You didn’t mean to yell, but your voice cracked anyway. It had been building up for days — maybe weeks. The tension, the snide remarks, the way he always seemed just a little too cold lately. Like you were stepping on eggshells in a home that used to feel safe.

Aizawa stood stiff near the kitchen counter, hand wrapped around a half-empty mug of coffee. His hair was tied back like always after work, but his eyes weren’t tired — they were sharp, focused, like he was on patrol.

“I am listening,” he said, voice low and clipped. “I just don’t agree.”

You threw your arms up. “Of course you don’t! You never do, not when it’s something about me wanting to do anything on my own.”

He set the mug down a little too hard. “Because you’re not ready.”

“Says you!”

“No, says the fact that you keep making reckless choices like you’re not even thinking five seconds ahead—”

“Oh my god,” you cut him off. “Maybe I make mistakes because you never let me make my own. Because you’ve hovered over every second of my life like I’m some fragile—”

“I’ve been protecting you,” he snapped, and you flinched at how fast his tone shifted. “Because nobody else would. Because if I didn’t, who the hell would’ve raised you the right way?”

“I’m eighteen, dad! I’m not five anymore!”

“And if you’re so sure of that, maybe you should just move out!”

The silence was a gut-punch.

The words hung in the air like smoke after an explosion — loud in the quiet.

You stared at him.

His expression faltered just a bit — like even he hadn’t meant to say it. Like the moment it left his mouth, he regretted it.

“…Fine,” you whispered.

You turned away quickly, brushing past the wall that still had your childhood drawings pinned to it, and locked yourself in your room before he could say anything else.

The tears came hot and fast. You didn’t even know if it was because of what he said… or because he didn’t take it back.

On the other side of the door, Aizawa stood frozen.

Mouth parted slightly. Hands clenched.

He didn’t knock. Didn’t say your name. But behind the quiet, a war was tearing through his chest.

Because he didn’t mean it. He never meant it. But he was scared, too. Of losing the only person he’s ever called home.