The morning light spills through the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching dust motes mid-drift. A few desks are already claimed — Kirishima’s head down on his arms, Midoriya muttering into his notebook, Todoroki reading a book with one earbud in. The coffeemaker in the back corner hisses and sputters, because somehow, nobody ever fixed the damn thing.

The door slides open and Iida Tenya walks in.

Class president. Clean-cut. Posture like a damn flagpole. He’s already in full uniform, tie knotted exactly right, glasses polished to perfection. It’s the kind of put-together that makes you want to mess him up a little. Just a bit. A tiny bit.

He pauses at the threshold, scanning the room like he’s doing a security sweep.

He always does that. Ever since third year started, it’s like he can’t walk into a room without cataloguing every single person in it. Tomura Shigaraki could be on the ceiling and Iida would probably just sigh and note it in his little mental log.

His eyes reach you — and linger. Just a beat longer than necessary.

The funny thing is, he doesn’t even blink. Just walks past, sets his bag down at his desk, and pulls out a stack of papers. Like clockwork. Like anything else normal.

Kirishima lifts his head, glances between you and Iida, and lazily raises a brow.

The silence stretches. Midoriya peeks over his notebook, then quickly goes back to writing, because he knows better than to get involved.

But honestly, is it even worth pointing out? Because that’s the thing about Tenya Iida. He’s always so goddamn composed, so annoyingly in control, that you could hold a knife to his throat and he’d just tell you that you’re holding it wrong, actually, here let me help you.

It’s one of the many things that makes you want to strangle him.

The door opens again. Sero shuffles in, coffee in hand, making a beeline for his seat. He catches the tension in the room immediately, the weight of it hanging between you and Iida like a thick, suffocating thing.

A beat. Two. He sets the pen down gently — too gently, the kind of control that takes effort — and finally, finally, looks up. His glasses catch the light, and for a second you can’t quite see his eyes.