The conversation slowed naturally after that.

Not abruptly.

Not awkwardly.

Just... tapering off as drinks emptied and the rhythm settled into something quieter again. I wiped down the counter, more out of habit than necessity, while the two of them lingered—Shoto with his tea, Dabi with his coffee, both sitting a little more relaxed than when they'd come in.

Dabi was the first to move.

Of course he was.

He pushed his cup away with a soft clink and stretched, rolling his shoulders like he'd been sitting still for too long—which, knowing him, probably counted as a personal offense.

"Alright," he muttered, standing up. "I've got things to do."

I glanced at him.

"Causing problems?"

He smirked.

"Always."

That tracked.

Shoto looked up at him, expression calm but attentive.

"You're leaving already?"

"Yeah," Dabi said, shrugging into his coat. "You're not coming?"

Shoto shook his head slightly.

"I'm getting picked up."

Dabi paused mid-motion.

"...by who."

"A sibling."

There was the slightest shift in Dabi's expression.

Quick.

Subtle.

Gone just as fast.

"...right," he said, tone flattening just a fraction. "Good luck with that."

I noticed.

Of course I did.

Shoto didn't seem to.

Or maybe he did and just didn't react.

Dabi leaned down slightly, just enough to nudge Shoto's shoulder with his own—a brief, casual gesture that didn't look like much unless you knew what to look for.

"Don't get into trouble, hero-in-training."

"I won't."

"Boring."

A beat.

Then Dabi straightened and glanced at me.

"Same time next time?"

I shrugged.

"Depends."

He huffed.

"That's still a yes."

"It's not."

"Sure."

He reached into his pocket, tossing payment onto the counter without looking, already turning toward the door.

"Try not to miss me."

"I'll manage."

"Cold."

"Consistent."

That earned a quiet laugh from him as he pushed the door open.

Chime.

"Later," he said over his shoulder.

Then he was gone.

Chime.

Silence settled again.

Not empty.

Just... smaller.

I glanced back at Shoto.

He was still sitting there, tea in hand, posture straight, gaze drifting toward the door for a moment before returning to the cup in front of him.

Waiting.

Patient.

Like he expected someone to walk in any second.

I leaned against the counter, watching him for a moment.

"...you sure about that."

He looked up.

"About what."

"Getting picked up."

A pause.

"Yes."

I tilted my head slightly.

"...which one."

He hesitated.

Just a fraction.

Then—

"...I don't know."

I blinked once.

"...you're waiting for someone and you don't know who."

"They said a sibling."

"That narrows it down a lot."

"It does."

I stared at him.

Then huffed quietly.

"...right."

He didn't seem bothered.

Didn't fidget.

Didn't question it.

Just... sat there.

Waiting.

Trusting that whoever it was would show up.

I glanced toward the door again.

Then back at him.

"...you're either very trusting or very used to this."

Shoto considered that for a second.

"...both."

That made sense.

More than it should have.

I pushed off the counter and grabbed a cloth again, wiping down a spot that was already clean.

"...well."

A small pause.

"Let's see who shows up."

Because honestly?

Given everything I'd seen so far—

It could be anyone.

Time passed.

Not quickly.

Not slowly either.

Just... steady.

Shoto stayed where he was, finishing his tea at an unhurried pace, posture straight but relaxed in that quiet, controlled way of his. Every now and then, his gaze drifted toward the door, then back to the cup in his hands. No impatience. No restlessness.

Just waiting.

I kept moving around the café, cleaning, adjusting, keeping things in order like always—but my attention wasn't fully on the tasks. It hovered, split between him and the room.

Because the room had changed again.

Not visibly.

Not loudly.

But enough.

A few regulars had filtered in while he waited. Familiar presences, quiet and contained, spread across their usual spots. No tension. No noise. Just that same, unspoken understanding holding everything together.

Shoto didn't react to them.

And they didn't react to him.

Like always.

Like this place made it possible.

I wiped down the counter one more time, then leaned against it, arms crossing loosely as I glanced at the clock.

"...half an hour."

Shoto looked up slightly.

"Yes."

"You're patient."

"I have to be."

I huffed quietly.

Fair enough.

Then—

Chime.

The door opened.

And everything—

Stopped.

Not visibly.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

But the air shifted.

Sharp.

Heavy.

Wrong.

I straightened without realizing it.

Because—

Standing in the doorway—

Was Enji Todoroki (Endeavor).

For a second—

I just stared.

Because this—

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Not here.

Not in this space.

Heroes didn't come here.

They didn't belong here.

And yet—

There he was.

Tall.

Burning.

Presence filling the doorway like he brought the outside world in with him.

Behind me, I could feel it.

The stillness.

Not fear.

Not panic.

Just... awareness.

Every single person in the room registered him.

Every single one.

And then—

Ignored him.

Completely.

Like he wasn't there.

Like he didn't exist.

Like he was just another customer walking in.

I blinked once.

Twice.

Because that—

That was new.

Or maybe it wasn't.

Maybe this place just... forced things into balance no matter what walked through that door.

Endeavor stepped inside.

The bell chimed softly behind him.

Chime.

His gaze moved across the café.

Brief.

Scanning.

But not... seeing.

Not really.

Because there was no reaction.

No tension to catch onto.

No hostility.

No reason to suspect anything.

Just quiet.

Just calm.

Just a normal café.

His eyes landed on Shoto.

And that was it.

Everything else—

Filtered out.

"Shoto."

Shoto stood immediately.

"Yes."

Simple.

Direct.

Like this was expected.

Like this was normal.

I watched the interaction carefully, every detail filing away automatically.

Endeavor stepped closer, his presence heavy but contained.

"We're leaving."

"Yes."

No argument.

No hesitation.

Just acceptance.

I leaned back slightly against the counter, arms crossing again as I observed them.

"...you weren't kidding," I muttered under my breath.

Because of course.

Of course it was him.

Shoto turned slightly, reaching for his bag.

Then paused.

And looked at me.

"Thank you," he said.

I blinked.

Then shrugged.

"Come again."

A small pause.

"...I will."

Endeavor's gaze flicked toward me for the first time.

Sharp.

Assessing.

Just for a second.

I met it.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't react.

Just another café owner behind a counter.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

After a moment—

He looked away.

Dismissed.

Like I didn't matter.

Good.

That's how it stayed that way.

Shoto stepped toward the door, stopping just briefly beside him before they both moved.

Chime.

The door opened.

Closed.

Chime.

And just like that—

He was gone.

The pressure lifted instantly.

Like it had never been there.

The café settled back into itself, the balance snapping back into place without effort.

Behind me, someone shifted slightly.

Another took a quiet sip of their drink.

No one spoke about it.

No one acknowledged it.

Because that's how this worked.

I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair.

"...okay."

That was new.

Definitely new.

I glanced around the room.

Villains.

Calm.

Unbothered.

Like nothing had happened.

Then toward the door.

Gone.

Like he had never been there at all.

I huffed quietly.

"...this place is insane."

A small pause.

Then, softer—

"...but it works."