Izuku is half asleep in the common area when he feels prodding at his back, soft fingers skirting their way up his shirt and pressing into his neck, the pads familiar even as he begins to float a few feet above the ground. He groans, too groggy to put up much of a fight, and instead lets his body go limp, offering a tired smile at Uraraka’s laughter.
He’s floating on his back, and instead of spinning around, he lets his head drop back, squinting at Iida and Uraraka in the dim light. “You’re up late.”
Iida reaches up before Izuku floats away, his grasp on Izuku’s t-shirt firm as he pulls him along, Uraraka in tow. “Honestly, Midoriya,” he chides softly, maneuvering Izuku around a pillar and towards the stairs. “Were you going to sleep in the commons?”
“I hadn’t planned on it,” Izuku yawns, reaching out to brush his fingertips against Uraraka’s hair. “I just lost track of time.”
Uraraka moves around to hold the door open, pressing her back against it to prop it open while her fingers remain steepled in front of her. “You were watching the news again, huh?”
Izuku smiles sheepishly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I can walk myself, you know. I’m awake now.”
“We know,” Uraraka hums, and Iida makes an equally acknowledging sound, but neither makes a move to put him down.
Ah, well. It’s not the first time it’s happened.
Dorm life ebbs and flows like a river; sometimes things seem regular enough, and other times Izuku finds himself in an impromptu study session in the laundry room in a borrowed shirt that is two sizes too large, waiting patiently for a washer to open up.
(He finds some comfort in Todoroki’s bemused face, though Todoroki always seems a little confused when it comes to their classmates.)
A timer goes off behind Izuku, and there’s a soft squeak from Tooru as she hops up from her seat, interrupting Momo mid-lesson. “Ah! Finally!”
“Finally,” Denki echoes, nudging his laundry basket over to take the open washer. “Maybe we should tell someone that we need more washers in here.”
“We have enough,” Izuku points out, pressing into Tokoyami with a soft apology to give Tooru more room to gather her things. “Half of them just aren’t working.”
“Wonder who’s fucking fault that is?” Kacchan spits, shooting Mineta a dirty look. Mineta, for his part, seems completely unapologetic.
Ashido, sitting across the floor from them, visibly shudders.
It’s not often that Kirishima finds almost the entire class gathered in the common area, and he and Bakugo might have missed a meeting or something while they were sparring. However, the entire group seems entirely too relaxed, sipping from mismatched mugs, clustered around the center table.
Ashido waves, hair pulled back with a flowery green headband that clashes with her hair. “Yaomomo was having tea time and invited us.”
“It’s nothing special,” Yaoyorozu demurred, sipping from a dainty porcelain cup. “I just felt a little homesick. Would you like to join us?”
Kirishima glanced at himself, sweat soaked and still in his sparring clothes, and at Bakugo, who was watching the scene somewhat blankly. “You sure?”
“It’s not like we haven’t smelled worse,” Kaminari laughed, moving over beside Ashido. “Come on! She’s got snacks too!”
Bakugo heaved a sigh, picking his way through with a shrug. “Why the hell not?”
