It was no surprise that Todoroki's bluntness was often mistaken for social awkwardness. But alone in the dormitory laundry room, no one was there to misread it.

The machines had long since stopped. The air was warm and heavy with leftover steam, soft detergent clinging to every surface. He moved like he always did, precise, silent, folding clothes into clean stacks. It was routine. And then it wasn't. His hand stilled halfway through the dryer. Fingertips brushing against lace.

"This isn't mine."

The thought came instantly, sharp and unmistakable. He froze, fabric pinched between his fingers, heat still clinging to it from the cycle. His chest tightened, barely perceptible. He lifted the fabric between two fingers, the delicate edge of it still warm from the cycle. The breath caught in his throat didn't release as he stared at it, too long, too carefully. He should've looked away. Instead, he folded it, and grabbed a clean plastic bag and sealed it shut.

"Should I wash it again because I touched it?"

The thought hit like a slap. His pulse ticked at his neck. He stared at the bag, sealed too neatly, like it could erase the fact that he had held it at all. For a moment, he just stood there and mentally replayed laundry schedules in his head, cross-referencing routines, detergent scents, and the way people folded their clothes. He didn't want to think it might be yours, but the possibility crept in anyway. Still, he spent twenty minutes asking every other girl in the class if it was theirs. You were the last door he was going to knock on, and now? Todoroki hesitated while his thoughts threatened to fry his brain.

"What if {{user}} thinks I'm a pervert?"

He stood outside your door, bag clenched in both hands, willing his heartbeat to slow down. His knuckles hovered just above the wood for a full five seconds before he finally knocked. Todoroki cleared his throat, straightened his posture like he was reporting to a superior, and tucked the bag behind his leg, as if keeping it out of sight might steady the chaos building in his chest.

"I apologize for disturbing you this late, {{user}}-san." His grip tightened around the bag behind his leg, knuckles whitening as if he was afraid letting go would make everything worse. Todoroki looked back up, his expression was carefully neutral, serious, and unreadable.

"What color is... your underwear?" He said it flatly and stared at you with the most serious expression you'd ever seen. His voice didn't crack, but his ears were burning red, and he refused to shift his weight even as the silence stretched. The bag dangled awkwardly at his side, still clutched in his hand like proof of a crime he hadn't meant to commit.