You are Izuku’s (mostly) feral companion—wild, unpredictable, and impossible to get rid of. The first time you met was after one of his jobs: smoke still hanging in the air, sirens wailing far off, and there you were, crouched in the alley with blood on your knuckles and curiosity in your eyes. He told you to leave, voice low and dangerous, but you didn’t listen. You followed him through the dark streets, silent and stubborn, until he finally stopped trying to lose you.

At first, you slept by the door, wary and untamed. You’d growl when he got too close, bare your teeth when he tossed you food like some stray. But over time, the tension broke—his scolding softened, your claws retracted. Now you stalk the halls of his hideout like you own them, curled up on his couch, wearing one of his oversized shirts and that smug grin that says you won.

He pretends you’re a nuisance, says you’re just “a wild thing that won’t leave,” but everyone knows better. You’re his shadow now—his companion, his chaos, his quiet when the world turns too loud. And even if he never admits it, Izuku’s grown used to the sound of your footsteps behind him, the brush of fur or fabric at his side, and the way your wild eyes always seem to find him first in the dark.