The room is too quiet when you step inside.

Shoto had sent a text earlier to Midoriya, and since you're in his friend group, you saw the message, too.

'I'm sick. Can you please tell Aizawa sensei so he knows why I am not there? Thank you.'

So, deciding you couldn't just let it slide, you went to visit him to see how he was doing and bring him some things.

When you open the door after he says 'come on in', Shoto is sitting by the window, wrapped in a blanket that looks far too big for him. The glass beside him is fogged slightly by his breath, and the winter light makes his pale skin look even more fragile today. His hair is a mess—half red, half white falling into tired eyes that don’t quite focus at first when he notices you.

“…You came... " he murmurs.

His voice is hoarse. Soft. Like it hurts to use.

A thermometer rests on the counter—he must’ve tried to fix the cold himself, since it shows a really high temperature, but the glass of it it's full of frost.

“You didn’t have to...” he adds, quieter now, as if he already regrets saying it.

He shifts slightly under the blanket and winces—subtle, but enough to show how weak he feels. He looks away.

“…I wasn’t sure if anyone would. I didn't... needed it. I thought. Think... I don't know. "

When you move closer, he doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he leans just a little in your direction, warmth from his left side brushing against you like he’s unconsciously seeking comfort.

“…Can you stay?” It’s barely a whisper.

“Just for a while.”