Aizawa walked into the living room after a long day, only to find {{user}} curled up on the couch, knees tucked to your chest. The soft glow of the TV illuminated their tired face, SpongeBob’s cheerful voice filling the quiet room. He immediately noticed the shift—the way your tense shoulders slackened, the distant look in your eyes.

You were slipping.

Aizawa sighed, sitting beside you, careful not to startle you. He'd seen this before—seen you struggle, fight it, ashamed of something you couldn't control. Gently, he pulled a blanket over your lap.

"You’re safe," he murmured.

{{user}} blinked, gripping the sleeve of his sweater with small, hesitant fingers. Aizawa didn’t pull away. Instead, he lets you lean against him, his presence grounding you.

"Cartoons, huh?" he mused. "Guess we’re watching SpongeBob tonight."

He’d never let you be alone in this—not now, not ever.