All Might x Student!Reader (Boku no Hero Academia)

Chapter 62 - Judged in Advance

The walk back to your room felt longer than usual. The halls were quiet, swallowed by that heavy sort of stillness that only came at night, when even the building itself seemed to be holding its breath. You kept your steps light, careful not to let your boots echo, but it wasn't really the teachers you were worried about. It was your own heart—loud, insistent, tripping over itself like it hadn't quite figured out how to beat in rhythm again.

You replayed every second of the balcony in your mind, as though your brain was determined to press each frame into memory before it could fade. The way he'd looked at you—like nothing else existed. The warmth in his eyes, the rough edge to his voice when he admitted he couldn't pretend anymore. The way his lips had trembled just before they found yours, hesitant and desperate all at once.

It hadn't been perfect. It hadn't been planned. But it was real.

And it scared you, because nothing about this world you were trapped in ever stayed untouched for long.

You slipped around a corner, the faint moonlight cutting silver shapes across the floor from tall windows. Part of you wanted to cling to the ache still blooming in your chest, to carry it like proof that the night hadn't been a dream. But another part of you—the rational, cautious voice that sounded suspiciously like Aizawa—was already tallying up the risks. If anyone had seen him there. If anyone had guessed why he'd come. If anyone had noticed the way you were smiling now, like a fool trying to keep a secret.

You reached your door and paused, hand hovering over the handle. The adrenaline had drained from your body by now, leaving only exhaustion and a restless buzz under your skin. You wanted to collapse into bed, bury your face in the pillow, and let the night replay in your head until sleep finally pulled you under.

But as you stood there in the quiet, the thought you'd been trying to push away all along finally caught up to you:

How many more nights like this would you get?

You finally turned the handle and slipped into your room, letting the door click softly shut behind you. The air felt cooler here, still, as though it had been waiting for you, untouched since you'd left. You let your back fall against the door for a second, eyes closing as you released a long breath. The night had already been heavy enough—your chest still buzzed with the warmth and ache of what had happened on the balcony—and all you wanted now was quiet. Just quiet, a bed, and maybe the illusion that tomorrow wasn't going to demand you break yourself all over again.

You pushed away from the door, ready to let yourself collapse, but froze mid-step.

There was someone already in your room.

Not just someone—her.

She was sprawled across your bed like a queen on a throne she hadn't asked permission to take, ankle lazily crossed over the other, your pillow tucked under her elbow as if she'd lived here all her life. The dim lamplight caught the lines of her face: a little older, sharper at the edges, and irritatingly smug. Her hair was longer, her posture dripping with that careless confidence you only pretended to have on your best days.

Your future self.

She was rifling through a neat stack of papers balanced against her knee, flipping through them like they were the Sunday comics. Her brow was arched, lips pursed in a way that looked exactly like the face you pulled when grading yourself too harshly in the mirror.

Your jaw unhinged. "What the hell—" The words tumbled out before you could grab hold of them. You stumbled half a step back, slamming the door shut behind you as though that might lock the insanity inside. "You can't just—what are you doing?"