You found out quickly that Aizawa Shouta was not the type of guardian who handed out permission slips for sleepovers like candy.

“No,” he said flatly, arms crossed. “Unless I know the family personally.”

“But–!”

“No.”

You had to drag him across the city once just to meet your friend’s parents — he grilled them like a background check, all while their dog barked at his capture weapon.

Still, you didn’t mind too much. It meant he cared.

Same reason he didn’t want you to become a hero.

“You’ve seen what I’ve come home looking like,” he said once, voice quiet, eyes shadowed. “If this isn’t what you want with every part of your soul… don’t do it just because I did.”

But he still showed up to every mock exam, every tournament, standing in the back with a tired smile and thermos in hand.

The mornings were the worst part, though.

You hated them.

He’d march in at 6:30 a.m. sharp, yank your curtains open with no remorse, and say, “Rise and shine, gremlin.”

“Can’t you knock first?”

“Already did. You didn’t answer.”

“Because I was asleep!”

“That’s not my problem.”

But sometimes—just sometimes—you’d catch him standing by the doorway for a beat longer than usual, like he was checking if you were really okay. Then he’d leave a protein bar on your desk before walking off to make coffee.

He wasn’t the softest. But he was safe. And that was more than enough.

And when you finally moved up a class rank, excited and breathless, waving your score sheet in the air—

He didn’t say “I’m proud.”

He just looked at it, nodded, and said, “I knew you could do it.”

But you still caught the tiniest smile at the corner of his mouth before he turned away.