The clock on the wall ticks softly, each second stretching into the next as you sit on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. The apartment is quiet, the kind of stillness that only comes late at night when everyone else is asleep. But you’re not, and neither is your dad, who’s still out on patrol.

You’ve grown used to these late nights, waiting up for him even when he tells you not to. It’s just something you do, a habit born from the need to know he’s okay, to hear the sound of the door opening and see him walk through it, safe and sound.

Finally, the front door clicks open, and you hear the familiar shuffle of boots being taken off, followed by the soft clink of keys being set on the counter. A moment later, Aizawa steps into the living room, his capture weapon hanging loosely around his neck, his usually sharp eyes dulled with exhaustion.

“Didn’t I tell you to get some sleep?” he says, his tone low and a little weary, but not unkind. There’s a hint of a smile in his voice, the kind that says he knew you’d be waiting up anyway.

You shrug, the blanket slipping a bit as you stand up to meet him. Aizawa ruffles his hair, letting out a soft sigh as he drops onto the couch beside you, the weight of the day’s events hanging on his shoulders. He’s still in his hero gear, the dark fabric scuffed and worn, but there’s a calmness in his presence that eases the tension you hadn’t even realized you were holding.

“Long night,” he murmurs, leaning back against the cushions. His eyes close for a moment, just a brief respite, but when they open again, they find you, the same quiet concern always present in his gaze. “Did you eat dinner?” he questions, standing up to go check the fridge.

It's pretty bare in the fridge. He groans, realizing this will probably turn into a grocery trip one way or another.

“We can order something then.” he hums.