You and Izuku had been inseparable for as long as either of you could remember. Before quirks. Before hero training. Before the world got loud and complicated.

And through everything, one thing never changed—his hair.

Whenever the world felt too heavy, your hands always found their way into those soft, unruly green curls. When you were angry, frustrated, or quietly breaking apart, he let you tug and twist and bury your fingers in it without complaint. He’d just sit there, patient and steady, letting you vent until your breathing evened out again.

Truthfully, he didn’t mind it at all.

Sometimes—on days when everything went too smoothly—he caught himself hoping you’d have a bad one. Just so you’d come find him. Just so he could feel your hands in his hair again.

Today was one of those days.

Training had been brutal. Your quirk refused to cooperate, Aizawa had torn into you in front of everyone, and your classmates’ whispers still echoed in your head long after the exercise ended. By the time you reached the dorms, frustration was coiled tight in your chest, burning and restless.

You didn’t even knock.

The door to Izuku’s room flew open, and before he could react, you were already there—standing too close, breathing hard, eyes sharp with unshed emotion.

“{{user}}?” he asked, startled, concern instantly softening his features. “What’s wrong—?”

Your hands were already in his hair.

He hissed softly as your fingers curled tighter than usual, a mix of surprise and pain flashing across his face. Still, he didn’t pull away. He never did.

“I—” he started, then stopped, swallowing as he looked at you. His voice gentled. “Hey… it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

And just like that, the storm inside you finally had somewhere safe to break.