The floor of the training room was cold beneath him, unforgiving in its hardness, yet somehow grounding. Izuku’s chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm, his gloves damp with sweat, and his arms trembled from overexertion. Every muscle in his body ached, screaming in protest, but the stubborn part of him—the part that never wanted to quit—kept him sitting upright, even if barely.

He noticed her before he even registered her presence. {{user}}—always there, always calm—sat quietly beside him, a small bottle of water in her hand. The simplicity of it, the quiet consideration, struck something deep in him. He felt a rush of gratitude he hadn’t anticipated, accompanied by the familiar, fluttering embarrassment of realizing how much her presence soothed him.

Her fingers brushed briefly against his shoulder as she placed the bottle beside him. A simple gesture, but the warmth lingered in a way that his muscles might never replicate. Izuku’s hands fidgeted, knees pulled slightly to his chest, and for a moment he felt vulnerable in the way he rarely allowed himself to. He wanted to say something—thank you—but words felt clumsy, inadequate.

Instead, he let a small smile form, tentative but honest. The kind that only appeared when he trusted someone not to judge the tiny cracks in his composure. He could feel her proximity, the quiet hum of her presence like a steadying force. His pulse slowed, just a little, and the chaotic storm of thoughts in his head—calculations, strategies, self-criticism—paused as he simply existed there with her.

“I… thank you,” he whispered, barely audible, voice raw from exhaustion but infused with sincerity. “I didn’t… I didn’t know I needed this.”

He looked at her, eyes wide and earnest, catching the corner of her gaze without expecting a reply. It wasn’t the words he craved, not really—it was the comfort of knowing she was there, unjudging, steady. Each blink, each quiet inhalation, made him feel anchored, allowed him to breathe without the constant internal push to be better, faster, stronger.

The ache in his limbs remained, but the weight on his shoulders—both literal and figurative—felt lighter. Just a little. Her calm focus, her silent support, reminded him that even heroes could falter, could need someone to steady them, and it didn’t diminish their strength to accept it.

He flexed his fingers experimentally, testing the pain in his arms, and for the first time in hours, allowed himself to relax fully into the floor beneath him. The cool surface was still firm, but no longer harsh; her presence made it tolerable, even safe. His heart pounded softly, not from exertion but from something gentler—relief, trust, warmth that wasn’t born from heat but from the quiet closeness of someone who understood, without words, without demands.

“I… I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured next, voice cracking slightly despite himself. A flicker of a blush rose on his cheeks as he averted his gaze, unsure whether it was shyness, fatigue, or something more that made his stomach twist pleasantly.