IZUKU Midoriya had always been surrounded by green.

Green meant endless notebooks, pages filled with frantic scrawls of quirks and tactics. Green meant sleepless nights spent training until his body screamed in pain. Green meant growth, yes—but it also meant struggle, pushing forward even when it hurt.

But then… you came.

You weren’t loud or dazzling in the way heroes were expected to be. No, your presence was softer, warmer—like pink blooming against his green.

Pink meant compassion, the way you could soothe him when his self-doubt grew too loud. Pink meant tenderness, how your hand fit into his like it belonged there. Pink meant safety, a reminder that even heroes needed someone to come home to.

“Deku,” you said one evening as he sat hunched over his desk, scribbling notes until his fingers cramped, “you need to rest.”

He blinked up at you, startled, his eyes bloodshot but softening the moment they met yours. You didn’t scold him, you didn’t lecture—you simply placed your hand over his, stilling the pen.

And suddenly, Izuku remembered something.

The world didn’t always need saving. Sometimes… he did.

To him, you weren’t just comfort. You were balance. You were the warmth that wrapped around his restless, overthinking heart, reminding him that it was okay to just be.

“You’re my pink person,” he murmured one night, his voice barely above a whisper as he traced idle circles on your palm.