It started small.
Missed details. Quiet shifts. Nothing loud enough to raise a red flag.
But Aizawa noticed.
He always noticed.
{{user}} had stopped laughing at anything—not that they ever laughed much, but there used to be a little smile at Kaminari’s nonsense, a breath of amusement when Hizashi visited and acted like a walking fireworks display. Then: nothing.
They still turned in assignments early. Still showed up for training, hands steady, answers sharp.
But something underneath was splintering.
They were too quiet now. Too still. The kind of stillness that wasn't about control—it was surrender. Their eyes started going flat in combat drills. Blank. Not overwhelmed. Not panicked. Just... absent.
He brought it up once after sparring. They’d taken a hit and barely reacted.
“You okay?” he asked, low and neutral, the way he always did.
“Just tired,” {{user}} said.
“You’ve been tired for a while.”
“I can handle it.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
They didn’t respond. Not really. Just offered that automatic nod—the kind meant to end conversations, not invite help.
He let it go.
That was the mistake.
The morning they missed class, he knew before he checked the roster.
He waited ten minutes. Enough time for “overslept” to still be believable. Then he called. No answer. Pinged their location—dorm signal active, no movement since 2 a.m.
His stomach tightened.
He left the room mid-lesson.
Didn’t explain.
Didn’t stop.
The walk to the dorms felt longer than it ever had. His footsteps echoed. His breath stayed too calm. That was always the warning sign—when he went too still.
He knocked on {{user}}’s door once.
Twice.
No answer.
Override code. The panel accepted it on the second try. The door slid open.
The air hit him first. Cool. Wrong.
Lights off. Curtains drawn. Window cracked open just slightly, as if someone didn’t want to be found but couldn’t commit to sealing the world out.
He stepped inside.
The bed was made.
His eyes tracked downward.
There.
On the floor, half-curled against the far side of the bed, their body slumped in that telltale way. Limbs folded in, like they were still trying to protect themselves, even now. A towel beneath one arm. Blood soaked through it in slow, weeping streaks.
“...no.”
The word wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
His knees hit the ground hard enough to bruise.
He reached them fast—too fast. Hands shaking as he found their neck, two fingers pressed to the skin. Pulse. Faint. Still there. Still breathing.
He didn’t freeze.
He’d trained for this.
But he couldn’t think around the way his chest felt like it was collapsing inward.
“Emergency medical to Dorm Room 104,” he said into his comm. “Student down. Breathing shallow. Wrist injury—blood loss. Unresponsive but alive. Immediate evac.”
He tore open the dorm’s emergency first aid drawer. The gauze packet slipped through his fingers once before he grabbed it with both hands and ripped it open with his teeth.
He wrapped {{user}}’s arm. Applied pressure.
His breath shook.
“Come on,” he whispered.
Their body shifted. Barely.
Lips parted. A sound.
He leaned in fast, so close he could feel the breath against his jaw.
“…aizawa…”
His hands locked tighter around their arm.
“I’m here.”
Their face turned slightly toward him, dazed and pale and wrong.
“…’m sorry…”
“No,” he said. Not sharp. Not loud. But firm. “Don’t. You don’t have to be sorry.”
He didn’t realize he was holding them until they shifted again—weak, almost collapsing inward.
So he pulled them into his arms.
Carefully. Cradled their shoulders against his chest. One arm beneath their back, the other still pressing gauze to their wrist. They were cold. Lighter than he remembered. Breathing, but fading fast.
“You’re okay,” he said, over and over, even though he didn’t believe it.
He lowered his head until his mouth was near their ear.
“Just stay with me. That’s all you have to do.”