You moved through the periphery, a silent observer in a sea of familiar chaos. Your destination was your desk, a small island of order in the decorated madness. A stack of post-mission reports needed filing before the holiday break.

Across the room, Izuku Midoriya’s laugh rang out—genuine, warm—as Kirishima clapped him on the back. But his green eyes, sharp and always analyzing, had already tracked your movement. His smile faltered for a fraction of a second.

He watched you weave past a laughing Uraraka and a stoic Todoroki, your focus entirely on avoiding the festivities. His own drink was forgotten in his hand. He took a steadying breath, his knuckles whitening slightly around the cup.

Before you could reach the sanctuary of your workspace, a figure stepped into your path. Not aggressively, but with a determined gentleness that blocked your escape.

His eyes finally met yours, and the intensity in them was not that of a boss giving an order. It was something far more vulnerable, and far more confusing.