Cherry Bomb

Best Day Ever

There were a few more fights before I'd be up to the plate again, so I figured I'd hydrate and rest for a while. I tried my best not to show it but my fight with Uraraka did me in. My whole body ached and I felt light-headed, even though I'd taken a generous drink from my support item. Would it be possible for me to sneak a nap in, maybe?

I found a secluded waiting room and sat down at one of those folding tables. I rolled and puffed Bakugo's shirt into a makeshift pillow and laid my face in it. The shirt smelled weird, like gunpowder. And smoke. I pretended I was by a campfire. That made the smell make more sense.

As I started to pass out, a memory came flooding back to me.

I can't believe you've never done this, Cheri," my dad teased mom as he held marshmallows over an open fire on sticks.

"It sounds messy," she complained, smiling wide. "But I'm glad I could get the fire going."

"That's why it's fun!" He insisted. "Hibiki, get in here."

He handed me my very own stick. My marshmallow burnt, but when he squished it between two graham crackers, and chocolate...

It was still my favorite snack. Mom sprinkled matcha powder on hers, which dad thought was weird but she insisted it made it taste better.

I buried my face deeper into Bakugo's shirt. Dad...I miss you so much...

~.~

What the hell? I thought. She should've been on her way back to the stands by now. I popped my head in the infirmary but Uraraka hadn't even touched her, so there was no reason for her to be there.

I searched the halls. Opened the doors of waiting rooms. She has to know. Finally, I found her. She was passed out, laying her head on the surface of a table.

On my shirt.

I approached slowly. Quietly, so I wouldn't wake her up. She's more exhausted than she let on. I'd forgotten. She was still just a first year. Everyone in my grade had a year to build up endurance. Train their strength. Fine tune their powers. Harden ourselves to combat and pain. Fatigue was a luxury we'd learned to live without.

But she hadn't been given as much time as us to do all that. Not yet.

I tilted her chin up slightly to check the cheek that Iida smacked. A bruise was forming. I pulled away almost immediately when I noticed. Her face was damp.

From...crying? Did someone hurt her again?

I growled, backing away and grabbing my hair. She was right. This isn't my problem. SO WHY. DO. I. GIVE. A. DAMN. She's just a stupid kid. SO WHY?!

I thought about the footage we watched on Deku's phone. Her father's voice.

EVERYONE GET OUT OF THE WAY! PLEASE! YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS!

Did I feel guilty about her dad? I shouldn't. I was eight years old when her father was killed. So why did I feel this drive to...to...

If I didn't know better, I'd say you've taken a shine to her.

She's a lot like you were.

I was just thinking...Asuga-kun is a lot like you, Kacchan.

I tightened my jaw when I realized. They're right. She's...she's exactly like me...from two years ago.

The old me would've been blind to it. Denied it. Refused to acknowledge it. Because it would've meant accepting my own shortcomings. But now...