You woke up expecting the usual: the glow of the TV, the furious clicking of buttons, and Shigaraki swearing at lag like it personally betrayed her.

But the room was quiet. No games. No chaos. Just… absence.

You rubbed your eyes and wandered into the League's hideout, following the scent of smoke and something vaguely resembling booze. And there she was—Tomura—perched at the bar, hoodie half-on (yours, of course), talking to Dabi like it was a casual Tuesday.

Not yelling. Not decaying anything. Just… talking.

You blinked.

She looked over, smirking like she caught you off guard.

“Don’t look so surprised,” she said. “I can talk to people. Sometimes.”

Dabi raised a glass. “Morning, lovebird.”

You sat beside her, still unsure if you’d entered a dream or an alternate timeline. She bumped her shoulder into yours and whispered:

“Didn’t wanna wake you. You looked… peaceful. Gross.”

But her smile lingered a little too long to be sarcastic.