bus rides | midoriya izuku

09 | missing passenger

IZUKU DIDN'T BOARD THE BUS THAT DAY

Aiko didn't know why she looked at the door with anticipation. They were at his stop, waiting and waiting within those long five seconds for the spider lily-shaped strands of forest hair to breeze through accompanied with luminous sapphirine eyes and constellations on his round, chubby cheeks. Waited for the sound of his timid footstep upon stepping first on the bus. Waited for the slight of his presence to light up the entire bus.

But there was no one.

The bus driver seemed to notice too, hence, him straining his neck a little from his seat to see if his little passenger was merely missing the bus a few seconds late, or perhaps the boy was too hard to drive away from when the very bus was the best way home, or just—the bus she and Izuku's in was merely an anchor for their dreams.

Aiko turned to the windows, forgetting her comic for the entire time as she pressed her face lightly to the glass, trying to look for a certain green head within passing middle schoolers, though it seems meaningless by the second as she feels an invisible weight resting on her shoulders, sighing.

No one was chasing the bus anyway, so Aiko subconsciously slumps in her seat when the bus driver closed the doors and drives away from Izuku's stop.

She brings out her comic again, but even when she was reading, looking as if she was delved in the world of fictional superheroes compared to the real ones in a world of quirks—Aiko finds her mind itching her senses when a strong, radiant presence wasn't there beside her. Or the seat two rows in front to the right.

She feels irked that there was no random bush popping out from the edge of her comic, giving her a reason to stop and admire the hues of greens filtered by crystalline windows despite the blazing sun. The sound of scribbles and mumblings were missing keys to her newfound, therapeutic music. The absolute absence of his presence was like a missing character from the plot that it needed its drive from, to propel the story to its climax until their purpose is fulfilled—hence, the reason of why Midoriya Izuku's presence felt as if he was why Aiko was here: a slight change she never really noticed—being too observant that she lost track of herself. Got lost counting the stars that she lost the moon.

Ah, so that's why. Aiko thinks, smiling forlornly at the space between her comic and the seat.

Aiko missed him.

Was that why his profound absence bothered her? Because why was she anticipating the embodiment of dreams, heroes and hopes the second the doors opened for his arrival? What part of him caused her thoughts to be filled with the likes of him?

It sure does feel gloomy here, she sighs as her gaze darted around the interior of the bus, the need to compare the edison lights stuck to the metallic ceilings to the light in Izuku's eyes—the pair of eyes that can be compared to the rarest of gems.

And when her stop—their stop—arrives, leaving her to make her way out of the bus while thanking the elderly bus driver, Aiko feels part of her heart missing. Even as she stood alone by the stop, part of her pictured him right beside her as they bid their shy, awkward farewells—the never-ending blush on his cheeks no matter how long they've met.

Then, as she took her step towards home—it started raining all of a sudden, commencing the end of the gloomiest and longest bus ride she's ever had.