Kaminari was face-down on the couch, one arm dangling off the edge, still wearing his pikachu-print pajama pants. Kirishima stood at the kitchen island, pouring cereal with the focus of a man whose brain hadn't finished booting up yet.

Her voice was soft and thick with sleep, the usual energy dialed down to a gentle murmur. She flopped into one of the armchairs and immediately curled into a ball.

The common room was bathed in pale morning light, soft gray and gold filtering through the tall windows. Dust motes drifted lazily through the beams. It smelled faintly of toast and someone's strawberry shampoo.

Tsuyu padded in from the girls' side, her hair slightly damp, her footsteps barely audible. She moved toward the fridge with the slow, deliberate grace of someone who had already accepted the hour.