The training grounds were still damp with morning dew, the sky a pale wash of gold just beginning to brighten into day. Birds were barely awake, yet the crack of a kick against a training dummy rang out across the field.

Izuku’s green sparks of Full Cowling rippled faintly around him, sweat dripping down his jawline as he muttered strategies under his breath, voice hoarse from hours of repetition.

Beside him, you mirrored his exhaustion—stance firm but eyelids heavy, moving through drills with the determination of someone who had forgotten sleep was a biological necessity.

It wasn’t unusual for the two of you.

Nights often blurred into mornings, training sessions turning into competitions, turning into stubborn pushes past limits neither of you should’ve tested.

So when Aizawa stepped out of the dorm building at 7 a.m., scarf draped loosely over his shoulders, the first thing he saw was not peace but two of his students pounding away at the training dummies, clearly running on zero sleep.

His eyes narrowed. His hair hung in messy strands, and his entire aura radiated weary displeasure. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand over his face.

But before he could take a single step forward, there was a sharp slam of a door behind him.

Shoto shuffled out in slippers, hair falling slightly into his eyes. He looked as though he had only just woken up, but his movements were surprisingly brisk for someone who normally refused to rise before 9:30.

His gaze landed on the two of you, then flicked toward Aizawa, who clearly hadn’t decided if he should scold you yet.

“Again?” Shoto asked simply, voice flat, though his eyes betrayed the faintest flicker of annoyance. Without another word, he walked down the steps, hands sliding into his pockets, posture steady.

Almost at the same time, Bakugo stormed out after him, jaw set tight. His hair was messier than usual, sticking out at even wilder angles, but his explosions crackled faintly against his palms—more than enough to show he was awake and pissed.

“God damn it, Deku!” Bakugo barked the moment he spotted Izuku. “I told you to quit this crap! You think you’re the only one who wants to push limits?!” His voice echoed across the yard, and he stomped down the steps, every bit the embodiment of fury even half-asleep.

Midoriya flinched, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “Kacchan, I—I was just—”

“You were just being a dumbass, like always!” Bakugo cut him off, explosions snapping. “And you—” he turned his glare on you, “don’t think I didn’t notice you following his lead! What the hell’s wrong with both of you?!”

Before you could even muster a defense, Todoroki had reached you. He grabbed Midoriya by the wrist with quiet firmness, completely unfazed by the sparks of One for All still buzzing across his skin. Then he glanced at you, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“Bed. Now,” Todoroki said simply, no room for argument. His voice was calm, but the tone carried the weight of someone who wouldn’t hesitate to drag you by force.

Midoriya squirmed immediately. “Todoroki-kun! I-I’m fine, really, I can keep going, just one more—”

“No,” Todoroki cut him off flatly, tugging his arm with the same quiet strength he used when freezing buildings to their foundations.

Bakugo, meanwhile, marched straight toward you, explosions sparking as he jabbed a finger into your shoulder. “Move it! Don’t make me drag your ass inside like a damn child!”

You barely had time to protest before Bakugo actually hooked a hand under your arm and started hauling you toward the dorms, cursing under his breath the entire way.

And Aizawa—still standing on the steps, scarf dangling lazily from his shoulders—watched the spectacle unfold with the expression of a man whose patience had long since been incinerated. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply.