Shooting Star - MHA OC

Perihelion.

noun

the point in the orbit of a planet, asteroid, or comet at which it is closest to the sun. —

                      ‧⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧

  Sayaka dreams, of wide grass patches and scratched hands, of soft laughter and gentle scolding, a blurred yet familiar face, colors mixing together like watercolors upon a canvas.

  Voices like small wind chimes ringing a melodic tune, whispering soft reassurance, under a woman's embrace, her mother's indistinct figure, it feels like euphoria.

  She latches onto every sensation, wanting and wanting.

  But alas, dreams never linger too long, for a dreamer cannot stray from a fixed path of fate and reality.

  She wakes up in a daze, eyes hazy and unfocused. Slowly lifting herself up, she grabs her charging phone by the nightstand and checks for the time. 4 AM.

  She groans, peeling off her blanket to go and start the day.

                        ‧⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧
 
  The cold morning air hits her as soon as she steps outside, remnants of the winter weather seeps into everything around her. Even with the thick layers of her winter coat, it still feels nippy.

  Puffs of air condenses into visible vapor as she closes the gates of her house, it clicks close as she turns around to start a decent pace run.

  One of the perks of living somewhere semi-secluded is that she never encounters anyone during her morning runs. She puffs out a breath, mentally organizing her schedule for the day.

  It's officially 2 weeks before the Entrance Exam, she's been regularly increasing the difficulty of her exercise regime to better prepare for said occasion.

  From prior research, it seems to compose of a writing and practical exam, while she's confident she'll do.. okay on the writing exam.

  She's tailored her exercise to focus more on physical training as it seems the practical exams favors physical abilities more than anything.

  (She frowns when she learns this, there is a wide range of abilities that is not as powerful but no less useful when it comes to hero work, how inconsiderate. She digresses.)

  The exercise is nothing too extreme, lest she pulls a ligament and a dissapointed old man will definitely come to scold her.

  Her steady breathing falters in favor of a small chuckle at the thought. (She knows he'll still try and fix her injuries.)

  She didn't really know when she started restraining her self-destructive acts like this, nor when words of consolation not belonging to her starts to pop up at times when things get rough.

  Maybe it was trust built overtime, slowly piling into a great mountain, steady and immovable, maybe it was a feeling of familiarity during that fateful encounter.

  Or maybe, it was faith from something deep inside her memories, buried inside an amalgamation of thoughts and feelings.

  Said old man that she calls "Mister" for a lack of a better word— or in this case name— was.. someone special to her, he was warm and kind, and if positivity can take form into a being it would be him, like the fathers she would see whenever she watches those soapy family dramas.

  As she turns a corner, she wonders when he'll come to visit her again, she shakes her head out of her reverie, making her final lap around the hills.