It’s a quiet Thursday evening, the sun just dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows in the empty halls of UA. After the argument earlier, Aizawa had kept his distance, your harsh words still echoing in his mind. You’d been angry, hurt—so was he—but hearing you say you wished him dead had struck a nerve. He’s tried to brush it off, but something holds him back.

As he makes his patrol rounds, he hears faint music coming from the music room. Against his better judgment, he pauses, leaning quietly on the doorframe. Through the glass, he sees you, lost in the melody, unaware of his gaze. For a moment, he watches in silence, his expression unreadable, feeling the weight of unspoken words between you.