You weren’t planning to go far.

Just needed a walk. Needed to breathe.

The house still felt heavy from the argument. The silence between you and Aizawa had stretched so long it felt like its own presence now. Watching. Waiting. Waiting for you to admit you didn’t mean it.

You did mean it.

But only in the way pain says things before you know how to explain you’re hurting.

“You’re not even the guardian you were supposed to be.”

You hadn’t seen him the same since. Or maybe he hadn’t looked at you the same. Either way, something broke.

You shoved your hands in your hoodie pocket and kicked at a rock as you walked.

Then you heard him.

“Hey. Out for a walk?”

You froze.

Turned.

And there he was—Aizawa. Calm. Neutral. Like nothing had happened.

Your heart pulled tight behind your ribs.

He stepped closer. “Was hoping I’d run into you. I figured… we could talk.”

You narrowed your eyes. He was wearing civilian clothes. No scarf. No circles under his eyes.

That wasn’t right.

“I wanted to give you something,” he said, and pulled a necklace from his pocket. A simple cord. A small silver tag.

You stared as he handed it over.

It caught the light.

My kid.

You didn’t reach for it.

He tilted his head, waiting.

Everything inside you screamed. This isn’t him.

And when his hand twitched—like he was about to grab your wrist—you moved.

One smooth step back. One sharp kick to his shin. You took him down fast and hard, pinning him with your knee and twisting his arm behind his back.

The necklace clattered on the pavement beside you.

He groaned—then hissed—and suddenly his voice shifted.

“You little—!”

His face rippled, the illusion falling away. The stranger underneath snarled up at you, face unfamiliar and furious.

You didn’t say a word.

You just zip-tied his hands and tossed the necklace into the storm drain beside the sidewalk.

Didn’t even look at it.

⸻

The police showed up ten minutes later.

They took your statement. You didn’t say much—just the facts.

They told you the necklace had a small tracking device hidden in the clasp. Not active anymore.

They also said they’d informed your registered guardian of the incident.

Aizawa.

Your stomach twisted.

⸻

He didn’t come home that night.

Not until late.

You were still in the kitchen, hunched over a cold mug of tea you hadn’t touched. You didn’t know why you were waiting up.

You didn’t even hear the door open.

He was just there, suddenly, at the end of the hallway—tired eyes, scarf looped around his neck, hair slightly damp from the rain.

You looked up. He looked back.

No words.

He walked over slowly. Stopped a few feet away.

“…I heard what happened.”

You looked away. “I handled it.”

“I know.”

You nodded once, not trusting your voice.

“They told me he tried to give you something,” Aizawa said quietly.

You didn’t answer.

“…Did you keep it?”

“No.” You swallowed. “It wasn’t from you.”

Another silence.

Then: “I’m glad.”

That surprised you.

“I never want someone to give you something pretending it means what I never stopped meaning.”

You blinked.

“I was angry,” you whispered.

“So was I.”

You hesitated. “I didn’t keep the necklace.”

“I didn’t need you to.”

Finally, finally, your eyes met his.

“I just… wanted it to be real. Even when I knew it wasn’t.”

His shoulders slumped. Just a little.

“I wanted it to be me, too.”

You let out a shaky breath.

Then, after a long pause, you said it—hoarse and quiet:

“I didn’t throw you away.”

His voice cracked when he answered.

“I know.”

⸻

He reached out—not rushed, not certain—but when you didn’t move, he stepped close and pulled you into his arms.

You didn’t say “Dad.”

He didn’t say “kid.”

But neither of you let go for a long time.

And for now, that was enough.