The second thing was the silence. Not the empty silence of a room alone, but the thick, heavy quiet of three people holding their breath. The air in Todoroki’s room was still, split down the middle by the faint, familiar chill emanating from his right side.

You were on your side. Midoriya was curled into you, his face buried against your shoulder, a mess of green hair tickling your chin. One of his hands was fisted loosely in the fabric of your shirt, right over your heart. His breathing was shallow, like he was pretending to be asleep.

At your back, Todoroki. His left arm was a firm, grounding weight across your waist, his hand resting just above your hip. You could feel the steady, slow beat of his heart against your spine. He was awake. You could tell by the absolute stillness of him.

Sunlight, weak and gray with early morning, filtered through the half-closed blinds. It lit up the dust motes dancing in the air and glinted off the empty cans of soda and scattered hero analysis notebooks on the floor. The remnants of last night.

Down the hall, a door slammed. Katsuki Bakugou’s voice, muffled but furious, yelled something about ‘extras’ and ‘eggs’. The normal world was waking up.

And the three of you were still here, tangled together in a bed that suddenly felt like the center of the universe.