Later that night, the girls of Class-A set up cushions, fairy lights, and enough nail polish colors to qualify as a rainbow arsenal.
Toga twirled a bottle marked, Cherry Blood Kiss and whispered, "This shade is my whole aesthetic."
Darkcreasa sat beside her, awkward but present.
Mina handed out matching pajama sets like they were squad uniforms.
Jiro queued up music and offered temp tattoos.
And amidst it all?
Laughs bubbled.
Walls bent.
Hearts leaned closer.
Fairy lights dangled like stars trapped in vines. Pillow mountains lined the floor. Every corner of the Class-A common room felt dipped in soft chaos—the perfect storm for, Girls Night with Mina™.
The glitter army had arrived.
Nail polish bottles marched across the table—Blazing Bolt Blue, Cherry Voltage, Pink Explosion, even a mysteriously labeled, Villain Chic. Hairbrushes were scattered between bowls of popcorn and sweet tea. Someone had queued up an entire playlist called Rehab Radiance Vibes.
Torū sat center-left, fully visible for once—her quirk refined, her body outlined softly with chromatic shimmer like a living prism. The novelty hadn't worn off; Mina kept squealing every time Torū blinked.
"Still not used to seeing you," Mina laughed. "But your eyebrows are adorable."
Toga was nestled between Darkcreasa and Mina, a half-painted toe waving midair as she chewed a sour candy string.
Darkcreasa, quiet as ever, held out Toga's hand and painted with surgical precision—midnight purple. The way she moved? Delicate. Intentional. Like trust was something you built one brushstroke at a time.
Toga grinned at her. "I love you, ya know? You're like… the quiet storm before my glitter hurricane."
Darkcreasa snorted softly. "You're the hurricane, alright."
Across from them, Momo read nail technique guides while Jiro reclined with pajama sleeves rolled up, watching quietly—her smile faint, her mind somewhere else.
Because Jiro couldn't stop thinking about Denki.
Her fingers tapped against her knee.
He hadn't joined the boys downstairs. Hadn't texted back her last message. He was sleeping alone tonight.
And she knew why.
She remembered the moment—the bleeding, the panic, the way his fingers reached out as the light drained from his eyes.
Stabbed through.
Right through.
The memory hurt more than the scar ever had.
He still smiled for her.
Still kissed her forehead like she was a sunrise.
But tonight… he was curled under his blanket. Alone.
Jiro pulled her hoodie tighter.
Mina noticed.
"You okay?" she asked, brushing glitter on Toga's cheek.
Jiro smiled faintly. "Yeah. Just… thinking about Denki."
Toga glanced over, brow creased. "He's the electric one, right? Cute. A little… shaky."
Jiro nodded. "He puts on a show. But he's still hurting."
Torū sighed. "Is he sleeping alone?"
Jiro blinked, surprised. "Yeah."
Torū bit her lip. "Then tonight… we sparkle extra. Just for him."
Mina raised a polish bottle like a sword. "For the Voltage Boy."
Toga clinked it with her own. "For electricity and unexpected softness."
Darkcreasa added quietly, "And for healing that takes longer than people expect."
And so they painted.
They laughed.
They told secrets.
They braided hair.
They whispered dreams.
All while one boy upstairs held his silence close—his body stitched from lightning and trauma.
And somehow?
He felt it.
A warmth in the air.
Like a current moving toward him.
Unseen.
Undeniable.
The playlist had shifted to soft instrumentals. The glitter had slowed. Nail polish was drying in streaks of magenta and storm blue. Eri had long since been tucked into bed under a blanket shaped like a marshmallow swirl.
But in the heart of the night—between popcorn bites and half-whispered dreams—Toga leaned her cheek against Darkcreasa's shoulder and glanced at Jiro.
"Hey…" she asked gently. "What's wrong with Denki?"
The question didn't land like a bomb.
It landed like a question-shaped hug wrapped in unfamiliar concern.
Jiro blinked.
The brush paused mid-stroke.
Her hand trembled.
She hadn't talked about it—not all of it. Not like this. Not when the laughter still lingered in the room and Denki wasn't even here. But his absence hung heavy in her chest.
Her lips parted.
But the words wouldn't come.
Because when she tried to speak—she remembered.
The explosion.
The screams.
The blood.
And the moment Denki shoved her aside, electricity burning through his veins as if pain didn't matter anymore, as long as she lived.
She barely choked out: "He... almost died."
Her hand covered her mouth.
Torū scooted closer. Darkcreasa stilled. Even Momo leaned in. The room had shifted—gentle, solemn. Listening.
Jiro's throat locked.
Mina reached over, placing a hand on Jiro's.
"I got this," she whispered.
And then—she told it.
All of it.
How Denki had taken a blade straight through.
How the Bakusquad found him wrecked and bleeding.
How he should've been in bed, recovering, but snuck out to rescue Jiro.
How his electricity surged so violently that no one could get close.
How he kept fighting.
Even while bleeding out.
Even while collapsing.
And how, when Jiro reached him—
He was already barely breathing.
The silence wrapped around them.
Even Toga's smile was gone.
Her eyes glistened with something sharp. Something real.
"That's horrible," she whispered. "He fought like that for you?"
Jiro nodded, voice cracking. "He didn't even care about himself. He was just… so desperate."
Toga didn't blink for a long time.
Then said, very softly:
"I never had someone fight like that for me."
Her fingers curled.
And for the first time, no jokes followed.
Mina squeezed Jiro's hand.
Torū leaned into Momo, tears prickling her own eyes.
And across the room—
The sparkle night had quieted.
But it hadn't faded.
Because under the glitter…
They shared scars.
The air shimmered with leftover hairspray and faint cocoa steam. The sparkle-flood nail station had slowed, the music had dipped into soft synth, and for one lovely beat, Mina cleared her throat, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her pajama top.
"Okay. Okay. I love you all… but I'm not letting this turn into Cry-Con 2025. We need emergency girl talk."
Jiro sniffled, smiling faintly. "Like what—face mask trivia?"
Mina grinned. "Like crushes. Boyfriends. Romance scandals. Hello?"
Toga perked up immediately. "Scandal?! Oh I live for scandal!"
And just like that… the mood shifted.
Glitter exploded.
Pillows launched.
Jiro and Mina began recounting the legendary romantic showdown moment—the one that started with a sleepy Pikachew hoodie and ended in a spontaneous kiss-war between Denki and Kirishima.
Torū gasped. "Wait… you two literally competed for Most Dramatic PDA?"
Mina raised a hand with pride. "He lifted me like a princess. It was adorable."
Jiro chuckled. "Denki called me Voltage Queen and kissed me like a gentle anime boy on slow-mo Sundays."
Toga squealed. "I SHIP YOU SO HARD."
Darkcreasa, curled with a mug of lukewarm chamomile, smiled quietly. "That sounds… cinematic."
Then Mina leaned in.
Eyes gleaming. Tone lowered.
"Okay. Enough stalling. Spill time. Everyone here. Crush check."
Momo blinked, cheeks warming. "I suppose I admire… Shoto. Deeply. He's thoughtful. Unwavering. And… quietly fascinating."
Ochaco grinned, poking her fingers together. "Izuku. Always. Forever. It's the way he mumbles strategy and trips over his own plans. It's… sweet."
Torū shyly tucked a strand behind her now-visible ear. "Ojiro. He's kind. Respectful. And he remembered I existed before I was visible. That meant a lot."
Tsuyu blinked evenly, sipping tea. "Tokoyami. Mysterious. Calm. He once quoted poetry at lunch."
The room went "awwww."
Then all eyes turned to Toga.
She twirled a ribbon dramatically. "Oh ho ho… crushes?"
Everyone leaned in.
She stuck out her tongue. "Izuku-kun. Obviously. But also… Ochaco-chan. And Darkcreasa. And Shiggy-kun. And Dabi-kun. Probably that one support course guy with glasses. I'm an equal opportunity chaos romantic."
Darkcreasa blinked hard. "You have a crush on me?"
Toga winked. "You're the mysterious shadow with tragic eyeliner. Of course I do."
Darkcreasa turned beet red.
"I don't have crushes," she mumbled.
Toga flopped sideways. "You totally have one on Dabi-kun or Shiggy-kun. I feel it. The tension is tasty."
Darkcreasa shook her head fast. "Nope. None. Zero. Defective heart app. Moving on."
Jiro laughed softly. "Sure. Denial: the first step toward confession."
And then…
They all burst into laughter.
Because for one night, even with scars nearby and boys hurting in their rooms, this—this was their moment.
Their sparkle warzone.
Their soul salon.
Their healing.
(Meanwhile..)
The room was dim.
No twinkling lights. No sound from the hallway. Just the ambient hum of the dorm's electric system—a cruel irony for a boy drowning in it.
Denki curled tighter beneath his blanket, cocooned not for warmth, but for protection. His fingers clutched at the edge like gripping something tangible could stop the ghosts crawling through his head.
But they came anyway.
The nightmares.
Visions of sparks he couldn't control.
Of metal slicing through flesh.
Of screaming without sound.
Jiro—frozen in that moment. Him—powerless. Bleeding. Alone.
His breathing became erratic.
His chest heaved like his lungs couldn't find a rhythm.
His fingers shook harder.
Knuckles going pale.
Sweat beading down his brow.
Denki didn't cry.
He wanted to.
But he couldn't.
He felt like if he did, the dam would break too far and nothing would come back.
"She's not here. You're alone again. Don't spiral. Don't spiral."
He whispered it into the mattress.
But the spiral came anyway.
Until—
A knock.
Soft.
Then again.
Still soft.
Denki didn't notice it.
Didn't hear.
Didn't respond.
So—
The door opened.
Slow. Purposeful.
Aizawa entered.
He didn't speak.
Didn't announce.
He simply knew.
He knew this night would be hard.
That silence had weight.
And that his student—his son in silence—was unraveling behind a fabric wall.
He crossed the room in seconds.
Kneeling beside the bed, Aizawa placed a firm hand on Denki's shoulder.
Denki flinched.
Then blinked.
His wild eyes peeked out from the blanket edge. Tears didn't fall, but they shimmered in threat.
"Breath," Aizawa said quietly. "Match mine."
Denki tried.
Failed.
Tried again.
And finally—
He found rhythm.
The chest heaving slowed.
The fingers stopped clawing.
The spiral curved.
"I didn't mean to—" Denki whispered.
Aizawa didn't let him finish.
"I'm here."
Denki's lips trembled.
"Just for tonight?"
Aizawa nodded once. "And every time you need me after that."