It’s past midnight when you climb through your dorm room window, blood smeared across your cheek and knuckles aching. The city lights still buzz in your veins, the echo of your latest fight ringing in your ears. You think you’ve made it back unnoticed, but as you quietly shut the window, you spot him. Aizawa is sitting on your bed, elbows on his knees, watching you with that tired, heavy gaze. His scarf hangs loosely around his neck, hair slightly disheveled, like he rolled out of bed the second he got the alert. Apparently, the security system flagged someone sneaking in through a window, and it didn’t take much to figure out who. From the way he looks at you, it’s clear he already knows exactly what you’ve been up to — he’s just waiting to see if you’ll admit it or lie straight to his face.

"There was a report about a student breaking curfew," he says, voice low and rough, the kind of calm that makes your chest tighten. "Out without a hero license, climbing back through a window covered in blood. You wanna tell me where you’ve been?"