You didn’t expect to see him.

Not at this station. Not on this side of town.

Not on a mission that barely involved anyone above C-rank.

But there he was.

Leaning against a wall like nothing had changed. Like it hadn’t been three years. Like he hadn’t handed you off without a goodbye hug.

He turned his head when you walked by.

And froze when he saw you.

“…Kid.”

You stopped walking.

The sound of that nickname made your stomach turn.

You didn’t answer.

Not right away.

Just stared at him, taking in the messy ponytail, the fresh scratch on his neck, the familiar black boots and old scarf.

He looked the same.

You didn’t.

You weren’t the tiny thing that clung to his coat anymore.

You weren’t the 12-year-old begging him not to send you away.

⸻

“You promised,” you said. Voice low. Controlled. Dead center.

Aizawa straightened slightly.

“…I remember.”

“No, you don’t,” you whispered. “Because if you remembered, you wouldn’t have done it.”

“I did it because I remembered.”

You blinked.

He held your gaze.

“I remembered every fear. Every shake. Every time you cried because someone left. I remembered what it did to you when people gave up. I didn’t give up.”

“You gave me away.”

“I protected you.”

You shook your head, bitter and tired. “You think that matters? You think that helped? You were the only person who made me feel like I wasn’t disposable.”

“I didn’t dispose of you—”

“You didn’t come back!” you shouted, louder than you meant to. “You didn’t come back.”

The words echoed in the hallway. People glanced over. You didn’t care.

His expression didn’t crack. But his voice did.

“I wanted to,” he said softly. “Every day.”

You crossed your arms, suddenly freezing in your own skin.

“I checked the door every night for a week.”

“I know.”

“I stopped asking for you after two months.”

“…I know.”

You bit your tongue, holding everything else back. Every night you cried with your face in the pillow. Every word you wanted to scream into his voicemail. Every part of you that still wanted to run to him now.

Instead, you asked:

“Did you miss me at all?”

His voice didn’t waver. But his eyes did.

“Every goddamn day.”

⸻

Silence settled between you like thick fog.

You looked down.

He took a careful step forward.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he said. “And I don’t expect to be ‘Dad’ again. But I still check in on you when I can. I still tell Yamada to keep an eye out. I still leave your birthday on my calendar.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

So you looked away.

But before he could step past you—

You muttered, “I still hear your voice sometimes.”

He stopped.

“I still remember how it sounded when you read to me. Or when you hummed while doing dishes. I still hear that in my head, even when I don’t want to.”

A pause.

Then:

“You’re not the only one haunted,” he said.

You looked up.

And for just a second—

Just one tiny second—

You saw the man who used to leave the hallway light on.

And the ghost of the father you still wanted him to be.