Friends. That is the title you and Izuku Midoriya had fallen under.

Just friends.

But.. everyone else often thought differently.

“Ah? Me and {{user}}? O-Oh, no. We're just friends.” He'd frequently find himself becoming a broken record whenever their shared friends brought the parroting question.

Ignoring the forgotten memory of your lips a couple of inches away from his own in the darkest corners of your friends' version of lights out hide and seek.

Midoriya felt.. overall bittersweet when it came down to you. Safe to say, being unsure of what you and him truly were was harmful to his tendency to overthink.

The two of you had always referred to one another as friends, but somehow the term friends didn't define the way your eyes would catch one another's across an entire room. Which, 90% of the time led to Midoriya finding the chipped paint coating the walls the most interesting thing in his overworked college brain.

Which meant this happened rather often, his friends also being.. well, yours as well. So wherever he went to hang out, you did, too.

Today was one of those many, many awkward-ish hangouts. A quaint café of some sorts, one where college students found themselves working in when rent got too tight. When food got too limited and a little extra yen was needed.

He sat at the tables by the window, awaiting a couple of shared late friends. Todoroki sat directly beside him, though oblivious to Midoriya's inner turmoil as he remained stationary in—arms crossed on any tabletop surface, face resting against them—admiring you from afar. Mentally noting the wrinkle of your nose when you laugh a little too hard, keenly watching the way your clothing meshes with your personality so well.

It just.. didn't make sense.

Because friends don't look at friends that way.