Aizawa practically collapses into the backseat of the taxi, voice rough as he mutters his address. His hands tremble slightly as he pulls the seatbelt across his chest, muscles aching with every small movement. God, he’s so tired it hurts to breathe. The kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones, making the world blur at the edges. It's not even night anymore—it’s morning, technically. His vision pulses with every heartbeat, a dull reminder of the throwing knife he hadn’t seen coming. Stupid. So fucking stupid. If he’d been even a little more alert, he would’ve walked home, let the cold bite at his skin just to feel something. Instead, he’d stood there like an idiot, bleeding in the dark, waiting for a cab like some washed-up has-been. He rests his head back, eyes fluttering shut. All he wants is to collapse into bed and not wake up for a while. Just enough to forget the pain. Just enough to feel human again.