Mismatched Rhythms and Lullabies

Izuku's POV

Izuku's living room was a battleground of wits and strategy, dimly lit and cloaked in a competitive hush. The shadows cast by the lone lamp contorted into strange shapes, echoing the sinister terrain they were traversing in their game. Cluttered amidst this scene were character sheets and multicolored dice, evidence of the care Izuku had taken to craft this world for his friends. Todoroki, as the game's masterful storyteller, wove their epic with an intensity that seemed impervious to any distraction.

The shrill cry from the baby next door sliced through the ambiance, just as Todoroki described the unsettling stillness of the forest bordering the town they'd just left. Ochako, with a quick, nervous glance at the wall, quipped, "This ambiance is.... immersive."

Izuku's attempted laugh, but morphed into a soft exhale. His gaze momentarily snagged on the thin barrier that separated them from the neighboring wail before he pulled his attention back to the tabletop.

Undisturbed, Shoto continued, his voice capturing the essence of the woods. "As the town's safety recedes behind you and the foreboding woods close in, the air grows thick with the musk of moss and the whisper of leaves. The path ahead is known for its capricious turns and the creatures it conceals within its shadowy embrace. How do you proceed? With stealth, caution, or bold stride?"

Izuku opened his mouth to answer, to dive back into the game, but the cry pierced through again, splintering his concentration. It wasn't just the noise—it was the persistence, the sheer regularity of it that tugged at Izuku's conscientiousness, even as he tried to immerse himself in the game.

He looked at Shoto; the words catching in his throat as he contemplated breaking the flow of the game. Shoto's focus was unyielding, his expression one of a creator in the throes of his creation. To interrupt felt like stepping into a painting and asking the figures to hold a different pose.

"Shoto," Izuku started, hesitance in his voice, "maybe... we could take a short break?" It was phrased as a question, a gentle nudge rather than a demand, filled with the hope that Shoto would understand.

The suggestion hung in the air, thick as the tension that followed. Shoto's eyes met Izuku's, a flicker of displeasure crossing his features before he masked it with a nod, setting down his Dungeon Master's screen with careful resignation. Izuku felt a twinge of guilt for interrupting the immersive experience his friend had created.

Ochako chimed in quickly, picking up on the delicate balance of the moment. "A brief intermission would do us good," she said, her voice light. "We could use some refueling, anyway."

Ochako collected the empty snack bowls and half-empty glasses. Izuku opened his mouth to protest, but Ochako cut him off with a cheerful wave of her hand, "I've got it this time, Izuku! You guys take a breather."

Izuku leaned back in his chair and for a moment - a peculiar quiet settled over the room so profound it seemed to ring in Izuku's ears. "Oh?"

The sudden silence from the neighboring apartment made Shoto's earlier displeasure more apparent, his features set in a mild frown. "We should have kept playing," he grumbled

Ochako chuckled from the kitchen as she rummaged for snacks. Her voice floated in, laced with playful curiosity.

"Hey Shoto, why didn't you bring your new partner along for game night?" Her voice, muffled slightly by the distance and the clinking of glasses.

Shoto's guard seemed to rise even with the spatial buffer, his reply echoing back with a restraint that bordered on discomfort. "They don't really like games," he said, the finality in his voice aimed at shutting down further inquiries.