leafy

rintaro suna:

osamu miya:

tetsuro kuroo:

koshi sugawara:

atsumu miya:

Your heart only seems to weigh heavier, the more you continue to watch her in such a pitiful state. You could barely recognise this version of her. She was usually collected and strict about how she portrayed herself externally—hair always kept neatly in a tight bun, clothes always straightened, like she ironed them once more before exiting the house.

Yet, she was now weeping like there was no tomorrow, not a single care about how pitiful she looked right now lingering in her mind, as she wept. She was clearly in a state of grief, a state you refuse to admit being under.

Everything about the current situation makes you feel like denying reality.

Clawing at the long sleeves of your black blazer, you feel the fabric scrunch under your tight grasps. Your fingers itch to crawl under the fabric of the blazer, feeling the skin of your arms and give it a tight pinch—anything to prove that your mind is stuck in a vivid dream.

Yet, you don't do it. As much as there's a crippling desire for you to prove to yourself that you're stuck in a dream, fear seems accompanied by it. The lingering fear which constantly sticks around your mind, to remind you that you might be wrong about whatever you're trying to prove to yourself as well.

What are you going to do if all of it isn't a dream at all? That it's all part of a reality that you've been choosing to avoid and deny? You couldn't possibly find yourself bearing the heaviness and responsibility of those emotions that are starting to brew a storm within you.

For as long as you could, you'd want to deny your sister's death. It was something that came so suddenly, the narrative almost unreal to you when you had first heard it. In the middle of a planned attack of a noctorious villian, your pro-hero sister fought to the very end, sacrificing her life to capture the villian.

You've heard millions of news about such before, especially since you're a pro-hero yourself. You worked at UA as a teacher, teaching the hero course students. You're used to deaths, you're used to injuries and you're used to bleeding.

But when it came to your sister, none of it seemed to make sense. It suddenly felt like all the newscasters and the grim faces they had while announcing such news were simply speaking blasphemy. Blasphemy that the world wanted you to believe in, so that they could see your strong and happy mental state hit an emotional crash.

Even your mother had to be hired as part of the act. To test how far you can take it, until you start crashing emotionally—wrecking that positive image you've been giving to your students, so that you could let them know that it's important to keep smiling, even as you go through tough times being a hero.

Though, this was probably just the first stage of grief hitting you. The stage of denial, where you choose to not accept what is reality as it comes as a shock to you. 

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket, making you finally shift from your position. You hadn't realised your body had been so tense all along, causing your body to be so fixed in its previous position that it felt impossible to even move another inch.

Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you watch as the screen brightens up, a few notifications slightly starting to fill up the screen. It's so bright, in comparison to the whole mood here, was your first thought.

You can't help but scoff slightly as the thought comes to mind, the scoff sounding almost like one made out of disbelief. You could clearly tell those notifications were delivering messages sent out of concern, yet your head couldn't help but drift towards realising how the mood around you seemed so heavy.

Nothing about those concerning messages could capture your attention. You've already heard so many people pour words of condolence before you, that it almost seems like a norm to you. It no longer amuses you, or causes a warm fuzzy feeling to settle in your heart—the feeling people would often describe as being cared for.

Being cared for probably meant nothing to you right now. The only thing you hope for, was for your sister to come back to live. To prove to you herself that she was still alive, her body possibly buried among debris, waiting for the rescue team to find her and bring her out of the debris safely.

Feeling your phone buzz once more, this time on your hand, since you hadn't placed it back in your pocket, you finally decide to tap into the notifications. You watch the numbers slowly start to rise in each of your indidivual chat groups, before it finally hits a stop.

Principal Nezu: Hey yn, hope you're doing ok. Feel free to take leave of absence tomorrow.

The message immediately causes a bitter taste in your mouth. Instead of feeling touched, you watch as your fingers fly over the keyboard on your screen angrily.

You: I am fine. I'll be back in school tomorrow.

You can't help but feel a sense of rising anger. You haven't been able to find a single person who could prove it to you that this was all simply a dream. All along, they've only been saying words of condolences or making pitiful remarks, which only brought further evidence to your heart, that your sister was truly dead. 

It was starting to become something you could no longer deny.

Maybe you were the only one still stuck in this phase of denial, after all. Even your mother has came to acknowledge your sister's death—expressing her current grief through constant wailing and crying. 

In comparison, here you were, still waiting for someone to give you anything that your mind could take up immediately as evidence that your sister is still alive. Or maybe the sound of an alarm ringing, to signify that you've been stuck in a dream all this while and you're now just waking up.

However, each time you hear something closest to an alarm ringing, it's just your phone vibrating with constant flow of notifications. People continuously sending you their condolences, their texts starting to seem more like the universe's sign of begging you to stop denying the truth.

If there was one thing all the years of teaching has brought you so far, it was coming to understand that the act of rebellion among your students, is a natural psychological reaction.

Right now, you tell yourself that it's not denial you're facing. It's only the natural psychological reaction coming into play. You're rebelling against the universe trying to tell you the truth. 

You don't grief. Not anymore. Especially since you are a pro-hero, you're more used to deaths and loss than anyone else possible. Your sister's death can't be that hard to accept for you, your mind is simply acting out of rebellion.

You returned back to teaching the next day, just as how you had conveyed in your message to Principal Nezu. Initially, you had expected yourself to regulate your emotions better once you came back to UA. After all, you would meet the sorrowful experession your mother held on her face less. You also wouldn't hear whispers of sympathy around you, from the people who visited your sister's funeral. Possibly, this would mean you wouldn't feel the need to be constantly grieving over your sister's death, right?

Yet, as soon as your gaze greeted the crowd gathering within the school, you felt your hopes waver. You slowly find yourself surrounded by gazes of sympathy once more. Forcing a small smile on your face, you braced all the small remarks of condolences or looks of pity your colleagues and students gave you in the hallway. 

Why did you even initially hope for things to seem normal in UA? Your sister was a known pro-hero, so long as her death was announced on the news, anyone would know—especially those who were closest to you. Of course, the looks and words of sympathy would follow you, everywhere you go.

At least, until the news of your sister's death finally stopped becoming the talk of the town. Until then, you have to bear through all the soft words of condolences and looks of pity, all while pretending there wasn't a reason for you to grief.

The walk towards the teacher's office, seemed to be an aggrevatingly longer walk, compared to usual. Especially when you had to stop once in a while, force the corners of your lips to tug up slightly, as you meet the gaze of students and teachers you've seen before. All their eyes almost seem to shine with the same expression—the slight crease in their eyebrows, a gaze that tries to look beyond the smile you place on your face, with the intention to connect with the emotions you're hiding in your heart, and their eyes speaking indirectly words like, "you can share your pain with me" or "it's okay to not be okay."

You had to hold back your tongue from blurting out the words that lingered at the back of your mind. Words that would sound hurtful, but fulfill your innate desires, which was to shut down all the stares and comments they've been giving you. If you were to simply unleash all those negative words and emotions now, you knew the stares of sympathy would only get worse.

After all, that would just go to prove further how you were truly not doing fine at all. That everyone around you had accurately assumed how you were truly feeling, further validating their gaze of sympathy and the small "thoughtful" comments they made. Which would simply cause all the efforts you've made, in keeping a false smile and forming a bold face, to go to waste.

As you walk towards your table, you passby Aizawa, who was tucked comfortably in his sleeping bag on the floor, close to the two of your tables. Usually, you would've made sure to land your steps harder as you pass him by—your heels echoing a loud click sound against the floor—just to playfully wake him up.

It was a habit you adopted, initially with no intention to wake him up. When you first started your journey as a teacher in UA, you were extremely excited to work alongside other pro-heroes like you. You had entered the office, carrying so much energy, that it reflected in your steps.

Hence, as you walked past Aizawa, it had woken him up. He didn't make much fuss out of it, only asking you to keep your energy to minimal so that you would avoid awakening him from his beauty sleep. Slowly, along the way, your apologetic nature simply changed into playful tease. Especially as you grew to realise Aizawa had this grumpy, stoic and unbothered nature, you wished to break him from.

However, as much as you wanted to pretend everything was normal today, you couldn't bring yourself to carry out your usual playful antics. In fact, you found yourself wishing you had swapped positions with Aizawa, so that you could be the one snuggled in his sleeping bag—ignoring and paying no attention to the possible sympathy you had to continue bearing through for the rest of today.

As soon as you settled down at your desk, you feel your gaze trail towards a stack of paper placed on your desk. It was what you had left out on your table, a few days ago, meant to be a clear reminder that you had to finish up what remained of marking your student's assignments.

You were usually quick when it came to marking and giving your student's feedback, especially since your favourite part about becoming a teacher was helping your students grow, with your needed guidance. Hence, you always made sure to return your student's work with timely feedback, before they could forget what they had done previously. 

Back then, you were probably anciticipating for you to get the marking done before today. Except, who knew your sister's funeral would've kept you entertained, unable to return to school and continue your teaching duties—at least, until today. 

Reaching to take one of the student's assignments from that pile, you can't help but release a small reluctant sigh. Usually, the writing wouldn't have bothered you, no matter how scrawled and messy they seemed. So long as the students gave their best in completing the assignment, you found no reason to complain about what they've done.

After all, they weren't learning and graduating to become heroes who competed to see who would have the neatest handwriting. The most that they would ever touch a pen again, especially if they were planning to focus more on being a pro-hero known in the country, was when they had to autograph for their fans. There was no reason for you to nitpick about something silly like this.

Yet, today, the scrawly words on the paper seemed to bother you. You could feel your annoyance rising slightly, causing your eyebrows to scunch together as you clutch your pen tightly in your hands. 

Lifting your pen, you were about to make a nasty remark about how the handwriting could be better written—exactly as you've complained about it in your head—before you held back. As fast as you had picked up the pen from a pen holder sitting on your desk, you dropped it just as quickly. 

Your emotions were clearly running wild now, especially after dealing with the unnecessary greetings you've met with along the hallway. It wouldn't be professional nor fair for the students, if you were to mark their papers right now, when you weren't feeling your best.

The pen makes a small click as it lands on your table, from the small height distance you had dropped it from, the sound reverbrating across the teacher's office. With most teachers currently out and busy handling their morning classes, you were now left to your own peace and quiet in the office—something you can't help but feel a sense of grattitude about currently.

Although, you would usually be more chattier, running out of the office to talk with other teachers or staff when you had no work left to do, you couldn't help but feel dread towards social interactions today. If socially interacting meant having to meet more of those expressions you've seen in the morning, you would rather be kept to yourself than finding someone to run your mouth loose to.

Returning the student's assignment back to the pile, you decide to lean back against your chair instead, closing your eyes as you try to release whatever negative emotions that have been building up within you.

However, as time slowly ticks by, you start to realise that the more you tried to push away your negative emotions, the more a persistent sense of unease starts to fill your heart. You could feel your thoughts starting to spiral once again, causing your emotions to rise once more—especially as the negative thoughts start to spill in.

Immediately, you flutter open your eyes, straightening your back as your hands instantly move to grab something from your table. Anything that could keep yourself occupied, before your emotions went out of your control once more. Anything to stop your head from spiralling down to different negative thoughts that would fill your mind, causing a tight feeling to spread across your chest.

Your hands drift towards the stack of papers once more, except this time you decide to busy yourself by tidying it. Your hands try to tuck every loose and exposed corner neatly behind the sheet of paper before it, making sure the stack lines up into an organised and neat pile.

Staring at the neat stack of papers before you, you tried to tuck away the feelings of unease you've been holding onto since morning, just like how you've done it with the loose edges of the papers, this morning. You haven't been able to start on marking your student's assignments, due to the constant emotions that flooded your mind, as soon as you attempted to do so.

If not for the fact that you were constantly trying to busy your hands with something new to re-arrange—be it how the pens were left in your pen holder, the polaroids you had stuck onto the wall of your desk, or just back to the neat stack you've been rearranging again and again since morning—you would've cussed yourself out for how unprofessional you were behaving.

In your earlier lesson, you found yourself apologising more to your students, then actually teaching them the content you had prepared in your lesson plan. Thankfully, your students seemed to pay no mind to how absent-minded and unprofessional you were behaving. However, you can't help but feel your perfectionist side silently nag at the mistakes you've made.

Enough to cause you to re-arrange the same stack of papers you were supposed to be done marking today for the eighthtime. It was to the point, there seemed to be nothing you could pick out about what wasn't perfect about this stack of paper. There wasn't even a single corner poking out, or a small folded or crumpled edge. 

Yet, you were still scrutinising it, like the stack would mess itself up in the next second, if you took your gaze off it for a split moment. You just couldn't dismiss the feeling that continued to settle in your heart, that there was something about this stack which was still leaving you unsatisfied. Except, you couldn't place a finger on it.

"How long are you going to stare at that stack?"

A voice suddenly perks up beside you, causing you to jolt slightly. Your gaze instantly shifts to your side, tracing the origin of the voice, only to realise Aizawa was now peering at you. His black hair was left unkempt, trailing down the sides of his face in an unruly manner, just like any other usual day. 

Instinctively, you find your gaze instantly shifting to meet his eyes—looking for any trace that seemed to look at you pitifully, like you were a stray kitten which needed saving. Except, you couldn't find any of that in his eyes. Other than the red veins which were lining around his black iris, letting you know his eyes were dry once again.

Instead of answering his question, you avoid responding to it, by shooting him with another question instead. 

"Did one of your students attempt to misuse their quirk again, that your eyes are now dry once more?"

Perhaps, it was the natural force of habit you developed, your tone seemed to return back to it's usual tease, despite the weight that was silently weighing down on your heart. A small smile quips up across your lips subconsciously as well, it's sole purpose behind existing seeming to be to mock Aizawa. 

"I simply forgot to bring my eye drops."

You pause, a small scoff leaving your lips as you lean back against your chair. Lifting a slight brow at Aizawa, you can't help but wonder how someone like him could even forget to bring his eye drops. For someone who gets dry eyes easily, a setback from his quirk, you would've assumed eye drops was something he carried around with him. Almost like a communication device.

"I have eye drops."

You finally said, shifting to lean forward as you pull open one of the compartments in your desk drawer. As soon as you opened it, both of you were overwhelmed with the sight of almost every single possible essential squashed into one tiny drawer.

You weren't usually one to organise or tidy the things around you, unless they urgently called for it. Hence, all the storage spaces that were out of sight usually, would be stuffed to the brim with the stuff you occasionally just toss inside. Apparently, this drawer of yours was of no exception. It was filled to the brim, with different items overlapping one another messily. It was a clear sign that no one bothered to go through the contents and organise it, for quite a long time.

It took you a while to shuffle through all the items, before you pulled out a small bottle of eye drops. You make sure to check the label briefly, making sure it was not over it's date of usage, before passing it to Aizawa.

"That drawer…does not seem to give me any sense of assurance that this eye drops of yours, are safe to use."

He mentions, a slight tone of doubt clear in his voice, although he was clearly reaching out to take the eye drops from your generously outstretched hand. 

"Did you perhaps mean to say, thank you?"

You respond back, shooting him a quick glance—something teethering close to a warning that seemed to threaten him to be gracious towards your act of generosity, or else you would take back your eye drops forcefully. This causes your words to reach him effectively, a wry smile starting to spread across his face, as he mumbles slightly.

"…Thanks."

His tone sounded almost incoherent as the words left his lips, but you weren't in the mood to push for more. You place a quick smile on your face, the attempt almost half-hearted, as it resembled nothing close to a smile. Then, you give him a brief nod, before shifting your gaze towards your messy drawer compartment which you haven't closed back.

Perhaps, today would be a good time to organise it. Especially since organising would be the only way to keep your mind from spewing up nonsensical thoughts. You think silently, pursing your lips subconsciously as you thought hard.

"Do you…perhaps want some help?"

Suddenly, you feel your head turn towards his direction once more, watching as he fixes his eyes on your messy cabinet. His offer to help you in arranging your drawer caught you slightly by surprise, albeit said awkwardly. 

Perhaps, it was because you had never expected Aizawa to ever offer you his assistance or support in anything. You knew Aizawa to be a colleague to never poke his nose into anyone's business, even if he was close to that certain person.

He was the type to remain unbothered in the face of anything, so long as it didn't involve him or affect him in any manner. So now, as he offered you his assistance in cleaning one of your messiest drawers, that was him doing things out of his norm.

"Do you have an ulterior motive, or something?"

You respond, the words spilling out of your lips faster than you can take them back. You know anyone would have accepted his assistance kindly, especially since it was such a rare opportunity. Plus, it wasn't like you were in the right state of mind to be handling anything on your own right now. Unless, you want to be sorting out this same drawer all the way until the end of your work hours.

Yet, you can't help the pegging feeling of wanting to tease this rare slip of his warmer side. Maybe it was just your innate desire of wanting to see someone else get all awkward and share the wish of being swallowed up by a mysterious hole forming from the ground, acting up. 

Especially, after all the tight spots others have been forcing you into—triggering all sort of emotions within you with those unnecessary sympathy. Your flight or fight instincts have been on high alert since morning, you can't help but put others on the edge, just as you are being now.

"I'm just offering you help, where you seem to need help in."

He says in response, the awkwardness that was spelt over his face previously suddenly retracting from his facial expression. It was now replaced by a slight lifted brow and lips that are pressed tightly together, almost as if he was resisting another set of words from coming out of his mouth. Somehow, that seemed to tug at your heartstrings slightly, leaving you the pain of a feeling resembling guilt.

You pause, your shoulders dropping slightly as you let your gaze drift towards your messy cabinet once more. Slowly, you pull out a handful of items from your drawers, passing them to Aizawa without exchanging a single word with him. A simple gesture that showed you were open to his help, your actions speaking what words couldn't convey.

Something about the guilt that was still simmering in the depths of your heart made it impossible for you to figure what words you could say to Aizawa. Anything that would make up for what you should've left unsaid, replacing them with something grateful.

"Clearing out this drawer might declutter my mind."

You start instead, placing the other items you were removing from your drawer onto your desk, forming a new pile beside the papers you have neatly arranged.

You half-expect him to say something else, something in response to your words. Perhaps, even ask what you're trying to declutter off your mind—since everyone is so obsessed with how you're doing recently. Yet, only silence falls between the both of you.

Usually, you would have hated such silence. You were always eager to fill empty spaces between conversations, afraid the silence would only turn conversations awkward. Yet, there was something comforting in a silence like this. 

A silence that doesn't expect anything too much from you. A silence that fills your heart with warmth, like quiet understanding was shared between the both of you. This was the only time you found yourself wishing for the silence to last longer, knowing that no words could compare or fill the soft comfort this silence brought to you.

Before you know it, your once messy drawer was now completely cleared out. The items were now scattered across both you and Aizawa's desks, almost taking up every empty space and corner available on both your desks. You could tell from the slight fold between Aizawa's brows that the clutter on his table was irritating him slightly, yet he made no attempt in mentioning it.

His actions didn't seem to rush you into finding a way to arrange and organise all the items on his desk, back into your drawer. Rather, he turned to you instead and started, his voice soft and steady.

"Clearing out is simply the first step. You need to learn what to let go and dispose of now, or else the drawer will simply clutter itself up once again."

You pause, your gaze running through the items scattered on your table. They ranged from little things that didn't seem to matter as much, to items that held a dear place in your heart. 

For instance, there was a box of paper clips. It was something that didn't seem like much, but still worthy of keeping. You sometimes found yourself needing them but they weren't essential enough that you had it constantly on your desk. 

Then, there was a korean gimimbap magnet keychain which was still in its wrapper—the same condition since your student has gifted you, albeit a little dusty. To others, it seems utterly useless. You barely even use magnets nowadays, and you weren't the one who made the trip to Korea that the souvenir was a sentimental memory you couldn't throw away.

Yet, to you, it was something you absolutely couldn't just toss into the bin without a second glance. It was a gift one of your most problematic students, whom just graduated recently, had given you. Something that caught you by so much surpise, it became absolutely memorable.

To throw it is like throwing that memory of him passing you the keychain, his eyes glassy as he smiled at you. How could you afford to throw away something like that, without hesitation, a memory so precious? It contained something you knew you couldn't rewind to witness once more.

"What if you can't find things to throw away?"

You responded, your voice sounding more vulnerable than you had expected. Somehow, as that question left your lips, it felt like you were no longer just asking for the sake of clearing your drawer. Rather, it felt like you were talking about yourself then—your messy feelings which left unorganised in your heart.

As though sensing the vulnerability in your voice, he seemed to place more thought into his next couple of words. A small pause fell between the two of you, the short quietness placing a slight pressure in your chest—discomfort slowly building up within you. For a moment, you wondered if you should take back your question, regret about letting vulnerability slip, piling up within you gradually.

Yet, before you could shake your head and pretend nothing has happened, his words cut through the silence, breaking the discomfort forming within you temporarily.

"We can always start by identifying what clearly is unnecessary and should be disposed of. For instance,"

He lifted up a plastic jar of chewable gummies, holding it up enough for you to see the label and spot the expiration date printed on it. It was definitely long expired, the date printed was a date from ages ago. The bottle could nearly be considered ancient.

"This bottle. Long expired. You can't eat long expired gummies, can you?"

You pause, a sheepish smile forming across your face as your gaze meets the plastic jar. Reaching out to take hold of the chewable gummies from him, you respond back, your tone soft—almost embrassed,

"I searched Google and it said I could eat expired gummies…So I was planning to keep them for longer and maybe finish them."

Gazing up to meet Aizawa's slight eye lift, he simply gestures your hand—which now held the long expired gummies—to the bin which sat close to both your tables. It was a shared bin which the two of you used to dispose items in the office, something that you established on your own.

You had brought a black basket, filled with a plastic bag, one day to the office, calling it your own personal trash can. The original trash bin in the office had been placed too far from your desk, making it inconvenient to throw trash. Hence, you had decided to establish your own personal bin.

However, as time passed, you came to realise you barely threw any trash—which probably explains your hoarder tendencies and why your drawer now needed an organisation. Hence, you decided to expand your generosity towards Aizawa as well, placing the bin between the both of us.

Now, turning your attention back towards the expired gummies—which you reluctantly loosened your grip over, dropping the jar into the bin. You could hear it land with a soft thud, before Aizawa passes you the next item.

"Sometimes, you'll keep thinking there's a need to keep everything to yourself, that it is unnecessary to let it out now. However, the longer you keep it, it won't become any more productive."

His next few sentences, speaks to you, making you perk up. Slowly, as you take the next item which he had sourced out for you to throw away—a tied up, half used packet of instant noodle seasoning—you start wondering if the both of you were actually still talking about organisation, or it has silently became something else.

Yet, from the expression on Aizawa's face, it was hard to tell that he was silently hinting towards what you were thinking of. He wore no expression that spoke sympathy, or a look that many of those had been giving you. The look of hoping to understand what you were struggling with internally.

Instead, his expressions were just like the same. He almost looks disinterested in the fact that the two of you were stuck trying to organise your drawer. Clearly, he wouldn't have any interest in finding out about your feelings or your struggles after losing your sister either.

Hence, you made no attempt to respond to his words, simply taking the instant noodle seasoning packet from him wordlessly. Neither did he make any further attempt to prompt you to reply, seeming to respect the space the two of you held.

For a moment, the atmosphere remained in this manner. Him passing you new items that were clearly redundant, while you tossed them into the bin one by one. Each time, as you watched the items fill up the bin, somehow it seemed to lift the stones weighing down your heart—slowly, but gradually.

At some point, you could feel your gaze flickering towards Aizawa, a small smile passing your lips, as you notice how genuine he seemed at helping you. You felt your heart soften, almost as if you were ready to face your feelings honestly.

Perhaps, telling at least one person wouldn't hurt. People often say that it's the most easiest way to get over certain emotions is to open up and tell someone. If identifying unnecessary items isn't as hard as you've thought, perhaps it would be the same for those unexplainable thoughts that've been weighing within your heart.

That feeling lasted for a while, making you almost ready to open up. You found yourself parting open your lips, almost ready to unload a part of your emotions to Aizawa. Until, a stubborn wall appeared before you once more.

You found your desire stopping dead in their tracks, as your gaze paused to look at something new Aizawa had handed to you. It was the korean gimimbap keychain that you were thinking about previously. The one that was gifted to you by your most problematic student.

You knew that to anyone, that would've been the most useless thing to remain kept in your drawer. You weren't going to use a keychain anytime soon, after all you weren't planning to hang it on anywhere. You weren't going to use it as a magnet either, you didn't use magnetic surfaces often.

Yet, your heart seemed to harden towards Aizawa once again as you watch him push the object towards your hands once more. Slowly, your mind tells you a new thought, replacing the once hopeful consideration you had.

He wouldn't understand you anyway. Why bother telling it to someone as apathetic as him? The once vulnerable words slowly faded from your lips, as a new sentence took over, your tone having a slight edge as you spoke,

"That item is dear to me. You can't just throw it out like that."

For a moment, you expected Aizawa to argue about it with you, listing down to every possible reason why this keychain wouldn't cause you any harm if you threw it. After all, he seemed like the oddly logical and convincing type. The type that would explain things into great detail, just to convince you that his opinion is logical and reasonable, and why yours is stubborn.

Yet, you found your eyes slowly widening in surprise, as he simply drops the keychain into your drawer. None of his facial muscles seemed to move in a way that made you think he was silently judging your opinion, even if he may have perhaps felt differently earlier.

Perhaps skeptical, wondering if you were simply dreaming about this exact scenario in your head right now, you can't help but ask audibly,

"You— You aren't going to question me? Why I refused to throw the keychain?"

The question sounds almost stupid coming from your lips, it's almost as if you were asking the obvious. Yet, your amusement holds you back from attempting to take it back.

"I'm sure you have your own reasons for not wanting to throw it away."

You could feel a lump slowly forming at the back of your throat, as you hear his words. Blinking furiously for a second, determined to not let your eyes turn watery, you turn your face away from him.

If it were not for the fact that you were with Aizawa right now, you would've made a run for the toilet immediately. But because it was Aizawa, you felt assured enough that he wouldn't pry into this moment of vulnerability of yours, even if you made the low effort attempt of turning your face away.

After all, as much as he was going out of his way to help organise your drawer today, you were certain that didn't mean he would attempt to overstep his boundaries and dig into where you're vulnerable at. Though, a part of you can't help but wonder why he would go out of his way to show this bit of kindness towards you.

"If you're not ready to let go of whatever that is, I don't have the right to force you into doing so."

He continues, almost as if he didn't realise how much impact his words held over your tearducts. You could feel the back of your nose prickling, a sharp pressure building up against your eyes once more. Immediately, you force yourself to let out a few short and awkward laughs—something you always did, whenever you were at your final straw in attempting to not cry.

"You're terrible at reading someone's emotions, are you?"

You respond finally, after laughing for a bit—enough to make Aizawa turn and look at you, one of his brows slightly lifted. This expression, you could tell, was definitely a look of judgement. Something you had expected him to give you earlier on, yet he only showed it to you now.

You don't wait for Aizawa to even give you a response, before he could even open his mouth to speak—perhaps ask you what you were trying to say—you continue on, your words falling out of your lips like a train speeding off the tracks.

"If you're trying to make me cry, you can stop now, because I am on the verge of tears at any moment. It's almost impressive, because I haven't been able to shed a single tear since that day—"

You pause, taking a sharp breath, your gaze meeting Aizawa's eyes once. You take a final look of his facial expressions, taking in the slow realisation that is now dawning across his face, before the details turn blurry from your teary vision.

"But yet, your words are enough to make my heart feel lighter. I feel comforted enough to cry before you."

For once, you find yourself relieved and thankful for the quiet office atmosphere. How no one was sitting in the office with you right now, except for Aizawa. Although, he seemed to have made no motion in attempting to comfort you since your last sentence, a small smile of relief still passes your lips.

For a moment, you don't mind that it's just Aizawa—whom you've always viewed as stoic and boring, one of the worst people to hold a lengthy conversation with—sitting here with you, while tears trickle down your cheeks.

Your heart feels miraculously lighter, as though all the tears had brought a part of your pain along with them as they flowed out of you. But before you could dismiss everything—your crying, the words you had just spoken, and this miraculous feeling—by pretending nothing happened, Aizawa broke the silence.

"It's not a miracle that my words bring you relief. I was simply doing what someone could've done for me years ago."

There was a certain level of heaviness that seemed to be carried along with his words, making your heart drop slightly. You could feel your eyes widening slightly, as you lift your head to look at him.

As much as you felt the urge to ask him questions, to understand more about what he was saying, every part of you held back from doing so. Instead, you replaced those questions with silence that gave him the choice to either speak, or simply leave his words as it was.

To your relief, or not, he seemed to have chosen the first option. Slowly, you could hear the way he took a small breath beside you, before he continued,

"Death…It's not rare in the kind of environment we work for… But, I understand you enough, to know what you might want to hear. And since a part of me silently wished someone had forced me to do this previously, I would hear you out if there's anything you want to talk about."

His tone sounded heavy, just like before, but there was now a slight hint of something you couldn't quite name. Something that no longer sank your heart simply. It was the kind of tone that filled you with a slight rush of warmth. The kind that made you feel like perhaps, you weren't as alone as you thought you were.

"You would hear me out, you say?"

You start, your tone warm and bubbly as you grin at him. It's been a while since you've carried such lightness and warmth in the words you spoke. The kind of lightness that you didn't have to force out, in order to maintain it exactly as it was. 

Maybe that was why people often said that it was better to share your burdens with someone else, especially someone else who is willing to listen and understand you. There's some sort of sweetness that can be felt behind shared grief.

"Just— Don't bother me too much."

Aizawa replies, his gaze turning towards you. Although there was a hint of obvious resignation in his voice, that it even reflected in the tired gaze of his eyes, you can't help but notice the slight tug on the corners of his lips. That small hint of emotion that betrayed everything that he was attempting to do, to keep up his slightly unbothered facade.

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