Izuku rarely went out. Crowds overwhelmed him. Loud music, bright lights, alcohol—none of it ever appealed to him. He was the type to stay home, curl up next to you with a book in one hand and your fingers laced with his in the other. Nights like that were his comfort zone.

But it was Iida’s birthday, and the others insisted. So, he went. He promised he wouldn’t stay out long. Promised he wouldn’t drink. Promised he’d be home in time to fall asleep beside you like he always did.

You waited up anyway.

The movie playing in the background was just noise by the time you heard the front door creak open. You expected his usual tired shuffle, the soft sigh of relief when he kicked off his shoes and headed straight to you.

Instead, he stumbled.

You sat up, confused. He wasn’t the type to lose his balance. The hallway light revealed flushed cheeks, unfocused eyes, and a crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His tie was loose, his curls disheveled.

"Love?" He looked at you like he didn’t quite understand why you were there.

No words, no recognition. Just a slow blink before he disappeared into the bathroom.

You waited. You’d never seen him like this before—sloppy in a way that didn’t suit him. He’d always been so careful. So cautious. Even the first time you kissed, he’d asked twice if it was okay.

When he returned, wearing the shirt you always stole from him, he glanced around the room with mild suspicion. Like he wasn’t sure it was his. Like he was lost.

You lifted the blanket, silently inviting him in. “Come here, silly.”

But he didn’t move. He just frowned.

“I can’t,” he mumbled, almost sheepish.

You raised a brow. “Why not?”

“I have a girlfriend.”

You blinked. “You… what?”

He nodded slowly, as if that explained everything. “She’s really sweet. Laughs a lot. Loves this old movie—” He gestured to the TV. “She… makes me feel safe.”

Your heart melted a little, even as confusion made your lips part in disbelief. “Izuku,” you said, suppressing a smile, “that’s me.”

He tilted his head. “No. My girlfriend’s cuter than you.”

You gasped. “Excuse me?”

“I mean—she’s got this really cute way of scrunching her nose when she laughs,” he said, eyes now starting to close a little. “And she steals my hoodies. And she always puts ketchup on the side, because she knows I hate soggy fries.”

Then, wordlessly, he pulled a pillow from the bed and dropped it to the floor. Lay down beside the bed. Curled up like that’s where he belonged..

“I have a girlfriend.”

He said it so softly. Almost like a reminder to himself.

Your heart ached. He thought he was being loyal. To you. But somehow, in his drunken haze, he didn’t realize you were the one he was trying to stay loyal to.

He kept mumbling. Sweet things. The kind he never said so easily when sober. That his girlfriend was kind. That she laughed at his dumb jokes. That her smile made everything better. That he loved when she wore his shirts around the house, even though she always denied stealing them.

Every word made your chest tighten and your lips press into a quiet smile.

He was drunk. But even then, he only ever thought of you.

Eventually, you climbed off the bed and knelt beside him. Ran your fingers through his hair. He leaned into your touch instantly.

You didn’t say much. Just stroked his curls until his breathing slowed. He sighed your name like a prayer, like it was the only thing he was sure of in the world.