My Hallucinations Ahh

Midoriya "Deku" Izuku sat in the dim glow of the Circle A gas station, contemplating life and the sheer power of a well-made Slurpee. He slurped, the frozen blue raspberry-and-cherry mix staining his tongue with the colors of his struggle. U.A. - University of Arizoma - was tough. Tougher than he expected. 

Tomorrow was another day in class, another chance to prove himself. But more importantly, it was another chance to talk to Ochaco Uraraka. And that? That was scarier than final exams. Scarier than the gas station hot dogs that had been spinning under the heater since the dawn of time.

The car was bought yesterday, a replacement to the previous moving pile of junk that gives you the desire to swap for a pair of better glasses to forget what you have seen. It was a last resort to impress Ochaco or at least get her momentary attention and maybe a smile. It was unapologetically lime green. 

Then there were too many things to do, Midoriya thought as he witnessed his credit card plummeting and spitting out gas into this new ride. First thing was to stock up on unnecessary assorted this and that from All For One Place at southern part of town. It could fit like around 3 mega-packs of toilet paper, 2 packs of ramen, and a whole watermelon. He was sure that the watermelon would be the most useful thing in the car.

It was the dead of night. The gas station was empty except to a lot of light, a locked up 24 hour convenience store, and a few buzzes from the lights. It was probably the reason why Midoriya decided to just pretend to see Ochaco from the distance and prepare how he would approach her clutching a watermelon.

Maybe he should start with something casual. Casual was good. Casual was safe. He could walk in, sit next to her - no, across from her, across was better, less direct, less pressure, but still engaged, still within conversation range—and just say, "Hey, Ochaco, did you know that the University of Arizoma was originally founded in 1885 as a land-grant institution but didn't actually hold its first classes until 1891? Wild, right?" That could work. It was factual. Factual was good. It showed he was knowledgeable. Maybe she'd be impressed, maybe she'd smile, maybe she'd say something like, "Wow, Deku, I had no idea! You're so smart!" and he'd laugh, a cool, effortless laugh - (Note to self: practice effortless laughing in the mirror)—and then, before he knew it, they'd be talking about history, and history was just another kind of hero story, and maybe that would transition into a discussion about her favorite historical figures, and then he could seamlessly transition into talking about heroes again, and from there, oh, from there, he could gently nudge the conversation toward the topic of their own dreams, their own goals, their shared struggles, and suddenly, it wouldn't be small talk anymore - it would be a Real Conversation, the kind that mattered, the kind that built things, the kind that made people remember you. And then - oh god, and then - what if she looked at him, really looked at him, with that soft, thoughtful expression she sometimes had, the one that made time slow down just a little, and what if she said, "Deku, do you ever wonder if we're all just small moments in a big story, and we don't know how important we are until we look back?" And what if, in that moment, he said the exact right thing?

Maybe he should go with humor instead. Humor was disarming. Humor was safe. Maybe he could walk in, sit down - across from her, obviously, because that was still the best choice - and say, "Ochaco, do you think there's a limit to how many Slurpees a person can drink before they develop new taste buds? Because I think I might be on the verge of a scientific breakthrough." And then he'd shake his cup a little, let the last half-melted remains of blue raspberry and cherry swirl ominously, like some forbidden alchemical experiment in a plastic cup. Maybe she'd laugh. Maybe she'd roll her eyes but still smile, which was just as good, if not better. Maybe she'd lean in, resting her chin on her hand, and ask, "Alright, genius, what exactly are you expecting to happen?" And then he could say something stupid but charming, something like, "I think I might unlock the ability to appreciate gas station hot dogs. You know, like some kind of evolved state of being." And then she'd laugh again, maybe shake her head and tell him he was ridiculous, and he'd shrug, pretending like that wasn't exactly the reaction he had been hoping for.

Or maybe he should be bold. Bold was scary, but bold could work. Maybe he could walk right up to her, look her in the eyes - not too intensely, just the right amount - and say, "Ochaco, I have something really important to tell you." That would get her attention. That would make her pause. She'd tilt her head, curious but cautious, and say, "Okay? What is it?" And then he could take a deep breath, steady himself, and say, "I have determined, after a lot of careful research, that the best snack at All For One Place is the off-brand animal crackers, but only if you dip them in chocolate pudding." And maybe, just maybe, she'd stare at him for a second, trying to decide if he was being serious, and then she'd burst out laughing, the kind of laugh that made her shoulders shake, the kind that was real, and bright, and made the world feel just a little bit lighter.

Or maybe he should try the mysterious route. The kind of approach that made people lean in, made them want to know more. Maybe he could sit down, fold his hands in front of him like he was about to deliver some ancient wisdom, and say, "Ochaco, have you ever considered the importance of a watermelon?" And when she inevitably blinked at him in confusion, he could lean in just a little and continue, "Think about it. It's a fruit, but it's also mostly water. It's heavy, but it's soft. It's sweet, but not too sweet. It's the perfect balance of contradictions. You ever feel like a watermelon?" And maybe she'd laugh, or maybe she'd actually think about it, and either way, that would be something.

But what if he just told the truth? What if, for once, he didn't overcomplicate things, didn't try to come up with the perfect line, didn't plan out every possible response and reaction? What if he just walked in, sat down, and said, "Hey, Ochaco. I don't really know how to say this, but I like talking to you. I don't always know what to say, but I like saying things to you. And I'd like to keep saying things to you, if that's okay." And maybe she wouldn't need some grand setup, some perfectly worded joke, some elaborate icebreaker. Maybe she'd just smile - that quiet, easy kind of smile - and say, "Yeah, Deku. That's okay."

Or maybe he should bring the watermelon. That was still an option. He could walk up, holding it in both arms like some kind of ridiculous offering, and just set it down in front of her without saying a word. Maybe she'd stare at it, then at him, then back at it, and then ask, slowly, carefully, "Deku… why do you have a watermelon?" And he could take a deep breath, look her straight in the eyes, and say, "Because I needed a reason to talk to you, and this seemed like the most memorable option." And then he'd wait. And then she'd either laugh, or think he was a lunatic, or both. But at least she wouldn't forget it.

Or maybe - oh god - what if she thought he was trying to confess? What if she thought the watermelon was some kind of weird symbolic gift? What if she thought he was trying to say, Ochaco, our love is like a watermelon -unexpected, yet refreshing? What if she thought he was some kind of fruit-themed romantic? What if she thought he was serious? What if she didn't think it was funny at all, and instead of laughing, she just stared at him with this deep, unreadable expression, and then, in the most serious voice imaginable, said, "Deku… I don't think I'm ready for this level of commitment."

No. No, he couldn't risk it. He'd have to workshop the watermelon plan.

Maybe he should pivot to practicality. Maybe he should offer to help her with something. Helping was good. Helping made people feel connected. Maybe he could walk up and say, "Ochaco, you need anything from All For One Place? I'm heading there now." And maybe she'd look up, surprised but pleased, and say, "Oh! Actually, yeah, could you grab me a box of those peanut butter crackers?" And then he could nod, play it cool, say, "Of course. Anything else?" And she'd think for a second, and then maybe, just maybe, she'd say, "You know what? Surprise me." And oh. Oh. That would be dangerous. That would be thrilling. That would be an opportunity.

Or maybe he should take the indirect approach. Maybe he should start with a completely neutral topic, something safe, something easy. Maybe he should just walk in and say, "So, what's the deal with those gas station hot dogs? Do you think anyone's actually eaten one, or are they just there to test our limits?" And then they'd talk about gas station food, and then maybe about road trips, and then maybe about where they'd want to go if they could just drop everything and leave for a little while. And maybe, at some point, without even realizing it, they'd be talking about dreams again.

Or maybe he should just keep things simple. No grand plans, no elaborate strategies, no unnecessary metaphors about watermelons and destiny. Maybe he should just sit down, look at her, and say, "Hey, Ochaco. How's your day going?" And maybe that would be enough.

And that wass when he noticed the SUS silhouette approaching his car. The silhouette was terrifying and could kill him, in that it somehow resembles both Bakugo and Ochaco.

"Oi. I am sorry but shoo,"

The silhouette stared back.

"Yes you could have it go on go ahead there are 1,000 dog cams and cat cams directly linked to the blue y'know." Stammered Midoriya and that was when the silhouette fled.