i hate you. (Bakugou Katsuki x OC)

17 | Falling in Style

Mr. Ishii's office hasn't changed once in the three years I've been seeing him. I asked him about it once, a long time ago, and he told me that all of his patients have seen extreme changes by the time they reach his door. The least he could do was make sure his pale green walls, decorated with cheesy grief pamphlets, and jasmine-scented candles, burnt to the stub multiple times over, stayed the same.

I trace the familiar cracks in his leather sofa from memory, each jagged line a reminder of how much time has passed since the first day I walked in here, silently waiting for our time to be over. Back then, I had worried I would fall into the cracks and disappear completely. Sometimes I wished I would. But here I am.

"It's been eight weeks since the attack," he says, drawing my attention back to the present. "Quite a lot has happened in such a short time, don't you think?"

"No kidding," I reply softly. "It feels like a lifetime ago."

And perhaps it was. Eight weeks ago, I was almost entirely different—still numb to anything beyond my heartache, going through the motions at Sakura-Price. I hadn't even known that U.A. was an option.

Now, the idea of being anywhere else seems impossible, like trying to fit back into a skin that no longer belongs to me. Everything in this new version of my life revolves around U.A. Going to classes with pro-heroes, studying hero laws and etiquette, and my new, weekly training sessions with Shoto. Even my hangouts with Mei, Sohona, and Luciel bend around the school's schedule.

Mr. Ishii smiles gently, a flicker of pride in his eyes. "You've come a long way, Koyasu. I know it hasn't been easy, but the steps you're taking now—to move forward and find a life beyond your grief—it's crucial."

One of the pitfalls of Mr. Ishii's office never changing is how easy it feels to fall back into certain thoughts when inside it. The familiar tinge of panic rises in my chest at the mention of 'moving on'. He says it like it's a good thing, but it squirms in my ear like a bug.

"Doesn't that make me a terrible daughter?" I blurt out, the words heavy with frustration. Mr. Ishii doesn't even blink at my outburst; he just waits, giving me the space to say what I need to. "Seriously, what kind of person just moves on after their mom dies? It feels like I'm saying, 'Look, Mom, I'm fine without you. Your life didn't matter.'"

"Your mother's life mattered, Koyasu," Mr. Ishii says gently. "It mattered so much that it continues to influence every decision you make. You'll never be able to move on from that, and I'm not asking you to. I only hope that you can move forward, and it looks like you're beginning to."

His words strike a chord, resonating with the part of me that desperately wants to believe them. The truth is, I've been afraid—afraid of what it means to live without her, and afraid of what it means to live within her memory. But maybe, just maybe, there's a way to do both.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "I just want to make her proud."

"You already are," Mr. Ishii replies, his voice soft and reassuring. "And I think you're starting to realize that, too. It's okay to embrace the new opportunities in your life. It doesn't mean you're forgetting your mother, it means you're carrying her memory with you; allowing your love for her to evolve."

I laugh weakly, a few tears escaping from the corner of my eye. Mr. Ishii scoots the tissue box closer to me with a warm smile. "Ugh, you're, like, really good at your job."

"I'd hope so," he laughs with me. "I've been doing it long enough."

-

-