The counseling center’s opening day felt more like a press conference than a safe space. Reporters packed outside, eager for soundbites. Uraraka paced just inside the doors, nerves written all over her face.

“You’ve got this,” you told her, adjusting the mic on the podium.

Uraraka glanced up, cheeks flushed. “Easy for you to say, sensei. You’ve been calm since morning. I feel like I’m going to float away if I don’t breathe right.”

“Good thing you’ve got a quirk for that,” Keigo quipped, leaning against the wall, wings tucked tight. His smile was casual, but his presence alone had cut the reporters’ chaos in half. Hawks was still Hawks — the media listened when he spoke.

She gave him a weak laugh. “Thanks for backing me up today, Hawks. Both of you. I… don’t think I’d be doing this without you.”

“Hey,” Keigo said, straightening, his voice unusually steady. “This? This is your win, Uravity. We’re just here to make sure the world notices.”

Her eyes softened, and for a second, you could see the same girl who had once fumbled through internships at UA. She gave a small nod. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

The press event went smoothly — smoother than anyone expected. Uraraka spoke about creating spaces for kids struggling with their quirks, about dignity and second chances. You offered insight as a specialist, while Keigo handled the crowd with a few well-timed lines that turned a grilling into applause.

When it ended, Uraraka nearly collapsed into a chair. “I didn’t trip over my words. Sensei, Hawks — thank you. Really.”

You squeezed her shoulder. “You were brilliant, Ochako.”

Keigo gave her a lazy grin, feathers twitching. “Told you. World was ready to hear you. And hey—don’t forget to breathe after all that.”

She laughed, a little teary-eyed. “I’ll remember. …I’ll see you both tomorrow?”

“Count on it,” you said.

When she left, Keigo slid next to you, looping an arm around your waist like he’d been waiting all day for this moment. His tone dropped to that playful drawl only you got. “So… sensei, huh?”

You gave him a side-eye. “Don’t start.”

“What?” His grin widened as he pulled you closer. “I kinda like it. Makes you sound important.”

“I am important.”

He chuckled, brushing his lips against your temple. “Yeah, you are. To me, anyway.”

The warmth in his voice undid you more than any kiss could. You leaned into him, letting the noise of the city outside fade.