Aizawa Oneshots and More

Three Days Later PT2

hi guys :3 here's a part two to the previous chapter, Three Days Later

I hope you all enjoy! It's a bit of a shorter one, but I had fun writing it nonetheless. 

Requests are open!

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Two weeks later.

The autumn wind has begun to bite a little harder through the open windows of U.A., tugging at the curtains and setting papers fluttering along the nurse's desk. But inside the infirmary, everything is still. Too still.

You sit behind your desk with a stack of reports you haven't read in ten minutes. Your eyes drift to the clock on the wall, but time refuses to move any faster. Class 1-A is out on field drills. You have no reason to expect anyone would walk in—

Except maybe him.

Aizawa has been showing up more lately. Not enough to call it effort., But enough to notice.

He never stays long. Always dropped off reports in person instead of sending them digitally. Asked how certain students were healing. Leaned against doorframes like he has something else to say but never does.

You haven't responded to any of it.

You can't.

Because every time you look at him, you remember his voice, his words. The ones that cut clean through you:

"It's better if I don't."

And you remember the way your voice had shaken when you answered:

"You're the one who made that choice."

That conversation had hung in the air for two weeks. Two long, strained, dragging weeks.

So when his shadow crosses your desk now, you don't look up. You know the shape of it too well.

"If you're here to talk about Midoriya's bruised rib," you say coolly. "I already sent an update to your inbox."

Silence.

"I'm not," he says.

You exhale slowly through your nose and set down your pen. "Then say whatever it is you came here to say and go."

When you finally meet his eyes, he doesn't flinch. But he looks tired. Not the usual kind, no, this is deeper. Like he hasn't slept right in weeks.

"I wanted to check on you."

You stare at him.

"That's not your job anymore," you say quietly.

"I know."

Another silence.

"I haven't stopped thinking about that night," he says finally. "About what you said. About how I handled things."

"'Handled' is one word for it," you mutter, turning back to your papers. But your hands are shaking slightly.

"I thought I was doing the right thing," he continues. "Pushing you away before it could go too far. Before anyone could use me against you. Before someone saw us and decided you were a weakness."

You stand abruptly, chair screeching. "I don't need protecting, Aizawa. I never asked you to make that decision for me."

"I know." His voice cracks – not loudly, but enough to stop you in your tracks.

You haven't seen him like this before. Not like this.

"You think I'm not hurting?" he asks. "You think it didn't tear me apart to walk away from you like that? I was scared. I am scared. Of what this means. Of what I'm allowed to have. I thought if I kept my distance, you'd be safer."