It began with a whisper.
Or rather, a war cry whispered through a glitter gloss grin.
"Pillow fight?"Mina's eyes lit up like a disco ball caught in direct sunlight. The sparkle in her voice was unmistakable. An entire storm of feathers poised for battle.
Toga blinked. "What's a pillow fight? Like, we hug them to death?"
Mina clapped her hands. "No, babe—we strike! With fluff and fury!"
The room erupted.
Jiro yelped as Torū yeeted a cushion at her knees with sniper precision.
Momo shrieked, attempting to defend herself with a yoga mat.
Ochaco activated zero-gravity on her pillows, sending two into a hover-ambush formation.
Toga joined full chaos mode—swinging decorative throw pillows like dual daggers. "I am vengeance, I am feathers!"
Even Darkcreasa, cautiously gripping one soft-edged pillow, finally gave in and launched it with terrifying grace—direct impact: Mina's face.
Mina crumpled dramatically. "I'VE BEEN DEFEATED—BY ELEGANCE!"
Torū spun mid-air, still glowing faintly, yelling: "FOR SPARKLE UNITY!"
Jiro fought back with low-ground tactics. "This is for every manicure you ruined, Mina!"
Toga cackled from behind a couch fort. "I love this! Better than blood puddles and vengeance poetry!"
Eri peeked from her doorway in her marshmallow robe, giggling uncontrollably.
Feathers flew.
Friendships cemented.
Trauma trembled in the corner, unsure how to keep up with the joy.
Because tonight?
It wasn't just a sleepover.
It was recovery.
It was rebellion against grief.
It was girls, fighting—not with quirks, not with pain, but with cotton-tipped laughter.
And after a long while, the battlefield lay quiet.
Feathers drifted like snowfall in slow motion. Nail polish bottles tipped sideways. Someone's sock clung to the ceiling light.
The girls of Class-A — heroes, rehabbers, rebels — were scattered in a pile of soft exhaustion, limbs tangled across sleeping bags like defeated champions.
Toga flopped dramatically into the center of the cushion mound, cheeks glitter-dusted, a lopsided bow still clinging to her ponytail.
She gasped for breath… then grinned.
"Okay, okay—this is a moment. A MOMENT!"
Out came the hot pink flip phone, screen still encrusted with suspiciously shiny fake gems that may or may not have once belonged to a claw machine tragedy.
Darkcreasa blinked.
Her eyes widened.
She sat up a little straighter.
"Wait. You're not—"
Too late.
Toga shoved her arm into the air like she was summoning a magical girl power surge.
"GROUP PHOTO!!"
Gasps. Groans. Giggles.
Everyone scrambled together, pile-on style — Torū shimmered visible just in time, Momo still had cucumber slices on her cheeks, Jiro leaned into Mina's shoulder half-laughing, and Eri (who had snuck back out wearing pajama unicorn boots) plopped right in front with sparkle authority.
Toga held up the phone.
Darkcreasa's voice wobbled. "Toga. Flash. Do you… remember the tree—?"
Click.
FLASH.
It wasn't just bright.
It was the aurora borealis in phone-form.
The blinding betrayal of glitter photons.
The fourth light anomaly of the month.
Everyone screamed.
Torū stumbled back mid-visibility.
Momo clutched her heart. "IS THAT EVEN LEGAL?!"
Ochaco blinked rapidly. "I can see the entire playlist in my retina!!"
Jiro hissed, shielding her guitar. "WHY IS IT HOT?!"
Darkcreasa let out a strangled squeak. "I told you—she weaponized pixels!!"
Toga blinked dreamily. "It's maximum sparkle mode~ Again~!"
And in the hallway?
Aizawa paused.
His eye twitched.
He sighed.
Deeply.
"Fourth anomaly… Dorm sparkle saturation approaching critical mass."
He kept walking.
Toga stared at the screen.
Her smile softened.
On it?
A photo of every single one of them.
Disheveled.
Glittered.
Giggling.
Arm-in-arm, tangled in ribbons and accidental friendship.
Even Darkcreasa, eyes wide, mouth barely curled in the ghost of a smile.
And just for a flicker of a moment?
She didn't feel like a stranger.
She felt like a story being written.
The glitter had settled. The battle bruises (in the form of feather smears and mascara streaks) were well-earned. Everyone lounged in half-slumped positions, cheeks flushed, pajamas rumpled, hearts full. It was the kind of exhaustion that only came after belly laughs, high kicks, and genuine, ridiculous joy.
Then Mina, propped up on a fort of couch cushions like she was holding court, cleared her throat dramatically.
"I have a story," she said, eyes gleaming like someone announcing the final plot twist in a romance drama.
Toga gasped. "Story time?! Is it scandalous? Does it involve kissing? Screaming? Sparkles?"
Mina smirked. "It's the night I officially became Kirishima's girlfriend."
The room squealed.
Jiro perked up. Momo leaned in. Ochaco brought popcorn to the center pile. Even Darkcreasa, previously silent, sat straighter, drawn by the shift in Mina's voice—equal parts nostalgia and pride.
And she told them.
Of how Kirishima had casually hung up his phone, saying his mom was working late again.
How he brushed it off like he always did, the silent strength wrapped in sunshine.
How Mina had stared at him—at the boy who never let himself ask for comfort—and said the one thing no one else had:
"You're not going home tonight."
She didn't ask.
She decided.
Because he'd held everyone else together, especially Denki, after the hospital nightmare.
And it was her turn to hold him.
They laughed as Mina mimicked his stunned reaction, his awkward panic at learning she'd offered a sleepover without a spare bed.
They wheezed when she described his "are you serious?" face and her casual "deal with it" grin.
And when she got to the pillow war—the chaos, the impact, the way they crashed into each other mid-laugh and froze in closeness—her voice softened.
Toga covered her mouth. "THIS IS MOVIE MATERIAL."
Torū flopped onto her back. "I'm gonna cry into my face mask."
Momo blinked slowly. "That's why you love pillow fights."
Mina nodded, smile tugging on years of memories. "Yup. Because that night? He didn't have to be strong. He just had to be present. With me."
Darkcreasa glanced down at her nails.
Her chest ached a little—not in pain, but in awareness.
Because moments like these built bonds she'd never had.
And tonight?
She was part of one.
The sparkle had settled. Feathers floated like confetti from a celebration of chaos. Most of Class-A's girls were collapsed across the carpet in glitter-dazed silence, hair tousled, pajamas askew, hearts pounding with laughter.
And then—
Mina sat up.
Still panting from the pillow war, cheeks flushed and glowing, a ribbon tangled in her braid like a badge of mischief.
She glanced around, locking eyes with every single girl there.
"Okay. One last story."
Jiro groaned, smiling. "You're ridiculous."
Toga clutched a pillow like popcorn. "Romantic scandal, or I walk."
Torū squealed softly. "Do we finally get the origin story?"
Mina smirked. "The one. The only. The Kirishima Sleepover Incident."
She told it like she was painting something electric.
And then came the blanket tower.
The snack fortress.
The war cry of Truth or Dare.
Jiro was wheezing as Mina reenacted it.
Kirishima, caught mid-chip.
The coin toss.
His innocent "Truth."
And her not-so-innocent question:
"Have you ever had a crush on someone in Class 1-A?"
Gasps. Squeals.
Toga buried her face in a beanbag. "That's EVIL."
Mina mimicked his blushing, stammering meltdown.
The dramatic pillow shield.
The high-stakes interrogation.
And finally… the confession:
"Mina."
Silence filled the common room.
Even Darkcreasa watched with curiosity now, lips parted slightly.
And Mina kept going.
How he slumped under his blanket.
How she laughed until she couldn't breathe.
How he stared at her like she was some unsolvable mystery—
and how she leaned in, just a little closer, and whispered:
"I think I always liked you too."
Tears pricked Jiro's eyes.
Toga had her hands over her heart.
And then? Mina reenacted the soft, half-asleep moment when she whispered those three words into the blanket-warmed air—
"I love you…"
The girls gasped.
Momo dropped her nail file.
Torū squeaked.
Even Tsuyu blinked slow, stunned.
"And THEN—" Mina raised her pillow like a flag, "—he kissed me."
She described it slowly.
The nerves.
The question.
The way he asked, softly, "Can I kiss you?"
She smiled. Genuinely. Quietly.
"And I said, 'You better.'"
Her voice dimmed.
Her hands curled in her lap.
"It wasn't loud. It wasn't wild. It was warm. Real. Just… right."
Silence again.
But this time?
It wasn't shock.
It was awe.
Mina glanced around.
Jiro sniffed once, wiping her eye discreetly.
Toga whispered, "I want a sleepover kiss now…"
Darkcreasa didn't speak.
But her fingers gripped her blanket tighter.
And somewhere down the hall, asleep and dreaming peacefully—
Kirishima turned over, smiling in his sleep.
Like even in rest, he remembered.
The air was still fizzy from Mina's legendary retelling of her sleepover confession — Kirishima's blush, the first kiss, the feather-smacked flirtation that became everything.
But after a long beat of dreamy sighs and quiet squeals...
Torū grinned. "Okay Jiro, your turn. Spill it."
Ochaco added, eyes wide with excitement."Yes! Voltage romance! We need it!"
Toga practically bounced. "If it doesn't include chaotic declarations, I will riot."
Jiro groaned, pulling her blanket over her face. "It's not that romantic, okay?"
Mina cackled. "LIES. I was there, remember?"
Jiro sighed, peeked out, then slowly sat up — face flushed, but smiling.
"Fine. But it's the dumbest confession known to mankind."
She told them everything.
How Denki had called her over, jittery like he'd chugged five energy drinks, standing in front of a tree while Mina, Kirishima, and Sero not-so-subtly spied from behind it.
How he took a deep breath…
...and said, "I—I like your face!"
The room exploded.
Toga screamed. "ICONIC."
Momo actually dropped her nail polish. "He what?!"
Torū gasped. "Please tell me you roasted him alive."
Jiro smirked. "I told him he was an idiot. Then told him I liked his idiot face, too."
The group fell over in laughter.
Tsuyu deadpanned. "That's peak Denki."
But Jiro kept going.
How he short-circuited, sparks flying literally.
How Sero whispered, "We lost him."
How Denki rebooted and yelled across campus, "I LIKE-LIKE YOU TOO!" with his arms out like he was proposing to the sky.
Darkcreasa blinked. "He's… dramatic."
Jiro nodded. "Very. Which brings me to... the rooftop."
They all hushed again.
Because now came the kiss story.
Jiro talked about the sunset — soft pinks, warm oranges, the way Denki fidgeted beside her like he was trying not to combust.
Then he just blurted it:
"Sooo, uh… we haven't kissed yet."
Ochaco clutched a pillow.
Mina shrieked again.
Toga collapsed. "THAT'S SO CHAOTIC."
Jiro mimicked his horrified reaction, hands over his face, stammering apologies.
"YES, PLEASE IGNORE IT."
And then?
Jiro turned toward him and said:
"So. You wanna fix that?"
Screams. Squeals. Absolute emotional carnage.
She described pulling him close, kissing him slowly, softly, like even his static couldn't interrupt it.
How his brain fully crashed.
How he forgot how to breathe.
How she told him, "Breathe," and he whispered, "Do it again."
And she did.
The girls were floored.
Momo clutched her heart. "You two are adorable."
Toga sobbed dramatically into a pillow. "I BELIEVE IN VOLTAGE LOVE."
Darkcreasa didn't speak. But her eyes lingered on Jiro — studying, wondering what that kind of chaos-born softness might feel like.
The laughter had faded into hush.
Feathers sat still on the carpet, ribbons drooped like sleepy party streamers, and Torū, humming softly, scribbled into her invisible notebook—her latest entry titled: "Voltage Chronicles and Sparkle Aftermath."
But something shifted.
A subtle one.
Jiro's smile dimmed.
She didn't move much, just tilted her head lower, her gaze locked on the couch cushion like it might provide answers to questions she didn't want to ask.
Momo noticed first. "Jiro…?"
Jiro blinked. Her jaw clenched.
Toga leaned forward. "Hey. You okay?"
Torū stopped mid-sentence.mHer pen froze in the air.
Jiro hesitated.
Her eyes glassed over—glimmering not from sparkle, but from something heavier. Something raw.
And then—slowly, like peeling back a song buried deep in her bones—she spoke.
"Ever since the accident… Denki's not the same."
The room went still.
Ochaco's hand gripped a pillow.
Tsuyu blinked quietly.
Mina leaned closer, her brow pinched, her sparkle dimming.
Jiro took a breath. Then another. Her fingers tightened around the hem of her pajama sleeve.
"He's still Denki. Still laughs. Still jokes. Still lights up rooms without trying. But it's like he's holding something…back. Like there's this wall he built—and I can't find the door anymore."
Torū put her notebook down.
Jiro swallowed hard.
"I know he's hurting. I can see it every time he short-circuits just a little too fast. Or smiles a second too late. And I want to ask. I want to ask so badly."
Her voice cracked—not loud.
Just fractured.
"But I'm scared."
She looked up finally, eyes rimmed red but clear.
"I'm scared if I ask... it'll bring everything back. The blood. The screams. That moment when I thought I was going to lose him."
Toga blinked fast, her own chest tight.
Darkcreasa leaned into Jiro's side. Quiet. Present. Her hand brushing lightly against hers—not to fix it, but to say: I'm here.
Mina didn't speak.
Not right away.
Then she gently whispered:
"You don't have to ask him right now. But you are helping him, Jiro. You've been his anchor since that night."
Jiro nodded, lips pressed together.
"I just hope one day… he lets me help more."
And around her?
The girls sat close.
No longer talking.
No longer teasing.
Just listening.
Just being there.
Like maybe healing didn't need answers.
Just soft company and open silence.