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The first time Aiziawa met you he didn’t really think much of you.
You were one of Eri’s caregivers, assigned to watch her and her quirk development. And since you seemed qualified and Eri didn't shrink from your presence, Aizawa saw no immediate reason to pay you any further mind. You were simply a variable in Eri's recovery, just doing your job.
The first few times you spent with Eri, Aizawa was watching of course. He wanted to make sure she was in good hands.
He stood in the observation room, arms crossed, as you sat on the floor of the sunny therapy room with Eri. You weren't trying to test her Quirk or push her limits. You were showing her how to press flowers between sheets of wax paper.
"See?" you said, your voice soft and steady. "They're fragile, but if we're gentle, we can keep their beauty safe." you guided her hands gently, her eyes were wide in fascination as she pressed the flower in.
Aizawa gave a single, slow nod in the privacy of the empty room. Not bad, he conceded silently. You certainly understand the assignment.
For weeks, his interactions with you were strictly professional, limited to clipped exchanges about Eri's progress, meal times, and sleep schedules. But Aizawa was a man whose survival depended on noticing the details others missed, and against his better judgment, the details about you began to compile.
He noticed the pocket of your cardigan always held a few wrapped candies, not only for Eri, but also for tired students who came by to visit Eri after a long day.
He noticed the way you spoke to Eri—not with pity, but with compassion and a kind smile.
He noticed the way you always stayed patient even when things didn’t go smoothly. He watched you endure a spilled glass of juice or a sudden, fearful outburst without a single flicker of irritation, your smile remaining a kind, constant presence.
He tried not to think much of it. Of course he’d start noticing things when he sees you everyday. There’s nothing unusual about it. He’s just taking note of what kind of person you are just in case. That’s all there is to it.
The turning point was a bad night. Not just difficult—bad. Eri was sobbing, shaking, and screaming uncontrollably after a particularly nightmare. Her quirk had flared, a single horn sparking. Aizawa had activated Erasure, but the emotional storm remained. Then you arrived. Your hair was mussed from sleep, your eyes soft with drowsiness, having been summoned urgently from your on-campus residence. You took in the scene in a single, sweeping glance—the trembling girl, the hero at his wit's end. Your gaze didn't linger on Eri's horn, but on Aizawa's face, on the rare, unguarded panic etched into his features. You first made your way to him. Giving him a small nod and a smile, “I got her. You can stand down, Aizawa-san.” you'd said softly, your gaze holding his tired one.
The permission to stop, to not have to be the sole pillar holding up the world for a moment, was something he hadn't realized he needed. Aizawa released his Quirk, his dry eyes stinging, he watched as you knelt before Eri, your voice a low, soothing hum, and talked her through the panic attack, your words causing visible relief to the trembling child.
After that, the walls came down, brick by brick.He started seeking your opinion on everything, from bedtime stories to coping strategies. He began lingering after your sessions, inventing flimsy excuses about "protocol" and "scheduling," but the truth was far simpler: he just wanted to exist in the quiet, calming space you created. The daily reports became the highlight of his routine, not for the data on Eri's progress, but for the few precious minutes of your undivided attention.
He noticed even more details about you. He noticed how your eyes gleamed with genuine, unadulterated pride when you recounted Eri's smallest victories. He saw the way you'd shyly tuck a strand of hair behind your ear when Mic praised your patience. He'd memorized the specific sound of your giggle.
And he noticed, most disturbingly, that he was starting to notice you too much
It was a quiet invasion. The thought of you would cross his mind at the most inopportune times. During a tedious staff meeting, he'd find himself wondering if you'd managed to get Eri to try the new brand of apple juice. While grading papers at 2 AM, his brain would supply the memory of your laugh from earlier that day, a sound that was somehow both gentle and bright. He began to recognize the specific rhythm of your footsteps in the hallway and would feel an inexplicable sense of anticipation when they drew near.
It was illogical. It was unprofessional. And it was, much to his chagrin, becoming a persistent fact of his life.
That was the problem— Aizawa was a pro hero. The warmth spreading through his chest when you smiled at him was a vulnerability. The way his focus snagged on you during patrol was a security risk. You were a civilian. Your world was one of quiet nights and bedtime stories, while his was one of violence and perpetual danger. To drag you into his orbit was not just selfish, it was negligent. You deserved stability, a partner who came home at a reasonable hour, not one who might not come home at all.
He was emotionally reticent, chronically sleep-deprived, and his life was not his own—it belonged to UA, to his students, to the safety of the public. What could he truly offer you? Fragments of time stolen between crises? It wasn't enough. You deserved more. You deserved everything.
The realization was a cold splash of water. This… fondness… wasn't a development; it was a liability. For you.
And so Aizawa distanced himself.
The daily reports were received with a curt nod and filed away without comment. If you tried to share a small victory about Eri, he’d respond with a flat "That's your job." The warmth in his eyes when he looked at you was replaced by a familiar, professional detachment. He made sure your interactions were strictly transactional and devoid of the quiet intimacy that had begun to bloom.
When you tried to engage him in conversation, his responses were clipped, his eyes carefully avoiding yours. He was rebuilding the walls between you.
It was painful but necessary. He was pushing you away to keep you safe, to free you from the burden of a life tied to his. It was the most logical course of action.
He watched you from a distance, his heart a tight, aching knot in his chest as your hopeful smiles in his direction gradually faded into confusion, and then into a quiet, resigned hurt. He saw the light in your eyes dim just a little when he entered a room, and he knew he was the cause.
You tried to grow used to the strict professionalism of it all. There was no point in trying if you were going to be met with Aizawa’s dismissive attitude anyway. Yet you couldn’t help but miss his smile. It hurt. He was hurting you while trying to protect you. Yet he didn’t quite know how much he was hurting you. Your breaking point was on your special day.
You sent him a text, your message unusually hesitant.
‘Good morning, Aizawa-san. Just to let you know, I won’t be able to make my session with Eri this afternoon. It’s my birthday, and my family has surprised me with plans for the whole day. I hope that’s alright?’
You stared at the screen, a foolish, hopeful part of you daring to wish for a simple "Happy Birthday."
But how silly it was for you to hope.
‘Noted. We have other caregivers’
The words were a physical blow. We have other caregivers. You were replaceable. Of course you were; you knew that logically. But the deliberate coldness, the absolute dismissal on a day that was supposed to be happy… it felt like hatred. The man you had slowly, carefully let yourself care for had just made it painfully clear that he felt nothing for you at all. Maybe he just wanted you gone?
Aizawa reread the message a few times, his thumb hovering over the screen, but not daring to type anything more. He deleted the draft of a second message—Enjoy your day—deeming it too familiar
He put his phone away, the ghost of your imagined smile haunting him.
A birthday. You should be smiling, celebrated, surrounded by people who could give you the normal, happy life you deserved. A life he could never be a part of.
And he was fine with that. Perfectly fine.
The next time you met was on a Tuesday evening, you were sitting on the floor of Eri’s room after she’s finally fallen asleep, her small head pillowed in your lap, when Aizawa walked in.. The room is lit only by a soft nightlight shaped like a rabbit. For a few moments the room was completely silent, only filled with the soft sound of the girl’s breathing.
“She had a good day today,” you whispered, not looking at him, your focus entirely on carefully smoothing a strand of silver hair from Eri’s forehead. Your voice was hollow, stripped of the warmth he’d grown accustomed to.
Aizawa watches you from the doorway, his expression unreadable in the dim light, but his gaze never leaving you. He sees the absolute tenderness in your touch, the unwavering patience in your eyes. He sees the person who has quietly carved a space for herself not just in Eri’s life, but in the fortified, lonely corners of his own.
‘Only because of you,’ he wanted to say. The words burned on his tongue, a confession he could never allow himself.
Then, you spoke again, your voice quiet but clear.
"You know, I was thinking of leaving."
Aizawa did a double-take, his carefully constructed composure cracking. He straightened up, his dark eyes wide and fixed on you, looking genuinely taken aback. The air left his lungs in a quiet rush.
"What?" The word was sharp, involuntary, laced with a panic he failed to mask.
You finally lifted your gaze to meet his.
"My work here is done, for the most part," you continued, your voice terrifyingly even. "Eri is more stable. The other caregivers are perfectly capable. And it's clear... it's clear my presence is no longer required. Or wanted."
He took a step into the room, his mind racing, a cold dread seeping into his veins. This was what he wanted, wasn't it? For you to be safe, away from the danger that clung to him. For you to have a normal life.
But the thought of this room without you, of his life without the quiet rhythm of your presence, felt like a death sentence.
"Don't," he said, the word rough, almost pleading. He crossed the room in three long strides and knelt before you, his eyes desperate, his professional detachment gone, incinerated by fear. "You can't."
"You told me yourself, you have other—"
"I was lying." The admission tore from him. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, vulnerable. "I was... trying to protect you. From me. From my life."
He paused, the words forming with painful care, each one a struggle against a lifetime of self-imposed isolation. "You... create stability. You're a fixed point. For her." His eyes held yours, unwavering. "And..." He took a slow, shuddering breath, the truth finally breaking free. "For me."
You stared at him, your eyes wide, the air in the room shifting.
"I find myself... relying on you," he continued, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper, as if sharing a secret. "Not just with Eri. I notice your absence in a room. I anticipate the sound of your footsteps. It's illogical. And... inconvenient."
Your heart hammered against your ribs. "Inconvenient?" you whispered, the word a fragile question.
Aizawa’s gaze was unwavering, "Because I'm a pro hero. I'm not supposed to need someone. But I've found that I do." He leaned forward, his voice the softest you'd ever heard it, filled with a terrifying, wonderful honesty. "I need you."
He looked from your face to the sleeping child in your lap, then back to you, his entire being focused on your answer.
"So," he said, the word final, a plea and a command. "Stay."
Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you were smiling, a real, radiant smile that reached your eyes for the first time in weeks. You carefully shifted Eri, settling her more comfortably on the cushion before reaching out, your hand finding his.
"I'm not going anywhere," you whispered, lacing your fingers through his.
And in the soft glow of the rabbit nightlight, as he felt the warmth of your hand in his, Shota Aizawa finally allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he was deserving of love and care as well.
He also made a mental note to get you a birthday present.