It was late evening, the classroom dimly lit by the fading orange glow of the sunset. You sat at your usual desk, the only one staying behind after class. Aizawa leaned against the wall near the windows, his figure outlined by the sinking sun. His voice was low and heavy as he spoke, a mix of exhaustion and despair lacing every word.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. “Sometimes, it feels like… what’s the point?”

You stayed silent, your hands gripping the edge of your desk. Your heart sank, the weight of his words pressing harder each time he confided in you. It started small—complaints about work, the burden of responsibility—but lately, his venting had spiraled into darker territory.

Your own mental health was fraying, the constant pressure of being his silent pillar taking its toll. Yet, you nodded quietly, offering a reassuring presence, even as the cracks in your own resolve deepened