Morning came softly.
Not with alarms or urgency—but with pale light slipping through the curtains, brushing against bare skin and rumpled sheets.
I woke to warmth.
Not the lingering heat of exhaustion, but something steadier. Real.
I opened my eyes and didn't move.
Kurohane was sprawled half on top of me, black hair a mess against the pillow, one leg tangled with mine as if she'd refused to let go even in sleep. The sheets were twisted beyond recognition, evidence of a night that had stretched far longer than it ever should have.
Ten times.
Maybe more.
I'd lost count somewhere between laughter and breathless silence.
Her breathing was slow. Even.
Peaceful.
That alone felt strange.
I stayed still, afraid that if I moved too much I'd wake her—and somehow break this fragile calm. The events of last night came back in fragments: moonlight, heat, her voice saying my name without armor or mockery.
And the way she'd looked at me afterward.
Like she finally believed she was staying.
Her lashes fluttered.
Then she stirred, shifting slightly, pressing closer before realizing she was awake.
She stirred, mumbling something incoherent, then frowned as the light hit her face. One eye cracked open.
"…Morning," she murmured, voice still thick with sleep.
"Morning," I replied quietly.
For a few seconds, she didn't move. Then her eyes opened fully—and she froze.
Not in panic.
In realization.
She lifted her head slowly, silver hair falling over one eye as she looked at me. Her gaze flicked around the room, taking in the scattered clothes, the tangled sheets… the undeniable evidence that last night wasn't a dream.
"…You're still here," she said.
I smiled faintly. "I didn't go anywhere."
Something in her expression wavered—relief, disbelief, something dangerously close to emotion she usually hid behind sharp words.
She sat up slightly, pulling the sheet with her, then glanced at me again.
"…Do you regret it?" she asked, quieter now.
"No," I answered immediately.
The tension left her shoulders in one visible breath.
"…Good," she said, then hesitated. "Because I don't either."
She reached out, brushing her fingers against my arm—testing, almost—before letting her hand rest there properly.
"I thought I'd wake up and you'd be awkward," she added. "Or distant. Or already dressed and pretending this was a mistake."
"I was worried you'd vanish again," I admitted.
She huffed softly. "I thought about it. Old habits ."
Then she looked at me again—really looked.
"But I didn't want to," she said. "Not this time."
Silence settled again, but it was different from before. Comfortable. Shared.
Eventually, she leaned back down, resting her cheek against my chest once more.
"…Izuku?"
"Yeah?"
"You don't have to fix everything overnight," she said. "I'm not asking for promises. I just… want to be here. With you"
I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer.
"Then stay," I said. "As long as you want."
I leaned down and kissed her—slow, unhurried, like there was finally time to spare.
She smiled—not the sharp, teasing one she wore so often.
A small one.
Real.
"…You're going to make me soft if you keep treating me like this," she murmured.
"I think you already are," I replied.
She laughed quietly, burying her face against my chest, her hold tightening just a little.
Outside, the city was waking up.
And for the first time in a long while—
So was I.