You were waiting by the window.

It was past dark already. The hallway light made a long shadow across the floor. You’d left it on for him—because even if he didn’t say it, he always noticed.

When the door finally opened, you didn’t run to him.

You didn’t say hi.

You just watched.

Aizawa stepped in slower than usual. Like the weight on his shoulders finally crushed his spine. He didn’t set his keys in the bowl by the door. Didn’t take off his boots. Just stood there.

Still.

Quiet.

And wrong.

You stood from the couch.

His eyes met yours.

And your stomach dropped.

“Where’s Nemuri?” you asked.

He didn’t answer.

You took a step forward.

“She was supposed to come over. We were gonna make those dango things again. She promised—”

“She’s not coming,” he said, soft. Rough.

Not looking at you.

“Why not?” Your voice cracked. “She always comes.”

He took one small breath. Then another.

“She’s not—” He stopped. Rephrased. “There was an incident.”

You stared at him.

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s not a joke.”

“Then stop talking like that,” you said, voice rising. “She’s fine. She always—she always makes it out. She—she always comes back!”

He didn’t move.

Didn’t deny it.

Didn’t lie to you.

And somehow that was worse.

“No,” you said. Shaking your head, stepping back. “No—no, shut up, I don’t wanna hear it—!”

“Kid—”

“No!” You screamed. “Stop saying that—!”

And you shoved him.

Hard as you could.

It didn’t do anything. He barely rocked from the force. But it still made the air shift.

“I hate you!” you yelled, fists small and tight. “You let her go—you let her go and now she’s—and now—!”

Your breath hitched.

Your vision blurred.

You didn’t want to cry. Not in front of him. Not where he could see you fall apart.

But it came anyway.

You dropped to your knees, clutching your chest, the sobs escaping like your lungs didn’t know how to hold air anymore.

Aizawa crouched slowly, lowering himself to your level. His hand hovered in the air for a second, unsure—then rested gently on your back.

He didn’t try to pull you close.

He didn’t say it would be okay.

He just… stayed.

“I know,” he murmured after a long while. “I know.”

You didn’t know how long you stayed there—crumpled on the floor, snot on your sleeves, fists clenched against the ache in your ribs.

But eventually, your voice came back.

Small. Barely there.

“…She braided my hair.”

Aizawa let out a breath like it hurt to breathe.

“She loved you a lot.”

You rubbed your face against your sleeve.

“Are you gonna leave, too?”

His hand tensed briefly on your back.

Then:

“No.”

You looked up, eyes raw.

He met your gaze head-on.

“I’m not leaving,” he said firmly. “Not you. Not ever.”