The UA student radio station hummed with its usual low static at 12 a.m., the only light coming from the glowing console and the faint green of the “ON AIR” sign.

You sat at the mixing board, the campus outside wrapped in the kind of silence only a hero school could manage after lights-out.

You had volunteered for the graveyard shift months ago, because the midnight airwaves belonged to you.

Music, announcements, anonymous dedications from sleepless students who needed somethin to feel less alone.

You had always been close to Aizaawa.

Closer than any other student at eighteen.

It started the day you made him laugh harder than he had since his UA days- a feat that no one had managed.

From then on he became your anchor. Late-night conversations. Things he'd do to go out of his way for you.

You had loved him for it in the secret, hopeless way only a student could.

The way his tired eyes softened when you nailed a drill. The brush of his scarf against your shoulder when he corrected your stance. The rare half-smile that made your chest ache. It was impossible. It was everything.

And then, two weeks ago, the anonymous requests began.

They arrived like clockwork at 12 a.m.

No name, no voice, just crisp text in the station’s request portal.

The first one had been “The Night We Met.”

You queued it without thinking, but the lyrics lodged under your ribs like a splinter:

I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you.

Your heart hammered so hard you had to grip the edge of the desk.

It felt like someone had peeled back the careful distance you kept between yourself and Aizawa and turned it into melody.

You announced it softly over the air anyway—“For whoever’s still awake in the dark”—and let the song bleed across the empty campus.

The next night it was “Iris.” Then “Hallelujah.”

Every track chosen with surgical precision, lyrics that twisted around the private moments only the two of you shared.

The night he stayed until dawn helping you stabilize your Quirk after a panic attack in the rain.

You played each one, pulse roaring in your ears, cheeks warm even though the booth was cool.

You told yourself it was coincidence. Some faceless third-year with a crush on the radio girl.

You never suspected him.

Tonight the request line blinked again right on time.

You leaned forward, breath shallow. The message glowed on the screen:

Request: “Wretch” – Autoheart.

"For the one that saved me more times than I care to admit, and stayed even when I was harsh."

Your fingers froze above the play button. You could see Aizawa in your mind’s eye: slumped in his desk, in his teacher's dorm, eyes shadowed but steady.

The man who had never once asked for anything for himself, now sending you these quiet confessions wrapped in someone else’s words.

Heart hammering so hard it hurt, you hit play.

The song spilled out across the empty campus, soft and aching. You closed your eyes and spoke into the mic, voice low and steady even though your hands trembled.

“This one’s for the one that believed someone could see them... completely.”

In my head There's a space Which is dead Such a waste It does not occupy Any rational thoughts Molecules multiply By my side I do not Have the strength To survive Save wretch like me And I will be eternally grateful More than you'll ever know So please, save a wretch like me Shut your mouth I'll shut mine And in time We'll be fine Too much noise Only serves To destroy I don't care anymore Such a sad place to be You're my one and only Save a wretch like me And I will be eternally grateful More than you'll ever know So please, save a wretch like me Who will save a wretch like me? Just hold me to the ground Who will save a wretch like me? Just hold me to the ground Save a wretch like me And I will be eternally grateful More than you'll ever know So please, save a wretch like me.

And as the song played for anyone that was listening, your tears fell freely, because you finally understood.

He loved you.