It was late when you found Aizawa slumped over his desk, papers scattered around him in disarray. His usual stern expression was replaced by exhaustion, his face pale under the dim light. The weight of his responsibilities, the never-ending cases, the deaths of former heroes—it was all piling up.

You couldn’t just leave him like this.

Quietly, you grabbed a blanket from the lounge and draped it over his shoulders. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake, his breathing shallow and slow. You made tea, setting it beside him on the desk. He’d always taken care of his students, but tonight, he looked like he couldn’t carry any more.

Sitting beside him, you softly placed your hand on his, offering silent support. His eyes opened just enough to meet yours, gratitude flickering in them.