Chapter 5: You Must Have a Gentle Heart

Aiko's feet hit the pavement hard, her huge shirt-dress fluttering lightly against her thigh. The morning air was crisp, cool against her face, and her heart beat a little faster than it needed to.

Probably not from the run.

Her steps slowed as she neared the curve of the dunes. She adjusted the strap of the navy backpack—his backpack—and craned her neck.

He was there.

Izuku stood exactly where he had been the last time she saw him—near the edge of the beach, scanning the sand, curls tousled by the breeze. He looked like someone searching for something. Or someone.

She stopped just short of view, half-hidden behind a cluster of tall grass, suddenly frozen.

Okay. He’s here. He waited. That’s good. That’s… terrifying. What if he’s mad? What if he asks where you were? What if he doesn’t? What if he—smiles at you? Oh no. What if he smiles at you.

Her stomach flipped so hard it could’ve done a back handspring.

Abort. Turn around. Move to a different prefecture. Change your name to “Mika” and become a moss farmer in the mountains. Every time he smiles your brain does the Windows error noise. What if he does it again?

She tightened her grip on the backpack strap. Her palms were sweating. Her heart was in her throat.

Her face? Calm. Serene. Not a trace of panic.

Maybe he forgot about you. Maybe he regrets giving you the notebook. Maybe he met a girl who’s normal-sized and emotionally stable and doesn’t vanish for three days without explanation or weaponize seaweed in broad daylight like a lunatic. Maybe—

He bent down to pick up a crushed can, and as he stood, he tossed his hair back with a quick shake of his head—that messy green halo catching the light just right, his eyes narrowing in focus.

Her breath caught.

No. No no no... He did the hair thing. He’s adorable. You vanished for three days like a sketchy forest cryptid and now you’re just standing here watching him like a creep. Get it together. Walk over there and say something!

Aiko clutched the strap of her bag tighter and stepped forward.

He’s just a boy. A nice boy. A boy with very green hair. And big eyes. And cute freckles. And strong arms. And okay, yes, the world’s most adorable verbal spirals, but that’s not—ugh stop!

He looked up. Spotted her.

And then—he smiled.

Her heart full-on somersaulted.

He jogged toward her—not overly confident, not too smooth, just… excited.

It's okay... it's okay... he's just a boy. He's just a goofy, nerdy, green-haired, adorable, cute, handsome—

“Aiko!” he called out, waving, eyes bright.

SHIT.

Her mouth smiled before her brain could vote on it. Her feet moved too—traitors, both of them—stepping forward while her pulse jackhammered in her ears.

Abort. Abort. He’s coming over. He used your name. He looks happy. Why does that make everything worse?

She tilted her head slightly, offered a soft smile, and said smoothly,

“Hey, Izuku. Miss me?”

Nice.

The moment hung in the air—light, effortless, like she hadn’t just dropped a verbal bomb into his nervous system.

Izuku’s eyes went wide. He blinked like his brain had blue-screened.

“Sorry about the other day,” she added, tone gentler now. “My granddad likes me home early. And the past few days have just been… really busy.”

She even tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she spoke, the gesture calm and practiced.

Okay. That was okay. Not bad, Aiko. You didn’t die. You didn’t faint. You didn’t spontaneously combust. You might actually be a functioning human being.

He stopped right in front of her.

“Oh! No, no—it’s okay!” Izuku said quickly, hands flying up like he could physically block the misunderstanding from hitting her. “I was just… I was worried. Like, really worried. That maybe you were mad? Or hurt. Or abducted by villains. Or aliens. Or—”

He took a breath, sharp and shallow, like he meant to slow down—but didn’t.

“Or maybe I said something weird. Or too much. Or not enough. Or maybe I stared too long and now you think I’m a creep and—oh no, was the seaweed fight too much? Should I not have thrown the second one? That might’ve been aggressive—”

He finally clamped his hands over his mouth, eyes wide, face absolutely crimson, like his brain had just filed an official cease-and-desist.

“I-I’ll stop talking now,” he mumbled through his fingers.

He’s spiralling again. Oh god he’s spiralling again. He’s so cute. Somebody sedate me.

Aiko tilted her head slightly, watching him with that same unreadable calm that always made him more nervous somehow—and more comforted, too.

She smiled serenely. “I’m okay,” she said gently. “Really. And you did nothing wrong.”

He let out a sound that was half a breath, half a groan of relief—like he’d been holding it since she disappeared.

“Oh. Good. I’m… glad,” he said, voice still a little too high, like puberty had picked that exact moment to flip a coin and leave him hanging.

He dropped his hands, then immediately started fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve—twisting it between his fingers, letting it go, then doing it again like he couldn’t quite convince his body to be still.

He’s so relieved. Look at his stupid perfect face. Stop it. Don’t swoon. Hold the smile. Hold the smile. Don't make a weird face. Hold. The. Smile.

She shifted the strap of her bag and nodded toward the familiar piles of scrap. “Shall we?”

He blinked like he’d just come out of a dream. “Y-Yep! I mean—yeah! Of course!”

He coughed lightly, then tried again with slightly more composure. “I already started on the east side, but there’s still a lot by the retaining wall.”

And just like that, they were walking side by side again. The silence between them no longer heavy, just quietly warm.

Aiko crouched and picked up a rusted pipe with both hands, brushing some sand from the surface. Izuku retrieved a cracked plastic bucket and began stacking debris inside. The morning light glinted off the water behind them. Sand, metal, sunlight… a rhythm they’d fallen into before.

Then Izuku cleared his throat.

“So, um…” he said, trying not to sound too eager, “if you could have any quirk in the world—like, any—what would you choose?”

She paused, the question catching her off guard. Aiko tilted her head slightly, brushing hair from her face.

Okay. Harmless question. Normal question. He’s not prying. This is not a trap. Just say something casual. Be a person.

She gave a thoughtful hum. “Something small,” she said eventually. “Like… talking to animals. Or making plants grow.”

He looked surprised by that—pleasantly so. His eyebrows lifted, his mouth tugging into a crooked little smile. “That’s really peaceful.”

She shrugged lightly. “I think some people are meant to fight. I’d rather protect.”

Oh no. That was too deep. Reel it back. Say something dumb. Mention a squirrel. Something squirrel-related.

“What about you?” she asked quickly, shifting the attention away from herself like it was a reflex.

Izuku straightened up, a hubcap under one arm. “Me? Uh… I guess something like a strength quirk? Or maybe analysis-based. Something that helps me help people.”

She smiled.

Of course you’d say that. You dorky hero in training.

He glanced over. “Your answer kind of makes sense, though.”

“How so?”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “You’re really calm. Like… no matter what’s going on.”

Externally, she just smiled.

Internally:
OH. MY. GOD!!!

She dipped her head, returned to sorting through a pile of broken wire. “Calm doesn’t mean fearless,” she said softly.

He stared at her, but she didn’t look up. Then he nodded. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

After a while, Izuku brushed sand off a crushed bento container and glanced over at her. “Hey… can I ask you something kind of random?”

She looked up, curious. “Sure.”

“What’s your favorite food?”

She blinked. Then, carefully, “That’s not very random.”

He grinned, a little sheepish. “Okay, yeah. Fair. I just—I don’t know. I was curious. Thought I’d try a more normal question.”

There was something boyish in the way he said it—hopeful, like he wanted to know her better without pushing too hard.

A pause. Then, “Mine’s katsudon.”

His voice softened, almost shy. “It’s kind of a comfort thing, I guess. Kind of nostalgic. My mom used to make it whenever I had a rough day.”

She gave a soft nod. “That makes sense.”

He looked at her expectantly.

She hesitated. “I don’t eat animals.”

Izuku blinked. “Oh—so you’re vegetarian?”

She nodded. “I am now.”

“Are your parents vegetarian?” He asked.

She’s shook her head. “No, just me.”

He absorbed that for a moment, eyes thoughtful. Then he said, very gently, “That’s really kind.”

And then, with a nervous little rush: “Not that people who eat meat aren’t kind—I just meant… you must have a gentle heart.”

Aiko’s eyes dropped to the takeout container in her hands. Her voice stayed calm, and her smile barely wavered. “Mm. Maybe.”

There was a pause, then he asked again, a little quieter this time, “So… what’s your favorite, then?”

Aiko let the question settle for a moment. “Inari-zushi,” she said finally. “But with seaweed faces.”

He tilted his head, curious.

She smiled, just a little. “My mom used to shape the rice so it peeked out of the tofu, like little faces. Each one had a different expression—happy, sleepy, pouty. I’d line them up before eating, like they were talking to each other.”

Izuku’s eyes lit up. “That’s adorable.”

Her smile lingered, but the warmth in her voice had dimmed slightly. “Yeah. It was.”

The silence that followed was soft, but carried something heavier beneath it. She felt it gathering between them—and so, quickly, she added, “But my favorite thing in the world is mochi. Especially with red bean paste. Or taro. Or matcha. Or strawberry.”

He smiled. “You really like mochi, huh?”

She gave a small nod, brushing sand from her fingertips. “It’s hard not to.”

He grinned, and there was this little spark in his eyes—like he’d just mentally engraved the word “mochi” on a sacred tablet labeled Important Aiko Facts.

Then his expression shifted. Softer. More hesitant. “Hey… can I ask something?”

She turned her head slightly, a little guarded now. “…Sure.”

“I just—I mean, you live with your granddad, right? What about your parents?”

Her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the garbage bag.

“They died,” she said quietly. “Six months ago.”

His breath caught, like he hadn’t expected the answer to hit that hard.

“I’m… I’m so sorry.”

Aiko didn’t look up. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “You didn’t know.”

She let out a breath and offered him a sideways glance, her voice lightening just enough. “…You’re not going to start calling me ‘tragic mystery girl,’ are you?”

Izuku’s eyes flew wide. “What? No! Never—I mean—n-not that you’re mysterious in a bad way or anything—”

She laughed, the sound small but real. “Relax. I was joking.”

“Oh. Right.” He rubbed the back of his neck, face flushing. “I knew that.”

They worked in silence for a moment. Driftwood clattered softly as they sorted through a tangle of old rope and broken crates. The breeze shifted, cool against their skin.

Then Izuku glanced over, like he was working up courage again. He opened his mouth, faltered, and finally said:

“I-Ice cream.”

Aiko blinked. “Huh?”

His ears turned pink. Then red. “There’s this, um… ice cream place,” he mumbled. “Just—just a few blocks away. Not far! I mean, it’s not fancy or anything, but they open really early, and—um... they do mochi toppings and, uh, they have this weird green tea swirl that’s actually really good, and—”

He cut himself off, swallowed hard, and started again.

“I-I was just thinking… maybe… if you’re not busy or anything… we could go? Tomorrow? Together. Like, just us. Not that it has to be a date! Unless—unless that’s okay, and then it could be, I guess—”

He winced. “I’m… really bad at this.”

Her brain exploded.

A date. He said “date”. Or maybe-date. Or not-date. But then retracted the not and re-applied the date. Oh god. It’s a date. He’s asking you on a date. Izuku Midoriya is asking you on a DATE.

What do people wear to dates? Normal people. Functional people. Lip balm people. Not girls with baggy secondhand shirts and boy boots.

Do you eat before a date? What if you get something stuck in your teeth? What if he gets something stuck in his teeth? What if he smiles and you see mochi just—just resting there, on his molar, and instead of being gross, it’s cute? Of course it’d be cute. He probably even looks adorable when he chews. He’s got those stupid soft eyes and those freckles and—

Oh no. He’s gonna do that thing where he smiles with his whole face and then you’ll just... disintegrate. You’ll evaporate. You’ll dissolve into the atmosphere like mist and the weather report will be like, “today’s forecast: 80% humidity, scattered feelings, and a girl who couldn’t handle a date with a boy who says mochi toppings.”

Her voice, when it came, was velvet smooth. Serene. Not a single crack.

“I’d like that,” she said softly with a gently smile. “Tomorrow sounds perfect.”