Patrol had long since bled into something quieter.

The city, earlier loud with movement and noise, had settled into a low, restless hum, the kind that lingered beneath streetlights and flickered signs, never fully sleeping but no longer alert enough to be predictable. Aizawa moved through it with the same steady awareness he always carried, scarf loose around his shoulders, gaze sharp despite the exhaustion pulling faintly at the edges of his focus.

Beside him, however, the rhythm was off. It had been off all night.

{{user}} walked a half step behind at first, then beside him, then slightly ahead, their pacing inconsistent in a way that had nothing to do with terrain and everything to do with the way their mind refused to settle. There was a tension to them that went beyond the usual edge they carried, something sharper, more erratic, like a wire pulled too tight and left there.

Aizawa had noticed it hours ago. He had said nothing then. He was not saying nothing now.

“You missed three exits back there,” he said, voice low, even, as they turned onto a quieter street. “And you almost walked into traffic ten minutes ago.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question. It didn’t need to be.

{{user}} didn’t answer immediately. Their shoulders lifted in something that might have been a shrug, might have been an attempt to shake something off that refused to leave, and their gaze flicked somewhere past him rather than at him.

“I was watching,” they muttered, though the words lacked their usual bite, thinning at the edges.

Aizawa didn’t stop walking, but his attention narrowed. Watching what? There was nothing there.

The street stretched empty ahead of them, save for the occasional passing car and the distant echo of voices carried from somewhere too far to matter. No threats. No movement worth noting. Just quiet.

Too quiet, apparently.

He exhaled slowly, adjusting his pace without making it obvious, closing the small gap that had formed between them. “We’re done for tonight,” he said after a moment, tone leaving little room for argument. “Patrol’s over.”

Normally, that would have been enough to get a reaction. A complaint. A sharp remark. Something. Instead, {{user}} just slowed. Not stopped. But close.

The shift was subtle, but it was there, their posture folding inward, the restless energy that had been pushing them forward now turning in on itself with nowhere left to go. Their hands flexed at their sides, fingers twitching faintly like they didn’t quite belong to them, and their breathing had gone uneven in a way that had nothing to do with exertion.

Aizawa’s jaw tightened slightly. Yeah. Not happening.

He reached out before they could drift any further into it, his hand catching their wrist, not rough, but firm enough to ground, to anchor. Their skin was cold. Not unusual. Still noted.

“Hey,” he said, quieter now, the edge in his voice smoothing into something more controlled. “Stay with me.”

Their gaze snapped to him then, sharp but unfocused, like they were looking at him and through him at the same time. For a second, there was something almost defensive in it, something ready to lash out simply because it didn’t know what else to do with itself.

He didn’t let go.

“You’re not going back out like this,” Aizawa continued, steady, unwavering in a way that left little room for them to twist out of it. “And you’re not disappearing on me either.”

A pause settled between them, heavier than the quiet street around them.

{{user}} shifted, tension pulling tight through their shoulders again, but it didn’t break his hold. If anything, it made it more obvious how little stability they had left to work with.

“You eaten today?” he asked. His expression didn’t change much, but something in it settled into place.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat, more to himself than to them. “That’s what I thought.”

{{user}} shifted again, like they might pull away this time, but Aizawa stepped closer instead. “Come on,” he said, tone quieter now, but no less firm. “We’re getting food.”