner to the bar, Ochako spots Kirishima perk like a dog at the watch. His eyes go round when he sees the girl Ochako has around her arm. Bakugo turns in his seat, brow raised.
"Hey guys, this is—" Ochako pauses, realizing she never asked and looks to the girl on her arm, embarrassed.
The girl flashes a fanged smile, slipping onto the stool beside Kirishima. "Toga."
"Toga, yeah." Ochako smiles and motions to the bartender. "Can I get two waters, please?" The bartender's eyes drift over Toga briefly, as if gauging how drunk she was, but once standing, Toga seems perfectly fine; sitting up straight, elbows on the bar, smiling. He relents after a moment and returns with two ice waters. "And a bag of ice? Also, do you have any glue?"
The bartender stares at her another moment before disappearing into the backroom. Hopefully for the things they needed.
"Toga, huh?" Kirishima snaps his fingers. "Oh, hey, hey, you're in the L.O.V. I'm a huge fan!"
Ochako pauses a moment, looking between Kirishima and Toga, Toga and Kirishima, and suddenly it clicks. "Awe, that's so sweet. Thank you!" Toga's hand clasps over Kirishima's, her tiny hands cupping his scarred knuckles.
Kirishima lifts his brows. "We really enjoyed your set. This is Ochako's first time."
"First time?" The girl—Toga—peers at her over her shoulder, her heavy eye makeup making her gaze all the more startling. "That's so cute."
Ochako can feel the embarrassment rushing up in her. This is the girl—the hot bassist—the one Ochako has been ogling all night on stage. She hadn't even recognized her. Fuck.
Ochako eyes Toga's fishnets. How they seem to be both falling apart and clinging to her thighs at the same time. Her gaze flickers, catching on Toga's honeyed golds, and a dark flush creep along her neck.
"So, uh, you're in a band."
"Yeah." Toga says, nodding.
"I liked your set."
Toga's smile curves a bit more into her cheek, eyes sparkling. "Yeah, Shig finally let me pick the song line-up. Glad you liked it." There's something about her, just this sparkling, manic energy that seems so pleased by Ochako's fluster. She leans in, just a bit, close enough to talk into Ochako's ear.
Ochako turns her head, reflexively. She can hear the hum of the music, a dull beat in the underscore of barroom conversation. Even in the warm flush of the crowd, Ochako can hear her perfectly fine, but Toga pushes in. Her hot breath at Ochako's ear. "So, your name's Ochako?"
She is close, so close. The raw materials of her name makes her skin prickle.
"Y-yeah."
She can hear the grin in Toga's voice. "That's cute."
Just then the bartender returns with a bag of ice chips in a plastic bag.
Ochako doesn't even ask for the glue again. She just slips off the stool to make some space.
"Here, can you elevate your leg for me?" She slips off her chair to give it to Toga who, with a quirked brow, lifts her legs onto the chair Ochako had been occupying. She has tiny feet with neatly painted red toes. Ochako places her hands tenderly along the curve of Toga's ankle before setting the handmade ice pack slowly down. Toga shifts. "Does that hurt?"
"No, it's fine. I think it's just a little sore." Ochako tries to prop the icepack up, but it slides down the other side of her ankle. She tries to right it again, but ends up just holding it. "So, this was your first concert?"
"Oh, I used to go with my parents, but never anything like this. I thought I would go more when I moved to the city, but I've been so busy with work and school." She inches back onto another empty chair, needing some space, needing some grounding. Even with the chair between them, Toga's gaze is still on her. "Oh, I'm a nursing student, if you haven't already guessed."
Toga looks surprised, raising her brows. "Oh, so you were you a bitch in high school?"
Ochako's nose scrunches. "I wasn't a bitch in high school." Then, realizing the joke, curbs the affront in her tone. "That is a dirty stereotype."
Toga cackles, blonde hair falling across her cheek. "No? What were you in high school then?"
Ochako ponders the question and smiles. "Well, I once ran from campus security because I was helping with a protest. I scaled a fence, but they recognized me by my shirt and I got detention for a week." Toga snorts at that. "Who were you in high school?"
"I used to give stick-n-poke tattoos for money."
It makes Ochako's mouth quirk. "Were they any good?"
Toga chuckles. "Ohmigod, no. I can't draw."
Toga falls asleep on her shoulder when they share a cab later.
It's odd. Not something she would usually do, but it felt like the most normal thing after a couple hours to link arms with Toga outside the bar and split an Uber ride home. Toga's apartment was on the way to Ochako's or vice versa. Kirishima gave her a thumbs up as the two them put on their coats, but that was nothing strange about it. It felt natural.
They had spent the last two hours at the bar chatting and sobering up to go outside with sodas and water. Toga's bandmates had come out to find her and brought her a backup pair of shoes. An event that left Kirishima starstruck and Ochako humbled.
When Toga announced that they were leaving, her bandmate Shigaraki had stared Ochako down, deep red eyes burning into her soul before informing her that if anything happened to Toga, he would find her. The vague not-threat had shot through her like an arrow in the throat.
Which lead to the here and now, Ochako in the back of a car with a sleeping Toga, her blonde hair spilling over Ochako's shoulder, stark gold against her black coat. She did her best not to move, fingers still securely linked with Toga's warm grip. She feels strangely nervous to be so close to her without the chair between them.
She had causally mentioned to Toga that was she gay, something vague like a joke cushioned between conversations about music and college. Toga had taken her micro-confession in stride, and slipped in a 'funny story' about her ex-girlfriend.
It was strange having a secret language between the two of them. When Ochako dated guys, it was always so easy to just assume, but with girl it felt like a whole other world.
She's still happy with the results, Toga's number sitting on her phone under multiple emojis. It makes up for how self-conscious she felt about the interaction.
Ochako tilts her head towards the window and watches the city roll by in streaks of neon and slushy white sidewalks.
Even though it is not rural farmland and small corner stores, it's beginning to feel a lot like home.
She likes the rhythms of the streets, the over-priced coffee shops, and the music that pilfers the quiet of the night. Her roommates in her small apartment, her classes and their challenges, her customers and coworkers at her job. She likes the city. She wants to continue in the city and stay forever.
She just has to find a way to make it happen.
The head on her shoulder shifts, a small sleepy moan falling from Toga's lips before she moves; a graceful arch and stretch, pressing tighter against Ochako's side. She feels cool in the places where Toga moves, the loss of contact instant, and turns her head to see Toga, her eyeliner smudged on her cheek. She looks at her, then slowly lowers her head again, as if slipping back into sleep.
The new position of her head tips her gaze down to their hands on her lap.
"We're a waffle." Toga mumbles, sleepily.
Ochako perks. "Hm?"
"Our hands," Toga hums, her thumb with its paint-chipped nail slides against the curve of her index finger. Ochako curls her fingers. "When your fingers are locked like this, it's called a waffle. See?"
Toga lifts their hands, caught in the spare slant of light from the passing lights. The hills and valleys of their hands, Toga's pale, doll-like skin and Ochako's freckled knuckles, draw a stark contrast in the dim. There is such a difference between their hands, it puzzles Ochako for a moment. That a person could be so different in such subtle ways.
"You see? A waffle!" Toga giggles against her shoulder, her smile curling against the fur-collar of her coat. Ochako is so warmed by the laugh, she has to agree. Their knuckles do make the desired shape. Toga hums with her agreement, then she shifts, eyes alight. "We should get waffles."
That's another thing. The way Toga says things, Ochako already knows it's not a suggestion.
Still.
"Don't you want to go back to your apartment?"
Toga stares at her, eyes narrowing in mock-suspicion. "Now, I know I wasn't drunk enough to invite you back to mine. I mean, you're cute, but I wouldn't mind being taken to dinner first."
"What? Ah, no, no—" Ochako backpedals and, accidentally, with great regret, disentangles her fingers from Toga's. She can feel her face filling with heat, red blooming in her cheeks, as her palm cools. "I—I'm just making sure you get back to your apartment safely, I mean."
In the next space of light, Toga's pantomime of scandal cracks. She laughs, loud and girlish, and Ochako can feel her embarrassment rising with the steady tide of Toga's cheer.
"I'm messing with you," Toga preens and tips sideways, hand touching the back of the passenger seat. She sits for a moment, bracketed between the front seats as she peers out the car window, assessing her surroundings. "Hey, driver, take us to Mustafa Café. It's just around the corner here."
Suddenly, the earlier suggestion hits her.
Ochako's stomach tightens. "Oh, I can't—"
"My treat," Toga cuts in, hand flapping distractedly. "Don't worry about it. Let me thank you for taking care of me tonight."
Toga settles back beside her, reclaiming the warmth they shared. Toga leans into her warmth, eyes lulling as they hit another bout of traffic. "Tell me again about the concert. I like to hear you talk about it."
So, Ochako does. She details the little things, the innocuous, seemingly meaningless things. How nervous she felt when she saw the pit. How the lights and music incited her, drew her in. The magic of the evening. Pressed close in a cluster of people, one being forged together for a night of dancing and singing and fun. She talked about how freeing it was to dance in a roomful of people. She was usually so nervous in a public place.
She talked about the songs, lyrics she liked, the vocals, briefly touching on Toga's performance, and the way the cigarette smoke and the smell of cheap rum created a perfume in the air. It made her drunk, made her high, made her want something more than nine to five and this little life—
Ochako can feel the subtle touch against the back of her hand; a slide of fingertips and smooth, bitten down nails. The fingers curve around her hand and into her palm. Ochako feels her breath catch, momentarily pausing her story before Toga's fingers slip between hers.
Her grip is sure, comforting.
"—you were saying?" Toga hums, fingers flexing to slide between her own.
Ochako presses her lips together. The nervous, high feeling is back. Butterflies in her stomach, wings like razor blades, cutting her up from the inside. "It's been a while since I've had so much fun."
"Glad I could entertain you." Toga looks up at her, eyes alight. "You should come to our next show. Maybe we can hang out again after."
Normally, Ochako feels compelled to tell people that she will have to check her schedule. She never knows what weekends she'll work or how her homework load will look or what deadlines might hit, but something about Toga's hopeful expression makes her want to give, just a little.
It feels freeing to look at her and say, "I'd love to" and mean it.
The car circles at the next corner around and pulls to a stop. Ochako disengages long enough to pay the driver and the two of them step out onto the icy sidewalk. Toga is peering up at the café sign appraisingly. "This is a nice place. Good French toast."
Ochako pulls her coat tight around her. "I thought you wanted waffles."
"You order one, I'll order the other? It's been a while since I've been here." Toga dances ahead of her, spinning the toe of her shoe around on the salted sidewalk. She pulls open the glass door and makes a sweeping gesture. "After you."
Ochako bobs her walk, a moniker of a courtesy as she steps into the café. Toga is behind her immediately, calling out the name of a waitress and slips her hand back into her own.
ta-da! my first official TogaChako!
i am not 100% with how this turned out, but i think that's my own anxiety. also, this story is loosely based off real events of a night out i had recently (no digits tho). i think i'm really projecting through ochako as i finally feel comfortable telling people i'm into both guys and girls, but dating is hard, my dudes. i would be the bestest girlfriend ever.
regardless, i'm happier with myself now and i've been writing more. if you have any good TogaChako fics, lettme know in the comments!
otherwise, you know the drill, i'm on desk til 5 am and i need comments to keep my mind working. let me know thoughts, ideas, lines you liked in the box below!
-cafeanna