Mailin’s POV

The infirmary is eerily quiet, the only sound the steady beeping of machines monitoring Shota's condition. I sit beside his bed, my fingers brushing against his bandaged hand, my heart heavy with worry. He looks so fragile, so unlike the man I’ve known for so long—the man I’ve admired, maybe even… No, I can’t let my thoughts go there. Not now. Not while he’s lying here, broken and bruised because of everything he sacrificed to protect us.

I haven’t left his side since the moment they wheeled him in, even after the doctors explained his injuries—facial fractures, a shattered orbital floor, broken arms. Hearing it laid out like that sent chills through me. His injuries are bad, worse than I realized in the heat of battle. And yet, here I am, helpless, just sitting and waiting. I’ve been healing him, trying to ease the worst of the pain, but I know there are limits to what I can do.

The hours drag by, and exhaustion creeps in. My eyelids feel heavy, but I refuse to leave. I can't leave him.

I reach out again, my fingers brushing against his hand, and I rest my head on my folded arms, watching him sleep. His face is drawn, his breathing steady but shallow. I can’t help but wonder if he’d be in this position if I had been stronger, faster—if I’d done more. But that train of thought only brings more guilt, and I push it aside, focusing on the fact that he’s still here. He’s alive. And I’m not going anywhere.

I don’t know when I fall asleep, but the sound of the door creaking open pulls me from a dreamless slumber. Blinking away the grogginess, I realize with a start that my hand is still on his, my head resting on the side of his bed.

"Ah, good, you're both awake," a voice says, making me jolt upright.

I look up to see the doctor standing by the door, clipboard in hand, his expression neutral. My cheeks flush instantly, and I snatch my hand away from Shota’s as if I’ve been caught doing something inappropriate. Not that… well, not that I was doing anything wrong, but still.

Before I can say anything, the doctor smiles, glancing between us with amusement. “It’s good to see Mr. Aizawa has such a devoted wife.”

What? My heart skips a beat, and I feel my face turn crimson.

“No, no, we’re not—” I start to protest, but my words stumble over themselves, and all I can manage is a flustered mess of syllables.

From the corner of my eye, I notice Shota shift slightly, his brows furrowing as he regains consciousness. He blinks groggily, his gaze landing on me first, then the doctor. Slowly, as if piecing together the scene, his eyes widen slightly, and a blush creeps onto his cheeks as well.

"Wait... what?" His voice is raspy, but the confusion is clear.

The doctor chuckles, clearly unaware of the awkward tension now flooding the room. “Oh, my mistake. But it’s good to know you’ll have someone to help take care of you during your recovery.”

Shota and I exchange an awkward glance, both of us avoiding eye contact for more than a second. His expression, usually so composed, is uncharacteristically flustered, and I know mine can’t be much better. My heart hammers in my chest, and I feel heat crawling up my neck.

The doctor, oblivious to the turmoil he’s caused, starts explaining Shota’s injuries again, going into detail about the fractures, the crushed orbital floor that could impact his quirk if not given proper rest. All the while, I try to calm myself, focusing on the medical terms rather than the warmth lingering from the hand I just held.

Shota shifts uncomfortably in his bed. "I need to get back to teaching."

The doctor sighs, clearly exasperated. “Mr. Aizawa, you need time to heal. If you push yourself, you risk doing permanent damage.”

Shota opens his mouth to argue, but I can already see where this is going. He’s stubborn, more so than anyone I know, and he won’t back down easily. The doctor crosses his arms, holding firm.

“You’re not leaving here without a proper recovery plan. You need full-time care, especially with injuries this severe.”

Full-time care. The words hang in the air, heavy and full of implications. Shota frowns, clearly not liking the idea, but before I can stop myself, the words tumble out of my mouth.

“I’ll do it,” I say, my voice sounding far more confident than I feel.

Shota’s eyes snap to mine, wide with surprise. My heart races as I realize what I’ve just volunteered for—living with him, taking care of him. And I don’t know why I said it. Maybe because I can’t stand the thought of leaving him alone, of him pushing himself when he shouldn’t. Or maybe… maybe it’s because of everything I’ve been feeling, everything I’ve buried for years, finally bubbling to the surface.

The doctor gives me an approving nod. “Excellent. Then we’ll prepare the discharge papers.”

---

Shota’s POV

I wake to the sound of the doctor talking, my body aching and head throbbing. It takes a moment for me to process the scene in front of me—Mailin sitting beside me, her hand in mine, her head resting on the bed. And the doctor, smiling like he just walked in on something... intimate.

Wife? What the hell is he talking about?

I want to tell him he’s wrong, that we’re not married, but the way Mailin reacts—her quick, panicked denial—leaves me momentarily speechless. And then I realize: we’ve both been caught in a moment that’s far more than either of us expected.

My heart stumbles as I process her presence, her warmth. And for a brief second, something stirs deep inside me, something I haven’t felt in a long time.

The doctor drones on about my injuries, listing everything that’s broken, every fracture and bruise. But my mind keeps flickering back to the sight of Mailin beside me, her face flushed, her hand trembling slightly as she pulls it away from mine.

“I need to get back to teaching,” I mutter, more out of instinct than actual thought. But even as I say it, I can feel my body protesting, the pain a reminder of just how broken I am.

The doctor shakes his head. “Not happening, Aizawa. You’re in no condition to teach right now. You need care.”

Care. Full-time care.

I glance at Mailin, and before I can even object, she volunteers. “I’ll do it,” she says quickly, her voice stronger than I expected.

Her words hang in the air between us, thick with meaning. She’s offering to live with me, to take care of me, and I don’t know what to make of it. The years we spent avoiding these feelings, the walls I built between us to keep things professional—it’s all crumbling now.

Living together. How are we supposed to live together without things getting... complicated?

---

The drive back to my apartment is quiet, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Mailin sits beside me, her hands gripping the steering wheel, eyes focused on the road ahead. I can see the blush lingering on her cheeks, the way her jaw tightens whenever she sneaks a glance in my direction.

I don’t know what to say. This entire situation feels surreal, like I’m caught in some strange dream where the past keeps rushing back, refusing to be ignored. My mind flashes back to high school, to the moments we shared back then—moments I thought I’d buried for good. But now, here we are, living under the same roof, and all those feelings are resurfacing, stronger than ever.

When we finally reach the apartment, she helps me inside, her hands gentle as she steadies me. I want to tell her I don’t need her help, that I can manage on my own, but the truth is, I can’t. Not right now. Not with these injuries.

“You can take the bed,” I mutter, avoiding her gaze as we enter the small bedroom. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She shakes her head. “No, you’re the one who needs rest. You take the bed.”

I scowl, already feeling the familiar frustration building. “I’m not taking the bed.”

“Shota,” she says softly, her voice firm but gentle, the way it always is when she’s trying to reason with me. “You’re hurt. Please, just… let me help you.”

Her eyes meet mine, and something in her gaze—something warm, something I haven’t seen in years—makes me stop arguing. I sink onto the bed with a sigh, my body aching with exhaustion. She pulls a chair up beside me, her movements quiet and calm, but I can feel the tension radiating off her.

I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come easily. How can it, with her sitting so close? I can feel her presence, the heat of her gaze as she watches over me. And all I can think about is how everything feels like it’s teetering on the edge, like one wrong move could send us spiraling into something we can’t take back.

Living together… caring for me… it’s going to complicate everything.

And yet, some part of me doesn’t mind.

Some part of me even wants it.

---

Mailin’s POV

I watch Shota sink into the bed, his body tense with frustration, but I can tell he’s too exhausted to fight me on this any longer. His pride has always been his shield, and seeing him like this—vulnerable, wounded—it tears at something deep inside me.

I settle into the chair beside him, folding my arms across the edge of the bed, trying to give him some space. But the truth is, my heart is racing, and I can’t stop the flood of memories from our school days—the way I admired him from a distance, the way we grew closer over time, and the way I buried my feelings for him when we both went our separate ways after graduation.

Now, here we are. Years later, forced together by circumstances I never imagined. The air between us is thick with unspoken tension, and every time I glance at him, I feel a familiar pull—a pull I’ve tried to ignore for so long. But it’s different now. We’re not teenagers anymore. We’re adults, living under the same roof, and the emotions I’ve tried to push away are clawing their way back to the surface.

Shota closes his eyes, but I can tell he’s not asleep. His breathing is uneven, his body too tense. I wonder if he’s thinking the same things I am—wondering how we’re going to navigate this new, strange reality. We’ve always been careful, always kept things professional. But how long can we keep pretending that the line between us hasn’t blurred?

I shake my head, trying to focus on his recovery. That’s what matters right now—his health, his well-being. Not the way his hair falls across his forehead, not the way his presence fills the room in a way that makes it hard to breathe.

I stand up quietly, moving around the room to prepare the healing supplies I’ve brought with me. A pitcher of water sits on the table, and I use it to start healing the worst of his injuries—the bruising around his ribs, the swelling in his arm. My quirk has always been about healing, and right now, it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. The soft glow of the water under my touch brings me a strange sense of peace, even as my heart hammers in my chest.

As I work, I feel Shota’s eyes on me. He doesn’t say anything, but the weight of his gaze is palpable. I can feel it, just as I can feel the unspoken words between us—the things neither of us has been brave enough to say. Not yet.

When I finish, I step back, wiping the sweat from my brow. “That should help,” I say quietly, keeping my tone neutral. I don’t trust my voice not to waver if I let the tension get to me.

Shota nods, his expression unreadable. “Thanks.”

There’s a moment of silence, and I feel the air between us grow heavier, like something unsaid is hanging there, waiting to be acknowledged. I open my mouth to say something, anything, to break the tension, but the words die in my throat when he shifts slightly, wincing in pain.

“Shota, please,” I say, the worry slipping into my voice despite myself. “You need to rest. Just… let me handle this. I’ll take care of you.”

His gaze softens, just for a moment. “You don’t have to, Mailin.”

“I want to,” I reply, my voice firmer than I expected. “Let me help.”

Another long pause stretches between us, and I can see the conflict in his eyes—the same conflict I feel. But then he closes his eyes again, letting out a soft sigh of resignation.

“Alright,” he mutters, his voice barely audible. “But just… don’t overdo it.”

I smile, though he can’t see it. “I won’t.”

As the night wears on, I sit by his side, my thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. Living together. Caring for him. How did we get here? And how am I supposed to keep my feelings in check when everything I’ve buried for years is now right in front of me, impossible to ignore?

I glance at him, watching as sleep finally takes over his exhausted body. His face relaxes, the tension easing from his features, and I can’t help but feel a pang of affection—something deeper, something I’ve always tried to push away.

But now, with him here, injured and vulnerable, I can’t deny it anymore.

I’ve loved him for years.

And now… living together like this… how long can we keep pretending?

---

Shota’s POV

Sleep finally takes me, but it’s restless, haunted by the dull ache of my injuries and the presence of Mailin beside me. I feel her every movement, every breath, and it pulls at something deep within me—something I’ve tried to keep buried for years.

I never expected this. I never expected her to offer to take care of me. And now, here we are, living together under circumstances I don’t fully understand, with feelings I’ve been ignoring for too long threatening to break through the surface.

When I wake again, the room is dim, the early morning light just starting to filter through the blinds. Mailin is still beside me, her head resting on her arms, her breathing soft and even. She stayed with me the whole night. Of course, she did. That’s who she is. She’s always been the one to care for others, always putting herself last.

And now she’s here, taking care of me.

I should be grateful. I should be focused on my recovery. But instead, all I can think about is how close she is, how much I want to reach out, to close the distance between us that’s been there for years.

But I can’t. Not now. Not like this.

I shift slightly, wincing at the pain that flares through my ribs. Mailin stirs, her eyes fluttering open as she glances up at me, her face soft with sleep. When our eyes meet, something unspoken passes between us—something that neither of us is ready to confront, but we both feel it. It’s been there for years, lingering in the background, waiting for the right moment to resurface.

And now, with us living together, I’m not sure how much longer we can ignore it.

“Morning,” she says softly, her voice still thick with sleep.

“Morning,” I reply, my own voice hoarse.

We sit there in silence for a moment, the weight of everything hanging between us, too heavy to lift but impossible to ignore. And as I look at her, sitting there beside me, all I can think is how much harder this is going to get.

Because the truth is, I’ve loved her too.

For years.

And now, we’re stuck in this fragile balance, pretending we can keep things professional when everything between us says otherwise.

How long can we pretend before it all falls apart?

Or maybe… maybe it’s time to stop pretending altogether.