Izuku Midoriya, also known as Deku, sits before me for the second time in my first week as a nurse. The first time, it was just a broken finger. This time, his entire hand looks like it's been through a war. Meanwhile, Recovery Girl's voice filters in from the room over, delivering a pointed lecture to Katsuki Bakugo. These students sure know how to keep life interesting, especially with the Sports Festival looming over them.

Taking Midoriya's broken hand in mine, I focus my quirk. The familiar sensation washes over me as his bones and joints begin to realign, knitting back together. A searing ache spreads through my own hand, burning like an invisible fire beneath my skin. Another addition to today's collection.

I lift my head to find his eyes locked on my, his wide green eyes shimmering with curiosity. "The burden is on you when you heal. What happens if you overdo it?" he asks. "What do you feel right now?"

Annoyed and in pain. You're not even my first patient today. I love having a quirk that gives me chronic pain. God, I need a nap. Instead of saying any of that, I offer him a tight-lipped smile. "What I feel is not your concern. Let's focus on getting you back in one piece." I run a finger over a rising bump on his forehead. As the last of the damage from his injuries fades, a dull throbbing headache sets into my skull. "There we go," I say, mustering what I hope to be some kind of enthusiasm. "All shiny and fixed up. Time for you to head back to class, Midoriya."

His eyebrows scrunch together as he slides off the bed, my hand on his shoulder driving him out of the room. "Wait, Aegis, I didn't mean to upset you, I just–"

"You're fine," I cut him off, shooing him away. "Less questions next time, though. See ya." I close the door, already plotting my escape to the teachers' lounge for a quick snack and some Ibuprofen.

Through the door, I hear him muttering to himself under his breath as he leaves. I let out a sigh, some murmurs of their own escaping me, "I think I am going to need more than a snack to get through this."

A gruff clearing of a throat draws my attention. Recovery Girl stands in the doorway to the other nursing room, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed and a knowing look that says I told you so. "Told you he'd be a lot," she says, a sparkle of amusement in her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah," I grumble, cutting her off before she can lecture me like she does the students. "I get it now. How's the other one?"

"He's fine," she replies with a shrug. "He'll be on his way in a moment. You'll probably be seeing a bit more of those two–and plenty of others. Everyone's pushing themselves to the edge with the Sports Festival coming up."

I breathe a sigh of relief, feeling some tension in my shoulders lessen. One less thing to worry about for now. She shakes her head at me like I am one of her overeager rookies.

"I think I'm gonna drop by the teachers' lounge for a snack and to take an Ibuprofen," I sniffle, massaging my temple with the tips of my fingers. The dull ache swells as I stand, and I take a deep breath to steady myself.

She quirks an eyebrow in my direction, her tone turning straddling the line between motherly concern and gentle teasing. "Take a page out of Aizawa's book, will you, and get a nap in while you're at it."

I purse my lips, my hand hovering over the door that exits to the hallway, hesitation creeping over my skin. "You'll be alright without me?"

She chuckles, and the sound pinches at my heart. For a moment, I think this is what it must be like to have a relationship with a grandmother. "Sweetheart, I've been at this for a long time."

"Thanks," I say, a small genuine smile growing, "I think I might just do that."

With that, I step into the hallway, the thought of a moment's rest propelling me in the direction of the teachers' lounge. Naps are a small mercy when I'm like this, a way to let time pass without me wallowing in pain or counting the minutes until I feel functional again. For now, that's enough.

When I was a student myself, I used to imagine the teachers' lounge as a mystical, off-limits haven where teachers sipped alcohol-laced coffee and gossiped about us mercilessly. The reality is far less thrilling, but mercifully quiet. I make myself a piece of toast with butter and down a couple painkillers with a sad cup of lukewarm water, grimacing as the pill catches in my throat on the way down. Smooth.

The couch here is just wide enough to seat three people, but not quite big enough for me to stretch out fully. I sink into it anyway, curling my knees toward my chest and resting my head on the armrest. My vision starts to blur at the edges, the throbbing in my skull pulsing like a second heartbeat. Sleep takes me.

"Everett too? What is this place, the new nap zone?" Midnight's playful tone lilts into my consciousness, her teasing laced with enough mockery to bring a twitch to my eye.

"Aw, don't knock it, Nemuri!" President Mic's booming voice follows, and I can't help the scowl that twists my face. "You saw Class 1-A tearing it up today! Bet they've been run ragged, and Everett's jus' feeling the vibe!" He punctuates his declaration with an exaggerated wave of his arms, some kind of bizarre interpretive dance that makes it seem like my decision to crash here was a cosmic inevitability.

I squint up at them, pressing a hand to my eyes as I blink the grogginess away. My head still throbs, but the worst of it has faded or the meds are helping. My muscles ache with the kind of soreness that could only be described as post-half-marathon agony–having run one before, I can confirm that it is eerily similar.

"You two really don't have anything," a scratchy voice, muffled by fabric breaks in, "better to do, huh?" Aizawa's voice cuts through the air with the lethargic drawl of lost sleep. His figure is barely visible, swallowed by a caution tape yellow sleeping bag that looks almost comically out of place against the neutral color of the floor and wall. With a grunt, his face pops out of the bag and the zipper slides down a couple inches, but he doesn't seem in a hurry to emerge. His hair is a mess, and his perpetually-lidded eyes flicker toward me for just a moment, lingering as if assessing my own exhaustion before shifting back to Yamada.

"Nope," Midnight smirks leaning against the armrest of the couch, laying a cool hand over my forehead. "This is the better thing." She plays idly with my hair, twirling my bangs, her grin teasing but oddly soothing.

Aizawa's eyes slide back to me again. "You look like shit," he states, as casually as someone commenting on an approaching storm.

"Shouta!" Yamada gasps, clutching a hand to his chest like a scandalized mother in a soap opera. "Have some tact, man!" His exaggerated disapproval earns a scoff from Aizawa, but I can't help the mild laugh that escapes me as I sit up straighter, Midnight's hand slipping away from my forehead with the movement. I sit up further, causing Midnight's hand to drop away. "Before you get mad at me for disturbing your rest," he says, his tone even but firm, "I was actually looking for you, Everett."

I blink at him, taken aback. Me? To my surprise, he drops dramatically to one knee in front of me, his ever-animated expression shifting to an over-the-top stoicism that borders theatrical. "On Fridays, I broadcast the whole day," he begins, his voice rich with mock gravitas. "And I was wondering, lovely Aegis, newest and most radiant member of our esteemed faculty, if you would like to give me a few moments of your time after school today. An interview, perhaps? A conversation more than anything!"

He proposes having me on my show like it's a romantic overture. Over his shoulder, I catch Aizawa still bundled up in his sleeping bag on the floor, his face contorting into a host of disapproving expressions aimed at Yamada's back.

I take his proffered hand, and a giggle escapes him. I lift his hand, pressing a chaste kiss to his knuckle, "I would love that, most esteemed Present Mic," I reply, mirroring his theatrics.

He claps as I stand up, stretching my arms above my head, feeling the tightness in my muscles shift. "A kindred spirit! I knew I liked you."

Midnight laughs like the rings out like a chorus, filling the whole room. Meanwhile, Aizawa sighs, muttering something about "adults acting like first-years" sinking back into the depths of his sleeping bag like a turtle retreating into its shell.

Yamada is undeterred by Aizawa's grumpiness, which must be an ordinary occurrence. "Do you have any favorite artists?"

"Hm?" The question throws me for a moment.

"For my broadcast," he clarifies, grinning like he just asked me to join the cast of a survival show and I said yes.

I look over at the unmoving lump that is Aizawa, and Yamada shakes his head, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "He's fine. Don't mind him."

Aizawa's presence looms over me even without the eye contact. I can't help but find him a tad bit intimidating, even if I respect the sleep grind. "Yeah, uh, I can tell you a song or two I like," I say, pondering a list in my mind.

He pulls out his phone, tapping away with a speed that borders on impressive as he opens the notes app. I lean in slightly, watching as he types my name. He stares at it for a moment, frowning, muttering, "Wait, that's not right," backspacing and correcting it twice.

I raise an eyebrow and he looks up at me with a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. Before he can say anything I make a grabby hand motion, signaling for the phone. He hands it over, and I take it with a mock flourish. I start typing, listing a few songs–some old favorites, others that just came to mind. Aizawa sighs a muffled and mournful sigh in the corner. "Just keep it down over there."

"Here's my number too," I type, adding my phone number beneath the list. "Text me when you're free after school or want me to join you or whatever. Figured phone's easiest." Aizawa yawns and it travels to me, contagious as they are, I hide my yawn behind a hand.

I finish, handing his phone back. He scans the list, chewing on his lower lip as he does. "Nice! I'll throw these on today," he says, his grin ever widening, "Aegis' bops–coming to a channel near you!" There is a small point of me that says his smile is too wide. That it's forced. That I don't belong here.

I shake my head a little and smile back, trying to mirror him. "Glad to be of service! Text me whenever." He skips away, dragging Midnight with him.

I sit back down drawing my knees up to my chest. Another yawn overtakes me, and I let it–another long day. I wouldn't mind sleeping another hour. Half hour? Forty-five minutes? Not much time left in the school day, and it's already been a long week.

"So, you two are friends now?" His tone is dry, seemingly uninterested, yet he still asks it. I can't shake the feeling that he has been watching us the whole time, even buried in his bag like that. I have a nagging uneasy feeling in my gut.

"Ah, I don't know if I'd go that far yet," I reply, my voice a little quieter than I intended. I look away, in any direction but him. His words tug at something in my chest, making me feel queasy. Maybe I should eat. Oh, I didn't bring anything else for lunch today. Right. That probably doesn't help. "Just talking and stuff, you know? Trying to be friendly." I could eat some butter I suppose. That could be fun.

I feel like I said that really weird. I'm making things more awkward, aren't I? There's a weird stifling energy in the room. A part of me really just wants to ignore it all and go back to sleep. Forget it. Pretend this weird gnawing feeling on top of my aching body isn't tearing at me.

I find the courage to look at him again. His face is peeking out of the yellow sleeping bag, his eyes closed, his expression unreadable. There's a silence that falls over us. He doesn't look annoyed, not really. It's just still, but the silence feels a little suffocating. It feels like stepping out on a cold windy day and realizing you need a jacket. Not sure why he's causing me such stress today. I do feel bad about waking him. "Did you not get enough sleep last night?" he asks.

I blink half-lidded eyes at him. "Just my quirk," I murmur, "I'm fine. You?"

He doesn't answer right away, and I think for a moment he has fallen asleep again. "Had patrol yesterday…" he pauses, then adds, "And Nemuri and Yamada want to go drinking tonight."

"S'why I asked if you're friends," he said quietly.

Oh. A quick breath escapes me. It catches in my throat, making my heart hiccup. "Oh," I echo, trying to shake off the sudden embarrassment.

Another beat of silence passes before his voice drifts to me again, quieter this time, as if he is half asleep. "Do you want to?"

"To what?"

"Join us."

The words hang in the air, and I hope he will just fall asleep. I feel the weight of the offer settling in my chest. He's just being polite. He doesn't really seem like he wants me there. I hesitate. "I wouldn't want to intrude."

"Don't let Yamada hear you say that," he responds, almost teasing.

Then the sleeping bag rustles, and suddenly he's facing me. My eyes lock with his, and I can't help myself. My chest shakes with the start of a laugh, a snort breaking free before I can snuff it out. I bury my face in my hands, trying to hold back more laughter. Partially obscured by the sleeping bag and lying on his side makes him look so…ridiculous, so out of place that it breaks something inside me. There's a flicker of something barely visible in his eyes.

"I guess I worry about not being the social type and stuff," I admit, the words tumbling out. It's funny to say. He doesn't seem to care much about fitting in either.

He shrugs, and it is a slight movement, almost imperceptible beneath the fabric of his sleeping bag. "Me neither. You can just hang out. You did say you were trying to be friendly."

"I…I guess." The words feel like surrender on my tongue. The invitation, however, now feels like an actual invite. A chance to step out. I should take it. I did come here to start over, didn't I?