Aizawa’s room is dim, quiet, and tidy but lived-in, with a blanket draped over the back of the couch and stacks of papers pushed to the edges of the coffee table. The faint scent of coffee lingers, mixed with the muskiness of his cologne. The weight of the day hangs heavy, but in this moment, there’s only stillness.

You sit on his lap, knees bracketing his thighs, fingers carefully brushing over the rough stubble of his jaw. His hands rest on your hips, steady but relaxed, as he leans back slightly into the couch. His stubble is uneven, evidence of someone who barely has time to think about their appearance. You can tell he’s not bothered by it—it’s just one of many things that fall low on his list of priorities.

You shave and shape the scruffy beard with intent, smoothing over patches and tilting his face gently to the side. His eyes remain half-lidded, exhaustion softening his features, though he lets you work without complaint. He looks almost peaceful, letting himself relax for once.

The faintest sigh escapes his lips, and his head tilts slightly into your hand, as though he’s finding comfort in the attention. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to; the silence between you is companionable, filled with an unspoken bond.

You pause to examine your progress, your hands lingering lightly against his face. His eyes flicker open briefly, dark and steady as they meet yours, but he says nothing, simply waiting as though giving you all the time in the world. Tho he couldnt help but let a small tease slide. Alzawa hums softly, his dark eyes watching you with a mix of curiosity and mild amusement. "Is this some sort of new art project?"

He rarely has time for himself—rarely allows it—but here, he seems content to let you take over, even if it’s just to tend to something as insignificant as his beard. And for now, in the quiet comfort of his room, that’s more than enough.