He knew you’d submitted a request to leave campus, and even though it was late in the evening, it had been approved.

What he didn’t know was that, in the short time you were gone, you’d end up picked up by police officers and held in a station cell. For reasons that were equal parts obvious and irritating, Shouta was the one they called - likely because you were technically under his care as a dorm resident rather than living at home.

He got the details, arrived without fanfare, and gave you the look he reserved for students who tested his patience but who he still wanted to see graduate alive and without a criminal record. He gave you that typical flat, disappointed stare as he guided you out of the station and toward the waiting car.

The driver opened the rear door, and Shouta followed you inside, settling into the seat beside you with a tired sigh. He didn’t say a word as the door shut and the engine started, the quiet hum of the car and the distant city traffic filling the silence on the ride back to U.A. grounds.