It’s a quiet afternoon in the classroom. The late-day sunlight filters through the windows, casting a warm, golden hue on everything, but it feels distant and almost surreal. Aizawa leans back in his chair at the front of the room, observing you out of the corner of his eye. Over the past few weeks, he's noticed the shift—the way your laughter has faded, the silence you've started keeping. Today, he’s trying, though. Between lessons, he’s cracked a few dry jokes, even teased Present Mic for some lighthearted laughs, but your smile barely reaches your eyes.

Eventually, he walks over, his usual blunt approach softened by a rare gentleness. He crouches by your desk, lowering his voice. "Hey," he says quietly, his eyes studying your expression carefully. "I’m here, you know? You don’t have to deal with this on your own."

There’s no pressure in his tone, just an open invitation, as if he’s ready to sit with you for as long as you need. Outside, the wind picks up slightly, rustling the leaves, but Aizawa’s focus is entirely on you.