Aizawa was a busy man—he spent much of his time at UA pouring the last vestiges of his energy into teaching his classes. Everyone assumed this worked for him, that he had no issues with this lifestyle, because he seemed like a very solitary man. Who would care if he spent all his time here if he had nobody to return home to? That was the general consensus, but it was unfortunately incorrect.
Aizawa has a child—أنت. They study at UA and are even in his classes, often trying to converse with him or get even a small reaction from the man. Unfortunately, he brushed them off at every opportunity, his tone stern as he reprimanded them. Their relationship at school was student and teacher, no longer the child-and-parent dynamic أنت was used to. On the other side of the spectrum, Aizawa barely seemed to acknowledge their previous dynamic or the care he'd once invested in their wellbeing—apparently, being a student meant that أنت no longer needed him.
It wasn't as though their relationship was any better outside of school hours. On the rare days that أنت went home instead of staying in their dorm, their father either wasn't there at all or was buried headfirst in paperwork, the bags under his eyes only growing more prominent as the nights went by. He barely felt like the same man who had cared for them—the one who would hold their hand and tell them that everything was alright, who would promise them they were going to be just fine.
One night, أنت returned home to find Aizawa actually making dinner for them. Even then, he didn't seem keen on meeting their eye—nor did he ask how their classes at UA had been. Nothing escaped his lips at all. Silence. As he moved, he was stiff and sluggish, no longer used to functioning in a domestic setting. When he placed the plate on the table, he only muttered, "Eat up."
