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Eri could tell it was a bad day from the moment she woke.
On a good day, the sounds of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen would rouse her. She’d walk out to the table and hear the radio playing softly on the counter. Aizawa would greet her as he always did, with a pat on the head and a half-smile, and ask how she slept. Over time, she’d learned that she could earn a real smile from him if she smiled, too. Learned that he genuinely wanted to know how she was. Learned that he wanted to listen to her talk, hands flapping around as she jumped from topic to topic in a way he once told her reminds him of Mister Mic.
But on a bad day, like today, the apartment was quiet. No cooking sounds, no music, not even the low hum of the box fan Aizawa kept in his room. The silence rang in her ears as she got up and opened her door as quietly as she could. She peered out into the living room, looking toward the spot on the wall where heavy curtains hid the bay window.
Mister Mic helped put them up a couple months ago, squabbling with Aizawa over whether or not he was screwing the rods in straight while Eri sat on the couch and watched with wary eyes. She liked the sun, liked watching the clouds from the cushions laid out for her on the narrow bench beneath the window, hated the way the curtains made the living room feel small, like the walls were closing in on her. But she held her tongue, reminding herself over and over that Aizawa and Mister Mic cared for her, would never do anything to hurt her.
It had taken her several weeks to work up the courage to ask Mister Mic what the curtains were for. Migraines, he’d told her. Really bad headaches that Aizawa had sometimes, something to do with his quirk. She suspected it also had something to do with the jagged scar under his eye. An injury from his hero work was all he’d told her when she asked him about it, but as she traced the scar with careful little fingers he’d had a far-away look in his eyes that scared her. She never brought it up again, never asked about the scars up and down the strong arms that held her after a nightmare and crisscrossing the hands that soothed the itch of her own scars with sweet-smelling lotions.
Today the curtains were closed, which meant it was a bad day. A migraine day.
Eri wrapped her blanket around her shoulders like a cape, a self-comfort she’d picked up after her rescue. She ventured out into the dim living room, padding softly past Aizawa's door so she didn't wake him. A while back, Miss Midnight made her a special basket for days like this, and she found it in the cabinet under the kitchen sink. It was always stocked with coloring books, crayons, puzzles, stickers, snacks, things she could use to entertain herself until Aizawa felt well enough to join her in the living room. She retrieved a juice box from the fridge and a banana from the counter and added them to her basket. She thought about bringing him something, wished she knew how to make the mint tea that seemed to help his migraines, but she'd been expressly forbidden to use the stove and she couldn't reach the microwave on her own. Maybe he'd have something she could help with when he woke up.
When she shut the cabinet door, she didn't catch it in time to prevent it from slamming. She winced, and then froze when she heard a low groan from the living room. Tugging anxiously at the hem of her blanket, she edged her way around the kitchen counter, only relaxing when she saw the fuzzy rainbow cat socks she'd given Aizawa for his birthday dangling over the edge of the couch. Reassured, she shuffled over to rest her hands on the arm of the couch by his feet.
He was curled up on his side beneath a blanket, his arm held at that awkward angle that meant his elbow was hurting him. A wet cloth lay across his eyes, hiding the top half of a face scrunched up in pain. He shifted subtly, every couple seconds, unable to find a comfortable position for his aching body.
Oh, so it was a very bad day, one of the days where everything came together at the same time to put him completely out of commission. Eri sighed, a sound too old for her years, and patted his ankle.
“Hi, Daddy.”
He turned his head until the cloth fell away and cracked an eye to peer at her. “Hey.”
“It’s a bad day,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“Yeah.”
She studied his face for a moment. “Do you want me to call Mister Mic?”
Aizawa huffed a laugh, a smile tugging at the corners of his grimace. “Oh, god, no. Too loud.” He nudged her shoulder with a foot and she giggled. “I’ll be fine. Have you eaten?”
“I found a banana. Do you want one? We’re out of apples.”
“No, thanks. Give me a minute, and I’ll get up and cook you something.”
“Daddy,” she chided. She moved to the front of the couch to set her hands on his scruffy cheeks, squishing his face between them. “I’m okay! I found my basket. You should take a nap. Do you want me to sit with you?”
He reached out to squish her round cheeks in return. She didn’t miss the way his fingers trembled, but she held still for him. “Sure, kid. I’d like that.”
Eri hummed in approval, a beaming smile stretching her face before she skipped away to fetch her basket and breakfast. When she returned, Aizawa was in the middle of an effort to hoist himself into a more upright position, gritting his teeth against a pained noise. She watched him arrange a pillow behind himself, worrying her lip. There had to be something she could do for him, right? She picked at a loose thread on her blanket and suddenly it hit her. Her blanket!
She slid it from her shoulders and held it up to scrutinize it. Deku gave it to her for Christmas, among other things - between Deku, Mirio, and Aizawa she’d been quite spoiled for the holiday. It was soft, pink with white hearts on it, and it was her very favorite and most special belonging. It always made her feel better, so maybe it would help him too.
“Eri?”
She looked over and found him watching her curiously. She bunched the blanket up in her hands and took a halting step toward him. “Um...Mirio said that...heroes wear capes to wrap up people in pain. It’s not a cape, and...I’m not a hero, but…” She held the blanket out, meeting his eyes resolutely. “I think this can help you, if you want it.”
She couldn’t decipher the soft look on Aizawa’s face, but the anxiety drained from her shoulders when he nodded. She threw the blanket over him as best she could, taking extra special care to straighten the corners and tuck in the edges. When she finished, she stepped back to admire her handiwork and was startled to find a genuine smile on Aizawa’s face. She returned it easily.
“Did it help?”
“Yeah.” He set a hand on her head and she leaned into his touch. “It sure did.”
Eri wiggled happily and sat with her back to the couch and her basket beside her. She started with her breakfast, peeling her banana with minimal squishing, an accomplishment she felt quite proud of. Once finished, she took the peel and her empty juice box to the trash. Aizawa was asleep when she returned, his fidgeting stilled and some of the tension in his face smoothed over. She smiled to herself, flipped to the next blank page in one of her notebooks, and began to color.
Hours later, when Aizawa woke feeling noticeably better, he carried a napping Eri to her bed and put her drawing of the Pro Hero Blanket Girl up on the fridge where it would stay for years.