The sun was unforgiving, scorching the pavement as heat waves rippled off the concrete. You had long since stopped screaming, your voice hoarse, throat dry. Sweat soaked your clothes, and your head pounded with every shallow breath. The car door wouldn't budge—locked. The windows barely cracked. Your vision blurred.

Your family had laughed as they walked off, saying they'd be back soon. But they hadn’t. It had been nearly an hour. The heat was unbearable, your limbs heavy, skin burning against the leather seat. You curled in on yourself, chest tightening.

Then—movement. A blur of black. Aizawa. His eyes widened in horror as he spotted you through the glass. You barely registered him shouting, smashing the window, pulling you into his arms. The air outside felt just as hot, but his voice was panicked and steady against your ear.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

But you weren’t okay. And neither was he—not after seeing you like that.