Shota’s POV

I sit up slowly, the stiffness in my arms reminding me that I’m still not as healed as I’d like to be. The memory of the USJ Incident burns in the back of my mind, but I try to push it aside. All I want now is to get back to my routine, to stop relying on everyone else, especially Mailin.

My eyes flick to the kitchen. I can hear her humming softly as she moves about, probably preparing breakfast.

I look down at the cast on my arms and grit my teeth. It’s been days since the attack, and I still hate this helpless feeling. I glance over at the bag of things she brought into my apartment—her clothes, her supplies, all scattered in my space now—and while it feels oddly comforting, it also feels... strange.

No. I need to do something myself. I’ve had enough of being babied.

With a grunt, I attempt to stand up, determined to at least pour myself some damn water. My arms protest immediately, but I ignore it, hobbling toward the kitchen. As I try to grab a glass from the counter with my bandaged hand, pain shoots through me, but I continue.

Just as I’m about to pour water, I hear it.

“Aizawa Shota!”

Her voice snaps through the air like a whip, and I freeze, mid-motion, the glass slipping slightly in my fingers.

I slowly turn, my gaze meeting hers. Mailin stands there, arms crossed, her striking blue eyes narrowed in that fierce, no-nonsense way that reminds me why we’ve all learned never to get on her bad side.

“I told you not to push yourself,” she says sternly, stepping forward. “What part of rest did you not understand?”

I blink at her, caught completely off guard by the full-name treatment. I feel like a kid who’s just been caught trying to sneak out past curfew, and it’s both infuriating and... strangely endearing.

“I’m fine,” I mutter, trying to salvage my dignity. “I can handle—”

But before I can finish my sentence, she’s already taking the glass from my hands, setting it back on the counter with a thud.

“No, you can’t,” she counters, her tone sharp but laced with concern. “Not right now. Let me help you.”

There’s something in her voice, something that makes me feel... guilty. And I hate it.

“I’m not helpless, Mailin,” I grumble, but even as I say it, I know it’s not true. I glance down at my arms, both encased in plaster and bandages, and the weight of reality settles in again.

“Shota,” she says softly now, her tone shifting as she moves closer. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here. Let me be here for you.”

I look up at her, at the way her eyes soften, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. The tension in the air eases, and I let out a frustrated sigh, knowing I’ve lost this battle.

“Fine,” I mumble, stepping back to let her take over.

Mailin gives me a small smile, one that’s far too pleased with itself, and I feel a rush of warmth bloom in my chest despite myself.

As she pours the water, I watch her, and it hits me again—this isn’t just about my broken arms. This is about something more, something I’ve been trying to ignore ever since she walked back into my life.

But it’s getting harder to pretend that this... doesn’t mean anything.

---

Mailin’s POV

I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me as I catch Shota, of all people, trying to pour himself water with both arms in casts. He stops mid-motion, looking like a child caught in the act of doing something they know they shouldn’t. And the sight of him—this grumpy, stubborn man, with that guilty look in his eyes—makes my heart flutter in a way I didn’t expect.

He’s always so in control, so stoic, that seeing him like this, vulnerable and... human, stirs something deep within me.

I move toward him, taking the glass from his hands before he can make things worse.

“Aizawa Shota,” I say again, my voice firm. “Sit down before you hurt yourself even more.”

He grumbles something under his breath but does as I say, and I suppress a smile as I pour the water for him, making sure to do it slowly—partly to tease him, partly because I can feel the tension still lingering between us.

As I hand him the glass, I catch his gaze. There’s something in his eyes, something deeper than the usual frustration or exhaustion. And for a second, I wonder if he’s feeling the same pull that I am.

The moment stretches between us, quiet and heavy, and I quickly busy myself with tidying up the kitchen to avoid the awkwardness.

But even as I move around, I can feel his eyes on me, watching. The weight of his gaze sends a shiver down my spine, and I have to remind myself that I’m here to take care of him—not to get caught up in old feelings.

Still, it’s hard to ignore the way my heart races when I catch him glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

This whole situation—living together, taking care of him like this—it feels far too domestic. Far too... intimate. And I know it’s only going to get worse from here.

---

Shota’s POV

I watch her move around the kitchen, her golden blonde hair catching the light, her movements graceful and fluid. It’s almost distracting, how easily she’s settled into this role—taking care of me, handling things I should be able to do myself.

And it bothers me how much I don’t mind it.

I should be frustrated. Annoyed. Hell, I should be yelling at her to stop treating me like some helpless invalid.

But instead, all I can think about is how close she is, how her presence fills the apartment with something I can’t quite name.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, glancing down at my arms. I hate this feeling—this weakness. But even more than that, I hate how much I want her to stay.

Mailin turns toward me, catching my eye again, and I feel that familiar pull—the one I’ve been trying to ignore since she showed up at the USJ, since we locked eyes in that chaotic, broken space.

This... thing between us. It’s always been there, hasn’t it? Just waiting to surface.

She moves toward me, a soft smile on her lips, and I feel my heart skip a beat.

“You should rest,” she says gently, her hand brushing against my shoulder as she passes. “I’ll take care of everything.”

And for once, I let her.