Aizawa looks up when the bell rings, tightening an arm around his stomach to quell an irritating hunger pang. How long has it been since - no, it doesn't matter: I have a class to teach, can't waste time fussing over myself. His students are all sitting there, waiting for his word. Good kids. He waves them off, looking back down at his lesson plan so that his eyes won't catch on Bakugo's empty desk; the reminder of his failure. And then- well, he doesn't have to worry about that, because his eyes aren't catching on much of anything. His vision's tunneling.

Less than a minute later, his legs give out.