My Hero Academia: Heavenly Restriction

I entered the living room to find Mom and Camie huddled over a thick green photo album. Mom's eyes sparkled with the particular joy she reserved for sharing embarrassing childhood stories.

"Oh, this one's perfect." Mom tapped a photo that made Camie's face light up. "He was so serious about being a hero, even at three."

There I stood in a handmade All Might costume - complete with pipe cleaner hair spikes and a cape made from Mom's old yellow curtains. My tiny fists rested on my hips in what was probably meant to be a heroic pose.

"Look at those little muscle pads." Camie traced the obviously stuffed fabric arms. "Did you make this, Inko?"

"Every bit." Mom smoothed the plastic covering the photo. "He refused to take it off for two weeks straight. I had to wash it while he was sleeping."

"Mom..."

"He kept coming up with different hero names too." She turned the page, revealing more photos of tiny me practicing poses in the living room. "What was it... Mighty All Man?"

"No way." Camie leaned closer. "Please tell me there are more."

"Oh, there were plenty. All Might Junior, Captain All Might..." Mom paused for dramatic effect. "But my personal favorite was Super All Might."

"That's mad cute." Camie glanced up at me. "Super All Might, huh?"

I dropped onto the couch beside them, accepting my fate. "I was three."

"The cutest three-year-old hero ever." Mom flipped another page. "Look, here he is saving Mr. Whiskers from a tree."

The cat in question - our elderly neighbor's Persian - looked supremely unimpressed as tiny me attempted to 'rescue' him from his favorite napping spot.

"Did you at least get him down safely, Super All Might?"

"He scratched me and jumped down himself."

"His first villain defeat," Mom said solemnly, then broke into giggles.

Camie joined in, shoulders shaking. "The origin story we didn't know we needed."

"I have videos too," Mom offered. "Want to see his debut speech?"

"Absolutely not." I reached for the album, but Mom deftly moved it out of range.

"Too late." She was already pulling up her phone's video gallery. "It's traditional to show the embarrassing childhood footage."

"Isn't that supposed to wait until you've been dating someone for-" The words died in my throat as I realized what I'd said.

Mom's hands stilled on her phone. Camie's laughter faded into something softer, more contemplative. 

"Well," Mom said finally, her voice gentle, "good memories shouldn't wait for arbitrary timelines."

She pressed play. Three-year-old me appeared on screen, cape slightly crooked, attempting to deepen my voice to match All Might's.

"Fear not, citizens! Super All Might is here to save the day with his super special move..."

Past-me struck a pose that sent one of my pipe cleaner hair spikes drooping sadly over my eye.

"MEGA MIGHTY SUPER SMASH!"

The 'smash' mostly involved spinning in a circle until I got dizzy and fell over. Past-Mom's laughter rang from behind the camera as she rushed to check if I was okay.

"I'm fine!" Past-me declared from the floor. "Heroes always get back up!"

Present-Mom paused the video, eyes suspiciously bright. "He really hasn't changed, has he?"

"Nah. Even I could see that." Camie bumped her shoulder against mine. 

The warmth in her voice made my chest tight. Mom looked between us, something knowing in her expression.

"I should start dinner," she announced, standing smoothly. "Camie-chan, would you like to help? I could use another set of hands, and Izuku's banned from the kitchen tonight."

"For real?" Camie bounced to her feet. "I'd love to!"

"But you're a guest-"

"Guests can help if they want to." Mom shepherded Camie toward the kitchen. "Besides, I have so many more stories to share."

"Mom..."

"Only the good ones, dear." She winked. "Mostly."

I slumped back into the couch, listening to them chat as they gathered ingredients. Mom's patient explanations mixed with Camie's eager questions about techniques and seasonings.

"The secret is in how you cut the pork," Mom said. "Here, like this..."

"That's so smart! My knife skills are pretty basic."

"Practice makes perfect. Though sometimes I think Izuku took that too literally - he used to practice his hero poses while helping me cook."

"Please tell me there are pictures of that too."

"An entire album."

Their laughter rang out again, perfectly in sync. The sounds of cooking filled the apartment - the rhythmic chopping of vegetables, oil heating in a pan, rice being measured into the cooker. Familiar scents began wafting from the kitchen, along with more snippets of conversation.

"He really made his own moves?"

"Oh yes. The Super Mighty Double Chop was a favorite. Nearly knocked over my spice rack once..."

I should have been mortified. Instead, something warm settled in my chest.

"Izuku!" Mom called. "Set the table, please!"

I gathered plates and chopsticks, arranging them carefully on the dining table. More laughter spilled from the kitchen, punctuated by the sizzle of katsudon hitting hot oil.

"No peeking," Camie warned as I passed the kitchen doorway. "We're creating art here."

"Is art supposed to smell like burning?"

"That's just the garlic." Mom shooed me away. "Go relax. We've got this handled."

I retreated to the living room, where the photo album still lay open. Tiny me beamed up from the pages, dreams too big for his small body but determined to grow into them anyway. 

"Dinner's ready!" Mom emerged carrying a steaming pot, Camie right behind her with a bowl of perfectly fried katsu. "Camie-chan's quite the natural in the kitchen."

"Just following your expert guidance." Camie set down her burden, cheeks flushed from the heat and praise. "This looks amazing."

We settled around the table, steam rising from golden-brown cutlets nestled in eggs and onions. Mom served generous portions, beaming as Camie's eyes widened at the first bite.

"This is incredible," she breathed. "Like, actually life-changing."

"Mom's katsudon has that effect."

"The secret ingredient is love," Mom said, then laughed at our matching groans. "Well, that and proper temperature control. Speaking of which, Camie-chan, you picked up the technique very quickly."

"I had a good teacher." Camie took another bite.

The meal continued, conversation flowing easily between bites. Mom drew out stories about Camie's hometown, her hopes for UA, her thoughts on hero work. Each answer revealed new layers - the careful consideration behind her casual demeanor, the sharp intelligence often hidden by her playful speech.

"Actually," Camie said, setting down her chopsticks, "I was hoping to ask your opinion about something, Inko."

"Of course, dear."

"That apartment you mentioned - 4B? Would it be weird if I lived in the same building as you guys?"

Mom's eyes lit up. "Weird? It would be wonderful! The unit's lovely - great natural light, new appliances, and the security system was just upgraded last month."

"Plus," I added, "the neighborhood's safe, and it's an easy commute to UA."

"Sold." Camie grinned. "When can I see it?"

"I'll call the landlord first thing tomorrow." Mom reached across the table to squeeze Camie's hand. "You'll love it here. And it'll be so nice having you close by."

"Yeah?" Camie glanced between us, something vulnerable beneath her smile. "You're sure it won't be too much?"

"Never." Mom's voice held absolute certainty. "You're always welcome here, Camie-chan. Always."

The moment hung there, heavy with meaning. Camie blinked rapidly, her free hand fidgeting with her napkin.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For everything. The food, the stories, just... everything."

"Thank you for being such wonderful company." Mom stood, gathering empty plates. "Now, who's ready for dessert?"

March 29, 2226 

"Hell no." 

I stared at the heavy oak dresser that had already crossed Camie's bedroom five times. "It's staying right here."

"But Izuuu..." Camie tugged at the oversized black t-shirt she'd stolen from my closet, the hem hitting mid-thigh above her shorts. "The feng shui is all wrong."

"The feng shui was wrong by the window. And the door. And the closet." I crossed my arms, tank top damp with sweat from hours of furniture assembly. "Pick a wall and commit."

Justin Timberlake's "Can't Stop The Feeling" pumped from her JBL speakers, the bass vibrating through the half-assembled bedroom.

I got that sunshine in my pocket, got that good soul in my feet...

"Just one more time?" She clasped her hands together, giving me doe eyes. "Please? I promise I'll do anything to make it up to you."

"You said that three dressers ago."

"But I really mean it this time." She swayed to the music, bare feet sliding across hardwood. "Come on, shake off that pout. Dance with me."

"I'm not-" Her fingers wrapped around my wrist, tugging me into an impromptu spin. "Camie."

"Nothing cures furniture fatigue like dancing." She twirled under my arm, t-shirt swishing. "Show me those moves you've been hiding."

I can't stop the feeling...

"Fine." I caught her hand, leading her into a proper dance hold. "One song."

Her eyes widened as I guided her through a quick step sequence, our feet finding the rhythm. "You've been holding out on me."

"Mom insisted on lessons." Another turn, smoother this time. "Said it would help with coordination."

"Remind me to thank her." Camie matched my steps, picking up the pattern quickly. "Speaking of Inko..."

"Don't remind me." The memory of Mom's cryptic smile surfaced. "She bought a book on grandparenting yesterday."

"No way."

"Said this would be 'good practice' for us." I dipped her on the chorus, drawing a delighted laugh. "She's getting ideas."

"Can't imagine why." Camie straightened, fingers trailing along my shoulder. "We're just two friends, moving furniture, dancing in an empty apartment..."

"While you wear my clothes."

"They're comfy." She spun out, then back in. "Besides, all my stuff's still in boxes. Speaking of which..."

"We're not moving the dresser again."

"Party pooper." She stuck out her tongue. "UA starts in three days. Let me have my feng shui."

"Let me have my sanity." The song faded into something slower - an old Ed Sheeran track. "Five days of closing paperwork, three days of shopping, and now this?"

"But look how nice everything is." She gestured around the room. "Worth every minute."

I had to admit, the space had transformed. Modern furniture mixed with vintage finds, potted plants dotting windowsills, fairy lights strung across exposed beams. It felt lived-in already, despite the boxes.

"It's perfect." I caught her mid-spin. "Which is why the dresser stays put."

"Fine." She melted into a proper slow dance hold. "But only because you're such a good dance partner."

"You're not so bad yourself."

"Natural talent." She rested her head against my shoulder, humming along to the music. "Thanks for helping. I know it's been a lot."

"What are friends for?"

Her fingers tightened slightly on my shoulder. "Yeah. Friends."

Outside, the sun had begun to set, painting the room in soft orange light. The music shifted again - Taylor Swift this time, something about paper rings and picture frames.

"Three more days," Camie murmured. "Everything changes."

"Not everything." I guided us in a slow circle, avoiding a stack of unpacked boxes. "Some things stay exactly where they belong."

She lifted her head, meeting my eyes. "Like dressers?"

"Like dressers."

Her laugh vibrated against my chest. "Okay, okay. Message received." She pulled back slightly, though her hands stayed in place. "But the bookshelf..."

"Camie."

"Just kidding." She grinned. "Mostly."

We swayed through another song, then another. Through the wall, I heard Mom humming in her kitchen, pots clanking as she prepared dinner.

"This is nice," Camie said softly. "Having a real home."

The vulnerability in her voice made my chest tight. "You deserve it."

"Yeah?" She glanced up through her lashes. "Even with all my feng shui demands?"

"Even then." I spun her one last time as the song ended. "Though maybe limit furniture rearrangement to once per semester."

"Twice."

"Once."

"One and a half?"

"That's not even possible."

"Sure it is." She bounced on her toes. "Move half the furniture once, then the other half later."

"You're impossible."

She skipped toward the door. "Come on, I smell curry. Your mom's probably wondering if we've killed each other over furniture placement."

"Bold of you to assume she hasn't been watching through the security cameras."

"Nah, she trusts us." Camie paused in the doorway. "Mostly."

"Says the girl who stole my shirt."

"Borrowed." She tugged at the hem. "With every intention of returning it. Eventually."

"Uh-huh."

"Race you to dinner?" She was already moving, bare feet silent on hardwood.

"Cheater!" I chased after her, both of us laughing as we thundered down the stairs.

Mom stood in her doorway, wooden spoon in hand. "No running in the halls."

"Sorry, Inko!" Camie skidded to a stop. "Something smelled amazing."

"Curry." Mom's eyes sparkled. "And I see you two worked up an appetite. Dancing burns quite a few calories."

I froze. "You were watching."

"The walls are thin, dear." She stepped back, gesturing us inside. 

"Mom!"

"Just kidding. Although, a mother has to keep an eye on her investments." She ladled curry over rice, steam rising. "Both financial and emotional."

Camie accepted her bowl with a grin. "The apartment's definitely worth investing in."

"Oh, I wasn't talking about the apartment." Mom handed me my portion, eyes twinkling. "Now eat up. You'll need energy for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? What's tomorrow?"

"Living room furniture arrives at nine." Camie blew on a spoonful of curry. "Hope you're ready for round two."

"I hate you both."

"No you don't." They spoke in perfect unison, then dissolved into giggles.

I dropped into my chair, watching them share knowing looks over their curry. Three days until UA. Three days until everything changed.

But some things, I realized as Camie stole a piece of chicken from my bowl, would stay exactly where they belonged.