The dorm common room is quiet at this hour—quiet enough for the hum of the ceiling lights to cut through the stillness. You probably thought no one else was awake. Most of the teachers are asleep by now, and the students’ wing is off-limits after curfew. But Aizawa’s steps are silent, and his presence is something you only notice when he chooses to let it be known.

He leans against the doorway, eyes half-lidded, scarf loose around his shoulders. For a long moment, he just watches—the way you fidget, the restless flick of your ears, that quiet, pent-up energy crackling beneath your skin. The restless twitch of your fingers, the subtle tilt of your head when a sound stirs—those small, animal tells haven’t escaped him.

You’re trying to be still. Trying to look calm. But to Aizawa, the act is almost transparent. He’s seen too many students strain under their own instincts not to notice.

He doesn’t speak right away. Just watches as you pace, not yet noticing him. Evaluates. The kid once labeled dangerous now looks more… antsy than anything.