the day it stopped raining | midoriya izuku

38 | cottage warmth

TOKYO
2°C
SNOW SHOWER

An aftersome feeling when going through major changes like season after season—thinking back on the bizarre sequence of happenings that brought you to where you are today—as if you'd spent years bouncing down a pegboard, passing through a million harmless decision points, any one of which might've changed everything—which makes your long and winding path feel fated from the start, yet so unlikely to be virtually impossible.

If one were to walk down the memory lane—are they walking in two places at once? Between the past and present? Though it seems, to Masuyo at least, it feels like she's right back where she first started, but today, it's different, it's windy and...warm.

The state of not knowing how she really feel about something, which forces her to sift through clues hidden in her behaviour, as if she were some other person—noticing a twist of acid in her voice, an obscene amount of effort put into something trifling, or an inexplicable weight on her shoulders that makes it difficult to get out of bed.

Not much has changed—though one would argue that it's wrong. A lot has changed. But Masuyo didn't. She was solely...healed. Just a little.

However, her apartment did change. If one were to walk right in, they'd wonder where the once plain white walls from the living room go—because the television area was painted Egyptian blue adorned with greenery prints sold from artists she'd known online. The television was replaced by a new curved screen standing on a wooden stand. The leather sofa stayed the same, but was dotted by cerulean cushions. The coffee table was replaced by a circular one. Otherwise, nothing too fancy. Still, something new did make a major change to her home.

Every corner of the apartment were plants. Mind you, they're not fake—but real plants. Yes. Masuyo managed to take care of them once she didn't have the impulse to kick one across the floor. Her once nearly empty balcony turned into a small garden of lush and veggies. There were a handful of flowers grown in the little pots, but at least it brings life to her own home thanks to one of her therapist's advice.

Daisies, sunflowers, cecilias, cactus, green onions, tomatoes and ivies crawling all over the wooden stand that holds every pot as a display. It was a tedious process to make the entire piece a beauty to Masuyo's liking. As much as she wasn't a green thumb, she finds...serenity in those little plants. What's more than the natural sunlight easily provides them with energy—perks of living on the top floor.

Still, picking up gardening also means daily tasks. It was...tough, trying to walk from zero to at least a five. Because how can someone like her go from just sitting in one place in misery to doing the simplest thing like washing the dishes? Give the old Masuyo a minor task and she'll take a nap after. It's tiring. It's painful. But she made it, right..?

Ah.

She remembers now.

How long did she take to get here? It's not even like a few years. People say that a lot can change in a year. Even months. They're not wrong, but it's proven that things do change significantly in a few months' time. And the cliché of people come and go—it's not like Masuyo has a lot of people to leave her. There wasn't anyone in the beginning to begin with. But even if there was someone, then, there was only one.

Yes. Midoriya Izuku.

When was the last time they met? Hung out even? Their last call, last text? Six months? Could be more.

At some point, when Masuyo was in the progress of getting her shit together, the two naturally fell silent in their comfortable distance. Nothing's wrong, nothing's falling apart—it's just...not the right time. They didn't say goodbye. They didn't say hello either. It's just a very long moment of interval—to pause the tape playing for the end, waiting for the best part. And the best part is waiting for her—for them. The best part was to meet when both are ready, when both are strong enough to be each other's pillar. Masuyo's still not confident in that area—to be someone reliant for others—but she can try. She can try now that her eyes can see beyond the skies.

Then again, some things never change. Like how she has this small anxiety of wanting to call him, text him. It's not that different from the old days, but why is she so nervous?

Masuyo chuckles and sighs as she finished serving her own bowl of curry, slowly gazing at the coffee table in the living room from the kitchen. It's crazy how they used to have movie night every day—secretly admiring his smile and tempted to caress his freckled cheeks, but she never got to fulfil her desire because she was too broken.

And now, even when she's already walking past the starting line—she tends to get lonely...sometimes.

Ah. She did it again.

Overthinking.

Guess she has to distract herself like she always does.

Masuyo walks to the living room with her dinner, gently placing the bowl on the small table before grabbing the remote for her television, turning on a period drama she had found entertaining for the past week. One of her hands instinctively rubs her arm, almost shuddering at the cold winter breeze that managed to crack through the gap of her floor to ceiling window. She puts away the remote, standing up and about to walk to the balcony to close the window when—

The world stopped.

—when Midoriya simply stood on the balcony with the night sky behind him, tiny snowflakes raining around him.

She was frozen—speechless to say. The girl didn't know how to react when all she sees is a boy...no...a young man standing right by the door like back then, wearing a black winter jacket with a blue shirt and jeans and those cute red shoes he'd always wear. His round, wide eyes of green were staring right at her through the window—smiling fondly and radiate light that rivals the full moon.

Isn't it funny? When the person you wanted—needed the most—is right there after you wish for them?

When Masuyo didn't say anything, Midoriya slides open the window before stepping in, closing it after. The breeze was a little too strong for her sensitive skin at that moment, but she couldn't feel anything when she's too focused on the only person who had to save her over and over. He looks around the apartment as he stood there with hands in his pockets, emerald eyes shimmering at the subtle changes in the apartment.

"Wow," Midoriya whispered. "For a second, I thought I landed on the wrong balcony. Well...until I saw you."

Her heart fluttered.

He stopped looking around before landing his gaze on her. Masuyo's heart stuttered when he stepped forward towards her, leaving a few inches between them as they stare at each other.

Ah.

How long has it been? How much has she gone through to get to this rewarding moment? Is it deserving of her? To see these big green eyes that rival every shade of green that lingers in her handmade garden. To see such a pretty and beautiful person after a long journey. In fact, the journey hasn't even ended. She'll still have to keep going no matter how she is.

And it seems Midoriya is searching for something in her eyes that he finally spoke, "I miss you."

Her eyes widened, breath hitching and heart skipping—such simple words yet so, so powerful that it brings her to tears—and it's so unfair because how could he? How can he simply make her cry by just a few words after all this time?

Masuyo's expression morphed into a torn and twisted emotion of desperation and joy. It's been so long. Too long.

"I miss you too." She sobbed.

Midoriya's the first to embrace her, in return, Masuyo does the same as the warmth she had always craved for, finally sparked.

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