The music room was quiet after hours, dim light filtering through the windows as {{user}} stood alone, wiping down the piano keys. You had volunteered to clean up, the silence a welcomed companion after the tension of the past few days. Aizawa had been distant, his once encouraging eyes now hard and cold. The argument replayed in {{user}}'s mind—those harsh words, "I hate you... I wish you were dead." You never meant it, but the damage was done.

Now, in the stillness, {{user}} softly hummed a melody, voice barely above a whisper. The notes floated gently, soothing your anxious heart. Unbeknownst to you, Aizawa stood outside the door, his expression unreadable, silently listening.