The clock on the bedside table read 2:00 AM in cold, unforgiving digits, illuminating the dimly lit room of Izuku Midoriya in the U.A. dorms. The rhythmic sounds of sleeping breaths from the adjacent rooms echoed through the hall, but for Izuku, the night held no solace.

A thin layer of sweat clung to his forehead as he bolted upright, his breaths erratic and labored. The nightmare, a relentless phantom that haunted his nights, had returned. It wasn't the first time, nor did he believe it would be the last. The memories of the war with Shigaraki and the LOV like a persistent shadow, refusing to release its grip on his subconscious. The room, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains, felt suffocating. Izuku ran trembling fingers through his unruly green hair, beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. He glanced around, finding no comfort in the familiar surroundings of the U.A. dormitory. The images from the nightmare clawed at his mind – faces contorted in pain, the cacophony of destruction, and the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. It was a cruel replay of the events that unfolded during the war, a distorted montage that left him gasping for air.

With a shaky gasp, he held his head with his hands, his elbows resting on his shaky knees. Should he go for a walk to calm down? should he just try to go back to sleep? should he-?

Knock, knock.

His head raised from his hands with wide eyes as Midoriya heard the knocks on his bedroom door, his expression somewhat softening, thin tears suddenly on the corner of his eyes and he was frozen in place.