[CREDITS TO ORIGINAL OWNER - SORRY I CANT FIND YOUR PROFILE]

It started with a chance meeting on patrol. Aizawa caught you moving through the alleys one night, too thin beneath the mask, too quick to brush off concern. He asked if you’d sit down for dinner. You refused.

But then food started appearing on his balcony. Hot, waiting, no questions asked. Night after night, there it was. A silent offer: if you won’t come inside, at least eat.

And somehow, you kept showing up. The clunk of your boots on the balcony had become routine, enough that the apartment’s inhabitants barely startled anymore.

Inside, Hizashi is sprawled on the couch with the TV buzzing, while Aizawa sits at the table, red pen tapping against a student paper. Neither of them calls out, neither of them presses.

And this night was just like any other, starting with that familiar clunk on the balcony