the only exception | bakugou katsuki

30 | stellar nurseries

Three months later—winter

Ah. It's time, isn't it?

The exhilarating dread of finally pursuing a lifelong dream, which requires her to put her true abilities out there to be tested on the open savannah, no longer protected inside the terrarium of hopes and delusions that she created in kindergarten and kept sealed as long as she could, only to break in case of emergency.

The bittersweetness of having arrived here in the future, where she can finally get the answers to how things turn out in the real world—who her father would become, what her classmates would end up doing, where her choices would lead her, exactly when she'd lose the people she took for granted—which is priceless intel that she instinctively wants to share with anybody who hadn't already made the journey, as if there was some part of her who had volunteered to stay behind, who was still stationed at a forgotten outpost somewhere in the past, still eagerly awaiting news from the front.

Yuna almost cackled at the thought of her younger self being greeted with a confusing life her present-past-self was leading—still almost sticking to the ground with unclipped wings, still pondering on what she should be, who she should be while eating sushi on the small steps of Minisu while gazing at the stars, as if the stars would answer her conception of time-selves.

But today and ever since then, Yuna have a clear image on who she wants to be and how she wants to lead the world, smiling a little to herself after the realization that damn—she really went through doing almost nothing in Yuei High, standing in the middle of the courtyard with her diploma in one hand, and a small badge pinned on the left chest of her prestigious uniform.

The courtyard was crowded with students of other departments. Most of them conversing with their parents and friends, hugging each other with wide smiles stretching on their faces, all proud and sentimental that they've made it this far. Although Yuna admits she didn't like her classmates one bit, she was glad it was that way. Because she wouldn't be who she is right now if it weren't for their spiteful words—she chuckled a little. They gave her a much better exoskeleton now.

Most of them were separated in small groups, some walking to the others to wish for the last time—but Yuna was standing alone in the midst of everyone else. Despite her loud antics, she was awkwardly-struck at the situation even though she busied herself by watching the scenes unfolding from each moment.

Shiro couldn't make it due to the renovations, but he promised her he'd give her a graduation feast at his place with his family along with her father.

Ah.

Her father's doing better now. He started eating and regaining his will just two months ago. His eyes were livelier. His skin was brighter. His hair was simply neat. Hell, he even exchanged a few words with his daughter—it made Yuna tear up when he talked to her like a normal person. A healthy person. And not just a person, but someone she finds home with ever since she was born, someone she loves as a whole. Her rock. Her pillar.

Then from there, instead of visiting once per week like she used to, she visited him four days per week now. Their first few awkward moments caused by the distorted bonds back then were now merely comforting words and blissful silences. He wasn't perfect yet, but he was getting there. She could tell. Her father was trying for her this time. And she was trying for him too. To keep everything in place outside of rehab until he gets better to the point he can go outside and eat sushi with her. Get better until he could finally be free of the shackles restraining him, and to finally return home and feel home.