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The classroom was quiet, empty except for the faint hum of the ceiling lights and the faint, lingering smell of chalk dust. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, catching dust motes and turning them into a slow, lazy dance in the air. For a moment, the space felt almost serene. And then it didn’t. A sudden shimmer, like heat rising off asphalt on a summer day, blurred the far corner of the room. There was a muffled pop, a crackle of energy that set the hairs on the back of Izuku’s neck on end. Before he could even blink, he — and someone else — crashed onto the polished floor in a tangle of limbs.
“Ow— ow ow— Kacchan, you landed on my leg—” Izuku groaned, rolling to the side and clutching his shin. He blinked rapidly, trying to process the sudden displacement of reality around him. “K-Kacchan? What— what just happened?”
Katsuki, sprawled beside him with his explosive blond hair sticking out in wild spikes, shoved himself upright with a scowl. “The hell if I know! You dragged me into your stupid notebook talk about future quirks and—”
Before he could finish, the air shimmered again. A second, smaller figure appeared with a bright flash and a high-pitched yelp.
“WHAT THE—?! WHERE AM I?!” A younger boy that sounded like Katsuki shouted, spinning in a circle. His fists clenched tightly, knuckles white, and his narrow, sharp eyes darted wildly around the room.
Katsuki’s glare sharpened. “Shut it, Deku! Where the hell—” He yelled, thinking it was Izuku speaking.
Another squeak interrupted him. A tiny, terrified voice barely above a whisper squeaked out: “K-Kacchan?! You’re— older— and— there’s another me?!” A young boy that looked like Izuku shrank back, his green curls falling into his wide, panicked eyes. His hands trembled slightly as he hugged himself, muttering about time-space anomalies and paradoxes.
The four of them froze, the room heavy with tension. Izuku’s pale face betrayed his racing thoughts, but he tried to remain calm. Katsuki’s glare could have sliced through steel. Middle School Katsuki looked like someone had short-circuited his brain, while Middle School Izuku cowered like a leaf in a storm.
“Okay. Nobody move. Nobody talk. We just figure this out,” Katsuki said, gritting his teeth, the edge in his voice making it clear he wasn’t bluffing.
“Like hell! Why’s there TWO of me?!” Middle School Katsuki shouted, stomping his foot in frustration.
“I-I think it’s a quirk accident! Maybe some time displacement from overlapping energy signatures—” Izuku stammered, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to make sense of the chaos.
“Great. The nerd’s still a nerd no matter the timeline,” Katsuki muttered, crossing his arms, his expression a mix of irritation and disbelief.
“The hell did you just say to me?!” Middle School Katsuki snapped, his small fists clenching tighter.
“You’ll find out when you grow up, you little gremlin,” Katsuki shot back, leaning forward so his spiked hair almost brushed his past self.
Izuku groaned, pressing his face into his hands. This was already getting out of hand.
Footsteps echoed faintly down the hallway. Two sets, deliberate and slow, scraping lightly against the worn linoleum.
“Someone’s coming!” Izuku whispered, panic threading his voice.
“Shit. Quick— hide!” Katsuki snapped, pulling the younger versions into action.
“H-Hide where?!” Middle School Izuku stammered, his small frame almost vibrating with fear.
There was no time to debate. Chaos dictated the moment. Katsuki shoved Izuku toward the left locker and himself clambered inside, knees jamming against the metal as the door rattled shut behind them. Middle School Izuku and Middle School Katsuki huddled into the right locker, their bodies pressed tightly together, heads ducked, and breaths held.
The classroom door slid open with a faint squeak. A long shadow stretched across the floor. The hum of the lights seemed louder now, the air thicker, and every heartbeat felt deafening.
The lockers creaked softly as the four of them pressed against cold metal, listening, waiting. Outside, the hall echoed with distant voices, their tones ordinary but somehow heavy with the promise of discovery. And inside, the room remained tense, a silent storm ready to explode.
Mr. Midoriya stepped inside, his shoes clicking lightly against the polished floor. His voice floated across the empty room, careful and almost distracted.
“…I swear I left my tablet here somewhere…” he muttered, tilting his head as he scanned the desks. The sunlight caught in his green curls, now tied loosely back, softening the sharp lines that age and experience had etched into his face. His hero-teacher uniform was neat but slightly rumpled, like a day spent moving between classes and patrols had left small traces of wear.
He hummed a quiet tune as he set down a stack of papers, his fingers brushing the edge of a desk as he straightened a crooked notebook. Every movement was careful, deliberate, almost meditative, but there was a warmth to it too — a comfort in the rhythm of familiarity.
Then another presence entered the room, heavier, louder, but impossibly familiar. Dynamight’s boots thudded against the floor, grounding the air with authority and ease.
“You talk to yourself more now than you did in school, nerd,” Dynamight drawled, his voice rougher, warmer, carrying that teasing confidence that never failed to make Mr. Midoriya’s stomach flutter.
Mr. Midoriya started, spinning slightly, but the tension melted instantly when he saw the golden storm of spiky hair and familiar smirk.
“K-Kacchan! You’re still here? Patrol ended an hour ago,” he said, a mix of surprise and relief softening his words.
“Yeah, well. Figured I’d pick you up,” Dynamight said, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He moved across the room with the easy, measured confidence of someone used to commanding attention. When he reached Mr. Midoriya, he didn’t say anything further. He tugged a chair around and sat, leaning forward slightly, eyes flicking up at him.
“You never stop, do you?” Dynamight said, voice low, teasing but affectionate. “Always gotta clean, organize, triple-check everything.”
Mr. Midoriya laughed quietly, running a hand through the back of his neck, the faint pink creeping into his cheeks. “I just… like finishing things properly,” he admitted, glancing down at the papers he had been tidying as if they were a shield from embarrassment.
Dynamight leaned forward more, resting his forearms on his knees. His sharp eyes softened slightly as they met Mr. Midoriya’s, and even in that casual posture there was a magnetic confidence, a warmth that made Midoriya’s heart squeeze.
“You came back for me,” Mr. Midoriya whispered, almost breathless.
“Tch. You sound surprised,” Dynamight replied, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something softer, something almost vulnerable.
“I’m not,” Mr. Midoriya said quickly, shaking his head. “Just— grateful, I guess.”
Dynamight rolled his eyes but there was the faintest smile on his lips, a quiet acknowledgment of the tenderness between them. Without thinking, he reached out, hands resting gently on Mr. Midoriya’s waist, pulling him closer just enough that Midoriya found himself sliding onto the edge of a desk, heart hammering in his chest.
“You overthink too much,” Dynamight murmured, low enough that only Midoriya could hear, his warm breath brushing against his ear.
“You tell me that every week,” Mr. Midoriya said, letting a soft laugh escape him, fingers brushing against Dynamight’s forearms in a tentative return of contact.
“’Cause you never listen,” Dynamight countered, voice soft but teasing, eyes glinting with unspoken affection.
Mr. Midoriya looked down at him, eyes shining in the warm light filtering through the windows. That ache — familiar and unavoidable — of admiration and love, respect and longing, tightened in his chest. He reached out, fingers trembling slightly as they brushed the side of Dynamight’s jaw, hesitant but warm.
“You make it really hard not to,” Mr. Midoriya whispered, voice soft enough that it was almost a confession, almost a plea.
Dynamight’s smirk softened, and for a long, perfect moment, the chaotic world outside the classroom didn’t exist. All that mattered was the quiet closeness, the subtle brush of hands and the weight of shared history, and the promise in unspoken words hanging between them.
The left locker smelled faintly of metal and stale air, cramped enough that Katsuki’s spiky blond hair brushed the top, and his shoulders pressed against the cold steel walls. He thrashed impatiently, muttering under his breath. “He’s sittin’ there like it’s some goddamn romance movie…” Katsuki hissed, teeth gritted as he tried to wriggle free.
Izuku, squeezed uncomfortably beside him, flushed pink, his curls sticking to his forehead with sweat. “Kacchan, they’re us! It’s— kind of sweet—” he said, voice higher than he intended, and immediately regretted it.
“Sweet my ass! Look at him smirking like that—” Katsuki growled, glancing at the locker door as if the very wood might betray them.
“You’re just jealous,” Izuku shot back, his tone half teasing, half panicked.
“I’m not jealous!” Katsuki barked, flailing against the confined space. But even as he spoke, there was a faint redness creeping up his neck, and he knew it. He knew Izuku could see it.
Izuku muttered under his breath, eyes darting nervously toward the locker door. “Definitely jealous…”
Katsuki tried to push past him, attempting to escape the cramped metal prison, but Izuku’s hands grabbed his forearms, holding him back. The locker shuddered as Katsuki thumped against the steel, growling low and furious.
The right locker was equally cramped. Middle School Katsuki’s small, sharp eyes blazed with indignation as he pressed his back against the wall of the locker, trying to keep his balance. Opposite him, Middle School Izuku was pressed against the opposite side, curls falling into his wide, terrified eyes.
“Why’s that nerd letting him touch him like that?!” Middle School Katsuki whispered/shouted, his small fists shaking as he tried not to punch the locker door.
“Because— they’re— older— and— they’re— probably dating—!” Middle School Izuku whispered frantically, voice tight with panic, hands pressed to his own chest.
“D-Dating?! What kinda future crap is this?!” Katsuki yelped, nearly tipping over as he twisted sideways.
“Please don’t explode anything — please don’t explode anything—” Izuku muttered over and over, curling in on himself slightly, pressing his back against the locker wall.
The two of them ended up facing each other across the narrow space, their knees brushing, breaths rapid, both blushing furiously. The metal walls amplified every creak, every shift of weight, and each clunk echoed like a gunshot in their ears.
From both lockers, the muffled noises overlapped — the occasional grunt, a sharp whisper, the creaking metal — and somewhere in the mix, Katsuki’s low growl collided with Middle School Katsuki’s yelp.
Dynamight froze, every nerve in his body snapping taut as the sound echoed across the classroom. His sharp eyes darted toward the source, the corners of his mouth twitching with a mix of rage and disbelief. “…You hear that?” Dynamight’s voice cut through the tense air, calm but threaded with curiosity and an edge of amusement.
Mr. Midoriya swallowed nervously, twisting on his heels and trying to keep his composure. “Oh, um— probably just the heating—” he said, voice a little too high, fingers fidgeting at the edge of a desk.
Then it came — a muffled, furious shout, so tiny yet unmistakable.
“You smug bastard!” hissed Katsuki, muffled by the metal confines of the left locker.
“Stop touchin’ him, old man!” yelled Middle School Katsuki from the right, voice piercing and panicked, bouncing off the steel walls and into the quiet of the room.
Mr. Midoriya’s stomach dropped, his blood running cold. His green eyes widened, curls falling into his face as he muttered, “Oh. Oh no.”
Dynamight straightened, a slow, deliberate smile tugging at his lips — though it didn’t reach his eyes. He crossed the room in heavy, confident strides, the weight of his boots echoing against the polished floor. His hands rested on his hips as he turned toward the lockers, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he took in the situation. “…If there’s a clone quirk behind this, I’m gonna kill someone,” he said flatly, voice low but lethal, the kind of tone that made even seasoned villains think twice. Without hesitation, Dynamight yanked open the first locker. The metal screeched in protest, and two wide-eyed teenagers tumbled forward, blinking against the harsh classroom light. Katsuki glared up at him, every spike of blond hair bristling, while Izuku shrank slightly, cheeks pink, hair sticking to his damp forehead. Then Dynamight pivoted and flung open the second locker. Two middle-schoolers stumbled out — one furious, fists clenched, glaring up with fiery indignation; the other trembling, curls falling into wide, terrified eyes, lips pressed together in a panicked line.
Silence fell like a heavy curtain, broken only by the faint squeak of locker hinges and the rapid breathing of four teens trapped in a room with their future and past selves.
Dynamight’s expression remained flat, dark eyes sweeping the scene. “…What the actual fuck,” he muttered, voice low, deadly serious.
Mr. Midoriya’s shoulders slumped, hands lifting weakly in protest. “Language—”
“Don’t tell me what to do, old man!” Katsuki spat, voice sharp as steel, fists clenching at his sides.
“WHY IS EVERYONE ME?!” Middle School Katsuki bellowed, spinning to glare at the two other versions of himself.
Izuku stepped forward, hands raised placatingly, voice shaking slightly. “Maybe we can just— talk about this calmly—”
“SHUT UP, DEKU!” All three Katsukis shouted in perfect unison, voices overlapping in a chaotic, high-pitched crescendo. The room seemed to vibrate with their combined indignation.
Mr. Midoriya pressed a hand to his forehead, groaning. His curls fell forward, obscuring his flushed face as he exhaled a long, weary sigh. “I’m never leaving my classroom unattended again,” he muttered, the weight of the absurdity settling in his chest like a boulder.
Dynamight’s eyes softened just slightly, watching the chaos with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. He leaned back, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Even surrounded by yelling, flailing, and a tangle of teenage limbs, there was a strange sort of order in the storm — one only he and Mr. Midoriya could understand.
And yet, the lockers still rattled ominously, a warning that the storm wasn’t over.