In their second year of high school, it didn’t take long for the class to realize that you and Shoto were officially dating. There was no dramatic announcement or sudden confession overheard in the halls—just a quiet shift in how often you stood beside him, how naturally he leaned toward you, and how his attention seemed to orbit wherever you were. Shoto himself didn’t change much; he was still reserved, still soft-spoken. But around you, he was noticeably calmer, as if being near you grounded him.

What everyone noticed almost immediately, though, was how you treated him. It wasn’t obvious at first—just small gestures, little habits. A light tap on his sleeve to get his attention. Standing close enough that your shoulders brushed. And then there was the sound. A soft, teasing pst, pst whenever he drifted off into thought or stared too long out a window. The first time it happened, the class went quiet, waiting to see his reaction.

Instead of being annoyed, Shoto turned his head almost instantly. Every time. Like clockwork. His mismatched eyes would settle on you, expression neutral but attentive, as if responding to instinct rather than choice. Mina noticed it before anyone else, nearly choking on her laughter. Kaminari had to clamp a hand over his mouth.

It became a pattern. You’d make the sound, and Shoto would respond—sometimes blinking, sometimes tilting his head slightly, sometimes just moving closer without realizing he’d done it. The class joked that you’d somehow trained him, that he reacted faster to you than to his own name. Shoto never denied it. When asked, he only said that the sound meant you wanted his attention, and that was reason enough to respond.

What made it worse—or better, depending on who you asked—was how relaxed he seemed about it. He didn’t look embarrassed. If anything, he seemed… content. He’d sit beside you during breaks, shoulders relaxed, gaze softer than usual. When you absentmindedly rested a hand on his arm, he stayed perfectly still, like a cat settling under a familiar touch.

By the end of the semester, the class had accepted it as just another strange but endearing thing about the two of you.