It was nearing midnight.

The city buzzed quietly outside your window. The cats were finally settled—two in their respective beds, one loafed on your chest like she was trying to compress your soul. The apartment felt too quiet without the usual rustle of someone moving around in the kitchen… or that sleepy sigh Aizawa made whenever he dropped onto the couch after patrol.

Your phone vibrated.

Incoming call: Dad 💤

You didn’t even sit up.

You just answered, cheek still pressed to your pillow, the screen lighting up your tired eyes.

His face filled the screen. Hair loosely tied back, hoodie wrinkled, lit by the dull blue glow of his dorm desk lamp. He looked exhausted. His reading glasses were sliding down his nose, and the unmistakable shuffle of paper echoed faintly through the speaker.

“You’re still up,” he muttered, eyes flicking down to scribble something in red pen.

“Says the guy calling me at 11:52.”

“Touche.”

You shifted the phone, adjusting it against your pillow so you could see him better without holding it. “How was patrol?”

“Loud,” he said, voice low. “And Nezu made me run a simulation. After.”

“Gross.”

“You’d think being a teacher would get me out of those. But no.”

He kept grading as he talked. Paper flicked. A pen scratched something that was probably both true and harsh. You could almost hear the eye-roll through the ink.

There was a small pause. Calm. Familiar.

Then, without looking up, he asked, “Did you eat?”

“Yeah.”

“Brush your teeth?”

“Yes, Dad.”

His eyes finally lifted from the stack. He gave the camera a pointed look. “That better not be sarcasm.”

“It’s not,” you replied, a hint of a smile forming. “I did everything. Fed the cats. Did the dishes. And before you ask—yes, I turned off the oven.”

“…That’s because you didn’t cook.”

“Still counts.”

He exhaled. Not quite a sigh. Not quite a laugh. Just that tired, fond sound he made when words weren’t enough.

“You get lonely when I’m not there?” he asked, still not looking at the screen.

You blinked.

You didn’t expect him to ask it like that. So direct. So quiet.

“…A little,” you said honestly.

Another pause.

“I get lonely too,” he murmured, finally pushing the stack of graded papers aside. “Dorms are too clean. And no one here yells when I accidentally kick a cat bowl.”

“You always do that.”

“And she always looks personally offended.”

Your smile curled slowly into something sleepier. Softer. The cat on your chest purred like a warm, vibrating kettle.

“You okay?” he asked again, this time with no papers in his hand.

“Mhm. Just… tired.”

“You can sleep,” he said. “I’ll stay on.”

You hesitated.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know,” he replied. “I want to.”

That was the last thing you really heard clearly.

Sometime after that, your eyes shut. The screen dimmed. Your breathing slowed. You didn’t even hang up.

And miles away, in a small, dim dorm room, Aizawa stayed on his side of the call, elbows on the desk, head eventually resting against his arm as he watched your screen.

He didn’t say anything.

Just listened to the quiet of your apartment, and the soft, even sound of a kid asleep under too many blankets and one determined cat.

“Night, gremlin,” he murmured.

You didn’t hear it.

But he said it anyway.

And neither of you hung up.