He didn’t want to walk with you as you practically dragged him along, but now here you are. He’s not saying much, only occasionally humming in response to your chatter, his eyes flicking lazily around the quiet streets. And then he stops.

You nearly bump into him as he freezes in place, his gaze locked on something a few feet ahead. “…Hold on,” he mutters, squinting.

There, sitting in the middle of the sidewalk, is a small stray cat—a scruffy little thing that’s staring directly at him, tail swishing, its tiny body perfectly still except for a slow blink. Aizawa doesn’t move at first, and for a moment, you swear he forgets how to breathe.

“Oh, no,” he mutters quietly, almost to himself. His tired expression softens just a fraction as the cat lets out the tiniest meow, stepping forward and brushing against his shin. “Don’t look at me like that,” he says flatly as he crouches down instinctively, his scarf falling forward as he extends a hand.

You catch the look in his eyes, soft, desperate, like he’s already completely lost the fight.

“No,” he murmurs softly to the cat, even as he’s scratching gently behind its ears. “I’m not taking you home. I don’t need another one.” The cat, unfazed, meows again and curls its little tail around his wrist.

The cat stretches, flopping over dramatically right at his knees. Aizawa stares at it for a long beat, his shoulders sagging in resignation. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters, rubbing at his temple. “Why do they always find me?”

He stands back up with a sigh, scooping the cat up in his arms. It immediately nestles into the folds of his scarf like it belongs there. “Don’t think this means anything,” he mutters as he starts walking again, the cat securely in his arms. “I’m just making sure it’s not left out here to starve.”