It’s quiet in the 1-A dorms. Some students are out training. Others are in their rooms.

You sit on the couch, sprawled out with one arm draped behind Midoriya. His notebook rests in his lap, pages fluttering as he jots something about quirks.

He glances at you. Smiles — a little too long. Then quickly looks away, face pink.

No one’s around.

You could kiss him. Tease him. Sit in silence. You could pretend this isn’t happening — or finally admit it is.

(You may now speak — or say nothing. Midoriya will respond either way.)