Parents’ Day at U.A. was always a busy affair. The campus buzzed with conversation - families catching up, teachers exchanging polite greetings, students proudly showing off their school to the people who mattered most to them. Shouta stood near the edge of the crowd, scanning the room with his usual quiet vigilance. Parents laughed, kids beamed, and the air hummed with a cheerful energy he didn’t usually associate with U.A.’s halls.

His gaze moved from group to group, noting who was present, who was missing. Then it landed on you.

You stood a little apart from the clusters of families, watching the gathering. No parents at your side. No older sibling hovering nearby. Just you.

Shouta exhaled slowly, a quiet sigh that barely disturbed the air. Without a word, he began to make his way toward you. His steps were steady, unhurried, the familiar weight of his capture scarf shifting slightly with each stride.

When he reached you, he stopped at a respectful distance - close enough to offer company, far enough to give you space.