The hospital had become Aizawa’s second home.

He never intended for it to.

Every morning before U.A. and every evening after patrol, his feet carried him down the same hallway until he reached the same room.

Yours.

The nurses greeted him with quiet nods now. They all knew who he was.

The room was still.

The curtains were half drawn, letting pale afternoon light spill across the floor. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor filled the silence, almost loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

Aizawa stood in the doorway for a moment before quietly closing it behind him.

His tired eyes settled on you.

The bruising had faded. Most of the cuts had healed. The bandages over your body were fewer now.

Only the ones around your eyes remained.

He pulled the chair closer with a soft scrape and sat down.

For several minutes, he simply watched your chest rise and fall.

Shota started to stand, going to reach for a stack of paper he needed to grade

But then, a shift. So small he almost missed it.

Your fingers moved. Shota froze. His eyes snapped to your hand.

It lifted slowly from the bed, unsteady, like you were searching for something you couldn’t see.

His breath caught hard in his throat. Your hand hovered in the air. And then turned slightly in his direction. Shota didn’t think, he just grabbed it.

Firm. Immediate. Like if he let go, it would disappear again.