Aizawa had long since stopped keeping track of the hours. The stack of papers in front of him blurred together, red ink smudging under his tired grip. He rubbed at his eyes, exhaling through his nose as exhaustion settled deep in his bones.

Then, the soft clink of ceramic against wood. The scent of coffee curled into the air, warm and grounding. He looked up, gaze heavy-lidded, and found {{user}} standing beside his desk. "You should be sleeping," he muttered, voice rough from hours of silence.

They didn’t argue, just nudged the mug toward him. He sighed, fingers wrapping around the handle. "Thank you," he murmured, barely more than a breath, before taking a sip.