Cherry Bomb

Rising From The Ashes

Since the first-years' quarters got obliterated, the five of us were relocated to the second years' dorms. I got placed on the third floor. Which meant I now shared a hallway with Hagakure, who visited me often. Kaminari practically lived in my room, when he wasn't in Shinsou's. Between the two of them, I didn't feel alone.

Cho ended up on the fourth floor, with Uraraka and Mina. If that wasn't a match made in heaven, then I didn't know what was. Gunhands was put with Shoji, Kirishima and Bakugo, Bearboy with Sato, Todoroki, and Sero, and Miu with Yaoyarozu and Asui.

By summer, my hair grew out to my shoulders. My choppy layers, combined with the oversized T-Shirts I lived in when I wasn't in my uniform, and my lack of sleep...I looked like a scruffy gremlin. I snarled at loose tendrils of hair that fell in my face as I cleaned.

No one stated it outright, but I could tell everyone around me was trying to give me space. Aizawa hadn't been kidding. I could say with full confidence that all the second-years were doing their best to make us comfortable. To the point it was excessive.

Every morning since the festival, I woke up to find some gift on the other side of my door. More cheese than I knew what to do with. A Paul Reed Smith blue-Matteo guitar. Rare blends of loose leaf tea. Stacks of blank notebooks. An All Might action figure. A maid outfit...for some reason. Muffins from Sato. I swear I've eaten every kind of muffin there is. I picked it up, taking note of the deep purple and blue splotches scattered throughout. The fruity aroma. Blueberry today.

The best gift I'd received so far was a punching bag. After installation, I beat on it every night to tire myself out. Kirishima knew what girls wanted, that's for damn sure.

These presents got me into a bad habit. For the past few months, my mind had been a heavy, dense anvil weighing me down. I had no motivation for anything other than school and sleep, when I could get it. So instead of finding a proper home for each of my gifts upon receiving them, I'd just pick them up and add them to one of my many growing piles of miscellaneous paraphernalia.

When I came home one night and fell on my face after tripping over a six-inch heel, it was the final straw.

The countless dresses, skirts, nail polish, hairpins, makeup, and heels I'd received from Mina were lovingly and carefully placed into a box to be gotten rid of as soon as possible. She meant well, but in reality, I'd never wear any of it.

I cleaned up the muffin wrappers. Dusted off a shelf for the All Might figure. Opened my curtains for the first time in months, choking on the thick dust bunnies that swirled in the air as a result.

Vacuumed my floor like I was trying to kill it.

Chores were a good thing. They kept me distracted. From my persisting nightmares. The pitying looks on my teachers' faces. Dabi. The way his eyes glowed in the light of his flame. The fact that bastard wiped out my family and was still drawing breath.

There was only one thing that managed to get my mind off of everything.

Training with Bakugo.

At first, I bristled at the idea of my senpai as a teacher. But he wasn't taking no for an answer.

I rolled my eyes as I remembered his words.

You wanna blow someone's head off, Cotton Candy?!

You can't become a pro if you pass out every time you reciprocate an attack!

YOU CALL THAT A COUNTER?! PATHETIC!

To his credit, he took it very seriously. I was immediately placed on a strict regimen. Even worse than the one I implemented on myself before. Be in bed and asleep by eight-thirty, even on weekends. Wake at five. Protein-packed breakfast (which I was botching gloriously with Sato's muffins). Breathing exercises. Ones for class, for working out, for sleep. How was I supposed to control how I breathe while I'm asleep? Chihuahua-brain was going way overboard.