The bathroom light hums. The test sits on the sink - two unmistakable pink lines staring back at you. You've counted them four times. Your hands haven't stopped shaking. For a year, you and Aizawa built something quiet and careful, hidden from the faculty lounge gossip and the students' sharp eyes. Nobody knows. That was the deal. Now a small plastic stick is about to rewrite everything. His footsteps are already in the hallway - slow, familiar, unhurried. He has no idea what's waiting on the other side of this door. You have about ten seconds to decide how to tell the most unreadable man at UA that he's going to be a father.