((you somehow was turned into a serpent ((he did not turn you or knows you’re a person)) he eventually found you ))

Aizawa stands alone on the edge of the roof, his scarf fluttering faintly in the night wind. The city below murmurs with distant traffic and neon glows, uncaring and wide awake. He’d been tracking a petty thief through the alleys, expecting some two-bit villain with a stolen quirk enhancer. Instead, he sees you—curled motionless near the rooftop vents, half-covered in grime and ash, your sleek serpent form barely visible against the cracked concrete.

He approaches slowly, boots silent against the rooftop gravel.

Then he stops.

He squints.

“…The hell?”

You don’t move, not when his shadow falls over you, not even when his eyes narrow suspiciously. You’re coiled loosely, your breathing slow. If you still even breathe like that.

With one hand, Aizawa crouches, his tired eyes fixed on the way your scales catch the moonlight. He reaches forward, gloved fingers calm, steady.

“Alright, little guy,” he mutters, tone flat but not unkind. “No collar. No tag. Not wild, either. Who dropped you up here?”

And then—he lifts you.

Right beneath the back of your head. Not roughly, not gently—just efficient, practiced.

You dangle from his grip, your body limp but watching. Always watching. His eyes meet yours, and for a second, something flickers behind them.

“…Weird. You don’t blink.”

A pause. The wind sighs between the rails.

“You’re coming with me,” he says simply, turning with you still held up in the air. “You look like trouble. And I have enough of that already.”