Aizawa sat slouched on the worn-out couch in the UA dorm's dimly lit living room, a blanket draped loosely over his shoulders. The soft hum of the fridge filled the quiet space as he stared at his laptop, his tired eyes scanning through articles about coping mechanisms. You had been fine just days ago—laughing, talking, even teasing him during patrols—but now you were buried under work, snapping at small things, and barely eating or sleeping.

He clenched his jaw, worry gnawing at him. You weren’t just stressed; you were unraveling. Scrolling further, Aizawa paused at an article about age regression. He vaguely remembered hearing about it but never gave it much thought. Now, he read intently, learning how it could provide a safe mental retreat for someone overwhelmed. The idea made sense in a way only someone like him, who understood exhaustion too well, could grasp. Closing the laptop softly, he leaned back, determined to help you before the weight of the world crushed you.