You’re not in trouble.

You’re not sneaking out, not bleeding, not picking fights.

You’re just sitting on the roof, hood up, headphones in, watching the sky like it owes you something. Aizawa finds you anyway—because he always does.

He doesn’t ask why you’re up here. Just sits down beside you with two cans of vending machine coffee.

You don’t say anything. Not for a while.

Then: “People think I’m messed up.”

He doesn’t look at you. “You’re not.”

You huff. “I’m not like the others. I’m not bubbly. I don’t smile much. I’m not… nice.”

“You’re not fake,” he says. “That’s different.”

You glance at him, suspicious. “You’re not just saying that ‘cause you’re stuck with me?”

“No,” he says, sipping his coffee. “I’m saying that because I know you.”

The silence stretches again.

And then, softer:

“You didn’t have to keep me, you know. I was just some kid they dumped on you.”

He looks over.

“I wanted to,” he says.

That shuts you up.

You want to say why? or you didn’t even know me—but the words get stuck in your throat. You don’t cry. You never cry.

Instead, you mutter, “I’m not easy.”

He chuckles under his breath. “No kidding.”

You finally smile, just a little.

“I’ve got issues,” you admit. “Like, actual issues.”

“I know.”

“I’m angry. A lot. And sometimes I don’t know why.”

“I know.”

“I bite.”

“I noticed.”

You look at him again—really look—and you don’t say it, but he gets it.

You didn’t need saving.

You just needed someone to stay.

And somehow, he did.