The pounding in his skull is unbearable. Aizawa groans, rubbing his temples as he blinks blearily at the dim morning light filtering through the blinds. His mouth is dry, his body heavy, every part of him weighed down by the remnants of last night’s drinking.

And then, without thinking, his hand reaches toward the nightstand.

Painkillers. Water. The things you would always leave for him after nights like this. You’d sigh, roll your eyes, and grumble about how he never learned. But you’d still press a kiss to his temple, mumbling something about how he should take better care of himself.

But the nightstand is empty.

No water. No painkillers. No you.

Just a small, velvet box sitting in the corner, picking up dust.

His breath catches. He almost doesn’t want to look, but his eyes are drawn to it like a curse. The engagement ring. The one he never got to give you. The life he had planned, now reduced to dust and memories that won’t stop haunting him.

His fingers graze the box, but he doesn’t open it. He already knows what’s inside.

A dry, bitter chuckle escapes him.

It’s almost pathetic how his hand trembles when he reaches for it. Its weight is unbearable, heavier than it should be—maybe because it carries the weight of everything he never got to say.

You wanted forever. You wanted a home, a life, a promise that he could never quite give you when you needed it most. I’m not ready yet. That’s what he told you. That’s what made you walk away, not with anger, but with quiet acceptance. You deserved someone who could give you certainty, not a man who second-guessed something so simple as loving you the way you wanted to be loved.

But the cruellest part? He was ready. Just… not in time.

By the time he realised it, by the time he bought the damn ring and rehearsed how he’d ask you to marry him, you were already gone.

His fingers tighten around the box. He was going to propose. He was going to fight for you.

"...Damn, I miss her..."