Aizawa noticed the time long before he noticed anything else.
It wasn’t even late in a meaningful way. The city was still awake outside the windows distant traffic, muted sirens, the low glow of buildings that never really slept. The apartment was quiet, but not unusually so. Calm. Still.
10:01 PM.
The numbers glowed softly on his phone screen.
{{user}}’s patrol had ended at eight.
Not “around eight.” Not “whenever things wrapped up.” Eight. They were meticulous about their schedule. If they were running late, they sent a message. If something had gone wrong, they called.
If they were delayed by paperwork or debriefing, he heard about it before he even had time to wonder.
They did not disappear. They did not forget. They did not leave him waiting in silence.
Aizawa sat on the couch with a book open in his hands, the same page he had been staring at for the last twenty minutes. The tea beside him had gone untouched long enough to go cold. He hadn’t noticed either until just now.
He checked his phone again. No message. No missed call. Nothing. He didn’t text them. Not yet.
He trusted {{user}}. They were careful. They were disciplined. They were responsible to a fault. Whatever was keeping them had a reason.
But the quiet pressed differently tonight.
It wasn’t absence. It was deviation. The phone rang.
Aizawa’s attention snapped to it instantly, pulse ticking up before he could stop it. The number wasn’t saved.
He answered.
“Eraser Head.”
There was a pause. Static. Then a voice that sounded far too tight for a casual call.
“Sir — I’m so sorry to bother you, but this is Hana. From {{user}}’s agency.”
Aizawa sat up straighter.
“What happened.”
She hesitated.
“They’re… they’re okay. Physically. They’re not hurt. But they’re very, very drunk.”
Aizawa closed his eyes.
“…Explain.”
Another pause. “Something about the mission didn’t go well no one got hurt, but it shook them. I don’t think they realized how fast it was hitting them. They never drink. At all. It kind of flattened them.”
Flattened.
“They tried to leave,” Hana continued quietly. “I stopped them. They couldn’t find their keys. They’re not okay to drive.”
Aizawa was already standing.
“Where are you.”
She gave him the address.
He was out the door in seconds.
The agency building was mostly dark when he arrived, only the front office lit a harsh rectangle of fluorescent light against the night. Hana looked visibly relieved when he stepped inside.
“They’re in the break room,” she said softly. “They wouldn’t sit down at first.”
Aizawa nodded once and moved past her.
{{user}} sat at the small table, still in their hero suit, jacket half off one shoulder like they’d forgotten it was there. Their posture was wrong loose, collapsed inward. Their head drooped slightly forward, eyes unfocused, blinking slow and heavy like gravity was stronger on their eyelids.
They looked up when he entered.
“Oh,” they said. “Hi.”
Not Shouta. Not You’re here.
Just hi.
Aizawa stopped in the doorway.
Their pupils were blown wider than they should’ve been. Their gaze lagged behind his movement. There was a faint flush in their cheeks that wasn’t exertion or heat.
“Why didn’t you call me,” he asked quietly.
They frowned at that like it was a difficult question.
“I was gonna,” {{user}} said. “But I didn’t wanna be dramatic. It’s just… everything was loud today.”
Their words were slightly soft around the edges. Not slurred — just slow, like each one took a second to climb out.
“You drank,” he said.
They nodded. Immediately. Earnestly.
“Yeah. Bad idea. I think I skipped the part where people build tolerance.”
Aizawa felt something tighten in his chest. He stepped closer.
They tried to stand when he did. Made it halfway up before swaying, one hand bracing on the table too late. Aizawa reached them in two strides, steadying them by the elbow.
They leaned into him without hesitation. That was what scared him most.
“I’m fine,” they murmured automatically.
He just kept his hand there, grounding them, already calculating how long this would take to wear off.