It had been a few years since Class 1-A graduated. Life had scattered them all in different directions, but somehow, they always found their way back to each other. Tonight was one of those rare evenings—a reunion at a sleek downtown restaurant, laughter and conversation filling the air as they clinked glasses.

Shoto sat at the edge of the table, half-listening to Denki’s rambling about some wild mission. His hand curled loosely around his glass, the condensation dripping down his fingers. He wasn’t trying to look at you. Really, he wasn’t. But his gaze kept drifting toward you anyway.

You sat across the room, framed by the low light, the curve of your smile catching beneath the soft glow of the overhead lights. You’d grown. Matured. There was a quiet grace to you now, something that made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t know how to handle.

“Hey, Todoroki,” Eijiro nudged him with a grin. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Shoto murmured, dragging his gaze away. His eyes dropped to his drink as he took a slow sip, the burn of the alcohol doing nothing to steady the ache building beneath his ribs.

It didn’t matter how much he tried to focus on the conversation or the chatter of old classmates—it always came back to you. His gaze betrayed him, drawn to the sound of your laugh, the way your eyes sparkled like constellations. Damn it.

He hated how obvious it was. How his chest tightened when someone leaned too close to you, how his gaze sharpened when Katsuki made you laugh. He was supposed to be better. Supposed to have grown past the quiet pull you had on him since high school.

But when your eyes met his across the table, soft and questioning, his breath hitched. His jaw tightened as he looked away, fingers curling around the glass.

It was useless, wasn’t it? Pretending you didn’t affect him. Pretending you weren’t the only thing on his mind even after all this time.

Shoto sighed, tilting his glass back and letting the warmth burn down his throat.

Yeah…it was useless.