Impossible (Mha fic)

Chapter 47

Students flood the cafeteria in search of food like ants swarm anything they can feed themselves with. Perhaps that comparison isn't the most glamorous but it is the first thing that comes to mind as I watch all the fellow heroes in training run around the cafeteria. It's massive in size with tables long and short and in a good number as well. There would be no issue finding a place to sit and relax. They don't understand this or they don't care, or they're like me; so used to scrambling for a good spot in the corner of the room that the size matters little. The first out of my class, I've secured the best table in the room, one deeply hidden in a corner and near a window that expands over the massive gate to campus. The perfect table indeed. It's hard not to constantly glimpse the gate, my eyes drifting towards the window before I can stop myself, even as people chatter around my table. My name is mentioned, a question or a wonder, I'm not sure and I'm staring at a group of eyes that regard me with inquisitive gazes.

Lunches scattered through the length of the table, varying in many ways. Mina has finished hers and as I look down into my bowl, I'm missing a few sausages here and there. Denki is loud and cheery, talking about something I can't make sense of and earning laughter from Eijiro and Sero. Alissa is quiet, eyes sharp and gaze fiery as she watches Iida across from her, still not happy about his presence at our table. Izuku, quiet and thoughtful, glances about the room with a calculating gaze, his fingers flinching now and then as if he itches to document everything in sight. Pink cheeks are round with food as Ochako happily helps herself to some of the food I had given her. I can't remember how I came to do that, but it has happened. Jiro, ever the tease, pokes at a clueless Denki, the boy so unaware of her teasing words and ever so happy. Momo, observing and kind as she is, tries and fails to stop Jiro's somewhat stinging words and simply lets her make fun of the boy who will never find fault. It's all fun and games after all.

How do I find myself surrounded by so many people on the first day of school? At my side, Tsuyu is quiet as she enjoys herself. Her lunch has disappeared and now she opens a packet of jello, wide mouth forming into an odd smile that is no less endearing.

It's nice, I'll admit - sitting amongst them and listening to their many conversations. It's chaotic, with voices and thoughts jumbled together in a heap. It's not something I thought I would enjoy. I don't need many friends, after all, content as I am with Mina and Eijiro alone. But it's nice, no matter how much I can sometimes struggle with proper interactions.

Another sausage disappears from my bowl, this time right before my very eyes and Mina shows no signs of apology as she chews on the stolen goods. It's almost challenging the way she regards me as if daring me to find fault in her thievery. A challenge that goes unmatched and brings a triumphant smile to her face. Of course, she enjoys poking at me in this manner, knowing very well that I would find no fault in her behavior. She's free to take as much of my food as she'd like, I have no issue with it. When she takes some of my juice, I offer her one of the many I have stored away and she smiles this teasing thing. She never got over her amusement over my many juice boxes.

"You're so picky with these things" She would always say, just as she says now, regarding the small box for a moment. "I have never seen you with any other brand of juice"

There is no answer to her statement as I myself don't entirely understand why I refuse to buy other brands. Perhaps I like the safety of such consistency, perhaps I truly am picky with what I consume, perhaps it's nothing too important and just something that comes out of habit. When you do something long enough it becomes something almost engraved into your very being.

Or I just like the juice.

Mina's hand is warm and damp against my own, something I'm entirely used to. With the type of quirk, she has, her hand is never truly dry, sometimes damp, oddly wet, or maybe even slippery if she's in a joking mood and sees the need to send a shiver down my spine. The consistency of that certain slime she produces is cold and odd in a way I cannot explain and always sends a shiver through me. It's amusing I'm sure. Thankfully she has not seen the need to do such a thing at this moment, far too distracted by the many conversations across our shared table.