I knew it.

The second the bell chimed—

That soft, harmless little sound that usually meant coffee and peace and people minding their own business—

I just knew.

I didn't even turn around immediately.

Just kept wiping the counter, slow, steady motions, like maybe—maybe—if I ignored it long enough, whatever problem had just walked in would politely leave.

Yeah.

No.

"...we're closed," I said flatly, still not looking up.

Silence.

Then—

"Funny," a familiar voice said. "Didn't look closed."

I sighed.

Of course.

Of course it was him.

I set the cloth down slowly before finally turning around—

—and there he was.

Hawks, standing in my café like he belonged there.

Behind him?

Hizashi Yamada, already looking around like this was the most interesting place he'd ever been.

And—

Shota Aizawa.

Watching.

Of course he was.

"...you followed me," I said.

"Tracked," Hawks corrected casually. "Followed sounds creepy."

"They're the same thing."

"Debatable."

I stared at him.

Unimpressed.

"...you're bleeding less," he added, eyes flicking to my shoulder.

"Observation skills. Impressive."

"Don't deflect."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You are."

I clicked my tongue.

"...you're exhausting."

"I've been told."

"Yes, by me. Repeatedly."

Mic snorted behind him.

"Oh, I like him—he's got attitude."

"Don't encourage him," I muttered.

"Too late!"

I ignored him.

Because honestly?

The real problem wasn't them.

It was—

I glanced slightly to the side.

Just barely.

And there—

Sitting like this was the most normal thing in the world—

Stain.

Fork in hand.

Cake half gone.

Coffee beside him.

Calm.

Quiet.

Watching.

They didn't see him.

Of course they didn't.

Why would they?

To them, this was just a café.

To me?

This was a ticking problem waiting to happen if even one of them looked a little too closely.

"...what do you want," I asked, stepping slightly in front of the counter—not blocking, not obvious, just... positioning.

Hawks noticed.

Of course he did.

But he didn't comment.

Yet.

"We're talking," he said.

"We already did."

"No, we didn't."

"Yes, we did."

"No, you dodged everything."

"I answered efficiently."

"That's not the same."

"It works for me."

There it was again.

That phrase.

And yeah—

All three of them caught it this time.

I could feel it.

That shift in the air.

That attention.

Unwanted.

Unnecessary.

Annoying.

"...you ran from a hospital," Aizawa said quietly.

"I left."

"You were injured."

"I handled it."

"You shouldn't have had to."

"That's not your decision."

Silence.

Then—

Mic leaned slightly on the counter, peering at me with way too much curiosity.

"Okay, real question—how are you even still standing? That looked like a bad hit earlier."

"I'm resilient."

"That's not an answer."

"It is."

"No, it's really not."

Behind me—

A soft clink.

Fork against plate.

Subtle.

Quiet.

But loud enough for me.

I didn't react.

Didn't turn.

Didn't acknowledge it.

But I shifted again.

Just slightly.

Enough.

Hawks' eyes narrowed.

"...you've got other customers?" he asked.

"No."

That was immediate.

Flat.

Certain.

A lie.

And he knew it.

Of course he did.

"...huh," he muttered.

I met his gaze.

Steady.

Unmoving.

Because this?

This was my space.

My rules.

And I wasn't about to let this turn into something else.

"...you came for coffee," I said finally. "So order."

Mic perked up instantly.

"Oh—don't mind if I do—!"

"Not you," I cut in. "Him."

I pointed at Hawks.

He blinked.

"...me?"

"Yes."

"...you're seriously trying to turn this into a normal transaction right now?"

"Yes."

There was a pause.

Then—

He laughed.

Actually laughed.

"...you're unbelievable."

"I've been told."

"Fine," he said, stepping forward slightly. "One coffee."

"Specify."

"Surprise me."

"Bold."

"I like risks."

"Noted."

I turned away before he could say anything else, moving behind the counter again, hands already going through familiar motions.

Because as long as this stayed normal—

As long as this stayed controlled—

Everything would be fine.

Behind me, I could feel it.

Two worlds.

Heroes.

Villains.

One room.

And none of them seeing each other.

Yet.

"...just drink your coffee," I muttered under my breath.

The machine hummed softly as I worked, the familiar rhythm grounding, steadying—something predictable in a day that had been anything but.

Behind me, I could feel their eyes.

All three of them.

Different kinds of attention.

Hizashi Yamada—curious, loud even when quiet.

Hawks—sharp, calculating, watching for cracks.

And—

Shota Aizawa.

Silent.

Heavy.

The kind of attention that didn't need noise to be felt.

"...how did the bleeding stop," Aizawa asked.

Straight to the point.

Of course he did.

I didn't turn immediately, just adjusted the filter, letting the water pour through at exactly the right pace.

"It's treated."

"That's not what I asked."

"It answers it."

"It doesn't."

"It does for me."

I could practically hear Hawks trying not to laugh behind me.

Good.

Let him.

Aizawa didn't react.

"...you said you're quirkless," he continued.

"Yes."

"And you handled a gunshot wound yourself."

"Yes."

"How."

I glanced over my shoulder briefly.

"Basic first aid."

"That's not basic."

"It works."

There it was again.

That word.

I turned back to the machine before he could press further.

Because yeah—

He would.

Of course he would.

"...you should've stayed at the hospital," he said.

"I tried."

That made all of them pause.

Even Hawks.

"...tried?" Mic echoed.

I shrugged slightly, reaching for the cups.

"They didn't want me there."

"That makes no sense," Mic said immediately. "You were injured—"

"I told them I'm quirkless."

Silence.

Short.

But heavy.

Then—

"...they kicked you out?" Hawks asked, tone quieter now.

"Not in those words," I said, pouring the coffee smoothly. "But yes."

Aizawa's gaze didn't shift.

Didn't soften.

But something in it—

Changed.

"...that's not protocol," he said.

"It is if you don't care."

"That's not acceptable."

"It's normal."

That word again.

And this time—

It landed.

Mic frowned.

"...that's not normal."

"It is for me."

Another pause.

Longer.

Because that wasn't something you could just brush off with a joke.

Not easily.

I picked up the cups, turning back around and setting them down in front of them like this was just another conversation.

Just another day.

Just—

Normal.

"Drink before it gets cold."

Mic hesitated for a second, then took a sip—and immediately lit up again.

"Okay, wow—yeah, that's really good—"

Hawks didn't comment this time.

He just drank.

Quiet.

Thinking.

Aizawa didn't touch his yet.

"...you said getting hurt is normal," he said.

Not a question.

A statement.

I leaned lightly against the counter, arms crossing loosely.

"It happens."

"That's not the same."

"It is when it happens often enough."

"That shouldn't be happening at all."

"It does."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"...why."

There it was.

The question.

The one they always asked.

The one that didn't have an answer I was willing to give.

I met his gaze.

Calm.

Flat.

Certain.

"There are things I don't talk about."

Silence.

No deflection.

No sarcasm.

Just—

That.

Clear.

Final.

Mic opened his mouth—

Probably to ask anyway—

But Hawks spoke first this time.

"...past," he said.

Not asking.

Guessing.

I didn't confirm it.

Didn't deny it either.

Didn't need to.

"...not happening," I added.

Aizawa watched me for a second longer.

Measuring.

Weighing.

Then—

"...fine," he said.

Just like that.

No push.

No argument.

Just—

Acceptance.

For now.

Smart.

Very smart.

I nodded once, pushing off the counter slightly.

"Good."

Because that was the boundary.

One of the few I actually kept.

And I wasn't about to let anyone cross it.

Behind me, I could hear another quiet clink.

Fork against plate.

Still there.