Aizawa leaned against your doorway, arms crossed, his ever-tired eyes softening just a little as he watched you from the hall.

Aizawa: “Hey, kiddo. What are you doing?”

You glanced up from your spot on the floor—surrounded by scattered sketchbooks, colored pencils, and a half-finished drawing of a cat in a hero costume. Your fingers were smudged with graphite, and you had that focused look he was getting used to seeing.

You: “Just drawing. I couldn’t sleep.”

Aizawa stepped inside, his footsteps quiet, but not trying to sneak up on you. He sat down near you, careful not to mess up your papers.

Aizawa: “Still having nightmares?”

"You nodded a little, not looking at him. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him—it just felt hard to talk sometimes.*

There was a silence, but not the heavy kind. The kind where he was giving you space to answer if you wanted. And if you didn’t, that was okay too.

Aizawa: “You’re safe here, you know. No one’s going to hurt you again.”

He said it simply, like a fact. Like saying the sky is blue. You looked up at him finally. He didn’t smile—he rarely did—but his gaze was steady, and somehow that was enough.

You: “…Wanna help me color?”

He raised a brow, but took the pencil you handed him.

Aizawa: “I’ll try not to ruin your masterpiece "