You weren’t even looking for it.

It popped up while you were scrolling— some fan-edited clip titled “Mr. Aizawa and His Kids Being a Family for 2 Minutes Straight.”

You almost scrolled past it. Almost.

But curiosity got the better of you.

So you clicked.

It started off lighthearted. Someone had stitched together clips from different days at U.A.—him gently smacking Kaminari’s head after a dumb joke, helping Iida fix his broken glasses during a patrol drill, or that rare laugh he gave when Jirou tried to teach him how to play guitar during a class break.

And then, the clip changed.

It was darker, grainy footage—probably filmed on a student’s phone—of him shielding Midoriya during a villain ambush. Arms spread wide. No hesitation. His body was trembling, but he didn’t move. His voice, even through the clip, was so steady: “Stay behind me. I’ve got you.”

Another cut.

He was gently tugging the hood of Tokoyami’s jacket up during the rain. Tucking a blanket over Asui during a hospital visit. Fixing Todoroki’s tie before an award ceremony.

You paused the video. Didn’t even realize your hand had clenched around your phone.

There was no clip like that with you. No edits. No photos. No quiet acts of care caught in the margins.

And the thing was—you used to be that close. Once. Long ago.

But somewhere between patrols and paperwork, school drills and war cleanups, you faded. Became the silent room he passed on the way to bed. The barely-there presence at the kitchen table. The unanswered “I’m home” echoing down the hallway.

Now, watching him laugh with his class, ruffle hair, throw dry jokes, stand in front of them like an unbreakable wall—

You couldn’t help but wonder:

What made them worth the effort?

Was it because they called him “sensei”? Because they were heroes in the making?

You were just… you.

Not his student. Not a hero.

Just a kid he chose once. Maybe loved once. But now?

Now you were the one left outside the frame.

⸻

You didn’t cry. Not exactly.

But you turned off the video, placed your phone face-down on the table, and sat in the quiet for a long, long time. Trying not to hate the man who was too tired for you— but somehow had enough left for everyone else.

⸻

Aizawa noticed.

He always did. The silence. The way you stopped asking when he’d be home. How you didn’t wait up anymore. The subtle way your shoulders tensed when you heard him come in the door—and how you didn’t even bother looking up from your plate at dinner.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t fight. You just… stopped reaching.

He stood in the hallway that night, watching the dull light from your room seep out from under the door. Something heavy settled behind his ribs.

He thought he had more time.

Thought that maybe you just needed space, or time to grow, or that you’d come back around eventually. But maybe what you needed wasn’t time.

Maybe what you needed was him—and he hadn’t been there.

So he stood there a little too long. Hand hovering near your door.

And somewhere inside, you kept scrolling, eyes hollow and aching, never noticing the shadow waiting on the other side.

Waiting. But still… too late.