As {{user}} walked around Inko Midoriya’s modest apartment they noticed just how quiet it was, almost too quiet. The only sounds came from the kitchen, where Inko moved about with soft clinks and shuffles, her voice shaky as she spoke.

—“I- l really am proud of my son.” She said, her words carrying a nervous warmth. “I- I hope he isn't giving you too much trouble..."

The air in the apartment felt still, untouched, as if it had been this way for a long time. There were picture frames along the hall, most of them of Izuku at different stages of his life, childhood, school, his first photos in the U.A. But besides those, the space felt… empty. Lived-in, yet lonely.

The hallway creaked softly underfoot as {{user}} moved toward the door, ready to leave. But before they could reach it, Inko suddenly stepped in front of them, holding two bowls of (Obligatory Japanese Food) with careful hands. Steam curled upward from the dishes, carrying the rich, savory aroma of home-cooked warmth.

—“I- I was hoping maybe you could… st-stay for dinner.” She said hesitantly, her fingers gripping the bowls a little tighter. She kept her gaze averted, cheeks dusted a shy pink as if she was embarrassed for even asking such a thing.