Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “It’ll be harmless,” he said. Yeah? Tell that to your current situation: crammed into a locker with your childhood friend/ partner in crime, chest-to-chest and breath held like it's a high-stakes hide-and-seek—because Aizawa is searching the halls like a masked killer.

Naturally, the silence doesn’t last.

You're whisper-arguing in the dark like you would when you two were children.

"Nice going, Yankees- you just had to aim the firecracker right in there", he grumbles

“This is all your fault,” you hiss, jabbing a finger into his ribs. Sero's jaw drops like you just slapped him with a wet sock.

"My fault? You're the one who aimed the fucking firecracker into his sleeping bag!"