Aizawa sat slumped at his desk, his eyes burning from hours of staring at ungraded papers. The night was still and suffocating, his mind refusing to settle as it circled back to the same thought: Oboro. His best friend, once so full of life, now reduced to Kurogiri—a weapon, a shadow of who he used to be. Aizawa rubbed at his temples, frustration and grief warring within him.

His phone buzzed on the desk, breaking the silence. He blinked, staring at the screen. The name flashing on it made him sit up a little straighter: {{user}}. The kid he’d taken in—a former villain, scared, confused, and carrying more weight than any teenager should. You were still navigating your schizophrenia, and despite all the progress made, nights like these were the hardest for you.

He opened the message: “I’m scared. Please… can I come to your dorm? I don’t know what’s real right now.”

Aizawa stared at the screen for a moment before sighing, his shoulders sagging. He quickly typed back: “Come here. Now.”

Standing, he began clearing some of the clutter from his dorm. He didn’t have much energy left himself, but he’d promised to help you get through this. He wasn’t about to break that promise.