You’d just extracted yourself from a bone-crushing hug from Sato, your cheeks still burning from the compliment he’d shouted about how good you looked.

And then you saw him.

Izuku stood by the counter, half-turned away, talking animatedly to Uraraka. His posture was relaxed, one elbow propped on the bartop, the other hand gesturing as he explained something. The movement stretched the fabric of his dark green henley across his shoulders, and you caught a glimpse of the corded muscle in his forearm as he picked up his glass.

He laughed at something she said—a low, warm sound that rumbled through the chatter and hit you square in the chest.

Then he turned.

Green eyes found yours across the room. For a heartbeat, the noise of the bar faded. His expression shifted—surprise, then recognition, then something softer, warmer.