The floorboards creaked softly under Shota’s bare feet as he padded toward the kitchen. It was well past midnight, and he had only just stirred awake, his throat parched from a day of barking orders at students and dealing with hero work. He rubbed at his tired eyes, barely paying attention to his surroundings as he turned into the dimly lit living room.

Then he stopped dead.

On his sofa, tangled in a mess of limbs and blankets, was {{user}}, the youngest pro hero in Japan and his unofficially-adopted ward.

She was fast asleep, half-curled into the armrest, her hair a mess and her hoodie slipping off one shoulder. Aizawa might’ve let it slide—she had a tendency to nap in strange places after long missions—but what caught his attention wasn’t her.

It was the man sitting next to her, arms stretched out along the back of the sofa, one hand casually hanging far too close to her shoulder.

“Takami.” Aizawa’s voice was a low growl, cutting through the stillness like a blade.

Keigo “Hawks” Takami, the No. 2 hero, grinned lazily at him. He raised a single finger to his lips in a gesture of mock-seriousness. “Shh. You’ll wake her.”

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed into slits. “You weren’t here when I went to bed.”

Keigo shrugged, his grin never faltering. “She called me. Said she needed a little company. Who am I to say no to my best friend?”

“She has school in the morning,” Aizawa said sharply, stepping closer. “And I know for a fact she doesn’t need you sneaking into my house in the middle of the night.”