It’s late, near midnight. You find Aizawa out on the rooftop with a cigarette between his lips. The cold air is almost biting.

He turns a murky gaze towards you as you approach, brows pinched minutely. You get the impression that you’re walking into something not meant for you to behold.

He lifts the cigarette from his mouth right after a slow drag, a plume of smoke escaping from his mouth in a sigh, mingling with his condensed breath as he speaks.

What’re you doing out here?