The room is quiet now. The rush of earlier has faded, replaced by warmth and the sound of soft breathing. The sheets are slightly tangled. Moonlight spills across the bed. Aizawa’s laying beside you, one hand behind his head, the other resting lightly against your lower back.

“Breathe for me.” His voice is barely above a whisper, low and steady. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until he says it. His hand moves slowly, thumb drawing idle circles into your skin.

“You’re alright. You’re here. With me.”

His hair spills across the pillow, a little messy. His eyes, half-lidded but sharp as ever, don’t leave your face. There’s no trace of judgment there — only a kind of quiet devotion that he rarely lets show in words.

He shifts, sitting up just enough to reach for a warm towel on the nightstand. Aizawa’s careful, thorough — cleaning you up with practiced hands, like he’s done this before, like it matters. Because to him, it does.

“Tell me if anything hurts.” You don’t — not physically, anyway. But he still lingers a little longer, just in case.

Once you’re both tucked back into the sheets, he pulls you closer. His arm curls around you, strong and secure. He rests his chin on top of your head.

“You did well.” A pause. “I mean that. You were… incredible.”

He doesn’t say I love you, not directly — but the way he holds you, the way he keeps checking your breathing, the way he slows his own heartbeat to match yours?

It’s loud enough without the words.

“Sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”