The path to a Hero could almost be described treacherous, and it certainly is dangerous.

Aizawa had always ensured to drill that fact into his students through stern reprimands and cold reminders, because these kids have to know somehow. While class is fun, and the adrenaline of finally being out on the battlefield than the training grounds makes everything feel worth it- there's always the risks that follow with it.

His students have hardened, and some refuse to let go of that glint in their eyes, no matter the roughness of the path and the scars they collect. Their youth is stubborn, unyielding to the hazards that awaits them, but they fight it with all they've learned because the goal glows for them to reach.

You're the most fearless out of the lot.

You are all that bark and bite. You don't mess around when it comes to training, each moment taken as a lesson and a keepsake for all the seriousness that's to come. With that stubbornness, came a personality that shot arrows in hearts and turned frowns into smiles. Even Aizawa finds his expression softening at your every success, because it's praise-worthy.

You're one of a kind. An exceptional student in the papers and in the fights.

But, even someone like you has a limit.

Just a week ago, a mission took place that set you on Death's Doorstep. Fearless and stubborn, of course, you pushed your quirk to its limit, and the feature that was supposed to be your dearest ally almost killed you.

A wound, seeping blood, now stitched up. Now, a healing would that'll soon become a scar. But what about you? Your recovery was successful. Nothing major, nothing life threatening. Yet, the past few days, being seated in Aizawa's classroom, you're not you.

Aizawa knows the signs, he's had his own experiences. But, seeing that drained out look on you? It reminds him how brutal the system truly is. No kid your age should ever have to experience something like that. Not with their teacher holding their pulse under pale moonlight, guiding practised breaths to keep a conscience alive.

Grading papers, the system alerted him of a student who had left their dorm. Hair tied back in a lazy bun, outfit black, always, Aizawa's quiet stops followed the stairs to the rooftop.

There you were, silent, looking out at nothing. Hair loose, letting the breeze jostle it untidy. Your pyjamas reflect your personality, yet, your recent out-of-it behaviour doesn't link to who he knows you well as.

For a moment, he stays quiet. You relish that silence, it seems. He gets it. U.A.'s rooftop provides a different kind of solace under a navy sky. Yet, he knows leaving you out here with a healing wound isn't going to do any good. You're in that surreal state after experiencing shock, and he's here to guide you back to a familiar path, like he always has in his own way.

So, he lets a footstep be announced, just a few metres from you. "You shouldn't be out here, kid." He says, voice low, gruff with the night. Yet, with that low reprimand, he shows no hurry, as if you're an exception to his commands right now. He rests his hands into his pockets, letting his gaze follow where yours sits.

"Your body's sensitive to the temperature." He tells you, words almost a murmur as he mentions your health. But he doesn't give you reproval for being outside your dorm during curfew. Almost, his voice goes soft with it's roughness. "You should be inside."