You were six—almost seven, you’d insist—when Aizawa found you. Scared, hidden in the corner of a villain’s lab, clutching a worn-out stuffed animal. You didn’t trust anyone at first. But Aizawa was patient. He didn’t ask too many questions, didn’t push you to talk. He just sat with you, offering quiet company until, one day, you crawled into his lap and fell asleep.

That was months ago. Now, you had a routine. You stayed at his apartment, helped feed the cats (or tried to, but they always ran from you), and clung to him whenever he left for patrol. Aizawa even learned how to braid hair just for you, because you liked the feeling of gentle fingers untangling the knots.

But sometimes, he brought up something you hated. Like now.

“They found a family willing to adopt you.”

Your heart clenched. You stared at him from your spot on the couch, hands gripping your blanket. “No.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Kid—”

“No!” You threw the blanket off, your tiny feet hitting the floor as you ran to him. You grabbed onto his capture weapon, shaking your head violently. “I don’t want a new family! I want you!”

Aizawa crouched to your level, his tired eyes soft. “I’m not a parent.”

“I don’t care!” Tears spilled over as you stomped your foot. “You braid my hair! You make my favorite food! You tuck me in! You—” Your voice wobbled. “You love me.”

Aizawa’s breath hitched, just slightly. Then, with a sigh, he pulled you into his arms, pressing your head against his shoulder. You sobbed into his shirt.

“I do,” he murmured, resting his chin on your head. “That’s why I want what’s best for you.”

He stayed silent. But his arms stayed around you, holding you close. Maybe, just maybe…

He was starting to want to keep you too.