You didn’t say goodbye when you left for the trip.

Didn’t say thanks either.

You just grabbed your bag, phone in hand, headphones on, and muttered something like, “I’ll be back in a few days, don’t burn the house down.”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow. “Right. Have fun.”

You were already halfway out the door.

He didn’t text you the entire time you were gone, and you didn’t message him either. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe you just didn’t think he cared that much — or maybe you didn’t want to admit you kind of hoped he did.

But the silence followed you even through the crowded dorm rooms and field activities.

He hadn’t messaged you.

Hadn’t liked any of your dumb trip photos either.

You pretended it didn’t bug you.

Until you came back and the house was exactly how you left it — but… quieter. You didn’t expect that.

No sound of the TV low in the background. No mug on the table. Just the cat curled up on the couch like you used to be.

You walked in, dropped your bag too hard, and flopped face-first on the couch.

You weren’t going to say anything. You didn’t plan to. But when he walked out of his room and looked at you—just looked, not surprised, not angry, just like he always did—you heard yourself mumble:

“…Hey.”

He leaned on the wall. “Trip end early?”

You shook your head. “Nah.”

“…You hungry?”

You shrugged. “A little.”

He moved to the kitchen without another word, and when he opened his wallet to grab the delivery receipt from earlier, you saw it again.

The photo of you. That old polaroid he pretends he keeps ironically — the one where you’re half-asleep, hoodie falling off your shoulder, annoyed and flipping off the camera.

You squinted. “Still carrying that around?”

He glanced at it. “Mm. Reminds me what peace and quiet looks like.”

You snorted. “Liar.”

“Maybe.”

He didn’t comment on the fact that you looked exhausted. That you barely ate the snack he handed you. That you fell asleep on the couch while he graded papers on the other end.

But he put the blanket over you anyway.