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    Summary

    Izuku sat at the far end of the table from the kitchen, wedged between Todoroki and a still-half-asleep Kaminari, and focused on his rice bowl with the kind of intensity usually reserved for life-or-death combat situations. He did not look up. He did not track Kacchan's movements through his peripheral vision. He did not notice when Kacchan sat down three seats away, close enough that Izuku could have reached out and touched him if he'd been willing to stretch.

     

    He was not willing to stretch.

    Izuku has been turning this over in his mind for so long... Amidst the fragile calm that followed the wars—a calm that is only just beginning—the weight of everything left unsaid between them has become harder to ignore.

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