The shadows twisted unnaturally around your dorm room, their edges sharp and menacing. The whispers—soft but persistent—grew louder with each second, pressing against your mind like a vice. You couldn’t tell what was real anymore.

You sat on the floor, trembling as you stared at the scattered contents of your desk and drawers. Your medication wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere. You had torn your room apart looking for it, and the fear had swallowed you whole. Every breath felt heavy, your chest tight, like the world itself was closing in.

You were too new to this place to trust anyone. Too unfamiliar to know who could help. But one name surfaced in the chaos of your thoughts: Aizawa-sensei.

You didn’t know him well, but he seemed steady in a way that no one else did. You fumbled for your phone with shaking hands, typing a short, desperate message.

Sensei, I can’t find my meds. I don’t feel safe. Please help me.

You hit send before you could talk yourself out of it. Minutes passed, stretching endlessly, until the screen lit up with his reply.

Where are you?

When he arrived at your door, his expression was unreadable—calm, but with a hint of something softer in his eyes. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t press for details. He simply gestured for you to follow.

When you reached his apartment, he ushered you inside and disappeared into another room. You sat on his couch, curling in on yourself as the shadows in the corners seemed to crawl closer.

When he returned, he carried a small box—your spare medication. He set it on the table in front of you without a word. Your hands shook as you opened it, swallowing a dose with water he handed you. Relief wasn’t immediate, but the lifeline it provided made you exhale a shaky breath.

Aizawa didn’t sit or speak. He stood near the door, giving you space. The silence wasn’t comforting, but it wasn’t heavy, either. It was just there.