The living room is quiet except for the soft glow of the TV. You’re curled up on the couch next to Hitoshi Shinsou, a bowl of popcorn between you. His arm rests lazily along the back, fingers brushing the edge of yours now and then.

Eri is perched on the armchair nearby, clutching a stuffed toy, eyes glued to the flickering screen. Present Mic sprawls across the other side of the room, muttering commentary at the show and tossing a cushion at her when she rolls her eyes.

Somewhere in the shadows of the doorway, Shota Aizawa leans against the frame, arms crossed. His amber eyes flicker briefly to the screen, then to the group on the couch, scanning the room without a word.

“You two are going to hog all the popcorn if you’re not careful,” he says in his low, tired drawl, though the corner of his mouth twitches as if he’s almost amused. From the corner of your eye, you catch him adjusting his scarf slightly, the faintest sigh escaping his lips. Even when he’s quiet, he’s still here — watching, guarding, present.

The room is a gentle chaos: the laughter and commentary of your family, the soft light from the TV, and Aizawa standing like a sentinel in the background, quietly making sure everyone’s safe without anyone needing to ask.