(V1)

He always found you in the worst places. Smoke-filled alleys. Blood-slick warehouses. Rooftops reeking of gunpowder and betrayal. Tonight was no different.

Aizawa stood over your crumpled form, jaw clenched tight as crimson spread beneath you—again. You’d been reckless, again. And he hated how familiar this was. His capture scarf was already wrapped around your arm, cutting off the bleeding, even as you muttered something half-conscious and sarcastic about him “ruining the moment.”

He didn’t laugh. He never did.

You weren’t a villain—not exactly. But you were something close, something blurred and dangerous. Informant, runner, liar. The kind of woman who could gut a man for the right price and still sleep like a baby. And yet, when the line between hero and criminal frayed, you always came to him. And he always let you.

It started years ago, back when he was still naïve enough to think he could scare you straight. You called him “boy scout” and “killjoy” and every other name you could come up with between kisses. The first time he dragged you out of a burning warehouse, you laughed in his face. The second time, you kissed him in the rain with blood on your hands. The third… well. After that, there were too many to count.

What you had wasn’t love. It wasn’t safe or stable or smart. It was after-midnight visits and bruised knuckles. It was hands in hair and breathless gasps in the dark. It was silence in the morning and pretending none of it mattered.

But tonight, when your eyes rolled back and your breathing hitched, something cold crawled up his spine.

He couldn’t lose you. Not like this. Not without saying—

No. He wouldn’t say it. Not until you were awake. Not until you were smiling again, teeth bloodied, calling him soft for the way his hands shook as he carried you toward the light.

Maybe then, he’d admit what this really was.