Chapter Text
The meeting started the way all Class A gatherings did - familiar faces, quiet murmurs, the unspoken understanding that whatever was happening, they would face it together. They had always been unified, always found common ground, always stood as one even when the world tried to pull them apart. No one expected this time to be any different.
But the tension was there, lingering beneath the surface, pressing into every glance exchanged, every hesitation before someone spoke, every unspoken thought that weighed heavier than it should. The Commission had made its move, the task force had been assigned, and now, they had to decide where they stood.
At first, the conversation was measured, cautious, filled with careful phrasing and quiet reasoning. Some argued that hero society was still worth saving, that walking away wasn’t the answer, that vigilantes only made things harder. Others pushed back, pointing out the flaws, the corruption, the way the system had failed people time and time again.
Then, the argument started.
Voices rose, frustration spilling into the space between them, the weight of their choices pressing into every word exchanged. Some defended Momo and Shouto, refusing to condemn them, insisting that their actions were justified. Others argued that hero society was still necessary, that abandoning it wasn’t the solution, that vigilantes only made things worse.
Bakugou had been silent up until that point, arms crossed, expression sharp, patience thinning with every passing second. Then, finally, he exhaled sharply, his voice cutting through the chaos with something heavier than frustration.
"Enough," he snapped, his gaze sweeping across the room, his irritation clear. "If you support the vigilantes, move to the right. If you’re staying with the heroes, move to the left. If you can’t decide, stay in the middle."
No one moved immediately, the weight of the decision settling into the space between them, pressing into every hesitation, every unspoken thought, every quiet realization that this wasn’t just a discussion anymore - it was a choice.
Then, slowly, they started shifting.
Jirou moved first, stepping to the right without hesitation, her expression unreadable but her intent clear. Sero followed, his loyalty to Momo unshakable, his decision made long before the meeting had even started. Ojiro, Satou, Kaminari - they all moved, their steps deliberate, their stance firm, their choice undeniable.
Tokoyami stepped left, his loyalty to hero society outweighing his doubts, his belief in the system keeping him from crossing the line. Kouda followed, his uncertainty pushing him toward the safer option, his hesitation lingering but his choice made. Hagakure, Aoyama, Shouji - they all moved, their belief in hero society keeping them from siding with vigilantes, their conviction firm even as the division became undeniable.
Ochako hesitated, her fingers curling slightly against her palm, her thoughts unreadable as she lingered in the center for just a moment before stepping left, her family situation forcing her hand even if her heart wasn’t fully in it. Kirishima stood still for longer, his jaw tight, his frustration evident, his loyalty to his friends battling against his belief in heroism. Then, finally, he moved slightly to the right, his stance uncertain but his choice made.
Izuku and Iida remained in the middle, their hesitation heavier than anyone else’s, their inability to choose keeping them frozen in place.
The room was divided now, the split undeniable, the weight of their choices pressing into the silence that followed.
And for the first time since U.A., Class A wasn’t standing together.
The weight of the division settled into the room, pressing into every unspoken thought, every glance exchanged, every realization that this wasn’t just a disagreement - it was a fracture. No one spoke immediately, the silence stretching, the space between them feeling wider than it had ever been before.
Jirou crossed her arms, her expression unreadable but her stance firm, refusing to let the tension make her second-guess her choice. Sero stood beside her, his loyalty to Momo unwavering, his gaze sharp as he scanned the faces on the opposite side of the room. Ojiro exhaled slowly, his fingers curling slightly against his palm, his frustration evident but controlled, unwilling to let the moment turn into something worse.
Bakugou stood rigid on the left, his arms still crossed, his patience thinning with every second that passed. He had expected hesitation, expected conflict, expected people to struggle with the weight of the decision, but seeing the divide in real time made something settle uncomfortably in his chest. Ochako stood near him, her posture tense, her gaze flickering toward Izuku before shifting away, unwilling to acknowledge the uncertainty that lingered between them.
Kirishima shifted slightly, his stance uncertain, his frustration evident in the way his jaw tightened, his fingers tapping against his leg as he processed the reality of what had just happened. He had made his choice, but that didn’t mean it was easy, didn’t mean it felt right, didn’t mean he wasn’t still struggling with the consequences. Mina stood on the opposite side, her expression conflicted, her gaze flickering toward him before settling elsewhere, unwilling to let the division turn into something personal.
Izuku and Iida remained in the middle, their hesitation heavier than anyone else’s, their inability to choose keeping them frozen in place. Izuku’s fingers curled slightly against his palm, his thoughts racing, his mind searching for something that didn’t exist - a way to fix this, a way to bring them back together, a way to make this anything other than what it had become. Iida stood beside him, his posture rigid, his conviction clear even if his choice wasn’t, his belief in hero society keeping him from stepping right but his understanding of his friends keeping him from stepping left.
The silence stretched, the weight of the moment pressing into every breath, every movement, every realization that this wasn’t something they could take back.
Then, finally, Jirou spoke, her voice steady but edged with something heavier than frustration.
"So what happens now?"
No one had an answer.
Because none of them knew.
The tension hadn’t faded. If anything, it had settled deeper, pressing into every interaction, every mission, every moment where they had to pretend that nothing had changed. A week had passed since the split, but the weight of it lingered, unspoken but undeniable, shaping the way they moved, the way they spoke, the way they avoided certain topics as if ignoring them would make them disappear.
Bakugou had thrown himself into work, refusing to acknowledge the discomfort, refusing to let the division slow him down. He had never been one to dwell on emotions, never been one to hesitate, never been one to let uncertainty dictate his actions. But even he couldn’t ignore the way things felt different, the way conversations were shorter, the way some people hesitated before speaking, as if they weren’t sure where they stood anymore.
Ochako had kept herself busy, focusing on patrols, on reports, on anything that kept her from thinking too much about the choice she had made. She had known it was inevitable, had understood that her family situation left her with no real alternative, but that didn’t mean she was at peace with it. She still caught herself wondering what would have happened if things had been different, if she had been free to make a choice based on belief rather than obligation.
Tokoyami had remained steady, his conviction unshaken, his loyalty to hero society keeping him focused even as the division weighed on the group. He didn’t speak about the split, didn’t dwell on what had happened, didn’t let it affect his work. Kouda was much the same, his quiet nature making it easier for him to avoid the tension, to keep moving forward without getting caught in the emotional fallout.
Hagakure had tried to keep things normal, filling the silence with conversation, pretending that nothing had changed, refusing to let the weight of the situation settle too heavily on her shoulders. Aoyama had followed her lead, his usual dramatics dulled but still present, his attempts at maintaining normalcy feeling forced but necessary.
Shouji had been the most composed, his belief in hero society keeping him grounded, his understanding of both sides making him one of the few who could navigate the tension without letting it consume him. He didn’t condemn those who had left, but he didn’t question his own choice either, accepting the reality of the situation without hesitation.
Iida had remained focused, his sense of duty keeping him steady, his belief in structure making it easier for him to justify the split. He didn’t argue with those who had chosen differently, didn’t try to convince anyone to change their minds, didn’t let the division affect his work. But he still caught himself glancing toward Izuku, still felt the weight of his friend’s hesitation, still wondered if neutrality was truly sustainable.
The hero side had remained intact, but the cracks were there, subtle but present, lingering beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to break through.
And none of them knew if they would ever fully heal.
The vigilante side had settled into their new reality, but the weight of their choice lingered, shaping the way they moved, the way they spoke, the way they adjusted to the fact that they were no longer part of hero society in the same way they once were. A week had passed since the split, and while none of them regretted their decision, the consequences were impossible to ignore.
Jirou had thrown herself into work, using her connections to keep information flowing, ensuring that Momo and Shouto had everything they needed to stay ahead of the Commission. She had never been one to blindly follow authority, had always questioned the system, had always understood that hero society wasn’t as perfect as it pretended to be. But now, she wasn’t just questioning it - she was actively working against it, and that changed everything.
Sero had adjusted quickly, his loyalty to Momo making it easy for him to step into the underground without hesitation. He had always trusted her judgment, had always believed in her ability to navigate situations others couldn’t, had always known that if she was fighting for something, it was worth fighting for. He didn’t dwell on the split, didn’t waste time wondering what could have been, didn’t let the weight of his choice slow him down.
Ojiro had been quieter, more reserved, processing the shift in his own way, recognizing that while he had made his choice, it wasn’t without consequences. He had never been one for politics, had never cared much for the inner workings of hero society, had always focused on the work itself rather than the system behind it. But now, he was forced to confront the reality that the system wasn’t just flawed - it was actively working against people he cared about.
Satou had kept himself busy, ensuring that resources were available, making sure that those operating outside the system had what they needed to keep moving forward. He wasn’t the type to make speeches, wasn’t the type to argue about ideology, wasn’t the type to get caught up in debates about morality. He had made his choice, and now, he was doing what needed to be done.
Kaminari had followed Jirou’s lead, trusting her instincts, supporting her choice, ensuring that he was doing his part to keep the vigilantes connected and informed. He had always been adaptable, had always been able to adjust to whatever situation he found himself in, had always been able to find his footing even when the ground beneath him shifted. This was no different, even if the stakes were higher than they had ever been before.
Kirishima had struggled the most, his hesitation still lingering even after he had stepped to the right, his loyalty to his friends battling against his belief in heroism. He had always seen himself as someone who fought for what was right, someone who stood for justice, someone who believed in the strength of hero society. But now, he was forced to confront the reality that justice wasn’t always found within the system, that sometimes, the fight had to happen outside of it.
The vigilante side had made their choice, but the consequences were only just beginning.
And none of them knew how far they would have to go to see it through.
The hideout had always been a place of control, a carefully maintained space where Momo dictated the flow of information, where every movement was calculated, where survival depended on precision. But now, it was shifting, adjusting to the presence of those who had chosen to support them, adapting to the reality that they were no longer operating alone.
Shouto leaned against the doorway, watching as Sero settled into the guest room, his movements relaxed despite the weight of his decision. He had officially resigned, stepping away from hero society entirely, choosing to stay underground rather than operate in the space between. It wasn’t a choice made lightly, but it was one he had accepted without hesitation, his loyalty to Momo outweighing any lingering doubts.
Momo sat across the room, her posture composed but her thoughts clearly occupied, processing the shift in their operations, recognizing that while the support was necessary, it also changed the way they moved. The underground had always been about control, about ensuring that every action was deliberate, about maintaining stability even when the world outside was unpredictable. Now, with former heroes assisting them, the balance had to be recalibrated.
Jirou had been the first to establish a direct line of communication, ensuring that information flowed between them and those still operating within hero society. Kaminari had followed, using his skills to keep their network intact, making sure that nothing was lost in translation, ensuring that they remained ahead of the Commission’s movements. Ojiro and Satou had stepped in where needed, offering resources, providing support, ensuring that the underground remained functional despite the growing pressure.
Sero adjusted quickly, his presence settling into the space as if he had always been there, his familiarity with Momo making the transition seamless. He didn’t ask unnecessary questions, didn’t hesitate before stepping into the rhythm of their operations, didn’t waste time dwelling on what he had left behind. He had made his choice, and now, he was fully committed to seeing it through.
Shouto exhaled slowly, his gaze flickering toward Momo, recognizing the weight of the moment, understanding that while they had gained allies, they had also increased the stakes. The Commission wouldn’t ignore this, wouldn’t let the division remain stagnant, wouldn’t allow hero society to fracture without consequence.
Momo met his gaze, something unreadable flickering across her expression before she spoke, her voice steady but edged with something heavier than calculation.
"We need to move carefully," she said, her tone measured, her conviction firm. "The more support we have, the more attention we draw."
Shouto nodded, his fingers curling slightly against his palm, his thoughts settling into something quieter, something more deliberate.
"They won’t wait forever," he murmured, his voice even but certain. "Eventually, they’ll make their move."
Momo didn’t argue, didn’t counter, didn’t offer false reassurance.
Because they both knew he was right.
The media had already been circling the situation, reporting on the Commission’s actions, speculating on the vigilantes’ movements, analyzing every shift in hero society with careful precision. But when word of the divide between pro heroes surfaced, the narrative exploded, turning a controlled discussion into a chaotic storm of speculation, debate, and outright controversy.
News outlets scrambled to cover the fracture, some pushing the Commission’s stance, emphasizing the dangers of vigilante activity, highlighting the risks of heroes turning against the system. Others took a more neutral approach, reporting on the facts without leaning into condemnation, ensuring that the conversation remained open rather than dictated by a single perspective. Independent journalists dug deeper, exposing inconsistencies in official statements, questioning the Commission’s motives, revealing the growing instability within hero society.
Social media became a battlefield, flooded with debates, theories, and conflicting opinions. Some civilians defended the heroes who had sided with the vigilantes, arguing that their actions proved hero society was failing, that their choice to support Momo and Shouto was a stand against corruption rather than an act of rebellion. Others condemned them, insisting that heroes had a duty to uphold the system, that abandoning it only made things worse, that vigilantes were a threat rather than a solution.
Former heroes weighed in, some supporting the underground, pointing out the flaws in hero society, arguing that the Commission’s response was proof that the system was still broken. Others sided with the government, insisting that structure was necessary, that vigilantes only created instability, that hero society couldn’t afford to fracture any further. Politicians followed suit, some pushing for stricter regulations, others using the situation as proof that hero society needed reform, turning the debate into something larger than just Momo and Shouto’s actions.
The task force’s involvement only added fuel to the fire, turning the situation into something more personal, more complicated, more difficult to ignore. Class A had been a symbol of resilience, of unity, of everything hero society had fought to rebuild. Now, five of its members had been assigned to track down two of their own, forcing the public to question where the line between duty and loyalty truly existed.
The Commission remained silent, refusing to acknowledge the growing controversy, refusing to engage in the debate, refusing to let the narrative slip out of their control. But the silence only made things worse, only fueled speculation, only made people question what was happening behind closed doors.
The media had caught wind of the fracture.
And now, there was no stopping the storm that followed.
The media frenzy had reached a point where containment was no longer an option. What had started as speculation had evolved into a full-scale crisis, forcing every major news outlet, political figure, and hero agency to address the growing fracture within hero society. The Commission had lost control of the narrative, and now, the conversation was dictated by public opinion rather than official statements.
Talk shows hosted heated debates, bringing in analysts, former heroes, and government officials to dissect the situation from every possible angle. Some argued that vigilantes were destabilizing hero society, insisting that allowing them to operate unchecked would lead to chaos. Others countered that the Commission’s aggressive stance was proof that the system was failing, that heroes should be allowed to challenge authority when necessary, that Momo and Shouto’s actions were a symptom of a larger problem rather than the cause.
Headlines became increasingly dramatic, shifting from cautious reporting to outright sensationalism. Some publications framed the vigilantes as dangerous, emphasizing their defiance, questioning their motives, speculating on how far they were willing to go. Others painted them as revolutionaries, highlighting their supporters, exposing flaws in hero society, turning them into symbols of resistance rather than fugitives.
Civilians were no longer just watching—they were choosing sides, their opinions shaping the way heroes responded, their voices influencing the way agencies handled the situation. Protests began forming, some demanding stricter regulations on vigilantes, others calling for hero society to acknowledge its failures, turning the streets into battlegrounds for ideological conflict. Social media amplified the divide, fueling arguments, spreading misinformation, making it impossible for anyone to remain neutral.
Hero agencies scrambled to maintain order, some issuing statements reaffirming their loyalty to the Commission, others distancing themselves from the controversy, refusing to take a definitive stance. Some heroes resigned quietly, unwilling to be caught in the middle, unwilling to fight for a system they no longer believed in. Others doubled down, pushing for harsher measures, insisting that vigilantes needed to be stopped before hero society collapsed entirely.
The task force became a focal point, their involvement turning the situation into something deeply personal, something that couldn’t be dismissed as just another political debate. Class A had always been seen as a unit, as a group that stood together, as a symbol of resilience. Now, they were fractured, divided between duty and loyalty, caught in a conflict that had no easy resolution.
The Commission had underestimated the fallout.
And they were running out of ways to control it.
The divide had solidified, no longer just an ideological split but an outright conflict, forcing former classmates to stand on opposite sides of a battle none of them had ever imagined fighting. A month had passed since the initial fracture, and in that time, the situation had deteriorated beyond repair. What had started as tension had escalated into direct confrontations, turning old friendships into strained alliances, making it impossible to ignore the reality of what hero society had become.
Izuku had spent weeks deliberating, analyzing every angle, questioning every decision, searching for a way to reconcile his belief in heroism with the undeniable corruption within the Commission. But the deeper he dug, the more he realized that the system wasn’t just flawed - it was actively working against the very ideals it claimed to uphold. He had always believed in saving people, in protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves, in standing for justice no matter the cost. And now, that meant standing with the vigilantes, even if it meant going against everything he had once fought for.
Iida had struggled just as much, torn between his personal convictions and the weight of his family’s legacy. The Iida name had always been synonymous with heroism, with structure, with unwavering dedication to the system. He had spent years trying to live up to that expectation, trying to prove that he was worthy of carrying that responsibility, trying to ensure that his actions reflected the values his family had instilled in him. In the end, that loyalty kept him on the hero side, even if it meant standing against people he had once considered family.
The battles weren’t just physical - they were emotional, forcing them to confront the reality of fighting against people they had trained with, survived with, built their futures alongside. Jirou and Kaminari worked tirelessly to keep the vigilantes connected, ensuring that information flowed, that movements were coordinated, that they stayed ahead of the Commission’s crackdown. Sero had fully integrated into the underground, using his skills to navigate the shifting landscape, ensuring that Momo’s network remained intact despite the growing pressure.
Bakugou had thrown himself into hero work, refusing to acknowledge the discomfort, refusing to let the division slow him down, refusing to let hesitation dictate his actions. He had never been one to dwell on emotions, never been one to hesitate, never been one to let uncertainty affect his decisions. But even he couldn’t ignore the way things felt different, the way every mission carried the weight of knowing that eventually, they would be forced to fight people they had once trusted without question.
Kirishima had struggled the most, caught between his belief in heroism and his loyalty to his friends, forced to reconcile the fact that standing with the vigilantes meant standing against people he had once sworn to protect. Mina had remained with the heroes, not because she fully supported the Commission, but because she didn’t know how else to process everything, because she wasn’t ready to walk away from the system entirely. Their relationship remained intact, but the strain was undeniable, the weight of their choices pressing into every conversation, every moment where they had to pretend that things were still the same.
Ochako had accepted her place within hero society, knowing that her family situation left her with no real alternative, understanding that even if she sympathized with the vigilantes, she couldn’t afford to stand with them. Tokoyami had remained firm in his convictions, his loyalty to hero society keeping him grounded, his belief in structure making it easier for him to justify the split. Kouda, Hagakure, Aoyama, and Shouji had followed suit, their decisions shaped by their own understanding of heroism, their own belief in the system, their own unwillingness to abandon the structure they had fought to uphold.
The conflict had escalated beyond words, beyond debates, beyond quiet disagreements.
And now, there was no avoiding the inevitable.
*🕮❀──────✧❅-'♡'-❅✧──────❀🕮*
Momo had never been one to seek out physical comfort, had never been the type to lean into casual touches, had never considered herself someone who needed that kind of reassurance. She had always been composed, always maintained a certain level of distance, always prioritized efficiency over sentimentality. But lately, something felt off, something she couldn’t quite place, something that lingered beneath the surface in a way she didn’t fully understand.
She had adjusted to the underground, had built a system that kept them ahead, had ensured that every move was calculated, every action deliberate, every decision made with precision. She had allies now, people who had chosen to support her, people who had stepped away from hero society to stand with her, people who had placed their trust in her leadership. Sero had integrated seamlessly, his presence familiar, his loyalty unwavering, his ability to adapt making the transition easier than expected. Jirou and Kaminari kept information flowing, Ojiro and Satou ensured resources remained intact, Kirishima had committed himself fully despite his initial hesitation.
And then there was Shouto.
He had always been steady, always reliable, always someone she could count on to understand the weight of their choices without needing constant reassurance. He didn’t question her decisions, didn’t hesitate before following her lead, didn’t let the pressure of their situation affect his conviction. He was a constant presence, always nearby, always watching, always ensuring that she wasn’t carrying the burden alone.
She hadn’t realized how much she had come to rely on that presence until recently, hadn’t noticed the way she lingered in conversations longer than necessary, hadn’t acknowledged the way she found herself standing closer than she normally would, hadn’t considered the way she caught herself watching him when she should have been focused elsewhere.
It wasn’t until Sero had casually slung an arm around her shoulder during a briefing, his usual relaxed nature making the gesture seem entirely natural, that she felt the shift in herself. The warmth was unfamiliar, the weight of the contact something she hadn’t expected to affect her, the realization settling in before she could push it aside. She had stiffened slightly, not enough for anyone to notice, not enough to make it obvious, but enough for her to recognize that something was different.
She had never been one to seek out touch, had never considered herself someone who needed it, had never thought about the absence of it until now.
And now, she wasn’t sure what to do with that realization.
Shouto had always been perceptive, even if he didn’t always know what to do with the things he noticed. He had learned to read people in ways that weren’t always obvious, had spent years understanding the subtleties of emotion, had developed an awareness that made it impossible for him to ignore when something was wrong. And something was definitely wrong with Momo.
She wasn’t acting differently in any obvious way - she was still composed, still efficient, still focused on their operations with the same level of precision she always had. But there was something beneath it, something he could see in the way she lingered in conversations longer than necessary, in the way she stood closer than she normally would, in the way she seemed to hesitate before pulling away from casual touches rather than avoiding them entirely.
She had never been someone who sought out physical comfort, had always maintained a certain level of distance, had never been particularly open to casual affection. But lately, she seemed… off. Not in a way that affected her work, not in a way that anyone else seemed to notice, but in a way that made Shouto feel like he was watching something unfold that she hadn’t even realized was happening.
He wasn’t sure how to approach it, wasn’t sure if he should say anything, wasn’t sure if acknowledging it would make things worse. But the more he noticed, the harder it became to ignore, and eventually, he found himself standing beside her after a briefing, the weight of the realization pressing into his thoughts before he could stop himself from speaking.
"If you ever need-" He hesitated, realizing too late that he hadn’t actually planned how to phrase this, realizing that he was about to say something that would probably make him sound ridiculous. "I mean, if you ever need a hug or something, I wouldn’t mind."
Momo blinked, clearly caught off guard, clearly unsure how to respond, clearly processing the words as if they were in a language she didn’t fully understand.
Shouto felt his ears heat, regretting everything immediately, wondering if there was a way to take it back without making it worse. "Not that you have to," he added quickly, trying to salvage whatever dignity he had left. "Just… if you ever wanted to."
She didn’t say anything right away, her expression unreadable, her thoughts impossible to decipher. Then, slowly, something shifted in her posture, something almost imperceptible, something that made Shouto feel like maybe - just maybe - he hadn’t completely ruined this interaction.
"I’ll… keep that in mind," she said finally, her voice quieter than usual, lacking the usual edge of calculation.
Shouto nodded, pretending that his heart wasn’t beating faster than it should be, pretending that he hadn’t just embarrassed himself, pretending that this wasn’t the most awkward conversation he had ever initiated.
And if Momo lingered a little closer than usual after that, well - he wasn’t going to complain.
Sero had insisted on a movie night, claiming that if they were going to be stuck in the hideout for the foreseeable future, they might as well take advantage of the downtime. Shouto hadn’t argued, mostly because he didn’t have strong opinions on movies, and Momo had agreed with the same level of detached acceptance she gave to anything that wasn’t directly related to their operations.
The setup was simple - blankets, dim lighting, a selection of films that Sero had deemed essential viewing for 'culturally deprived childhoods'. Momo had raised an eyebrow at the phrasing, but she hadn’t protested, which was probably the closest thing to agreement she was capable of when it came to casual entertainment.
Shouto had expected her to remain as composed as she always was, sitting with perfect posture, absorbing the film with quiet analysis, treating the experience like another piece of information to catalog rather than something to enjoy. And for the first half of the movie, that was exactly what happened.
Then, gradually, something shifted.
It wasn’t immediate, wasn’t obvious, wasn’t something anyone else would have noticed. But Shouto felt it in the way her posture relaxed, in the way her breathing evened out, in the way she leaned just slightly closer, as if she wasn’t entirely aware of what she was doing.
He didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t do anything that might make her realize and pull away.
The film continued, the dialogue blending into the background, the warmth of her presence settling against his side in a way that felt entirely natural despite the fact that it had never happened before.
Then, slowly, she shifted again, her weight pressing into him more fully, her head resting lightly against his shoulder, her exhaustion catching up to her before she could stop herself.
Shouto exhaled quietly, his gaze flickering toward her, his thoughts settling into something softer, something quieter, something he wasn’t entirely sure how to process.
She had fallen asleep.
And she hadn’t pulled away.
He didn’t move, didn’t risk waking her, didn’t do anything that might make her realize what had happened.
Instead, he let her stay exactly where she was.
And if his heart was beating a little faster than usual, well - no one had to know.
Sero had always been good at adapting, at finding ways to make things feel normal even when everything around them was anything but. The press chaos hadn’t died down, the vigilantes were still operating in the shadows, and the tension between hero society and the underground hadn’t eased in the slightest. But that didn’t mean they had to sit around and let the weight of it consume them.
So, naturally, he suggested dessert.
"I’ll go out in disguise," he said, already pulling on an oversized hoodie, adjusting the hat on his head, slipping on a pair of glasses that made him look just different enough to avoid suspicion. "I’m not exactly a household name, so as long as I don’t do anything stupid, I’ve got a solid chance of not getting recognized. Ya two want any ice cream?"
Shouto, who had been flipping through one of the reports Momo had left on the table, glanced up with mild interest. "Sure," he said, his tone even, his agreement immediate. "Mint chocolate chip."
Sero grinned, pointing at him with mock approval. "Solid choice."
Momo, who had been reviewing their latest intel, barely looked up. "I don’t think I need anything," she said, her voice distracted, her focus still on the documents in front of her.
Sero blinked, then tilted his head slightly, as if processing her response. "Wait. Do you not like ice cream?"
Momo hesitated, her fingers pausing against the edge of the paper, her expression unreadable for a moment before she finally admitted, "I don’t know."
Shouto frowned slightly, his attention shifting fully to her now. "You’ve never had ice cream?"
Momo exhaled slowly, as if realizing that this was about to turn into a conversation she hadn’t anticipated. "My parents never allowed sweets," she said simply, her tone neutral, her posture composed. "They considered processed foods unhealthy and unnecessary."
Sero stared at her for a long moment, then sighed dramatically, shaking his head as he pulled out his phone. "Okay, yeah, no, we’re fixing that immediately."
Momo raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with his reaction. "I don’t see why it’s such a big deal."
Shouto, who had been quietly absorbing the exchange, finally spoke, his tone as even as ever. "It’s a big deal."
Sero nodded in agreement, already typing out a list of flavors. "You’re getting options," he announced, ignoring her skepticism entirely. "And I’m picking for you, because I don’t trust you to make a decision when you don’t even know what ice cream tastes like."
Momo sighed, clearly realizing that resistance was pointless. "Fine," she muttered, returning to her documents as if that would end the conversation.
Shouto watched her for a moment longer, then glanced at Sero. "Get her vanilla," he suggested, his tone thoughtful. "It’s simple."
Sero grinned. "And I’m getting her something fun, because she deserves it."
Momo didn’t argue.
And Shouto didn’t say it out loud, but he agreed.
Sero returned about half an hour later, balancing three cups of ice cream in one hand while shutting the door behind him with the other. His disguise had worked - no one had recognized him, no one had questioned him, and he had successfully acquired dessert without incident.
"Mission accomplished," he announced, tossing his hat onto the couch before handing out the ice cream. "Pistachio for me, mint chocolate chip for you, and strawberry for Momo."
Momo took the cup with mild curiosity, examining it as if it were some kind of foreign object rather than a simple dessert. "Strawberry?" she questioned, glancing between them.
Sero shrugged, already digging into his own. "Figured it was a safe bet, it's your favorite fruit after all. Plus, it’s got a little sweetness without being overwhelming."
Shouto nodded slightly, taking a bite of his own, watching as Momo hesitated before finally trying hers. She was composed as always, but he caught the way her expression shifted just slightly, the way her posture relaxed, the way she took another bite without commenting on it.
They sat together, the conversation flowing easily, the tension of the outside world momentarily forgotten. Sero kept things light, filling the silence with casual remarks, ensuring that the atmosphere remained comfortable despite everything happening beyond the walls of the hideout. Momo contributed where necessary, her responses measured but engaged, her presence steady despite the exhaustion lingering beneath the surface.
Eventually, she stood, setting her half-finished ice cream aside, her focus shifting back to their operations. "I need to check on the shipment status," she said, her tone neutral but firm. "I’ll be back shortly."
Shouto nodded, watching as she left, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary before he turned back to his ice cream.
Sero smirked, leaning back against the couch, his expression entirely too amused. "You know, you’re not subtle."
Shouto frowned slightly, glancing at him. "What?"
Sero gestured vaguely in the direction Momo had gone. "Your crush. The one the size of the sun."
Shouto exhaled slowly, pretending that his ears weren’t heating, pretending that he wasn’t about to regret this conversation. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."
Sero laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, okay, sure. You just happen to stare at her like she’s the most fascinating person in the world for no reason."
Shouto didn’t respond immediately, focusing on his ice cream as if it were the most important thing in the room.
Sero leaned forward slightly, his tone shifting into something more thoughtful. "Look, I know Momo better than most people. She’s not the type to rush into things, and she’s definitely not the type to recognize feelings easily. But if you want to get anywhere with her, you need to be patient."
Shouto glanced at him, his expression unreadable but his attention fully on the conversation now.
Sero continued, his tone casual but sincere. "She’s like you in a lot of ways - she doesn’t think about romance unless it’s right in front of her, and even then, she’s probably going to overanalyze it before accepting it. You can’t just expect her to figure it out on her own."
Shouto considered that, his fingers curling slightly against his cup, his thoughts settling into something quieter, something more deliberate.
Sero smirked again, nudging him lightly. "So, if you want her to notice, you’re gonna have to make it obvious."
Shouto exhaled slowly, his gaze flickering toward the doorway where Momo had disappeared, his mind already working through the implications.
And for the first time, he wondered if maybe - just maybe - Sero was right.
*🕮❀──────✧❅-'♡'-❅✧──────❀🕮*
The situation had spiraled far beyond what anyone had anticipated, turning what had once been a quiet ideological divide into an outright war of principles. The media had latched onto every development, amplifying the chaos, forcing heroes to take sides, making neutrality an impossibility. What had started as a disagreement had evolved into something that dictated the future of hero society, shaping policies, influencing public perception, and determining who would be remembered as defenders of justice and who would be labeled as traitors.
The heroes who remained loyal to the system had solidified their stance, refusing to acknowledge the vigilantes as anything other than a disruption to order. Agencies had begun enforcing stricter regulations, monitoring heroes more closely, ensuring that no one else defected. The Commission had tightened its grip, issuing statements that framed the vigilantes as reckless, insisting that their actions endangered civilians, warning that continued support for them would result in consequences. Some heroes followed without question, believing in the necessity of structure, trusting that the system could still be salvaged. Others hesitated, recognizing the flaws, understanding the reasons behind the split, but unwilling to abandon hero society entirely.
The vigilantes had adapted, shifting their operations, ensuring that their movements remained unpredictable, refusing to let the Commission dictate their actions. They had gained support, not just from civilians who sympathized with their cause, but from heroes who had chosen to remain in the system while quietly assisting them. Information flowed through hidden channels, resources were secured through discreet exchanges, alliances were formed in the shadows, ensuring that the underground remained intact despite the growing pressure.
Class A had fractured completely, their once unshakable unity reduced to strained interactions, tense exchanges, and unavoidable confrontations. Bakugou had refused to acknowledge the emotional weight of the split, throwing himself into hero work, ensuring that his focus remained on the missions rather than the people he had once considered family. Ochako had accepted her place within hero society, understanding that her circumstances left her with no real alternative, choosing to remain silent rather than engage in debates she couldn’t afford to win. Iida had reaffirmed his loyalty to the system, his family’s legacy keeping him grounded, his belief in structure making it easier for him to justify the decisions being made.
Izuku had made his choice, inching into the underground, committing himself to the vigilantes, ensuring that their operations remained functional despite the increasing obstacles. Kirishima had followed, struggling with the weight of his decision, but refusing to turn his back on the people who had once stood beside him without hesitation. Jirou and Kaminari had worked tirelessly to maintain connections, ensuring that information flowed, that movements were coordinated, that those who had chosen to support the vigilantes remained protected.
The conflict had escalated beyond words, beyond quiet disagreements, beyond the possibility of reconciliation. Heroes had resigned, stepping away from the system, refusing to be caught in the middle of something they no longer believed in. Others had doubled down, pushing for harsher measures, insisting that vigilantes needed to be stopped before hero society collapsed entirely.
The Commission had underestimated the fallout.