midoriya hates (definitely not) how expressive your eyes are.
Midoriya hates your eyes—no, that sounded misleading. Midoriya hates how expressive your eyes are. How they could convey a lot of wordless sentences, obvious feelings, and resigned thoughts—all are perfectly portrayed through them.
The eyes are the window to the soul or whatever the original author said. Though they never mentioned how the eyes held so much meaning to them.
“And I think it’s—oh, why are you looking at me like that?” Midoriya asked, noticing how you’re looking up at him, brows drawn together. “It’s not a flawless lesson plan.” He frowned softly. “But I think my students really needed the extra credit activity.”
“Izu, I’m not even doing anything.” You smiled cheekily. “I’m just looking at you, love.”
“Yes, well, it’s a bit distracting,” he admitted.
“How am I distracting you?”
“By—” and just like that, Midoriya is once again lost in his train of thought, his ideas wiped clean once his eyes meet yours. It’s maddening, really. He doesn’t know why it happens. It just does.
You’re looking at him like this, like he’s the only one orbiting your attention, and maybe he was. The sentiment sent shivers down his spine, though the feeling wasn’t entirely unwelcome nor unappreciated.
“By?” you prompted, amused.
You laughed. “Izu, my love, that’s how conversations usually work. Sender encodes the message, receiver decodes it, then provides feedback, preferably with eye contact.”
“I know, I know,” he said, scrubbing a hand on his face. He sighed. “I just… get embarrassed.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, my eyes have seen a lot of yo—”
“Yes, ok, love! That’s enough now.” Midoriya’s face flared bright red. He joined you on the bed, burying his face in the crook of your neck to hide how flustered he was. Though his constant muttering of, “I’m so lucky, I’m so lucky…” was a definite giveaway.
God, he could get lost in your eyes. He probably already had.
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