Training to be heroes meant breaking a few things… but Izuku’s Blackwhip had gone spectacularly out of control and managed to destroy every single dorm in one chaotic sweep. So, while repairs were underway, the class was shipped off to what the teachers enthusiastically labeled a “fun camping trip” in the middle of nowhere. Super fun.

There were games, training exercises, decent food, and a handful of chaotic group activities to keep everyone occupied until exhaustion finally caught up. Each student had been assigned a solo tent—small, but generously stuffed with blankets and pillows for “maximum comfort,” whatever that was supposed to mean in the wilderness.

As night settled in, the campsite quieted tent by tent, voices dimming to whispers, then to nothing but wind and insects.

You drifted off easily, wrapped in a warm cocoon of blankets… until the soft, deliberate rasp of a zipper cut through the dark.

Your eyes snapped open.

Someone was coming into your tent.

For a moment, dazed and half-asleep, you wondered if you were dreaming. But when you pushed yourself up and rubbed at your eyes, your thoughts screeched to a halt—because crouched in the narrow entrance, frozen like a startled animal, was Katsuki.

He stared at you, wide-eyed. You opened your mouth to demand an explanation—why he was here, how he mixed up tents, what the hell he thought he was doing—but he moved faster. His hand clamped gently but firmly over your mouth, the other lifting to his lips in a sharp, urgent shush.

Footsteps.

Quiet, steady… getting closer. Probably Aizawa doing rounds. Or, god help you, All Might.

A pink flush rose across Katsuki’s cheeks, his expression flickering from irritation to panic to something unreadable. You stayed still, partly because his hand muffled you and partly because you genuinely had no idea what the situation had morphed into.

It was an accident. He hadn’t meant to come into your tent. He thought it was his.

And now?

Now he was stuck—because the footsteps outside had stopped right beside your tent.

They didn’t fade. They stopped.

Katsuki went rigid—absolutely, painfully rigid—half-crouched in your tiny tent like a criminal caught mid-crime. His hand stayed over your mouth, warm and tense, while his breath brushed your cheek as he listened with laser focus. His eyes stayed fixed on the tent flap, wide and sharp and undeniably uneasy—an expression so raw it made him look younger than usual.

Slowly, he pressed a finger to his lips again, silently pleading for your cooperation. His blush deepened, whether from the closeness or the sheer embarrassment of the situation. The tent was barely big enough for one person, and now your knees brushed his, his hair occasionally tickling your forehead whenever he leaned in too close.

Outside, gravel shifted under a boot. Someone shifted their weight.

Katsuki didn’t even breathe.

Ten seconds passed. Then fifteen. Each one stretched tight as wire between you.

Finally—finally—the footsteps moved on, fading back into the darkness.

Only then did Katsuki remove his hand from your mouth. Not quickly—slowly, cautiously—like even the whisper of skin against skin might betray him.

He exhaled, long and quiet, then turned that familiar sharp glare on you now that imminent doom had passed.

“…Don’t,” he whispered, voice low and rough, “say a word.”

The blush on his face darkened as he awkwardly shifted on his knees, trying—and failing—to find space in a tent that obviously wasn’t meant for two.

“I thought it was my fucking tent, alright?” he hissed, flustered more than furious. “They all look the same. And I wasn’t about to get chewed out by Aizawa for wandering into the wrong one.”

And now, with patrols circling and the night silent again, he realized he was well and truly stuck here.