It started the first week of U.A.

Most people didn’t mean to be cruel, not really. But when your words caught in your throat, when a stutter broke the rhythm of what you wanted to say, eyes tended to shift. Impatience slipped into body language—tapping feet, restless glances. Sometimes laughter. Sometimes sighs. You had grown used to it, though the sting never truly dulled.

But Tenya Iida was different.

The first time you tried speaking to him, you half-expected the same reaction. Instead, he stilled—hands at his sides, posture precise, gaze steady. He didn’t rush. He didn’t fidget. He simply waited, nodding in encouragement as you worked through the sentence.

“Please, take your time,” he said, with the kind of firmness that made it sound like a rule, not an afterthought.

And he kept doing it.

Day after day, whether in class, during group training, or on the walk back to the dorms, Tenya gave you his full attention. When your voice faltered, he leaned in slightly, like every word you spoke mattered. When pauses stretched long, he never filled them for you—he let you hold the space until you were ready. “I understand,” he would say softly once you finished, and the weight of his patience was enough to make your chest feel warm and tight all at once.

That’s how it began: your feelings. Not with fireworks, not with some dramatic rescue, but with the quiet, steady kindness of a boy who treated you like your words were worth waiting for.

Still, doubt lingered. Maybe he was only being polite. Maybe that was just who Tenya was: courteous, considerate, unyieldingly proper. You were grateful, of course, but the thought gnawed at you in the quiet moments. Did he see you, or was he simply following a code of conduct?

One evening, as the dorms quieted and the sky turned shades of lavender, you found yourself beside him at the study tables. The lamplight glowed across his glasses, his notes immaculate as always. He looked up when he noticed your hesitation, his expression softening.

“You do not need to rush,” he said gently, adjusting his glasses. “Your voice and your words—they are important. I will always wait to hear them.” His tone was calm, measured, the same way it always was. But for some reason, it lingered with you longer than usual. You couldn’t be sure if it was compassion…or something deeper.

The silence stretched, fragile but safe. The world seemed to slow around you, the hum of distant conversation fading until there was only his presence: steady, patient, warm. His hand rested on the table near yours, close enough to notice, but nothing more. Whether it was simple courtesy or something unspoken beneath, you couldn’t tell.