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The common room looked like a festive explosion.
Tinsel draped across the banisters.
Paper snowflakes clung to the windows.
Someone had strung fairy lights in careful lines across the ceiling, and in the corner, a small tree leaned slightly to the left like it had lost an argument with gravity.
Izuku stood at the entrance with a bag of cups in one hand and the distinct sense he’d walked into a place where he didn’t fully understand the rules.
Which was ridiculous, because it was just a party.
Just classmates, music, food, laughter, something normal.
He’d been to parties before. Sort of. Class gatherings. Dorm nights. Celebrations after exams.
And still his brain insisted on treating this like an unfamiliar combat scenario.
Okay. Step one: contribute something useful. Step two: don’t get in the way. Step three: don’t overthink-
“Midoriya!” Mina called, waving him over like she was flagging down a taxi.
“Put those there. We’re doing a drink station.”
“Yes! Okay!” Izuku hurried in, immediately grateful for an assigned task.
Kaminari and Kirishima were mid-argument about whether hot chocolate counted as a “drink station” if you could add marshmallows like weapon attachments. Jirou had commandeered the speakers. Sero was attempting to tape streamers without getting stuck to them. It was chaos, but it was the familiar kind, the safe kind, where nobody was bleeding and the worst consequence was someone spilling punch on a rug.
Izuku set the cups down and exhaled.
Then his gaze flicked to the other side of the room.
Class 1-B had arrived.
A small cluster of them stood near the snacks, half curious and half entertained, like they’d entered an exhibit labeled Observe Class 1-A in Their Natural Habitat.
And right in the center of them-
Itsuka Kendo.
She wasn’t loud about it. She didn’t demand attention.
She just… had it.
Her posture was relaxed, shoulders squared, hands tucked into the sleeves of her sweater for warmth. She wore a red scarf that made her hair look even darker, and when she laughed at something Tetsutetsu said, her eyes crinkled in a way that made Izuku’s chest do something annoyingly unhelpful.
He looked away too quickly.
Don’t stare. Don’t be weird. She’s just, she’s Kendo. That’s all. She’s a class rep. Like Iida. Only- Only different.
Kendo felt like the kind of person who could walk into a messy room and make it calmer just by being there.
The kind of person who didn’t flinch at noise.
The kind of person who would tell you you were being ridiculous… and somehow make it sound like a compliment.
Izuku swallowed and returned to the cups with renewed determination.
He had no business having those thoughts.
Especially not tonight.
Tonight was supposed to be simple.
Kendo had expected Class 1-A’s dorm party to be energetic.
She had not expected it to look like a festive storm front had hit the common room at full speed.
Someone, probably Mina, had gone all in. The decorations were cheerful and chaotic, like the room itself was buzzing. The music wasn’t too loud yet, but she could see Jirou’s hand hovering near the volume like she was waiting for the right moment to strike.
Kendo stepped in with 1-B, smiling as she took it all in.
It was… nice.
A rare, uncomplicated night.
No training. No alarms. No “surprise” exercises. Just students being students.
She’d barely made it to the snack table when she noticed it.
Midoriya was helping.
Of course he was.
He moved through the room like he’d been assigned a mission. Cups in hand, scanning for where to place them, nodding too quickly at Mina’s directions.
He looked perfectly put-together and completely overwhelmed at the same time.
Kendo’s mouth twitched.
He was always like that, capable and earnest and permanently on the edge of overthinking himself into a knot.
And he’d gotten better. He really had.
But Kendo had been watching long enough to notice the pattern: the way he’d smile when someone praised him, and then immediately act like he hadn’t earned it. The way he’d rush to help, like he needed to prove he deserved to be included in the first place.
She didn’t think he even realized he did it.
Her gaze followed him as he set the cups down.
Then he looked up.
Their eyes met.
Midoriya’s expression flickered, caught, startled, like a kid who’d been spotted reading something he wasn’t supposed to.
And then he looked away fast enough to give himself whiplash.
Kendo laughed softly into her sleeve.
Cute, she thought, and the word landed in her mind with annoying ease.
She’d told herself a long time ago not to entertain it. Midoriya was… Midoriya.
An obvious crush target if you had eyes and a pulse. But crushes were messy, and Kendo didn’t like messy when it came to her own heart.
Except the problem with Midoriya was that he wasn’t messy.
He was steady.
He was kind.
He was the sort of person who made you want to be the version of yourself you were proud of.
Kendo accepted a cup of something warm from Yaoyorozu, who greeted her politely like they’d never once been on opposite sides of an exercise, and let her shoulders loosen.
Okay.
A party.
She could do this.
Then she heard it.
A voice cutting through the room like a paper sword.
“Oho? What a charming little gathering,”
Monoma declared from behind her, already performing for an imaginary audience. “Truly, Class 1-A’s desperate attempts to appear cultured never fail to entertain.”
Kendo didn’t even turn around.
“Monoma,” she said calmly, “if you start a fight before I’ve had a cookie, I’m throwing you out.”
Monoma’s indignation flared immediately. “Excuse me? I am merely providing commentary!”
“You’re providing a headache.”
He huffed. “Hmph. Fine. I will behave.”
Kendo glanced over at Midoriya again, just once.
He was listening to something Iida was saying now, nodding with that serious concentration like he was being briefed for a rescue operation. Still helping. Still trying. Still doing too much for someone who didn’t have to earn his place here.
Kendo took a slow sip of her drink.
If I end up under mistletoe with him tonight, she thought, half amused, half nervous, I wonder if he’ll short-circuit.
Then she immediately scolded herself
for thinking it.
But the thought stayed.
Once the party properly started, it became harder to pretend he could just blend into the walls.
People moved in clusters, drifting between food, games, music. There was laughing, real laughing, not the forced kind after a rough training session. Kaminari had somehow convinced Sero and Mina to start a “decorate the gingerbread man in the most unhinged way possible” contest.
Kirishima was trying to teach someone from 1-B a party game with the intensity of a heroic oath.
Izuku told himself he’d relax.
He told himself he’d stop scanning the room like there was a villain hiding behind the tree.
And then someone bumped his shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Whoa, sorry!” Tetsutetsu boomed, grinning like he’d just body-checked a door for fun. “Midoriya, right? You guys got way more snacks than we do.”
Izuku laughed awkwardly. “Ah- yeah. I think Yaoyorozu helped-”
“Of course she did,” Tetsutetsu said like that explained the entire universe. “Your class is stacked.”
Izuku rubbed the back of his neck, already feeling the familiar itch of no, I’m not-
“Hey!” Mina called from across the room. “Deku! We need you!”
He flinched instinctively.
“Not for anything scary!” she added quickly, laughing. “Just- support!”
Izuku exhaled and made his way over, only to discover “support” meant holding the roll of tape at a specific angle while she argued with Jirou about the perfect placement for a string of mistletoe.
Mistletoe.
Izuku’s gaze snapped upward.
There were sprigs of it everywhere,
hung in doorways, over the snack table, even dangling at the edge of the ceiling fan like someone had tried to turn it into a hazard.
Mina caught his expression and cackled. “It’s a Christmas party! It’s basically the law!”
“I don’t think it’s a law,” Jirou muttered, but she was smiling too.
Izuku forced himself to nod. “Right.
Yeah. Totally.”
He didn’t actually have an issue with mistletoe.
Not in theory.
It was just the implications that made his brain heat up.
Because he knew how people worked.
How they’d tease. How they’d shove couples together and chant. How something meant as a joke could suddenly become… not a joke.
And he. He caught sight of Kendo across the room again.
She was speaking to Yaoyorozu, both of them polite and composed, like they were hosting a diplomatic event instead of a dorm party. Kendo laughed at something Momo said and her hands moved as she spoke, confident, expressive.
Izuku looked away before his heart could do anything embarrassing.
“Okay, Deku,” Mina said, poking his cheek. “You’re doing the stare thing.”
“I’m not!” he protested too fast.
“Mmhm.” Mina’s grin widened. “Anyway. New mission: deliver these.”
She shoved a tray of cookies into his hands.
“I-what?”
“To the snack table. We are spreading joy. Also, Kirishima ate like… three ‘special’ cookies I was saving and now he’s emotional.”
Izuku blinked. “That checks out.”
He started toward the snack table, tray balanced carefully.
Halfway there, the flow of the room shifted, people moving to make space for someone loud and theatrical.
“Oh, what is this? A party?” Monoma’s voice carried like a performance. “How positively quaint.”
Izuku stiffened. He didn’t know Monoma well, but he knew of him. Most of 1-A did. The reputation wasn’t subtle.
Monoma swept into the center of the room like he’d been invited as the main event. “I must say, Class 1-A, you’ve decorated so aggressively that it almost distracts from your glaring inadequacies.”
Kirishima laughed like that was hilarious. “Bro, you’re wild.”
Monoma’s eyes narrowed. “And who asked you-”
Kendo appeared beside him with the speed of someone who’d done this many times.
“Monoma,” she said, calm as a locked door. “Eat something. Drink something. Be normal.”
Monoma looked personally offended by the word normal.
“I am behaving,” he hissed.
“You’re monologuing.”
“I am-” Monoma sputtered, then caught sight of the cookies in Izuku’s hands.
His gaze sharpened. “Ah. Midoriya.”
Izuku nearly dropped the tray out of reflex.
“Hello,” Izuku managed, voice polite.
Monoma’s smile turned predatory. “So. You’ve come to bask in the superiority of Class 1-B’s presence?”
Izuku blinked. “I- I brought cookies.”
Monoma stared at him like that was an unexpected weapon.
Kendo’s hand came down on Monoma’s shoulder with gentle, lethal pressure.
“Midoriya is doing a nice thing.”
Monoma’s smile twitched. “Yes. Yes. Lovely. How inspiring.”
Kendo looked at Izuku then, really looked, and Izuku felt like he’d been caught mid-thought again.
“Those look good,” she said, nodding at the tray.
“Uh- yeah. Mina made them.”
“That’s brave of you to trust,” she said, deadpan.
Izuku laughed, startled, and it came out more real than he expected. “She said Kirishima tested them.”
“That’s less reassuring than you think.”
He laughed again, cheeks warm.
Kendo’s expression softened, like she’d unlocked something she’d been trying to reach all night. “Can I take one?”
“Of course.”
He held the tray out. Kendo reached for a cookie, and bumped his fingers by accident.
It was nothing. A brush of skin. A total non-event.
Izuku’s entire nervous system disagreed.
His brain tried to reboot. His mouth forgot how to be normal.
“Sorry,” Kendo said immediately, though she didn’t look sorry at all, just amused.
“No, I- it’s fine-” Izuku said, too fast.
Kendo’s eyes flicked over him, quick and assessing, like she could see the spiral forming before it even started.
“You’re okay,” she said, quieter, like a private reassurance slipped into a crowded room.
Izuku swallowed. “Yeah.”
Monoma watched this exchange like a scientist witnessing an anomaly in the field.
His eyes widened.
His head turned slowly toward Kendo.
Then toward Izuku.
Then back.
Kendo didn’t even look at him, but her voice sharpened anyway. “Don’t.”
Monoma’s mouth opened.
“Don’t,” she repeated, more firmly.
He closed his mouth with visible effort.
Izuku, still holding the cookie tray, tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed any of it.
“Um… I should probably- deliver these.”
Kendo nodded. “Go.”
But her gaze lingered on him a second longer than necessary.
Izuku walked away, heart pounding in a way he couldn’t blame on the crowd.
Behind him, Monoma leaned in toward
Kendo like he physically couldn’t stop himself.
He whispered, loud enough that Izuku almost heard it anyway:
“Interesting.”
Kendo’s response was immediate, lethal, and calm.
“Swallow your commentary,” she murmured, “or I’ll make you.”
She watched Midoriya retreat with the cookie tray held like a shield.
He moved carefully through the room, polite nods and quick apologies as he passed, like he was trying to take up as little space as possible even when everyone clearly wanted him here.
Kendo’s fingers curled around the cookie she’d taken.
He’d laughed. Twice.
It hadn’t sounded forced.
That mattered more than she wanted to admit.
Monoma practically vibrated beside her, eyes sharp with delight.
“What,” Kendo said without looking at him, “are you thinking.”
Monoma’s grin widened. “Oh, nothing.
Not a thing. I am merely observing.”
“You’re plotting.”
“I am not plotting.”
Kendo finally turned her head slowly.
Monoma met her stare and tried to look innocent. He failed immediately.
He leaned in, whispering like this was classified information. “You like him.”
Kendo’s face didn’t change. “No.”
Monoma’s grin got worse. “Yes.”
“I said no.”
“You said it like a person lying to themselves.”
Kendo’s fist flexed once, her quirk itching under her skin in a way that was half warning and half patience running out.
Monoma held up his hands. “Fine! Fine. I will keep my brilliant conclusions to myself.”
Kendo took a steadying breath.
Her pulse had gone oddly loud when she’d bumped Midoriya’s fingers. Not because she was nervous about touching someone, she wasn’t, but because the look on his face had been so… honest.
Startled. Flustered. Like he hadn’t expected anyone to choose closeness
with him without making it a joke.
Kendo hated that.
Not him. The fact he could still think that way about himself.
She watched him pause near the doorway, laughter bubbling up from his classmates, light reflecting off the tinsel.
And then she noticed what hung above that doorway.
A neat sprig of mistletoe, tied with red ribbon.
Of course.
Kendo’s mouth went dry.
Monoma noticed too. His eyes widened like he’d just been handed the final piece of a puzzle.
“Oh,” he breathed, delighted.
Kendo turned toward him sharply.
Monoma immediately clasped his hands together like a villain at the end of a plan. “I won’t do anything,” he promised, far too quickly.
Kendo narrowed her eyes.
He added, even faster, “I swear.”
Kendo did not believe him for a second.
Kendo took a steady breath and looked back at the doorway.
Midoriya was still there, half-turned toward the room, laughing softly at something Sero had said. The lights overhead caught in his curls, tinsel glinting behind him. He hadn’t noticed yet.
She could walk away.
The thought crossed her mind, brief, distant, already fading. Because the longer she stood there, the more obvious it became that she wasn’t going to.
Kendo stepped forward.
Monoma’s eyes practically sparkled.
She shot him a warning look sharp enough to cut glass. He pressed a fist to his mouth, visibly vibrating with restraint, and mimed zipping his lips. It did nothing to reassure her.
Midoriya noticed her movement then.
“Kendo?” he asked, turning fully toward her.
She stopped just in front of him, close enough that he had to tilt his head slightly to keep eye contact. For a second, neither of them spoke.
Then his gaze flicked upward.
“Oh,” he said quietly.
She didn’t tease him for it. Didn’t say
anything at all.
Kendo reached out, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his sleeve, not pulling, just grounding, and leaned in.
The kiss was gentle. Brief. Warm in a way that surprised her, because there was no rush in it, no question, no hesitation. Just the simple press of lips beneath the mistletoe, exactly where tradition said they should be.
When she pulled back, Midoriya was still, eyes wide, processing.
She let go of his sleeve first.
“Don’t overthink it,” she said, soft but firm, already stepping past him. “Come on.”
She didn’t look back.
Behind her, Monoma made a strangled noise of victory and had to be physically restrained by Tetsutetsu.
Midoriya stood under the mistletoe for a heartbeat longer than necessary before following, face warm, expression unreadable, but lighter than it had been all evening.
Midoriya didn’t speak for the rest of the evening.
Not because he couldn’t, but because every time he opened his mouth, the moment replayed itself with vivid clarity.
The soft certainty of it. The way she hadn’t hesitated. The way she’d stepped away like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He stayed close to the group, answered when spoken to, laughed when expected. But something had shifted, subtle and undeniable, like the center of gravity inside his chest had moved a few inches to the left.
Kendo, for her part, was entirely unbothered.
She talked with Momo near the drinks table, sparred verbally with Mina, and shot Kirishima down mid-sentence with practiced ease. If anyone had watched her closely, they might’ve noticed the faintest curve to her mouth, but only if they knew her well.
Midoriya caught her glancing his way once.
Just once.
It was enough.
Across the room, Monoma was vibrating.
He had not screamed.
He had not clapped.
He had not announced it to the entire common room like a maniac.
This was a trial.
He leaned against a pillar, watching Midoriya move like a person who had
just been gently shoved into an alternate timeline and hadn’t decided yet whether to resist it.
“Oh,” Monoma murmured to himself, eyes gleaming.
“Ohhh, that was real.”
Not dramatic. Not theatrical. Not staged.
Intentional.
He turned his head slowly toward Kendo, who was laughing now, actually laughing, at something Mina had said.
No nerves. No backtracking. No sign she planned to explain a damn thing.
Monoma pressed a hand to his chest.
“Unbelievable,” he whispered reverently. “She struck first.”
Later, much later, when the party began to thin and students drifted back toward their dorms, Midoriya found himself walking a few steps behind her.
Not beside. Not chasing.
Just… there.
The mistletoe was still hanging above the doorway when they passed it again.
Neither of them looked up this time.
And somehow, that felt like the loudest part of the night.