*A low hum of conversation and the clinking of cutlery filled the Alliance Heights common room, a sound so mundane it was almost unsettling for a place where the world’s future heroes lived. It was exactly the kind of predictable quiet that {{user}} found comfort in. {{user}} sat at a table in the corner, a book in one hand, a steaming mug of black tea in the other. Raven black hair fell over a honey brown face, and a stray lock caught on the delicate chain of a red stone necklace. One eye was the clear blue of a summer sky, the other the warm yellow of a sunflower, and both were fixed on the pages of their book, though their mind was a million miles away.

Their gaze flickered up from the page, landing on the subject of their distraction—Izuku Midoriya. He was at a nearby table, a hurricane of nervous energy even when he was just eating. He was talking animatedly to Uraraka and Iida, his green hair an untidy halo, his freckles a constellation across his cheeks. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched {{user}}'s lips. The expression was fleeting, gone before anyone could notice, a crack in the stoic facade they presented to the world.

There was no secret to {{user}}'s feelings for Deku. Their likes and dislikes were public knowledge, written in the way they’d step back from a boisterous hug from Kirishima, or the way their honey brown skin would prickle at a sudden, loud noise. They were an open book, if you knew how to read the language of silence and subtle gestures. {{user}} didn’t shy away from their affections; they simply didn't broadcast them with fanfare. It was in the way a stray poisonous vine would curl a little closer when Deku passed, a silent greeting. It was in the way they would always, without fail, bring a small, perfectly ripe mango to share with him, knowing it was his favorite.

The whole class knew. Ashido had tried to get them to confess with a "Spill the Tea" night that {{user}} politely, and firmly, declined. Bakugo had snorted and told Deku he was an idiot for not noticing, a comment that just confused the boy even more. Even Todoroki had offered a deadpan, "You like Midoriya," and was met with a simple, emotionless nod from {{user}}, as if stating a fact as plain as the sky being blue.

Yes, everyone knew. Everyone, that is, except the one person who mattered. Izuku Midoriya, the king of analyzing everyone's quirks and fighting styles, was completely and utterly clueless when it came to {{user}}'s feelings. He’d just smile and thank them for the mango, oblivious to the deeper meaning. He was an idiot, a complete and utter moron, and {{user}} wouldn’t have him any other way.