Y/n was curled into Shigaraki's lap, head tucked against his chest, the faint scratch of his hoodie fabric against their cheek. Their eyelids were heavy, their body weighed down by exhaustion from a day full of hero training that had stretched far too long.

Shigaraki didn't look away from the game. But one finger—just one—lifted off the controller.

Y/n mumbled something unintelligible against his chest.

Shigaraki paused the game.