"I'm fine, sis," Shinji said, trying and failing to pry Yu off of him. He shifted weakly under her grip, shoulder lifting in a halfhearted attempt to escape. It wasn't that he hated the attention. He really didn't. But when Yu got like this, all sharp edges and frantic concern, she tended to cause more collateral damage than the kaiju ever did.
"No. No you're not," Yu shot back immediately, arms tightening like iron bands around his shoulders. Her voice wavered, then hardened. "First the USJ. Then you wake up, barely holding yourself together, and immediately there's another kaiju. You don't get to tell me you're fine."
Shinji sighed, the sound long and tired, his head tipping back against the pillow. "You're crushing me," he muttered.
"Good," she said. "That means you're still here."
He went still at that. The words heavier than the hug. He let his hand drop back to the bed, giving up on pushing her away. Yu pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes red around the edges but blazing with something fierce.
"You are never leaving my sight again," she said. "Ever. Not campus, not training, not some random hallway. If you so much as think about throwing yourself at another monster, I will be there."
"That sounds… deeply impractical," Shinji said weakly.
"I don't care," Yu snapped. "It's the only way to keep you out of trouble."
He huffed a short laugh, more breath than sound. "You know that's never worked before."
Her jaw clenched. "Then I'll just have to get better at it."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Yu's hands trembled where they rested against his shoulders now, the adrenaline finally bleeding off and leaving fear in its wake. Shinji noticed. Of course he did. He always noticed when she tried to hide it.
"You're shaking," he said quietly.
"Don't," she warned.
"I mean it," he continued, softer. "You look like you're about to fight the room."
She swallowed hard, then leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his. "Do you have any idea what it's like," she said, voice low and tight, "to watch your little brother nearly tear himself apart and not be able to do anything about it? I just got you back."
His chest ached at that. He closed his eyes. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"I know," she said immediately. "That's the problem."
Her grip loosened at last, arms sliding down until she was just holding his hands again, grounding him. Shinji let himself sink into the mattress, exhaustion pulling at him from every angle.
"I'm not trying to get hurt," he murmured. "I just… don't know how to not move when something like that happens."
Yu squeezed his hands once, firm and deliberate. "Then we'll figure it out together. You don't get to do this alone anymore. Not in your head. Not out there."
He opened his eyes and looked at her, really looked. The fear. The stubborn resolve. The way she was clearly running on fumes but refusing to step back.
"…Okay," he said after a moment.
Yu let out a breath that sounded suspiciously close to a sob and leaned back, brushing her thumb across his knuckles. "Good," she said. "Because I'm serious. One more stunt like that and I'm chaining you to campus."
He almost smiled at that.
"Yeah… about that actually," Yu said, her tone shifting just enough to make his stomach sink. She pulled back a few inches, just enough to look him in the eye, though her hands never left him. "I also promised Recovery Girl I'd be the one to tell you."
Shinji's brow furrowed. "Tell me what?"
Yu took a breath, slow and measured, like she was bracing herself. "One more stunt. Any incident, anything even remotely like today, before the Sports Festival in two weeks," she paused, then said it clean and sharp, "and you're not allowed to participate."
"What—" Shinji started, instinct flaring, but she cut him off immediately, pulling him into her chest before he could sit up or argue. One arm wrapped around his shoulders, the other cradling the back of his head, firm and unyielding.
"Hey. No. Don't," she murmured, voice soft but immovable. "I know. I already know what you're going to say."
He stiffened against her for a moment, then deflated, forehead pressing lightly into her collarbone. "That's not fair," he muttered. "I've been training for this."
"I know you have," Yu said quietly. "I've seen it. I've seen all of it."
She shifted slightly so he was more comfortable, one hand moving in slow, grounding circles against his back. "But your stress levels are dangerously high. That's Recovery Girl's words, not mine. She didn't even bother using the big medical terms because she knew I'd understand what mattered."
He went still.
"You're running on adrenaline, trauma, and sheer stubbornness," Yu continued. "Your heart rate spikes too fast, your neural feedback is too intense, and you're not giving your mind any time to catch up with what your body's been through. You push, and push, and push, and then act surprised when something gives."
"…I didn't feel like I had a choice," Shinji said after a moment.
"I know," she repeated. "That doesn't make it safe."
His fingers curled lightly into the fabric of her jacket, grip tightening just a bit. "If I can't fight," he said quietly, "what am I supposed to do instead. Sit out and watch?"
"No," Yu said immediately. "You're supposed to heal. You're supposed to train smart. You're supposed to learn how to breathe again without the world ending."
He let out a shaky breath, the words hitting closer than he wanted to admit.
"This isn't a punishment," she went on. "It's a line. A hard one. Because if you cross it again before the festival, it won't just be Recovery Girl pulling you out. It'll be me. Aizawa. Nezu. All of us."
Shinji tilted his head back just enough to look at her. "You're all ganging up on me."
Yu huffed, a tired smile tugging at her lips. "You make it very easy." There was a pause. The room felt quieter, heavier, but not crushing.
"…Two weeks," Shinji said slowly. "If nothing happens."
"If nothing happens," Yu nodded, "you compete. No arguments. No last-minute heroics."
He closed his eyes again, exhaling through his nose. "I hate this."
"I know," she said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "But I'd rather have you angry and alive than brave and broken."
He didn't argue after that. He just stayed there, held, letting the weight settle without letting it drown him.
"Holy shit dude, you were so bad ass. I mean, everyone's heard of you and seen some of the older clips, but actually watching it live? You flipped in a megaton mech and kicked a Category Five's ass like it was nothing," Mina said, leaning way too close to his bed, hands braced on the rail like she might vault over it at any second.
Shinji blinked at her, momentarily caught off guard. He had forgotten. Or maybe he never really got the chance to experience it properly. Mina was… a lot. Energy radiated off her in waves, bright and loud and impossible to ignore. It made his head buzz in a way that was not entirely unpleasant, just overwhelming.
"It wasn't nothing," he said quietly.
Kirishima nodded hard beside her, arms crossed, eyes practically sparkling. "Still though, manly as hell. Straight up charged a kaiju head on. That takes guts."
Izuku stood a little farther back, notebook conspicuously absent but the same familiar intensity in his eyes. He was clearly restraining himself from rattling off fifty questions at once. "Your timing was incredible," he said instead. "The way you used momentum and terrain together, especially coordinating with Kamui Woods. That level of situational awareness under stress is… it's really rare."
Jirou leaned against the wall, arms folded, expression more measured. "Yeah. The city feeds are already looping it. You trending again."
That made Shinji wince.
Momo, standing near the foot of the bed, noticed immediately. "You do not have to watch any of it," she said gently. "Principal Nezu has been very firm about media restrictions."
"That and Aizawa threatened several people," Jirou added flatly.
Shinji huffed a breath that might have been a laugh. "Sounds like him."
He shifted slightly against the pillows, the sterile white of the infirmary suddenly feeling a lot smaller with so many people in it. He was technically allowed to leave. Recovery Girl had made that very clear. She had also made it equally clear that if he did, and pushed himself even a little too far, she would personally sedate him and bolt him to the mattress. Shinji had no doubt she meant it.
Mina tilted her head, studying him more closely now. "You don't look like someone who just became everyone's favorite topic."
"I never wanted to be," Shinji said, the words slipping out before he could stop them, bitterness rough around the edges. His gaze dropped to his hands, fingers flexing slowly like he was checking they were still there. "Besides… last time I was everyone's favorite topic, I disappeared for three years."
The room went quiet in a way that felt different from before. Not sharp, not tense. Just awkward, heavy, like no one was quite sure where to put their hands or their eyes anymore.
Shinji shook his head, a small motion, like he was brushing something off his shoulder. "Hey, don't worry about it," he said, forcing a lighter tone than he felt. "I don't like being front page material, but whether I like it or not doesn't really matter."
He glanced around at them, at the way they were all watching him now, more carefully than before.
"We've all got the Sports Festival coming up," he continued. "Spotlights, crowds, cameras. Kinda dumb to complain about people watching when that's literally what we signed up for, y'know?"
Mina shifted, rocking back on her heels. "You say that, but there's a difference between being watched and being… studied."
"Yeah," Jirou added. "Sports Festival's one thing. What happened today was another."
Shinji shrugged slightly, the motion constrained by the bed. "Maybe. But if I start stressing over every pair of eyes, I'll never get anything done. And I'm already on thin ice with Recovery Girl."
That earned a few quiet huffs of laughter, easing the weight just a little.
Izuku nodded slowly. "Still," he said, "you don't have to pretend it doesn't bother you. Not with us."
Shinji didn't answer right away. He stared up at the ceiling for a second, focusing on the faint hum of the infirmary equipment, the steady rhythm of it. It helped. Gave his thoughts something solid to latch onto instead of spiraling.
"It's not…" he started, then stopped, exhaling through his nose. "I'm not trying to pretend. I'm trying to get better."
His gaze shifted, not quite meeting anyone's eyes. "The USJ… just before everything went to hell, I was already mad at myself. I kept screwing things up. Every time you guys tried to involve me, tried to make me feel normal, I felt like I was dragging everything down."
He swallowed, fingers curling lightly into the blanket. "So… thanks. For that. Really."
There was a brief, surprised silence.
"I mean it," Shinji added, a little firmer now. "I promise I'm actually feeling good for once. Not fixed or anything, just… better. I'm just trying to get my brain to be logical for once instead of jumping straight to worst-case scenarios."
Izuku's shoulders eased, relief softening his expression. "That… makes sense," he said quietly.
Mina smiled, not bright this time, but warm. "Hey, brains are dumb. Especially hero brains."
Kirishima nodded. "Doesn't make you weak. Just means you're human."
The silence lingered, and Shinji grimaced slightly and shifted, then gave up. "Alright," he said, voice firmer now, "someone help me up. I've not moved in so long I think I've molded into the bed."
Mina's eyes lit up instantly. "Ooo, field trip?"
"I need to see something that isn't white," Shinji continued, gesturing vaguely around the infirmary. "White walls, white ceiling, white floors. I swear if I stare at one more blank surface I'm gonna lose it."
Kirishima stepped forward immediately. "I got you, man."
Izuku hovered nearby, clearly ready to help but unsure where to put his hands. "Slowly," he said, defaulting into careful mode. "Recovery Girl said no sudden movements."
"Yeah, yeah," Shinji muttered, though he didn't argue.
Between Kirishima's solid grip and Izuku's cautious support, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The world tilted for half a second, then steadied. He took a breath, feet touching the floor, grounding himself in the sensation.
"…Okay," he said. "Still here. That's a win."
Jirou smirked. "Congrats on surviving standing."
Momo smiled, relieved. "We can take you to the courtyard," she offered. "It's quiet this time of day. And very much not white."
Shinji straightened as best he could, stretching his legs. "Sold."
The walk was easy. Easier than he'd expected, honestly.
Apparently, classes had been dismissed again after the kaiju attack; the proximity alone was enough for the administration to call it. The halls were quiet, almost eerily so, the usual noise of UA reduced to distant echoes and the soft scuff of their footsteps.
Shinji moved under his own power without much trouble. His legs felt strange at first, like they'd been asleep for too long, pins and needles buzzing under the skin. A few steps in, though, the sensation faded, muscle memory taking over like it always did. Being on his feet fixed most of it.
That didn't stop the others from hovering.
"Hey, slow down," Mina said for about the third time.
"I am slow," Shinji replied, glancing back. "This is me being careful."
Kirishima still stayed close, ready to catch him if he so much as swayed. Izuku watched his gait with the intensity of someone analyzing a combat form.
"I'm fine," Shinji repeated, a little more firmly this time. "Really. Minimal damage. Couple bruises, that's it."
Jirou raised an eyebrow. "You literally got skewered."
"Redeemer did," Shinji corrected automatically. "Big difference."
Momo frowned. "But you were linked. Wouldn't that still—"
"Phantom pain," he said. "Neural feedback. My body thinks it happened, so it reacts like it did. Hurts like hell, but nothing's actually torn or broken."
He paused, then added, quieter, "I've had worse." That shut down any further arguments.
They reached the courtyard a moment later, sunlight spilling across stone and greenery, the open space a sharp contrast to the sterile white of the infirmary. Shinji stopped just long enough to breathe it in, shoulders loosening without him even realizing.
"See?" he said. "Alive, and walking. Not falling apart."
Shinji didn't argue. He just kept walking, the sound of their voices trailing with him, lighter now, normal in a way that mattered more than any medical clearance.
"Hey," he said after a moment, glancing back over his shoulder, "so while Ashido's being over dramatic, where are the others? Not that I'm upset or anything. Just curious why it's only you guys."
He paused, then lifted a finger like he was ticking boxes off in his head. "Wait, let me guess. Asui's watching her siblings. Uraraka's with her parents. Bakugo couldn't risk looking like he cared."
Mina scoffed. "Hey."
"And Mineta," Shinji continued without missing a beat, "is doing something perverted."
"That one's just statistically accurate," Jirou said flatly.
Izuku coughed into his hand. "Uraraka did go home," he admitted. "Her parents were worried after the evacuation order."
Momo nodded. "Asui mentioned something similar earlier. And Bakugo was… loudly pretending he didn't want to come."
Kirishima scratched the back of his head. "He did ask if you were alive, though. Like. Three times."
Shinji snorted. "Touching."
Mina leaned forward, walking backwards so she could look at him. "We came because we wanted to," she said, tone suddenly more serious. "No other reason."
He slowed a little at that, then nodded once. "Thanks."
They reached the edge of the courtyard, sunlight filtering through the trees, leaves shifting gently in the breeze. It was quiet in a good way. No alarms. No sirens. Just a normal afternoon that had somehow survived the chaos.
Shinji took it in, then added casually, "Also, for the record, I was one hundred percent right about Mineta."
"No argument," Jirou said.
They wandered for a while after that, no real destination in mind. Just paths Shinji half remembered and others he didn't at all. Campus looked different when you weren't rushing between classes or training. Wider. Quieter. Like it was holding its breath.
Shinji found himself lagging a step behind at times, eyes catching on small things. A scorch mark on the pavement that had never quite been cleaned. A training field fence bent inward and never fixed. His head filled in nothing. No images. No sounds. Just the sense that something important had happened there once.
He stopped walking without realizing it.
The others noticed almost immediately.
"You good?" Kirishima asked, already turning back.
Shinji blinked and refocused. "Yeah. Sorry. Just…" He exhaled, hand flexing at his side. "I was thinking."
Midoriya nodded like that explained everything. "Do you want to head back?"
"…Actually," Shinji said, then hesitated. The words felt heavier than they should have. "Do you want to come by my place?"
Mina's eyes lit up instantly. "Your house, house?"
"Yeah. On campus," he added, like he needed to justify it. "I haven't been there in what feels like forever. I kind of… miss it."
That last part slipped out quieter. Honest in a way that made his chest tighten.
Mina clasped her hands together, nodding with exaggerated seriousness. "Right, I almost forgot you lived on campus," she said sagely, then immediately leaned closer, squinting at him. "And you're sure it's not the infirmary, right?"
Shinji snorted before he could stop himself. It surprised him how easy it came out.
"I'm pretty sure," he said. "Different smell. Less beeping."
Jirou smirked. "Bold criteria."
Yaoyorozu looked relieved more than anything. "I think that sounds like a good idea. Familiar environments can be grounding."
"See," Shinji said, gesturing vaguely. "That. Exactly that. Very medical reasoning."
Midoriya scratched the back of his neck. "As long as you don't push yourself. If anything feels off, we leave."
"I promise," Shinji said. "If I start seeing monsters or walls turning into voids, I'll say something."
They all paused.
"…That was a joke," he added.
"…Right," Mina said slowly. "Totally normal joke. Love that for us."
Still, no one backed out.
The walk to his house felt shorter than he expected. Or maybe longer. Time did that sometimes now, stretched or snapped without warning. The closer they got, the more his chest tightened again, anticipation mixing with something close to fear.
But when the house came into view, something in him eased. Just a fraction. Enough to breathe.
"There," he said, nodding toward it. "That's it."
Mina whistled. "Okay, wow. That's way nicer than my mental image."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Shinji said, giving Mina a flat look that didn't quite hide the thin thread of humor underneath. "I think I've only broken one building, and that was before I left. And one mirror. That was months ago."
He waved her off with his good hand, the motion a little loose, a little tired. Casual on the surface. "Statistically, that's restraint."
Ashido gasped. "Only one building, he says. Listen to this menace."
"That's not menace," Kirishima said. "That's rookie numbers."
"I've been in the hospital," Shinji replied dryly. "My destruction schedule's been tight."
That got a real laugh out of them. Not forced. Not polite. The sound settled into the room and made it feel lived in again.
He stepped further inside and gestured vaguely around. "Either way, make yourselves at home. I… think the TV works? Never really used it. Or if I did, I can't remember."
"Bold endorsement," Jirou said. "Five stars."
Yaoyorozu moved with quiet purpose, already scanning the room the way she did with unfamiliar spaces. Not suspicious. Just thorough. "May I?" she asked, nodding toward the remote on the table.
"Go ahead," Shinji said. "If it explodes, I'll apologize in advance."
Midoriya immediately leaned forward. "Electronics don't usually explode from normal use."
"That sounds like something someone says right before it happens."
Yaoyorozu pressed the power button. The screen flickered, hesitated, then came alive with a low hum and a bright wash of color.
"There," she said gently. "Functional."
"Miracles never cease," Shinji muttered.
Ochako perched on the edge of the couch like she wasn't fully committing to sitting yet. "It feels weird being here," she admitted softly. "Not bad weird. Just… personal."
"Yeah," Shinji said. He stayed standing a moment longer, eyes moving across the room like he was cross checking it against a memory that only half loaded. "It does."
There were traces of a life paused mid step. A mug on a side table with a faint ring at the bottom. A folded blanket on the arm of a chair. A stack of unopened mail he did not remember receiving.
He picked one up, turned it over, then set it back down without opening it.
"Did you live alone here?" Kirishima asked.
"Yeah," Shinji answered. "Preferred it. After… everything." He didn't specify what everything was. The word held enough weight on its own.
Ashido flopped onto the couch at last. "Okay, I'm claiming this spot. If anyone wants snacks, I volunteer Shinji to provide them."
He blinked. "From where."
"Your snack dimension, obviously."
"Closed for repairs."
Midoriya smiled a little, but he was watching Shinji closely again. Not hovering. Just present. "If you don't remember using the TV, what did you usually do here?"
Shinji leaned back against the wall, thinking. The answer took longer than it should have.
"…Sat," he said finally. "Looked out the window. Tried not to think. Didn't always work."
Jirou nodded like that made perfect sense.
The TV filled the room with low background noise now. Some daytime program none of them were actually watching. It helped anyway. The sound made the silence less sharp.
Shinji let it wash over him. Voices that didn't ask anything of him. No alarms. No impact tremors. No distant screaming metal.
Just noise.
He flexed his fingers again and felt the faint pull where healing tissue protested. Real pain. Present pain. Not memory.
Grounding.
"If I fall asleep," he said, eyes half lidded now, "don't let them draw on my face."
Ashido leaned forward instantly. "No promises."
"I knew I shouldn't have invited you."
"Too late," she said brightly. "We live here now."
"Somehow I believe that," Shinji said, watching Ashido already testing how far she could lean back without flipping the couch. Then his expression shifted. Not darker exactly. Just more direct.
"Oh. Also, not to ruin the mood, but this needs to be said. Sorry."
His tone did not drop. It did not turn heavy or fragile. He sounded like he was commenting on the weather, on a late train, on a broken vending machine. Flat. Honest.
"I'm serious," he went on. "I'm sorry."
He gave a short breath of a laugh, but it held no humor. Just disbelief at himself.
"Once my memory lined back up enough to make sense, I started connecting things. Gaps filled in. Some slower than others." His eyes shifted to Jirou. "Jirou. Sorry for making you literally sew me back together. I know that wasn't exactly in your elective coursework."
The room stilled.
Jirou's fingers, which had been absently turning one of her jacks, stopped. "You were dying," she said. Simple. Not dramatic.
"Still inconvenient," Shinji replied. "Messy. Bad guest behavior."
"You weren't a guest," she said. "You were bleeding out on the floor."
"Semantics."
But he inclined his head slightly toward her anyway. Respect, not a joke.
"And thank you," he added. "That part matters more. It's the reason I'm here talking instead of being a cautionary tale teachers bring up during safety briefings."
His gaze shifted again, moving across them, not rushing it.
"The same goes for all of you. Keeping me talking when I was slipping. Not letting me check out. I remember pieces of it now. Voices more than faces at first."
His eyes settled on Midoriya.
"Midoriya. You helped me fight that thing. You didn't hesitate. I know that wasn't easy. I know what it looked like from the outside."
Midoriya straightened slightly, caught off guard by the directness. "You would've done the same," he said automatically.
"I did," Shinji answered. "Difference is, I expected me to."
Silence followed that. Not awkward. Just full.
Uraraka's hands tightened together in her lap. Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck, jaw set, like he remembered more of that day than he liked. Yaoyorozu watched Shinji with the careful attention of someone measuring stability, not judging it, just tracking it.
"I don't really know how to say it better than that. So that's what you get. Thank you."
Jirou exhaled through her nose. "That's it? No dramatic speech. No tears. No background music."
"I can fall down the stairs if you want more production value."
"Hard pass," Uraraka said quickly.
Kirishima grinned faintly. "You're allowed to just say thanks, man. Doesn't need to be flashy."
"Good," Shinji replied. "Because flashy is not in stock."
Midoriya studied him a second longer, then nodded once. "We're your classmates," he said. "That's what we're supposed to do."
Shinji pointed at him immediately. "If you can find exactly where, in the how to be a classmate manual, it says sewing up some moron who tried to fight something made to kill All Might," he said, "I'll give you fifty bucks."
He tossed his hand up in the air, waving the idea away like it offended him personally. "Pretty sure that's not in chapter one. Or any chapter. That's more like an appendix. Or a footnote with a skull icon next to it."
Midoriya sputtered, hands flying up on instinct. "I mean, it's not a literal manual—"
"Suspicious," Shinji cut in, deadpan. "You definitely look like the kind of person who would own one."
Jirou snorted. "He absolutely would. Color coded tabs and everything."
"I do not—" Midoriya started, then stopped, face heating. "Okay, I don't have a classmates manual, but there are books about teamwork—"
Ashido leaned over the back of the couch, grinning. "He's got flashcards, doesn't he."
Kirishima laughed. "Manly flashcards."
Midoriya deflated slightly. "They're for studying hero dynamics," he muttered.
Shinji glanced back at him, eyes softening just a bit despite the grin tugging at his mouth. "See? That right there. That's exactly my point. You guys keep calling it normal. I call it completely unhinged behavior."
"How are flashcards, and whatever weird notebook fetish Midoriya has 'unhinged'? You talked about destroying buildings, sorry, a building, earlier like it was normal," Yaoyorozu said, a quiet giggle slipping through at the end despite how composed she tried to sound.
Midoriya made a wounded noise. "It is not a fetish."
"It's a little bit a fetish," Jirou said.
"It's professional documentation," Midoriya insisted.
Ashido leaned sideways across the couch. "He labeled the labels."
"That was one time."
"Three times," Jirou corrected.
Shinji held up a hand like a referee calling a timeout. "Okay, first of all," he said, "that building had it coming."
Kirishima blinked. "Buildings can't come at you, man."
"You didn't see it," Shinji replied calmly. "Very aggressive architecture."
Yaoyorozu laughed again, covering her mouth this time. "That is not a defense."
"It is when you're inside a fifty meter combat platform and everything is exploding," Shinji said. "Standards shift."
The room settled after that. The joking lost its momentum, not awkward, just… easing. Like the air had exhaled. Sunlight stretched across the floor from the window, catching dust motes and the edge of the coffee table. Somewhere outside, distant training alarms sounded and cut off again.
For a minute, nobody talked.
Shinji stared at the far wall without really seeing it. His thumb rubbed absently against the fabric near his side where it still ached under the surface. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, not weak, just stripped of the humor he usually wore like armor.
"...thank you. Again." He swallowed once. "I don't, or rather didn't remember what having friends felt like. So. Thanks. All of you."
"I know I haven't made it easy," he went on, eyes still forward. "I know I'm… a lot. On a good day. But if I slip, I know you'll pull me out."
The last part came out simple. Certain. No theatrics.
Ashido was the first to break. She didn't joke this time. She slid off the arm of the couch and bumped her shoulder gently against his. "Yeah," she said. "That's kinda the deal."
Kirishima nodded, firm and immediate. "No hesitation. You fall, we grab you. That's it."
Jirou shrugged, but her expression was softer than usual. "You're stuck with us now anyway. No refunds."
Midoriya stepped a little closer, not crowding him, just making sure he was in his line of sight. "You don't have to earn that every day," he said. "You already did."
Yaoyorozu added quietly, "Friendship isn't a performance metric."
Shinji let out a breath through his nose, almost a laugh, almost not. "You guys rehearsed that?"
"Flashcards," Jirou said.
Midoriya opened his mouth in protest, then stopped when Ashido pointed at him like she'd caught proof.
The tension didn't spike back up. It stayed low, warm, steady. The kind that holds instead of squeezes.
Shinji nodded once, small but real. "Good," he said. "Because my track record says I'm gonna need the safety net."
Kirishima grinned. "Then we'll just build a bigger one."