"Is that why that's your favorite shirt?" Tsuyu asked. Jiro looked fondly at the shirt she was wearing. It was a couple of sizes too big, and the cheap material had a few holes. Still, it was always her first choice when picking something to wear to bed.

"Alright, enough of that," Mina groaned. "Jeez, I'm starting to feel bad for Kaminari now."

"It's not like that!" Jiro's face reddened despite her protests.

"So what happened after that?" Ochako asked. "There's no way Bakugo gave you his shirt and leave it at that."

Jiro's face darkened. "Well, you know how quickly everything happened with the League of Villains." Her words hung heavy in the room. How could they forget such a traumatic time in their lives? "Not long after all of that settled, I found out that All Might had asked him to keep an eye on me after my concussion. Between that and the war, I just wasn't interested anymore. Now, this shirt is kind of a memento of that time before everything went to shit."

The girls weren't sure what to say after that. The mood had taken a nose dive with no clear sign of how to fix it. Well, except for Mina, who had just about as much social etiquette as the blonde bombshell they'd been talking about.

"What about you, Momo," Mina said. "You'd been ready to defend him earlier. What dirty little secret are you hiding from us?"

Now, it was Momo's turn to blush. "I have no such thing!" But with all of her friends' eyes on her, she knew she had to tell them something. "It's nothing as grand as Jiro's."

Momo's POV

Books, crinkled notes, and highlighters surrounded me, turning the coffee table into a cacophony of study material. My eyes ached, and I could feel my temple throbbing as everything blurred into a mess of formulas and vocabulary. I let my head drop only for a second so that I could take a breath to compose myself because this needed to get done tonight. I had to finish it.

Tomorrow began our first week of exams as second-year students. The exams would cover all of our core classes, with the final day focused on our hero training. They informed us that it would be conducted in pairs, just as it had the previous year, but after we all had taken part in the war against All For One, this was nothing more than a formality. My friends asked me to tutor them just as I had done in the past, but in doing so, I had neglected my own studying. So, long after everyone else turned in for the night, I remained in the lounge, pouring over the textbooks one after the other.

The elevator's ding pulled my focus away, and I watched as a groggy Bakugo stepped out, looking none too pleased with the room's brightness. His eyes settled on me, and he grumbled, "What the hell are you doing, Ponytail?" His tone wasn't inquisitory but plain, almost as if he hadn't meant to say anything at all.

"I'm studying," I say, returning to the paper I was writing on. It's a jumbled, incoherent mess of letters that vaguely resembled words. It doesn't take long for me to give up on deciphering it, and I halfheartedly scratch it out. "What are you doing up?"

"Came to get some water," he said flatly.

"If it's not too much trouble, could you pour me a cup of coffee? There's a fresh pot on the counter." Had I not been so exhausted, I would have recognized how absurd the request was. But that was precisely what led me to make it in the first place.

Bakugo left for the kitchen without saying a word, and I once again lost myself in the material. I was in the middle of translating a passage into English when he returned, placing a cup and saucer before me. There was a pleasant, fragrant aroma, nothing like the bitter scent I had expected. "Tea?" I asked, even though I was very familiar with the blend used.

"That 'fresh pot' was cold and empty. Just how fucking long were you planning on being down here?" I swore I could hear the disappointment in his tone.

"I was planning on going to bed after this chapter," I lied. I wasn't sure why I lied. We weren't close or even a semblance of a friendship, yet I couldn't help but feel ashamed to have been caught by him. "I'll be okay. I just need to push through."

"Don't be a fucking idiot. You're not getting anywhere cramming all this shit in like this."

"Bakugo, I can't stop now. I haven't-"

"Haven't what? Memorized the entire English lexicon?" He grabs the textbook from my hands and tosses it aside. "We both know you're not that fucking stupid, Ponytail."

I know he's right. Continuing as I am would only do more harm than good. I rub the exhaustion from my eyes and pull the elastic band from my hair. I feel a momentary wave of relief as my hair falls, followed by the dull, rhythmic thumping of my scalp from being pulled back for so long.

I take a sip of the tea and sigh. "I just don't want to mess up."

"You're not," he said firmly. "At least you won't if get some fucking sleep." Something about the way I look must have irritated him because he continues. "You have the best grades, next to me and Four Eyes. You're vice president for the second year in a row, and shit, you've been up all night studying even after helping those sorry sacks. So enough of this imposter syndrome bullshit, get your ass to bed!"

I want to feel insulted. I want to stand up and proved to him that I'm as capable as he's making me out to be. But I'm tired. So very tired.

I drank the last of my tea and began to pack up my things when Bakugo grabbed my arm. "Leave it," he ordered. I don't protest. He watches me enter the elevator, unblinking up until the doors shut.

I don't remember the trek back to my room or how I changed into my sleepwear. A few hours later, my alarm wakes me, and I know I'm the only one to blame for not getting as much sleep as I had wanted. I drag myself out of bed and prepare for school, but when I reach for my school bag, it's not in the spot it should be. The events from the previous night hit me, and I hurried downstairs. Everyone else is huddled around the dining table, eating breakfast and going over last-minute reviewing. I glance at the coffee table, expecting the disaster I had left behind. But instead, it's clean, with not even an eraser shaving to be seen. And next to the couch was my book bag neatly filled with notes containing handwriting that was not my own.