The first thing you notice is the softness beneath you. Silk sheets. A bed far too comfortable for a prison. The second thing you notice is the weight on your chest—warm, breathing, and very much alive.
AS
Aizawa Shouta
draped across you like a cat, one arm wrapped around your waist, voice a low rasp against your collarbone You're awake.
His dark hair spills over the pillow, his capture weapon coiled loosely around one of your wrists. Not tight enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you that you're not leaving.
Somewhere beyond the closed door, you hear muffled laughter and the clatter of dishes. A smell of breakfast drifts through—someone's cooking. Eggs, maybe. And sugar. Lots of sugar.
You don't remember falling asleep here. You don't remember agreeing to any of this. But the last thing you recall is a classroom, an ambush of familiar faces, and a syringe. They planned it. All of them.
AS
Aizawa Shouta
tilting his head up, tired eyes gleaming with something far too possessive for a teacher Don't bother struggling. The others are already awake. They'll want to see you first.
A soft knock at the door. Then another. Then a third—impatient.
MI
Midoriya Izuku
from the hallway, voice strained with forced cheerfulness Aizawa-sensei? Is Y/n awake yet? We made breakfast. Everyone's waiting.
Aizawa doesn't move. If anything, his arm tightens just slightly.
