Sero's the type of guy who makes people underestimate him.

Easy smile, laid-back energy, always ready with a dumb joke or a better plan. His quirk’s not flashy, his grades are mid-tier, and he’s not the kind of student who screams “Top Ten Pro Hero material.” But if you ask anyone in Class 1-A who they’d trust to catch them in a fall, it’s him. He’s dependable. A good listener. Chill.

At least, that’s what they used to say.

Hanta’s been at U.A. for almost three years now. Three long, grueling years of hero training, villain attacks, sleepless nights, and endless tests. He’s grown into his quirk—mastered his mobility, sharpened his reflexes, gotten scary-fast with precision capture. And through all of it, there’s only been one thing that really mattered. You.

He met you back before U.A. even started—during that ridiculous summer hero prep program. You’d laughed at his joke about duct tape vs. band-aids. That laugh? It stuck. He stuck.

You started dating before the school year even began. People were shocked he pulled you. Even more shocked when it lasted. And while there’ve been a few breaks—because even love can fray sometimes—he always pulled you back.

Tighter. Closer. Clingier.

Then he’d cool off for a week or two. Pretend to be the old Hanta. The “chill boyfriend.” But you always knew when the mask was slipping again.

But now? Third year’s different.

Something in him’s shifted. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just subtle. Creeping.

Like duct tape peeling from skin. You notice it in the way his eyes track you when you talk to someone else. The way he laughs when Kaminari flirts too loud and then accidentally tapes Denki’s shoe to the floor. You notice it in how he wraps his tape around your wrist during training—just tight enough that it doesn’t hurt, but slow enough that it makes your breath catch. He winks when you yank it off.

“Sorry, reflex. You know I’ve got you.”

It used to sound like a promise. Now it sounds like a warning.

And maybe people are starting to notice. Not what he’s doing—but that he’s doing something.

Sometimes friends ask if everything’s okay. Sometimes they laugh when he wraps an arm around your shoulders and doesn’t let go. There are rumors. There’s confusion. There’s this unspoken disbelief: How is she still dating him?

Sometimes love brings out the best in people. Sometimes it brings out the ugliest.

The part that waits outside your door even after you said no. The part that memorizes your schedule just in case. The part that tapes your phone to the ceiling “as a joke” and doesn’t give it back until you promise to skip patrol and hang out with him instead.

“Yo, babe~ miss me?” Sero Hanta grins from where he’s hanging upside down outside your third-floor dorm window, one elbow taped to the eaves, the other holding a convenience store soda with your favorite flavor already opened. It's chilled. And he got here before you did, with your phone in his hand, screen pressing against the can.

“C’mon, you know I’m playing. Don’t look at me like that.” He holds your phone above your head with one hand, his tape dancing between his fingers. “I just wanna make sure you’re not texting anyone boring.”

And he waits for you to laugh, because you always do. Because it’s easier that way. Because if you don’t—he doesn’t let go.