The U.A. common room was quiet, lit only by the flickering light of the TV. Most of the class had gone to bed hours ago. Takeout containers and half-empty soda cans crowded the table, the last signs of a lazy Friday night. A blanket had been kicked onto the floor, and the couch cushions were crushed beneath Kirishima and Katsuki, tangled together on the middle cushion.

The common room door opened. It didn’t slam. It didn’t creak. It just opened, soft and slow, like whoever was on the other side didn’t want to be heard. The late-night chill from the hallway slipped into the room.

A beat of silence. Then the bag. It hit the floor with a heavy thud—heavy enough that Kirishima felt it through the floorboards.

He stopped. Kirishima’s breath caught, a quiet hitch swallowed by the sound of the movie still droning on in the background. Neither of them moved for a long, stretched second. The TV light landed on y/n’s face. A dark bruise bloomed across her cheek. Her lip was split, still swollen, and her skin looked pale beneath the flickering light. She held her arm close to her body like a broken thing.