MHA

The afternoon sun hung high over Musutafu, glinting off glass windows and rooftops as the city moved at its usual steady pace. On the sidewalk below, two familiar figures walked side by side. Tokoyami Fumikage, tall and composed, grocery list folded neatly in one clawed hand, and {{user}}, a reusable bag slung over {{poss}} shoulder.

It was their turn for dormitory duty. Snacks were running low. Someone- likely Kaminari, had written “something sweet AND something crunchy” in bold letters on the list.

Above them, wings cut through the air.

Hawks had been mid-patrol, coasting lazily between buildings, eyes scanning the streets more out of habit than urgency. That was when he saw them. Two figures moving together. One unmistakably Tokoyami, shadow stretching long behind him. The other, {{user}}, smaller, familiar, carrying {{poss}} same quiet presence Hawks had come to associate with one of U.A.’s bird-quirked students.

His eyes widened.

“Oh no,” Hawks muttered, hovering midair.

His head snapped back toward them. Then back again.

“...Are those my babies?”

He gasped audibly, feathers flaring in reflex. Without another thought, he folded his wings and dove.

Tokoyami sensed it first. Dark Shadow stirred slightly, lifting its head as a rush of wind swept over them. Before either student could fully react, a red blur dropped from the sky and landed directly in front of them, crouched low like a bird touching down.

Hawks straightened instantly, wings spreading wide.

“Hey!” he said brightly, beaming down at them. “Fancy seeing you two out here all on your own!”

Tokoyami froze. “Hawks,” he said calmly, though Dark Shadow puffed up in surprise. “You nearly collided with us.”

Hawks waved a hand dismissively. “Details. I saw you from the sky and-” he leaned in slightly, eyes sparkling, “I just had to come say hi. You guys okay? Not being overworked? Eating enough?”

He glanced at {{user}}, the bag on {{sub}} shoulder and the list in Tokoyami’s hand.

“...Wait. Are you grocery shopping?”

Tokoyami nodded. “It is our assigned task for Class 4-A.”

Hawks made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. “You didn’t tell me you were being sent out into the wild like this.” He shook his head dramatically. “Unsupervised. Tragic.”

Tokoyami opened his beak slightly, then closed it again. “We are capable.”

“Oh, I know,” Hawks said quickly. “I’m just saying, no way I’m letting my fellow bird-types fend for themselves when I’m right here.”

Before either student could object, Hawks had already turned, motioning enthusiastically toward the nearby grocery store. “C’mon! I’ll walk with you. Patrol can wait five minutes.”

Inside the store, Hawks immediately became a menace.

He drifted through the aisles like he owned the place, wings tucked but posture relaxed, grabbing items seemingly at random. Chips. Candy. Drinks. Way more fruit than necessary. He paused in front of one shelf, tilting his head.

“Ooo, limited edition flavors.”

Tokoyami watched as Hawks added three bags to the cart. “Those are not on the list.”

“They are now,” Hawks replied cheerfully.

He followed them down every aisle, leaning over the cart, peering into shelves, occasionally stopping to point something out. “You guys like these? Oh. What about this one? Protein snacks are important. Gotta keep the feathers shiny.”

At one point, he crouched slightly to be at eye level with {{user}}, voice lowering conspiratorially. “You eating enough? Dorm food’s okay, but snacks are crucial. Trust me.”

Tokoyami cleared his throat. “Hawks, this may be excessive.”

Hawks glanced at the overflowing cart, then shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s my job as a responsible adult bird hero. Besides, I'm paying."

The Class 4-A common room had taken on a softer atmosphere than usual. The overhead lights were dimmed, replaced by the gentle glow of desk lamps and string lights Mina had insisted on hanging weeks ago. Music drifted through the air from Jirou’s phone. Low volume, bass steady, something mellow enough not to irritate anyone who wandered past.

{{user}} sat cross-legged on the floor near the couch, a small collection of nail polish bottles spread neatly on a towel. Ensuring {{poss}} newly painted nails were drying nicely. Jirou sat close by, earbuds dangling loosely around her neck, occasionally tapping her foot in time with the music. Kaminari leaned against the couch, hands stretched out dramatically as if he were undergoing a medical procedure rather than getting his nails painted.

“Okay, but if you mess these up, I’m blaming you,” Kaminari said, watching Jirou with exaggerated seriousness as she focused on one of his fingers.

“You say that every time,” Jirou replied flatly. “And every time, you still show them off like you’re proud.”

“That’s because I am proud,” Kaminari shot back. “These are electric yellow. They match my brand.”

Jirou snorted softly but didn’t argue, carefully brushing on another coat. She glanced toward {{user}} briefly, nodding once toward the small fan nearby. “You can turn that a little more if you want. Helps them dry faster.”

Across the room, Mina was perched happily on an ottoman, humming along to the music while painting Kirishima’s nails a deep, glossy red. Kirishima held his hands up like priceless artifacts, staring at them with open admiration.

“Dude,” he said, rotating his wrist to catch the light. “These look manly. Like... heroic. You know? Real rugged.”

Mina beamed. “See? I told you red is powerful. It’s confidence in color form.”

Kirishima nodded solemnly. “I feel like I could punch through a wall and still worry about chipping them.”

“That’s the spirit!” Mina laughed, adding a tiny accent detail to his thumbnail. “Beauty and strength.”

The music shifted to another track, something slower, and Jirou adjusted the volume without looking. Kaminari wiggled his fingers impatiently.

“Are they dry yet?” he asked.

“No,” Jirou replied immediately. “And if you keep moving, they never will.”

Kaminari groaned and leaned his head back against the couch. “This is oppression.”

From the hallway, a few other students passed by, peeking in at the scene before deciding it wasn’t chaotic enough to investigate further. The common room felt insulated from the rest of the dorm. Quiet laughter, soft music, the faint scent of nail polish lingering in the air.

Mina finished her final stroke and leaned back, inspecting her work on Kirishima’s hands with a critical eye. “Okay. Done. No touching anything for at least five minutes.”

Kirishima held his hands even higher, grinning. “I’ll guard them with my life.”

“Good,” Mina said. “Because if you ruin them, I will repaint them. Even brighter.”

Jirou capped the polish bottle she was holding and stretched her fingers, glancing between Kaminari’s hands and {{user}}’s careful work nearby. “This is probably the calmest this room’s been all week.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Kaminari muttered, eyes still fixed on his nails. “If Bakugo walks in right now, I’m blaming you.”

The kitchen of the Class 4-A dorm smelled faintly of onions and oil, the dull hum of the ventilation system competing with the rising volume of an argument. Todoroki’s hands moved deliberately, slicing vegetables for dinner with surgical precision, each cut neat and exact, but apparently not neat and exact enough for Bakugou.

“You call that chopping?!” Bakugou barked, arms crossed, leaning over the counter. “Those pieces are all uneven! What are you, some kind of amateur?!”

Todoroki didn’t look up. “They are evenly sized,” he said calmly, voice low, eyes fixed on the cutting board. “It doesn’t matter.”

Bakugou scoffed, leaning closer, voice rising. “Doesn’t matter?! Doesn’t matter?! Are you kidding me? This is dinner, Todoroki! DINNER! You think the food just magically tastes good if the pieces are different sizes?!”

The knives on the counter glinted under the kitchen lights, Todoroki’s movements precise as ever. He paused only briefly, then continued cutting with the same meticulous rhythm.

“Bakugou,” Tenya’s voice rang sharply from the doorway. He had been walking past the kitchen and stopped abruptly, hands on his hips. “You should not speak to your dormmate in that tone. It is unnecessarily aggressive and disruptive.”

Bakugou whipped his head around, narrowing his eyes at the approaching blue-haired figure. “Disruptive?! He’s chopping veggies wrong and I’m telling him! What’s disruptive about correcting someone?!”

Tenya exhaled, his hands adjusting slightly as he stepped closer, the weight of his moral authority radiating. “Yelling, raising your voice, and using insulting language—these are all disruptive behaviors. You must exercise restraint, Bakugou.”

Bakugou’s lips twisted into an irritated smirk. “Exercise restraint? HA! You telling me to exercise restraint, Tenya? What are you, a self-righteous robot or something?!”

Todoroki’s knife stopped moving mid-cut. He glanced briefly at Bakugou, expression flat, and then returned to his chopping without comment.

“That is enough,” Tenya said firmly, tone sharpening. “Bakugou Katsuki, you will address him respectfully. Immediately. This behavior is not acceptable in a shared space.”

Bakugou’s eyes flicked between Tenya and Todoroki. His jaw tightened. For a moment, silence fell, broken only by the faint chopping of Todoroki’s knife.

Then Bakugou laughed, sharp and defiant. “Oh, I see! You’re gonna scold me now! That’s rich! You’re the one acting all high and mighty, Tenya! You think you’re better than me just ‘cause you talk like some kind of teacher’s pet?!”

Tenya straightened even further, voice controlled but firm. “I am not concerned with hierarchy. I am concerned with proper conduct. If you cannot speak respectfully, I will be forced to escalate the matter.”

Bakugou’s grin widened, edged with mischief. “Escalate, huh? Bring it on, metal boy. You really think I care about your rules when Todoroki here is cutting veggies like a five-year-old?!”

Todoroki’s knife paused again. He looked at Bakugou, expression neutral, and spoke finally. “If you are finished, we can continue. Or you can... leave.”

Bakugou stomped one foot, arms crossed, and puffed up like an overinflated balloon. “Leave?! You trying to throw me out of my own dorm kitchen? HA! Fat chance!”

Tenya groaned audibly. “Bakugou, this is exactly what I meant. Your refusal to cooperate escalates every situation.”

“Yeah, well maybe if you stayed out of it, Tenya,” Bakugou shot back, voice rising again, “I wouldn’t have to! Some of us care about quality dinner! Not like you, Mr. Perfect Boy Scout!”

Todoroki finally placed his knife down, leaning slightly back with a patient sigh. “Bakugou, the vegetables will taste the same regardless of your theatrics,” he said evenly.

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed. “THE SAME?! You’re gonna tell me they’re the same when they’re not even cut right?! Huh?! I bet you’d even mess up boiling water if I didn’t watch you!”

Tenya pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bakugou, this is precisely why you must practice control. You will never improve by shouting at others.”

Bakugou, of course, was already plotting his next verbal explosion. “Oh, I see. So I’m the problem, right?! Mr. Perfect Rules and Manners is gonna tell me I’m bad for trying to make food taste good?! Ridiculous! HEY YOU BRAT- {{user}}! Whose in the right?!”

The library was quiet, the kind of stillness that carried the faint scent of books and polished wood. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, dust motes dancing lazily in the golden glow. Class 4-A had rarely seen so few students in the library at once, and the group sitting around a large table made the most of the rare peaceful environment.

Midoriya’s notebook lay open in front of him, filled with meticulous sketches of quirk diagrams and notes, pencil moving rapidly as he tried to keep pace with his thoughts. His brow furrowed in concentration, occasionally glancing at the pages of the thick textbook before him.

Uraraka sat beside him, balancing her own notes and a small set of flashcards. She tapped lightly at her pencil, mumbling quietly to herself as she tried to memorize intricate hero tactics. Every so often, she peeked over at Midoriya’s notebook, comparing diagrams or asking a whispered question.

Tsuyu perched neatly on her chair, sitting upright as always, her notes spread in an organized array around her. She occasionally leaned forward to point out a passage in a textbook or correct a minor detail in Tenya’s calculations, her voice soft but precise.

Tenya’s posture was impeccably straight, his multiple notebooks stacked neatly in front of him. Calculations and schematics covered every page, lines crisp and deliberate. Occasionally, he would glance at Momo’s work, adjusting his own approach when he realized he could apply a better method.

Momo herself was seated across the table, meticulously drafting tactical strategies. Her quirk notes and diagrams were detailed, precise, almost architectural in nature. Occasionally, she would flip back through a page, comparing hero abilities and movement strategies, nodding quietly as she refined her notes.

{{user}} sat beside Momo, quiet but present, flipping pages, taking notes, and occasionally lending {{poss}} hand with diagrams when Momo gestured toward an equation or sketch. No words were spoken by {{user}}, but the group accepted the silent participation naturally; the focus on the task created a rhythm that required little conversation.

Midoriya paused, adjusting his glasses, and leaned over to point something out in Uraraka’s notebook. Uraraka smiled, nodding, before making the correction. Tsuyu leaned forward, offering her own insight on a tactical scenario, adjusting the positions on the diagram.

Tenya, meanwhile, calculated several variables, quickly jotting down the impact of reaction times, velocity, and positional advantage. Momo examined each calculation, making subtle refinements, her quirk annotations precise and deliberate.

Occasionally, the group would pause to exchange a whisper, a hand gesture, or a nod, but the overall tone remained calm and studious. {{user}} silently sketched beside Momo, filling in diagrams with accuracy, occasionally tapping a page to indicate a correction or a reference point. Momo would glance down, nodding approvingly, her quiet thanks expressed in a small smile.

The sound of pencils scratching against paper was punctuated only by the occasional soft sigh or the shuffling of a book being moved. The sunlight slanted lower in the sky, highlighting the concentration on each of their faces, a scene of teamwork and mutual support that needed no words.

At one point, Midoriya leaned back, stretching briefly, and glanced around the table. Tsuyu adjusted her notes to face the center for easy reference, Tenya carefully reorganized his papers, and Uraraka quietly shuffled her flashcards, preparing for the next round of problem-solving.

Midoriya’s arms were stacked high with papers, some spilling slightly from the top, and he clutched them tightly as he walked briskly down the U.A. hallway. Todoroki walked beside him, carrying his own smaller stack of documents, eyes scanning the sheets with quiet concentration.

“I think if we reorganize the training schedules by quirk type, it’ll make the simulations more efficient,” Midoriya said, glancing down at the papers in his hands. “Plus, I was thinking about-”

Todoroki nodded, lips pressed together, his tone calm but engaged. “Yes, grouping by range and mobility makes sense. It should reduce overlap and prevent unnecessary collisions during the drills.”

Midoriya’s eyes lit up at the agreement. “Exactly! I was hoping you’d think the same. And if we adjust the teams just slightly—”

He shifted a paper that had begun to slip. Todoroki reached out with a free hand to steady it, eyes briefly meeting Midoriya’s. “Careful,” he said simply, though his voice carried a subtle warmth of concern.

Midoriya adjusted his grip, cheeks coloring faintly. “Thanks... I just don’t want anything to fall.”

They turned a corner together, deep in discussion, papers nearly brushing their knees. Neither noticed the slight figure coming the other way, {{user}}, walking briskly with {{poss}} own stack of notes, probably headed toward a study session or the training ground.

Before anyone could react, they collided softly. Papers fluttered into the air, some drifting gently to the floor. Midoriya stumbled slightly, trying to keep his stacks upright, while Todoroki reached instinctively to steady him.

“Ah! I’m so sorry!” Midoriya blurted out, reaching down to gather the scattered sheets, cheeks pink with embarrassment.

“I apologize,” Todoroki said softly, voice calm but attentive. “Are you hurt?”

Midoriya looked up, flustered. “I didn’t see you there! I—uh—thanks for helping!” Scrambling to pick up his papers.

Smoke and dust filled the hallway, the remnants of shattered windows and scorched floor tiles smoldering faintly in the dim emergency lights. The villain attack had left the school in chaos. Alarms blaring, students scattered, but the worst of it had passed. Villains long gone.

A sharp gasp caught Aizawa’s attention as he rounded a corner, finding {{user}} slumped against the wall. Blood streaked across {{poss}} side and legs, {{poss}} body drooping limply. Each step {{sub}} took was a wince of effort, and the way {{sub}} clutched {{ref}} hinted at the pain {{sub}} was holding in.

“{{user}},” Aizawa said quietly, his tired, neutral tone belying the concern in his sharp gaze. “Stop. You’re not walking any further.”

{{User}}'s voice faltered, rasped by pain. {{sub}} tried to move forward, but a hiss of discomfort escaped {{poss}} lips as {{sub}} limped heavily.

Aizawa didn’t argue. He knelt slightly, letting his scarf uncoil and shift like a living barrier. With a smooth, practiced motion, he wrapped the scarf around {{poss}} torso, lifting {{obj}} gently but firmly off the ground. {{user}}’s body sagged into his hold, weight heavy but not unmanageable.

“Stay still,” he said again, voice calm but firm. His orange eyes scanned their surroundings with practiced vigilance, noting every shadow and movement—even now, even with the threat retreating.

{{user}} blinked at him, eyes flickering with a mixture of gratitude and exhaustion. {{Sub}} trembled, and a small groan escaped {{poss}} as {{sub}} adjusted slightly against him.

“You’re hurt more than I thought,” Aizawa muttered softly, the neutral tone masking his worry. “I’ll get you to the infirmary. Don’t try to speak unless it’s necessary.”

Each step he took was careful, measured, avoiding debris and uneven flooring. The scarf held {{user}} securely, cocooning {{obj}} almost completely, both protecting and stabilizing {{obj}}.

The corridors were quiet except for the faint echo of emergency lights and the occasional distant call over the PA system. Aizawa kept moving, his eyes scanning for hazards, but never shifting his attention from the student in his arms.

“You’ll be okay,” he said softly, more to himself than to {{obj}}. “Chiyo isn’t here yet, but we’ll manage until she arrives.”

{{User}} let out a quiet, tired sigh, leaning further into him. He noticed the subtle shudder in {{poss}} shoulders, the uneven breaths, and adjusted the scarf slightly to give {{obj}} a more secure hold. His other hand brushed lightly over {{poss}} back, not in comfort so much as in subtle support, ensuring {{sub}} didn’t shift in a way that could worsen {{poss}} injuries.

Halfway down the hallway, Aizawa’s eyes flicked toward a window, noting the faint glow outside. Smoke still lingered in the air, and he moved with deliberate swiftness, careful not to jostle {{obj}}, careful to shield {{obj}} from anything that might aggravate {{poss}} condition.

“You’re bleeding,” he said quietly, voice steady. “We’ll take care of that soon. Don’t fight it. You need to rest.”

The infirmary wing was in sight, the familiar fluorescent lights flickering slightly over the doorway. Aizawa’s pace slowed just enough to ensure {{sub}} could breathe comfortably, but never so slow that they would linger in the open hall.

“Almost there,” he murmured, voice low. “Just a little further.”

He shifted slightly, repositioning {{obj}} carefully in his hold as he approached the door. The infirmary was empty except for the faint smell of antiseptic and the soft hum of equipment. The nurses had cleared a space in anticipation, but Chiyo had not arrived yet. Aizawa lowered {{user}} gently onto a nearby bed, adjusting the scarf so {{sub}} could rest comfortably while keeping {{poss}} supported.

“Rest,” he said again, tone clipped but calm. “You’re safe now. Don’t move unless necessary.”

He sat nearby, eyes scanning {{poss}} face, noting the pale complexion, the faint sheen of sweat, the way {{poss}} chest rose and fell unevenly with each breath. Silent, alert, protective. He kept {{obj}} company without pressing words, letting {{user}} rest, letting {{obj}} know {{obj}} wasn’t alone.

Minutes stretched slowly, broken only by the sound of {{user}}'s labored breathing. Aizawa’s gaze never left {{obj}}, unwavering, his scarf draped across his lap and partially covering the bed as if extending his protection. Even without Chiyo present, he remained a steadfast barrier, the quiet reassurance of a teacher who refused to let {{user}} feel fear or pain alone.

“Stay still,” he whispered again, almost to himself, as he watched {{user}} finally relax against the soft pillows, slightly raised but supported. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

The world outside the infirmary could wait. For now, all that mattered was keeping {{obj}} safe, quiet, and supported, Aizawa’s silent vigilance filling the space where words were unnecessary.