The next morning started like any other, except I wasn't in the mood for chaos. Not even a little. Instead, I spent the better part of the day sprawled across the windowsill, staring outside as the world carried on without me.

The sun cast long beams of light that warmed my fur, but even that didn't stir me from my existential crisis. It had been days since I'd transformed into this stupid cat body, and so far, all my attempts at communication had been met with confusion, dismissal, or worse—nothing at all.

At first, I'd tried to stay optimistic. Surely someone as intelligent as Aizawa-sensei would figure it out, right? But now... now I wasn't so sure.

Aizawa had left early that morning, heading to UA like he always did. I watched him from my perch as he locked the door behind him, his tired gait heavier than usual. I knew he was worried. How could he not be? One of his students had vanished without a trace—me.

I flicked my tail, frustration bubbling up. 

He had to figure it out eventually. 

Didn't he?

The week crawled by in much the same fashion. Aizawa would leave for work, and I'd stay behind, sulking on various pieces of furniture. Occasionally, I'd try to think of a new way to get through to him, but nothing seemed promising. Every time I meowed, he just assumed I was hungry. Every time I pawed at something significant, he'd brush it off as typical cat behavior.

By midweek, even Aizawa seemed to be feeling the weight of my silence—or rather, my lack of chaos.

"You're awfully quiet lately," he remarked one evening, setting his bag down by the door. "Not that I'm complaining, but it's weird for you."

I didn't respond, just flicked my tail from my spot on the armrest.

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Still nothing on Midoriya," he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper....

My ears perked up at the mention of my name, but I didn't move. It wasn't like I could do anything.

Aizawa walked past me and into the kitchen, his shoulders slumped. I could hear him rummaging through the fridge, muttering under his breath.

He's still looking for me, I realized, a pang of guilt settling in my chest. 

Of course he is. 

I'm right here, though!

But he didn't know that. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to make him understand.

The rest of the week passed in a blur of monotony. Aizawa went to work. I stayed home. The only thing that changed was the growing tension in the air. I could see it in the way Aizawa's brows furrowed deeper each day, the way he stared at his phone as if willing it to ring with some news—any news—about his missing student.

By the end of the week, even I was starting to feel restless. I'd spent so much time doing nothing that my mind was beginning to race with possibilities. What if I never turned back? What if no one ever figured out who I was?

What if this was just... it?

The thought sent a shiver down my spine, and I hopped down from the couch, pacing the room.

There had to be a way to fix this. I just hadn't figured it out yet.

Meanwhile, Aizawa was growing more distracted by the day. He wasn't sleeping well—though to be fair, that wasn't unusual. But now, there was an edge to his exhaustion, a sharpness that hadn't been there before.

One night, as he sat at the kitchen table, flipping through a stack of reports, I hopped onto the chair opposite him. He didn't even look up.

"You're not helping," he muttered, scribbling something in the margins of one of the papers.

I'm trying, okay? 

I thought bitterly, glaring at him.

When I pawed at his hand, he sighed and set the pen down, finally meeting my gaze.

"What do you want, cat?" he asked, his tone more tired than annoyed.

I meowed softly, trying to convey the frustration that had been building up all week.

"Food?" he guessed, already standing up.

No!

I jumped onto the table, blocking his path.

He frowned, crossing his arms. "What, then?"

I stared at him, willing him to understand. But, as usual, he just shook his head.

"You're acting strange," he muttered, sitting back down. "Stranger than usual, anyway."

You have no idea.

That night, as I curled up on the couch, I couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out. If I didn't figure out a way to communicate soon, who knew what would happen? I might even go crazy.