There was a sort of tension bubbling beneath the surface, seeping throughout the barren room. It was only Nezu, Aizawa, and her in the room and yet the tension was thick enough to drown in.
(Y/n) remained by the door, clasping her hands behind her back as she feigned a smile. "You needed me."
"You should sit down, Ms. (L/n)!" Nezu chirped. She didn't.
"Fine," Aizawa sighed, turning away from her and grabbing a manila folder from the desk he was seated at. She was really starting to hate manila folders.
"Apparently you're helping out a hero agency." He drawled, eyes scanning a piece of paper he picked up.
"Isn't that part of my job? At my father's work?"
Aizawa slammed the paper back on to the table, making her flinch. "(Y/n)," he snapped. "This is different. You've gone too far."
Nezu laid a paw on Aizawa's hand, trying to calm him down. "You only said you express concerns as a teach-"
Aizawa pulled away abruptly. He pushed his hair from his face. "You don't have half the training of the hero classes, not to mention you're only a first year. You-" he finally looked at her. "Why are your hands behind your back?" (Y/n)'s eyes stung as she held back tears. His words hurt more than the spiderweb of patchwork skin. "(L/n)." His voice was calmer but more stern. He made his way to her, crouching and meeting her gaze as she hung her head, as if he were trying to comfort a child. "Let me see your arms." She sniffled quietly, unclasping her hands and bringing them in front of her.
He pushed back her sleeves and froze. Normally, she couldn't read him. As a stealth based hero, he'd learned to be silent, stoic. When he met a six-year-old that could read him like a child's book, he'd realized that training the body alone wasn't enough. He'd learned to suppress twitches, to suppress needless instinct.
But now, he was easier to read than a neon billboard. His jaw clenched, eyes squinting for a half second out of reflex. She could sense the way his heart began to slam against his ribs cage, blood and adrenaline roaring in his head.
"Are- are you ok?" she asked meekly. He glanced up at her and for a second a small laugh bubbled in his throat. Only she would ask him that, when her own skin looked like that of a cracked porcelain doll.
"You should go to Recovery Girl. I'll come with and make sure she doesn't press you about it."
AN: it'll be explained more why aizawa is close to her. think of him as a close uncle ig?