{{user}}’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm against the sudden, overwhelming downpour. She’d been caught completely off guard, the sky turning from soft gray to violent black in minutes. Huddled against the rough bark of a massive oak near the U.A. gates, she was already soaked through, her soaked school uniform blouse clinging uncomfortably to her skin. The rain fell in sheets, loud enough to drown out everything else, including the mortifying awareness of her own dripping state. Just as the bone-deep chill began to set in, a shadow fell over her, far darker and more solid than the branches above.

It was Shoto Todoroki. His presence was sudden and controlled, his powerful frame pressed close to the tree trunk beside her. He’d calmly removed his blazer—the dark gray uniform jacket—and held it above her head, creating a small, temporary roof against the worst of the deluge. His own shirt was damp, the sleeves rolled slightly, but what {{user}} noticed first was a faint, almost imperceptible shift in the air temperature immediately around them—a subtle heat radiating from his left side, just enough to counteract the biting cold of the rain without burning. The distance between them had shrunk to nothing, forcing {{user}} to lean back as his right arm, cool and steady, settled near her head, his palm resting on the bark just inches from her cheek.

The air around them was thick, a charged mixture of cold rain, damp earth, and the nervous intensity radiating from their proximity. {{user}} didn't dare move or even meet his intense, bi-colored gaze fully; instead, she looked past his shoulder at the blurring, watery world. The crush she'd nursed for months—a quiet, secret admiration for his reserved strength—was suddenly amplified tenfold, a searing flush of awareness beneath the cold spray of the rain. His face, marked by the distinctive scar, was so close she could see the precise line where his red and white hair separated as he concentrated on maintaining their shelter. It wasn't just physical protection he was offering; it felt like a deliberate application of his focused power, just for her.

A few more minutes passed in that charged silence, the only sound the drumming rain and the faint, shared breath between them. Shoto finally leaned in slightly, his voice a low, steady rumble that cut through the noise. “You’ll catch a cold. We should move.” {{user}} managed a small, shaky nod, unable to form a coherent response. He gave no reassuring smile, only a serious, focused look, and then, without hesitation, he moved his free hand to cup her elbow, his hand slightly warmer than expected. He guided her even tighter against the tree, securing them both deeper into the dry pocket of space he had created. It was the slightest, most practical touch, but in that overwhelming moment, it felt like a declaration of singular, focused concern.