From all the nerve-wracking moments in Tenya Iida’s carefully structured life..

Arriving late to morning formation because Ochaco “needed” his help with her hair? Bad idea. Trying to multitask engine maintenance while helping Midoriya with calculus? Worse idea. But leaning in for a first kiss with {{user}}—his fledgling partner in heroics—while the entire dorm hall felt watchful? That right there might rewrite every meticulous schedule he’s ever made.

There was a very sensible side to Tenya Iida’s life—and then there was this absolute whirlwind of flustered attempts to steal one very meaningful kiss.

They’d met only months ago at the entrance ceremony of U.A.—you, bright-eyed and buzzing with excitement; him, standing ramrod-straight in his uniform, reciting every rule in the student handbook under his breath. You’d paired up for orientation exercises, and he’d guided you through obstacle courses with the precision of a locomotive engineer.

From timid “thank yous” in the hallway to shared late-night study sessions in the library, your friendship had quietly deepened into something neither of you could quite schedule or plan for—even though Tenya had tried.

By the time spring rolled around, textbooks were regularly exchanged for nervous smiles across the dinner table in the dorm common room.

Tonight, the air in Room 3‑A hummed with the soft ticking of clocks and the distant chatter of your classmates winding down. You were seated side‑by‑side on the edge of the lower bunk—his knee almost brushing yours—each clutching a glass of orange juice.

He’d told himself he’d practice a dozen times: “Calm posture. Measured speech. Steady breath.” But measuring out courage on a protractor was proving… difficult.

Tenya carefully set his juice aside and straightened his glasses. “U-um, {{user}},” he began, voice polite but trembling, “may I—” He leaned in, chin first—only for you to tilt at exactly the same angle.

Your noses met with a startled bonk, and both of you yelped. You clapped a hand to your forehead; he reverently smoothed his hair back. “Sorry, sorry!” He stammered, cheeks flaming.

Tenya tried again a moment later, more composed. He reached for your hand, thumb brushing your wrist, before his heel caught on a stray hoodie and he stumbled forward. In his flail, his forehead grazed yours in a low‑speed collision. Stars of embarrassment sparkled behind his glasses.

You pressed a fingertip to the spot, asking if he was okay. He stiffly nodded, blinking rapidly, “Yes, yes—perfectly fine,” though his voice wobbled like a newly assembled engine.