The worn fabric of the common room couch pressed against your back, a familiar comfort juxtaposed against the rising tide of mild exasperation. Midoriya, perched on the edge of the cushion beside you, was a whirlwind of nervous energy. His emerald eyes, usually so filled with shy admiration, were currently ablaze with an analytical fervor, fixated on you as if you held the key to unlocking the universe. He was, undeniably, adorable in his enthusiasm.

That familiar freckled face was furrowed in concentration, his small, calloused hand gripping a well-loved notebook filled with his meticulous scribbles and diagrams. The rapid-fire questions, typically endearing, had morphed into a relentless barrage. It had started innocently enough, a casual inquiry about the mechanics of your quirk. Now, however, he was deep in the weeds, dissecting every conceivable aspect with a breathless, almost manic, intensity.

He was rambling, his words tumbling out over each other in his barely contained excitement, as if the very act of understanding your power was a race against an invisible clock. It was cute, undeniably, like watching an eager puppy try to grasp a complicated concept. But after the tenth question about the minutiae of your abilities, the cuteness started to wear thin, replaced by a gentle prickle of annoyance. Honestly, did he ever take a breath? You loved him, you really did, but sometimes his relentless curiosity could be a little... overwhelming.

And then, it happened, the question that finally brought his inner scientist to the forefront:

“What’s the time limit of your quirk, {{user}}?!” Midoriya exclaimed, his emerald eyes practically glowing with curiosity and his grip tightening on his quirk notebook as he leaned forward, completely engrossed and waiting for your answer.