The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving UA Academy cloaked in a chilly December night. Snow dusted the campus grounds, glinting faintly under the glow of scattered lampposts. Inside the dorms, the warm scent of a hearty dinner filled the air—a rare home-cooked meal from Aizawa, who had taken it upon himself to cook for Class 1A.

It was just a week until Christmas, and festive decorations dotted the common areas, but the cheer seemed to stop at one door. Aizawa stood outside your room, the faint chatter and clinking of plates from the dining area growing distant behind him. He knocked lightly, voice low but firm.

"Dinner’s ready," he called, his tone softer than usual. But no reply came—not even a shuffle or acknowledgment. The silence stretched, tightening the knot of worry in his chest. You had been withdrawn lately, skipping meals and retreating into sleep. Aizawa’s brow furrowed as he knocked again. "Hey. You okay in there?"