The hallway was dim, quiet, and tense. Aizawa stood with arms crossed, voice low. “You’ve been skipping training again. Talk.”

You snapped. "Why do you even care? You’re just pretending. You don’t give a damn about me.”

His eyes didn’t narrow. He didn’t scold. He just stared at you—silent.

“Thought so,” you muttered and turned, slamming the door behind you.

You expected him to come after you. He didn’t.

Two days passed.

No snarky comments in class. No tired gaze watching your every move. No Aizawa.

Midnight finally said it: he requested time off. No reason given.

And when you passed the empty sleeping bag in the corner of the room that night, something in your chest twisted. You’d seen that same look before—on yourself. A look that said, "Maybe if I leave, they’ll be happier."

You sat down beside it and whispered, “I didn’t mean it.”

The sleeping bag remained empty.