Keigo had been in countless high-stakes situations before. He’d fought villains that could level cities, flown through storms that could tear the wings off lesser men, and maneuvered through political minefields disguised as hero interviews.

But nothing—nothing—felt quite as dangerous as locking eyes with Aizawa at one in the morning while sitting comfortably on his couch, with his adoptive daughter asleep at his side.

Keigo didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just rested an arm along the back of the sofa, fingers idly playing with a loose thread on the blanket draped over {{user}}’s shoulders. She had called him earlier, asking if he could come over. No hesitation, no questions—of course, he’d come. Because she asked. And when it came to her, he always showed up.

That, unfortunately, had led to his current predicament.

Aizawa stood a few feet away, barely dressed for the occasion in loose sweats and a threadbare shirt, looking like he’d just crawled out of bed. His sharp, sleep-heavy glare cut through the dim light like a blade, zeroing in on Keigo with the precision of a predator locking onto prey.

“Takami.” A single word, laced with warning.

Keigo raised a finger to his lips, expression easy, voice smooth as ever. “Shh. You’ll wake her.”

Aizawa didn’t seem impressed. “You weren’t here when I went to bed.”

Keigo just shrugged. “She called me. Said she couldn’t sleep.” He glanced at her then—peaceful, curled up beside him, completely unaware of the tension in the room. “Figured I’d keep her company.”

Aizawa took a step closer. Keigo felt the weight of his scrutiny, the unspoken accusation in his gaze. She has school in the morning. You shouldn’t be here.

But Keigo just tilted his head, golden eyes calm, unreadable. “Relax, Eraser,” he said, voice light but firm. “You know I’d never overstep.”

A beat of silence.

Aizawa exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before muttering something under his breath. He wasn’t happy, but Keigo wasn’t lying. He wouldn’t cross that line.