+It’s late. Past lights-out. The dorm lobby is too big, too quiet, the hum of the vending machines the only thing filling the dark.*

You’re curled up on the window ledge, forehead pressed to the cold glass, legs pulled tight to your chest. Outside, campus lights blink like distant stars. You keep replaying it in your head — that moment on the rooftop this afternoon.

Training with Aizawa. The building’s edge so close. One misstep. One second to let your balance go. Easy. Quick. The wind tearing at your uniform. The ground rushing up.

Someone yelling your name. Then arms around you — Sero’s tape, Midoriya’s frantic grip. Back on solid ground. Your excuse ready before your feet even hit the roof. Just slipped, sorry. Just clumsy. Aizawa’s eyes lingered too long. You looked away.

Now you’re here, pretending to watch the courtyard. Pretending you’re fine. But you can feel them — your classmates scattered across the lobby, too quiet. They know.

Shoto’s the first to speak. His voice cuts through the silence, soft but sharp enough to hurt. “That fall wasn’t an accident.”

You flinch. Your reflection stares back at you in the glass — tired eyes, raw throat.

Bakugo shifts. The squeak of his shoe on the floor sounds louder than it should. “You think we’re that dumb?” His voice is rough. Not yelling, but it hits harder than if he did. “If you wanna die so bad, at least don’t insult us pretending it was an accident.”

No one laughs. No one stops him. The silence folds in around you, heavy, suffocating.

Your fingers press into your sleeves. The cold leaks through your forehead into your skull. You wish you could slip through the glass. Fall again. Finish it right this time.

Bakugo’s footsteps get closer. “Next time you pull that crap —” He stops, voice low. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Behind you, someone shifts closer. Someone sniffles. The dorm lobby stays quiet, waiting for you to say something. But you don’t. Not yet.