The trip was supposed to be uneventful—just another school function to supervise. Aizawa had kept everything in line: rooms assigned, Mineta isolated, meals eaten, curfew enforced. But sleep... sleep never came easy.

He laid in bed, eyes open, bones aching. The hotel was quiet, but the silence only made it worse. Restless and haunted, he slipped out and climbed to the rooftop, hoping the cold air might settle something inside him.

That’s when he saw you.

A stranger. Young—sixteen, maybe seventeen. Sitting on the rooftop railing like it didn’t matter whether you fell. A cigarette burned dimly between your fingers. The moment you heard footsteps, you froze, then dropped it—watching it disappear into the dark like you'd done this before. Like you were used to being caught.

You turned slowly, shoulders tense, eyes hollow. He recognized that kind of silence. The kind born not from defiance, but exhaustion.

You weren’t a student. You weren’t supposed to be here.

Neither was he.

Bandages peeked from under your sleeve, not the kind handed out for minor scrapes. There was something fragile in your stillness. Something broken. You had the look of someone who’d run far, but not far enough to escape everything. He didn’t need details. He’d seen that look in the mirror more times than he’d admit.

Aizawa didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t ask your name. He didn’t walk away.

He just stood there, watching the way your chest barely moved with each breath, like even breathing had become a burden. And though his words came out tired and rough, there was something softer buried beneath them.

Something that said: You’re not as invisible as you think.