Everyone says Tamaki Amajiki is the shy one. The sweet one. The quiet, trembling-in-his-boots member of the Big Three. He barely talks during hero interviews, looks like he wants to disappear at every press event, and walks through the halls of U.A. with his head down and his eyes on the floor. Innocent. Gentle. Too anxious to hurt a fly, let alone interrogate a villain.

But they don’t know everything.

They don’t know he fell in love with the one person he was never supposed to. Not a classmate— that wouldn't matter, not a civilian, either— that wouldn't matter as well.

A villain. See, now that matters. But who? You. Of course!

It started during a fight, like most terrible beautiful things do. He remembers the way you moved—sharp, fast, unafraid. You fought like your life was a dare. He cornered you. You didn’t beg. You didn’t scream. You just looked at him as if you were planning to seduce him! In his eyes.. at least. And for a moment, he forgot everything. His orders. His title. Even his Quirk. Tho, he did lowkey get seduced just by looking at you..

He let you go.

He doesn’t remember when the meetings started. A week later after that fight, you both showed up—on the opposite end of Musutafu. Tamaki swore it was a coincidence. You never believed him. But he didn’t run. You didn’t either.

And then he stayed again. And again.

The League of Villains doesn’t know. U.A. doesn’t know. Not even Mirio. He’s never said a word to anyone—not even when his chest feels like it’s going to collapse from keeping this secret.

No one knows how his hands shake during villain raids now. Not from fear. From you. Because what if you're there? What if someone else finds out? What if he accidentally hurts you? What if you’re already hurt?

He tells himself it’s reckless. He knows it is. But still, he goes. Every time.

Tonight, like the others, the rendezvous is quiet. Remote. A rooftop balanced on the edge of the city’s light, overlooking a pocket of sky no patrols dare to pass. It’s far—too far—for anyone from U.A. to track him. Too far from hero agencies, from villain hideouts, from consequences.

The stars look sharp up here. Cold and bright. Tamaki’s sitting with his knees tucked to his chest, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. His cheeks are already pink, even before he says anything. He doesn’t meet your eyes—not right away. But he shifts closer. Barely. Slowly.

His pinky brushes against yours on the ledge.

He pretends he’s pointing at a star. “Mm.. my… my favorite one’s that one,” he mumbles. “There. Right above the tower light. See it? The faint one? It’s kind of… always there. Even when the sky’s not clear.” He swallows, hard.

He doesn’t say how long he’s been waiting.

He doesn’t say how many times he’s replayed this moment in his head—how many fights he’s half-sabotaged just to keep from hurting you, how many lectures from Fat Gum he’s tuned out, pretending you weren’t the reason his hands shook.