Domestic ABC // Aizawa x reader

I - Intimacy

Some days start well and end bad. Some days star bad and end worse. But today, today was a day that Aizawa felt would never end. Every bone in his body ached, every muscle felt coiled to its breaking point. He'd gone through the motions of the day almost like a ghost, working on pure muscle memory, routine taking over him as his mind was somewhere else. After his visit to Tartarus, he felt like the better part of him had just not left that place.

It felt almost surreal, and not in a good way. It felt like his mind was just not occupying the same plane as his body, they were working on different wavelengths, only vaguely aware of each other. While his body moved like a tired machine his mind kept reeling back to what he had heard in that cell. What he had seen in that cell. Who he had seen in that cell.

Where once there was a scar, now Aizawa felt a gaping wound. A mess of the pain and terror of trauma now brought up to the surface and mixed with pure white rage. He didn't want to believe the things he had heard but there was no escaping them. There was no way back now.

At least, the day was coming to an end. Making his way to his room Aizawa stopped in his tracks when he noticed the door slightly open, light slipping from the crack. Readying his capture weapon he pushed the door slowly, the faint light of his bedside lamp illuminated his face and bathed the room in a faint orange. Sitting in his bed he found you.

He let go of his weapon and relaxed his stance, voice betraying the confusion his tired face couldn't reflect. "What are you-"

"Hizashi called me."

You didn't need to say anything else. There was a silent acknowledgment of the horrors of the day. You looked at him in concern and love, and for once Aizawa was thankful Mic had such a loose tongue. You had never know Oboro, he'd died before Nemuri started working at the agency where you two met, but you knew enough about the story to be able to understand the pain he was feeling.

Pushing his tired body to the bed he sat himself beside you, resting his elbows on his knees and letting out a deep sigh. Immediately one of your hands touched his back and the other reached for his hand. Feeling the rough skin of your fingertips caress the hardened skin of his palm, he laced your fingers together with his weakly but without hesitation. At this you rested your head on his shoulder, squeezing his hand gently.

With a shaky breath, Aizawa pulled your connected hands to his face, lips tracing your fingers as he felt the hand in his back move below his shirt to caress his tired skin, muscles relaxing under your familiar touch. And like that, slow and yet certain, his body felt like his own again. Feeling the warmth of your body on his own he grounded himself to the present once more. He was here, with you, and feeling safe in the intimacy of your touch he let himself cry.