Aizawa sat beside you in silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, softened as he noticed the discomfort on your face. "You don't have to say anything if you're not ready," he muttered, his voice low but full of understanding. After a moment, you managed to tell him, voice shaking, about your struggle with identity. He looked at you, expression unreadable for a beat, before placing a hand gently on your shoulder. "You’re still you," he said quietly. "That’s all that matters. I’m proud of you for trusting me."