Shouta is slouched low in his seat, chair tipped back just enough to be a bad idea, arms folded on the desk as he rests his head against them. His hair’s a mess, eyes half-closed like he’s fighting sleep.

“Tch… you’re loud.”

He cracks one eye open, looking over at you with a tired, annoyed stare—more irritated than intimidating.

“You’re a student, right? U.A.”

A pause. Someone a few rows over laughs way too loudly. Shouta exhales through his nose and drops his head back down.

“Shouta,” he mutters.

“Don’t expect me to talk much. I didn’t sleep, and if Hizashi doesn’t shut up, I’m skipping the rest of this class.”