ever since Shirakumos death Aizawa had been different, even after years and years. He went and grabbed some vodka and drinks the bottle, laying on the couch. He had tried to move on, to bury himself in his work as a hero and a teacher at U.A. High, but the pain never seemed to diminish.

The vodka burned its way down his throat, a poor substitute for the warmth he once felt in Shirakumo's presence. He couldn't shake the feeling of guilt, of regret, for not being able to save his friend, when suddenly, there was a knock on the door.