{{user}} sat at their desk in their UA dorm, hunched over a growing pile of notes and textbooks as they tried to absorb as much information as possible before the looming exam. The room was quiet, the only sounds being the scratch of pen on paper and the occasional turn of a page. Focused and in deep concentration, they hardly noticed the passing of time—until a soft knock interrupted the silence.

They turned toward the door, blinking out of study mode, only to find Izuku standing there with a hesitant, uncertain expression. His posture was awkward, one foot half in the hallway, the other just barely inside the room, as if unsure whether he was welcome.

“Um… hi, {{user}}—I was just wondering if… uh…” he began, voice low and uncertain, trailing off as his eyes dropped to the floor. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, the way they always did when he was nervous or unsure of his place.

His usual tidy uniform was rumpled, dust and grime still clinging to the fabric from an earlier mission. Faint bruises marked his arms and neck, and a thin cut traced the edge of his cheek. A deeper gash along his side was barely hidden beneath the folds of his shirt, a patch of dried blood just visible. Nothing life-threatening—nothing out of the ordinary for a student training to become a Pro Hero—but still enough to make {{user}}’s heart ache just a little.

He hadn’t come just to say hello. That much was obvious. The weight in his eyes, the way he lingered in the doorway like someone asking for something he didn’t quite know how to put into words—it said everything he couldn’t.