Mailin’s POV
The infirmary is quiet, the only sound the steady beeping of machines monitoring Shota’s condition. I sit beside his bed, my hands folded in my lap, watching him sleep. His breathing is even now, his color slowly returning, but the sight of him so still and vulnerable sends a pang of fear through me.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Hours, maybe. Time seems to blur together in moments like this.

But I’m not leaving.

Shota shifts slightly, his brow furrowing as if in pain. I reach out, placing a gentle hand on his arm, and his face relaxes almost immediately, as if my touch alone is enough to soothe him.

I smile, even though the tears threaten to spill over again.

“I’m here, Shota,” I whisper, my voice soft in the quiet room. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time since the battle, I feel like everything might just be okay.

Suddenly, the door creaks open, and a doctor walks in, clipboard in hand. She glances at me and nods, her expression grim but calm. I stand quickly, my heart pounding in my chest.

“How is he?” I ask, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady.

The doctor walks over to Shota’s bed, her gaze shifting to the machines before she turns to face me. “Aizawa suffered significant injuries during the battle,” she begins, her tone professional yet sympathetic. “His arms sustained multiple fractures, and his orbital floor—the bone beneath the eye—was crushed. That’s the injury that caused the scar you see now.”

I swallow hard, my throat tight as I listen to her list the damage. “What does that mean for him? For his quirk?”

The doctor glances at Shota again before continuing. “The facial fracture under his eye will affect his quirk duration, making it more difficult for him to maintain his Erasure ability for extended periods. His arm fractures will heal with time and care, but his face… that kind of damage leaves permanent scars, both physically and in terms of his quirk's effectiveness.”

Her words sink in slowly, each one like a weight pressing down on my chest. Shota’s quirk is everything to him—it’s how he fights, how he protects. And now, because of this, he might not be able to use it the same way ever again.

I feel a knot form in my stomach, guilt and fear twisting together inside me. I should’ve done more. I should’ve been there sooner, should’ve stopped him from going into that battle alone.

But I didn’t.

“Will he… will he be okay?” My voice is barely a whisper now, the weight of everything making it hard to speak.

The doctor’s expression softens. “He’s a strong man, and we’re doing everything we can. He’ll recover physically, but emotionally… well, that’s something only time will tell.”

I nod slowly, trying to process everything. I’ve never felt so helpless in my life. Shota’s always been the one who seemed unbreakable, the one who was always in control, always protecting everyone else. Seeing him like this… it shatters something inside me.

“Thank you,” I murmur, my voice weak as I sit back down beside his bed. The doctor nods and quietly leaves the room, giving us privacy.

I look at Shota again, his face peaceful in sleep despite the bandages and the bruises that cover him. I gently brush a stray piece of hair away from his forehead, my fingers trembling slightly as I do.

“I’m so sorry, Shota,” I whisper, my voice breaking as tears blur my vision again. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve protected you.”

But deep down, I know he’d never want me to feel this way. Shota’s always been the one to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, never letting anyone else bear it for him. But now, looking at him so broken and fragile, I realize that he can’t do it alone. He needs someone to stand by him, to support him the way he’s always supported everyone else.

And I’ll be that person. I have to be.

---

Shota's POV

The world slowly fades back into focus, the soft beeping of machines the first thing I register. My body feels heavy, like it’s made of lead. I try to move, but a dull pain radiates from my arms, spreading up into my shoulders and face. I open my eyes slowly, blinking against the harsh white light of the infirmary.

Everything feels... off. Disjointed. I can’t remember much after the battle—just flashes of pain, fear, and... her.

I shift slightly, and that's when I feel it. A warm weight against my hand, soft and steady. I glance down, and my breath catches in my throat.

Mizuhana Mailin is sitting next to me, her head resting on her folded arms beside me, her hand wrapped around mine. Her face is peaceful, her eyes closed, as if she’s been sitting there for hours, keeping vigil. There’s a softness to her features, a vulnerability I haven’t seen before.

She’s always been strong, steady, a calm presence in the chaos. But seeing her like this, beside me, holding my hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world... it makes something tighten in my chest.

I don’t know how long I stare at her, my heart beating just a little faster than I’d like to admit. There’s a warmth in her touch, in the way she holds onto me even in sleep. It’s comforting... too comforting.

Suddenly, the door creaks open, and I freeze. The doctor enters, her clipboard in hand, and Mailin stirs at the noise. She lifts her head, her eyes blinking open sleepily before they widen in realization.

She quickly straightens up, pulling her hand away from mine as a blush creeps up her cheeks. I can feel my own face heating up, and I turn my head slightly, hoping to hide the sudden rush of embarrassment.

The doctor, steps closer to check my vitals, all the while humming to herself. “How are you feeling, Mr. Aizawa?”

“Fine,” I reply curtly, though my arms and face still throb with dull pain. I avoid looking at Mailin, though I can still feel the heat in my face, my mind replaying the way she held my hand so gently just moments ago.

“Good,” the doctor says, satisfied with my condition. “I’ll leave you to rest for now, but don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

As she exits the room, an awkward silence falls between us. I don’t know what to say, and by the looks of it, neither does she. Her hands fidget in her lap, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for something to focus on that isn’t me.

I finally take a deep breath, trying to calm the strange swirl of emotions in my chest. “Mailin...”

She looks up at me, her blue eyes wide and still slightly embarrassed. “Y-Yes?”

“Thank you.” The words come out gruffer than I mean them to, but they’re sincere. “For staying with me.”

Her blush returns, but this time it’s softer, more subdued. She nods, her voice quiet. “Of course. I wasn’t going to leave you.”

I glance at her hand, now resting awkwardly on the edge of the bed, and for a brief moment, I consider reaching for it again. But I stop myself, unsure of what that would mean, unsure of what any of this means.

Instead, I settle for a small nod, the tension between us still lingering but somehow less suffocating now. “I appreciate it,” I add quietly, my eyes meeting hers for just a second longer than necessary.

She offers me a small, shy smile, and for the first time since the USJ attack, I feel a little lighter. Maybe things will be okay after all.