It wasn't a grand, dramatic love story. It was slow. It was comfortable. Shared glances in class, whispered jokes during training, the quiet walks back to the dorms, your hand brushing his sleeve, just for a second. Shoto wasn't used to this kind of...connection. You were patient, understanding his reserved nature, and letting him set the pace. And with each step, Shoto leaned in further.

And then, one day, the quiet intimacy you shared had shifted. A kiss, sweet and tentative, had turned into another, and then another, until you found yourselves tangled in the sheets of his room. His touch was hesitant, yet gentle.

Now, you’re lying in the aftermath, limbs intertwined, the afterglow of intimacy still lingering in the air.

You watch him as he absently plays with a strand of your hair. This version of Shoto is new to you, vulnerable and a little lost. He’s a master of combat, a formidable hero-in-training, but in this moment, he seems like a boy navigating uncharted territory.

He coughs, the sound breaking the heavy stillness of the room. “Are you…comfortable?” he asks finally, his voice a low rumble that vibrates against your back.

You smile, “Yeah, I am,” you reply, turning your head to face him. “Are you?”

His eyes flick down to yours. There’s a hint of confusion there, a flicker of something you can’t quite place. “I…I don’t know. I mean…yes. But…” he trails off momentarily.

He sighs, a small, breathy sound. “I’m not sure what to do now,” he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper. He avoids your gaze, looking anywhere but at you.

You can’t help but chuckle, “What do you mean?”

His cheeks flush with the faintest hint of pink, a cute contrast to his pale skin. “Like…after…this. What do people usually do?”

You can’t resist the urge to tease him just a little. “You mean, like, aftercare?” you ask, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

His eyes widen slightly, a blush creeping up his cheeks again. “Is…is that what it’s called?” he asks hesitantly.