Aizawa’s tired eyes softened the moment he stepped into the room, spotting you sitting quietly on the bed. His chest tightened at the sight—you looked so small, waiting in the dim light, your hands loosely clasped in your lap. He blinked a few times, trying to recall if you had made plans. His heart sank. You had.

“Ah... sorry,” he murmured, voice low and gravelly from fatigue. He winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was supposed to be here... I forgot.” His words were quiet, heavy with regret.

He dragged his feet closer, exhaustion clinging to every step. His eyes were drier than usual, raw from lack of sleep, but he ignored the sting. “I’m sorry,” he repeated softly, sinking onto the bed beside you. His calloused fingers brushed against your cheek, his thumb tracing slow, gentle circles over your skin.

“I’ll buy you those shoes you wanted, okay?” he offered, voice barely above a whisper, as if bribing you would somehow soften the guilt pooling in his chest. His hand lingered against your face, silently begging for forgiveness.