𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧' |𝐭.𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐢

43- dates, dates, and dates!

"Doesn't matter who it is," You said after a moment. "It all feels the same. Like I'm going through the motions."

Aizawa didn't joke this time. He just watched you carefully, the playfulness slipping from his eyes.

"You're still healing," He said quietly. "Not just your body. Your mind too."

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek.

"I don't get it," You murmured, voice soft but open, like the words had been sitting on your chest for a while now. "Back before the war..no one looked at me twice."

Aizawa didn't interrupt. He just listened, like he always did when it counted.

"I wasn't flashy. I didn't have some massive combat quirk. I wasn't on magazine covers or in PR campaigns. I was just... there. I patched people up. I stayed quiet. I stayed out of the way."

Your eyes flicked toward him, unsure why you were telling him all this. But it felt safe. Like your words wouldn't be wasted here.

"Most of them thought I was cold. Or stuck-up. Like I thought I was too good to talk to anyone, just because I kept to myself."

Aizawa tilted his head slightly. "You weren't cold."

You let out a dry little laugh. "Tell that to everyone who avoided sitting next to me in the break room."

There was a pause, just a heartbeat long before Aizawa replied, his voice lower this time. More careful.

"They just didn't know how to read you."

You blinked, meeting his eyes.

He held your gaze for a moment before adding, "You're quiet. Thoughtful. That scares some people. Makes them think they're being judged when really... you're just in your own world."

You exhaled, slowly. "Exactly."

"And now?" He asked, almost gently.

You looked down again, voice quieter. "Now I'm getting swarmed. Like suddenly I'm desirable because I made it out of a war zone and didn't crumble. Like survival turned me into something beautiful."

A beat passed.

"Maybe it did," Aizawa said softly.

You looked up again, startled.

His expression was unreadable, but not distant. Just... sincere. "You're still you. But they're just finally seeing you."

You swallowed. "But what if it's not real? What if they're just drawn to the drama? The scars, the trauma, the mystery of it all? Not me."

Aizawa leaned forward slightly, arms resting on his knees. "Then screw them."

You laughed, wet, shaky. Almost a sigh.

He looked at you again, something soft but unwavering in his tone. "You were worth seeing long before the war. Some of us knew that."

You blinked, heart skipping, not because you knew why, but because something about the way he said it made the air feel heavier.

"Some of us?" You echoed, searching his face. "Who...?"

He held your gaze for a beat too long.

And then, he looked away.

His fingers curled slightly around his cup, and the usual dry sarcasm that coated his voice was absent when he said, "Doesn't matter."

You tilted your head, your curiosity pricked, but there was something about his tone that warned you not to push.