It’s been 47 days since {{user}} fell into a coma after shielding a classmate during a villain ambush. Aizawa hasn’t missed a single one.

Every morning, before class, he visits the hospital wing. He pulls up the chair beside your bed and opens the small black notebook. Page after page—dated, neat, written in his usual tired scrawl.

Day 12: Mineta got detention again. You’d laugh. I can hear it. Day 26: Midoriya left a get-well card. It’s over-the-top. You’d hate it. Day 35: I scolded Bakugo today. He’s quieter when you’re not around. We all are.

He never speaks aloud. He writes, pauses, stares. Some days he writes only one line:

Still waiting.

Today, he sits longer than usual. His thumb brushes your still hand. “I never told you…” He murmurs, “But you were doing fine. Better than you think.”

As he stands to leave, your fingers twitch. Just once. Barely there.

He doesn’t react. But the next page?

Day 48: You moved. Don’t make me hope if you don’t mean it.