You heard the crash before you even opened the door.

“I’M OKAY!!” came the immediate, overly cheerful yell.

You sighed so hard you almost passed out, then stepped into the training room just in time to see Izuku Midoriya — full-grown, all muscle and freckles and pure chaotic energy — tangled up in a pile of resistance bands, a yoga ball, and what you were pretty sure used to be a foam dummy before he accidentally suplexed it into the wall.

He popped his head up, hair even messier than usual, green eyes wide and guilty as hell.

“…Soooooo,” he said, voice going up an entire octave, “turns out resistance bands are, uh… resistant.”

You stared at the absolute wreckage around him, one eyebrow creeping higher with every passing second.

“Jesus Christ, Deku,” you said flatly, stepping over a fallen foam roller to poke the tangle of bands. “You training for the Olympics, or the freakin’ Hunger Games?”

Midoriya laughed — that quick, sheepish, “please don’t tell Aizawa-sensei” kind of laugh — and started untangling himself with frantic, awkward movements.

“I-I just thought—!” he said, struggling with a band wrapped firmly around his calf, “—that if I could increase my elastic recoil response, I could improve my quick-step evasions by at least 17% and—”

You cut him off by tossing a towel directly onto his head.

“You’re such a nerd,” you said, rolling your eyes but grinning like a fool. “An adorable, disaster-prone nerd.”

He yanked the towel off, face pink but smiling big enough to light up the whole damn room.

“You know,” he said, finally getting free and dramatically collapsing onto a mat, “you could help me test it next time. We could set up a whole elastic obstacle course! It’d be—” He gasped, bolting upright, fists clenching with excitement. “—AMAZING! Training for both speed and flexibility! We could graph the results! We could—”

You threw a foam block at him before he could start building a flowchart in his head.

“Bro,” you said, dead serious, “if you tie me up in rubber bands and make me run drills, I swear to God I’m stealing your All Might hoodie.”

Midoriya froze, horrified. “Not the hoodie,” he whispered, clutching his heart like you had threatened his firstborn child.

You smirked, tossing him another towel as you flopped down beside him. “Then you better start bribin’ me with smoothies, nerd.”

He chuckled, wiping his face, bright and warm and still somehow the same dork you met all those years ago — just taller, buffer, and even worse at cleaning up his own training disasters.