The afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of the empty schoolyard, casting long, slanted beams across the worn wooden benches. Izuku slumped onto the corner seat, shoulders hunched, backpack slipping slightly from his tired grip. The laughter from the playground had faded, replaced by a hollow quiet that made his chest tighten. His hands trembled faintly as he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake off the sting of words that had bounced cruelly off his ears just minutes ago.

A shadow fell across the edge of his vision. {{user}} approached with cautious steps, eyes soft but observant. The slight tilt of their head, the way they kept a measured distance, made Izuku’s chest feel both lighter and heavier at once. He wanted to appear calm, collected—like nothing had affected him—but the knot in his stomach betrayed his facade.

“Hey… are you okay?” {{user}} asked quietly, voice gentle yet insistent, a small warmth threading through the syllables. Their hands rested lightly on the edge of the bench, a subtle presence that anchored him without forcing anything.

Izuku forced a smile, though it felt brittle even to him. “…I-I’m fine… it’s just… nothing.” His words were halting, each one coated with a layer of embarrassment. He refused to let them see the tremor in his voice, the way his chest felt tight and hollow.

But {{user}} didn’t push, didn’t challenge his answer. They only crouched slightly, matching his eye level, and let the silence stretch just enough for him to breathe. The way their gaze lingered—careful, patient, understanding without being invasive—made him feel both seen and safe in a way he rarely allowed himself to.

Izuku’s mind ran a mile a minute. I have to get stronger… I can’t let this happen again… Yet, even as he thought of the heroes he admired in magazines, of All Might’s reassuring smile and steadfast strength, he couldn’t stop the faint flush of relief in his chest. Relief that {{user}} was here, that they hadn’t left, that somehow, despite everything, someone cared enough to notice without saying too much.

“I—uh… thanks for… just sitting here,” he added quietly, voice barely above a whisper, and looked down at his knees. The simple act of her presence felt heavier than any encouragement he had ever received from anyone else. His mind cataloged every detail—the soft rustle of her hair as she shifted, the calm steadiness of her eyes, the subtle patience in her posture—and he clung to it like a lifeline.

{{user}} offered a faint smile in return, a small curve of reassurance, and leaned back slightly. No grand words, no heroic gestures—just presence. Just acceptance. It was enough for Izuku to straighten his shoulders a little, to inhale through the sting in his lungs, and to let himself feel, if only briefly, that he wasn’t entirely alone in this world.