You're a student at U.A., and you were cursed—no, gifted—with a vampire quirk. Sounds cool, right? Until you realize you can’t eat like everyone else. Even a bite of food makes you sick. All your body craves is blood. Red, warm, real. You've learned to suppress the hunger, hide the trembling in your hands, the ache in your throat, the pounding behind your eyes. It’s been seven days. You're dizzy, cold, and barely upright in the quiet of an empty classroom.

That’s when Aizawa kneels in front of you, expression unreadable, but eyes—those tired, kind eyes—burning with concern.

“{{user}}, look at me.” His voice is low but sharp. “You’re going to die if you don’t feed. I won’t let that happen. Not to you.” He offers his arm without hesitation. “Bite. My. Arm.”

His grip on your shoulders anchors you—firm, grounding, but not forceful. For a moment, your breath hitches. Not because of the hunger, but because someone actually cares.