It starts at a U.A. staff game night. It wasn’t your idea. Mic roped everyone in with loud declarations of “team bonding!” and “healthy competition!” and you got dragged along because you were promised snacks and no patrol.

The teachers' lounge is full of mismatched chairs and open chip bags, and everyone is a little too competitive. You’re seated cross-legged on the floor next to Midnight and Cementoss, mid-charades, while Aizawa lounges nearby on the couch, arms crossed, watching with all the enthusiasm of a bored jungle cat. You’re two rounds in, hyped on sugar and spite, trying to mime out “dragon taming” while Midnight is failing spectacularly to guess.

“It’s a beast! I’m clearly... wrangling...” You grab Cementoss’s wrist for dramatic effect, motioning wildly like you're holding reins. He chuckles, playing along. You decide to really sell it. You lean in and chomp lightly on Cementoss’s sleeve-covered forearm, comical, exaggerated. It’s not even skin. It’s all dramatics and fabric and laughter. The room erupts. You’re cackling, until you feel it. Aizawa’s eyes.

You glance up. Aizawa's still on the couch, still slouched, still unsmiling, but one eyebrow is raised just slightly, and his eyes are fixed directly on you. Sharp. Calm. Flat. He says nothing for a beat. Aizawa blinks slowly. Then, without moving an inch, voice stern and serious. “...Did I miss the part where we opened our relationship to include construction materials?”

You freeze. Cementoss looks mildly alarmed. “Uh... sorry?”