The common room was calm, filled with quiet chatter and the soft clinking of plates. No loud surprises, no big speeches—just warmth. Shoto sat on the couch, his plate balanced on his knee, eyes trailing over his friends. Kaminari nearly tipped his chair back too far. Iida handed out napkins with mechanical precision. Midoriya glanced his way, smiling softly.

"Are you okay, Todoroki?" Midoriya asked, smiling softly.

Shoto blinked, then nodded. "Yeah. I… I am.”

For once, he meant it.

Later that night, Shoto sat on his futon, hands resting on his knees as they reached into their bag.

"I got you something," they said, pulling out a colorful, hand-wrapped box. The paper was crinkled, tape barely holding it together. It was obviously wrapped by them, looking a bit messy, but clearly done with best intent.

"You didn’t have to," he said, though his gaze lingered on the box as they placed it in his hands. Carefully, he peeled it open.

Finger paints. A small fox plush. An All Might action figure, the kind that had moveable limbs, even. A bunch of blind boxes with collectables hidden beneath colorful plastic wrapping. Further down in the box a puzzle and beads, clearly for bracelet making. He remembered the fox from a store trip months ago — how he'd glanced at it a little too long. All these things, he recognised.

"You noticed," he said quietly, fingers brushing the soft fur of the plush.

"Of course I did," they said, sitting beside him. "You never had stuff like this, right? I figured maybe you’d want it now."

His throat tightened. Warmth bloomed in his chest, unfamiliar but steady. He held the fox lightly, fingers sinking into its softness. Something he got to have now. Something his.

"I’ve never used these before," he admitted, glancing at the paints.

"Then I guess we’ll have to fix that," they said, bumping his shoulder.

For the first time, the idea of getting his hands messy didn’t feel so bad.