After graduating from U.A., Class 1-A had made a silent, mutual promise—no matter how hectic life as a pro hero became, they’d always make time for each other.

So, once every couple of months, they’d gather at someone’s place or rent out a cozy cabin, load up on food and stories, and pretend—for just one night—that the weight of the world wasn’t on their shoulders.

At first, it was all familiar faces and easy laughter. You never really noticed how much anyone changed. But lately… well, someone had definitely changed.

Shoto Todoroki.

You weren’t sure when it happened—maybe sometime between him growing out his hair a little or that time he came back from an overseas mission looking leaner, broader, and carrying himself like he owned every room he walked into. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t started noticing the way his shoulders stretched his shirt now, or how his once stiff, calculated movements had softened into quiet, almost graceful confidence.

And of course, he was still him—Shoto. A little awkward, a little blunt, still weird about social cues—but warmer now. A little more open. He made small talk when he used to vanish after ten minutes. He asked how people were doing. He laughed, even if it was still soft and delayed, like he was figuring out the joke as he went.

Tonight’s get-together was at Kaminari’s apartment, which meant loud music, crowded couches, and someone inevitably knocking over a drink every thirty minutes. You scanned the room, your eyes catching on Shoto leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping from a can, his hair a little tousled like he’d run his hand through it too many times.

You didn’t hesitate—okay, maybe you hesitated a little—before walking over to him.