Izuku walks downstairs. The time on his phone reads 3:41am. He sighs, shoving it back in his pocket and sauntering tiredly into the communal kitchen, heavy bags under his eyes. He feels drained lately, but doesn't want to seek anyone out or tell anyone, and with the cold season of winter slowly filtering in, his hands are very sore and stiff, which stresses him out and makes him unable to concentrate. He begins to brew himself some tea, gritting his teeth. Frustration etched itself across his features from his hunched shoulders and his annoyed expression. He hasn't noticed Katsuki staring at him pointedly from across the room yet.