It's quiet.

Not the awkward kind. Not the "something's about to go wrong" kind.

Just... quiet.

3 PM is always like this.

That strange in-between hour where the morning crowd is long gone, lunch has settled, and the evening hasn't started creeping in yet. The café feels softer somehow—like it's taking a breath.

And, honestly?

So am I.

I lean against the counter, chin resting in my hand, staring out the window as sunlight spills across the floor in warm streaks. There's a faint hum in the air—the fridge, the clock, the distant noise of the street outside—but inside?

Peace.

No police.

No heroes.

No villains.

Just me.

"...Huh."

I didn't realize how rare that was until now.

I exhale slowly, letting my shoulders drop, fingers tapping idly against the wood of the counter.

Maybe I should take advantage of it. Sit down. Drink something. Pretend I'm a normal café owner with a normal life and not... whatever this is.

Yeah.

That sounds nice.

I push myself upright, turning to grab a cup—

The bell above the door rings.

I freeze.

...

Of course it does.

I don't even have to turn around immediately. There's a shift in the air—subtle, but familiar. Quiet, but heavy in a way that most people wouldn't notice.

I know that presence.

I glance over my shoulder.

And there he is.

Todoroki Shoto.

Standing in the doorway like he's not entirely sure he belongs there—and behind him?

A group.

A group.

I blink.

"...Oh."

Well.

That's new.

Shoto hesitates for half a second, eyes scanning the café until they land on me. There's that same calm expression, that same unreadable face—but I've seen enough of him to know better.

There's a tiny shift in his shoulders.

A subtle relaxation.

He came here on purpose.

...And he didn't come alone.

My gaze drifts past him, taking in the rest of them.

UA students.

Loud ones. Quiet ones. Familiar uniforms, familiar energy.

They don't look tense.

They don't look suspicious.

They just look like... teenagers walking into a café.

Normal.

And for a second—

I just stare.

Because something about that feels... bigger than it should.

Then it clicks.

And I feel my lips curl into a slow, almost fond smile.

"...He actually did it."

Shoto shifts slightly, stepping inside properly this time.

The group follows.

They're talking—half over each other, half distracted, the kind of chaotic, easy noise that only comes from people who are comfortable with each other.

Friends.

I watch him for a moment longer.

The way he stands just a little closer to them than necessary.

The way he doesn't interrupt, but doesn't pull away either.

The way he stays.

And yeah.

Yeah, I know that look.

I've seen it before.

That quiet, distant exterior—like an ice wall built so high no one can climb it.

But underneath?

Soft.

Careful.

Trying.

"...He deserves that," I murmur under my breath.

Because he does.

God, he really does.

I've seen the other side of him.

The one that doesn't talk much but listens.

The one that notices things. Small things.

The one that doesn't quite know how to reach out—but wants to.

That kind of person?

Yeah.

He deserves friends.

My smile widens slightly as I straighten up behind the counter.

I'm so telling Dabi.

Oh, this is going to be gold.

I can already imagine it.

"Your little brother has friends."

The look on his face?

Priceless.

I have to physically stop myself from laughing.

Focus, Izuku.

Customers.

Right.

I clear my throat lightly, stepping forward.

"Welcome."

Shoto gives a small nod.

"...Midoriya."

There's a pause.

Then one of the others leans forward slightly, peering at me with curiosity.

"Wait—you know him?"

I don't miss the way Shoto tenses just a fraction.

Just enough.

Just for a second.

So I smile.

Easy. Light. Normal.

"Yeah," I say, like it's nothing. "He's been here before."

That seems to settle it.

The tension melts almost instantly, replaced with interest.

"Oh, nice! This place looks awesome," another one says, already looking around.

"Smells amazing too."

"Is that cheesecake—?"

"It is," I confirm, amused.

That does it.

They're sold.

I glance back at Shoto briefly.

He's watching the interaction quietly, expression unreadable as always—but there's something in his eyes.

Something softer.

Less guarded.

And yeah.

That just confirms it.

He deserves this.

I turn back to the group, already reaching for menus.

"Sit wherever you like," I tell them. "I'll come take your orders."

They move quickly, claiming a table near the window, the noise picking up again as they settle in.

Chairs scraping.

Voices overlapping.

Energy filling the space that had been quiet just moments ago.

And somehow?

It doesn't feel overwhelming.

It feels... right.

I grab a notepad, making my way over.

"Alright," I say, pen ready. "What can I get you—"

I pause.

Because Shoto is looking at me.

Not in that distant, detached way.

But directly.

Steady.

And for a second, it's like there's a whole conversation in that look.

A quiet acknowledgment.

A silent thank you.

I blink.

Then I grin.

"...What?" I ask lightly.

He shakes his head.

"...Nothing."

Yeah.

Sure.

I don't push it.

Instead, I glance around at the rest of them, already bracing myself.

"Okay," I say. "Let me guess—you're all going to order different things and make this as complicated as possible."

Immediate chaos.

"No way, I know what I want—"

"Wait, do they have—?"

"Is there a menu—?"

"SHOTO, WHAT DO YOU RECOMMEND—"

I snort.

Yeah.

Definitely telling Dabi.

I start scribbling down orders, half-listening, half-laughing as they argue over desserts and drinks like it's the most important decision of their lives.

And through it all—

Shoto stays.

Right there with them.

Not separate.

Not distant.

Just... part of it.

My gaze flickers to him one more time, something warm settling in my chest.

"...Yeah," I mumble under my breath, barely audible over the noise.

"He's gonna be fine."

Then I snap back into focus, pointing my pen at them.

"Alright, one at a time or I'm giving you all plain toast."

That shuts them up real fast.

I grin.

Yeah.

This?

This is nice.