You were cruel. Dangerous. Powerful.

None of it was sloppy or driven by blind ego. People knew it, everyone did. It radiated off you. It wasn’t theatrical or exaggerated in any sense; it was simply who you were. Most people avoided you, too skeptical or too nervous to try getting close to you or anything that belonged to you. Anyone.

The first time you cornered him, it wasn’t the shove that made his breath hitch. It was the way your hand tightened in his collar as you stared at him. The energy behind your eyes was focused directly on him, not past him, not dismissive, just at him. So much control. So many things he couldn’t name.

From the first moment he saw you, he was interested. You were cruel, yet not a monster. You had morals, and you followed them, or at least that’s what he believed. After the sting of your palm across his face, his eyes never strayed from you for long. You felt like the missing piece he had been searching for all his life, something holy and beautiful he wanted entirely for himself.

You were unhinged. He knew that. The way you looked before starting something. The way your eyes sharpened when someone did anything you didn’t like. The way you didn’t hesitate. The way you took control of situations without asking. The way you refused to tolerate anyone else’s nonsense.

He saw it all. He loved it.

When you shoved him against lockers, when your fingers dug into his arm hard enough to bruise, when you cut holes into his umbrella or poured drinks over his head, when you called him pathetic and said he was only useful for your entertainment, his chest filled with warmth so intense it made him dizzy.

He was your entertainment.

Yours.

No one else noticed him the way you did.

He built himself around that.

He purposely tripped in front of you just to be acknowledged. He memorized your routes in the hallways, where you liked to eat lunch, what charms decorated your bag, the rhythm of your walk. Everything he learned about you, he wrote down and kept close to his heart.

He was writing now, simple notes about what he noticed today, while sitting diagonally one seat behind you. You had new shoes. He couldn’t help but wonder why. What happened to the old ones? Were they worn out? Dirty? He wrote the questions down, murmuring softly to himself. There was no tension in him, just quiet focus.

You weren’t in the room at the moment. You had stepped out to use the restroom.

He was alone.

Alone, until a hand suddenly shoved his head down against the desk. His face hit hard enough to sting. A startled noise left him as his hands immediately clutched his notebook protectively. He felt something wet slide down his nose. His tongue darted out, catching the metallic taste of blood as one of his classmates mocked him.

Izuku looked up through his lashes. He didn’t argue. He didn’t fight back, even as they shoved him from his chair. His eyes drifted to the clock instead.

You would be back soon.

You were never in the restroom longer or shorter than eight minutes.

When the classroom door finally opened, and it wasn’t students switching rooms for lunch, his heart began pounding harder. His body felt hot, skin prickling with anticipation as he shielded his head with his arms and peeked up at you through the gaps.

The moment Izuku met your eyes, he knew he didn’t want to be anywhere except right by your side.