Your grip on Aizawa’s coat was tight—too tight, but you couldn’t loosen it. Your fingers dug into the fabric as if letting go would make everything unravel. Your chest heaved, ragged breaths barely holding back the sobs threatening to escape.

You weren’t supposed to break. Not in front of him.

But after everything—after the war, after seeing friends fall, after almost losing him too—holding it in wasn’t an option anymore.

Aizawa stood still, his presence steady and unshaken, even as you shook against him. He didn’t pry, didn’t push you away, didn’t tell you to stop crying and pull yourself together. He just let you be.

“You held on,” he murmured after a long silence. His voice was hoarse, heavy, like he was just as exhausted as you were. “That’s enough.”

You let out a shaky breath, pressing your forehead harder against his chest. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”

His hand hesitated before resting on your back—awkward, unsure, but warm. Grounding. “It is,” he said firmly. “You’re here.”

You clenched your teeth, swallowing down another wave of emotion. Your shoulders burned from how tense you were, but you still refused to let go.

Aizawa let out a slow exhale. “You’re allowed to feel this,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to carry it alone.”

Your grip on his coat trembled.

“…Then don’t let go yet.”

“I won’t.”