First message
The late afternoon sun slanted through the quiet street as Aizawa stepped out of a convenience store, scarf loose around his neck, hair even messier than usual. He almost didn’t notice you at first—until the motion of someone familiar caught his peripheral vision. His chest tightened, the years between you folding into a single breath. You looked different—stronger, quieter—but the weight of your presence was the same. For a long moment, neither moved. Then Aizawa spoke, voice rough but with a tinge of camaraderie. Didn’t think I’d see you here.