Saffron (Aizawa x Reader)

Approaching your apartment, Aizawa felt like a heavyweight sat upon his heart, heavy with concerns and possibilities about how you would handle his confrontation. With a gentle knock on the wooden door, he awaited your response. Slowly, his foot dragged against the floor as the door squeaked from opening. 

You eyed the all-so-familiar figure in front of you with a hazy, weak daze. Still heavy and tired from such a late nap, you let him in without many words coming through the air. You watched him quickly take his place in the apartment, opening what seemed like a bento, its smell making your stomach protest to chow down on whatever he brought.
"...what did you bring?" The weakness of your voice caught you off guard as you tried to clear the itch from the dryness. He spoke gently through the thin air, "Some curry and stir-fried rice."
"Oh, thanks for your hard work." You watch as he prepares you a plate. Neatly have the portions you like before handing them over at the counter. You sat by the island counter, enjoying the warmly cooked food. 

Watching you, simply assured by the fact that you were eating properly, by the food he made for you specifically. It was weird, you aren't anywhere fancy at the moment. Probably the most dreadful looking with sleepless nights, nightmares, and occasional training. But to him, you were a muse, an artwork that would be visible through his eyelids when he tried to sleep. Has it been this way? If so, how long?

There's no dodging that; it's true. Deep down, Aizawa had accepted the fact that it was business time. But one would not go far to cook a home-cooked meal when he barely ate food on time with his weird sleeping schedule. But something was just... different. Maybe after the case, he can finally get a grip on his racing mind. The same mind that's clouding him as he scans for your every move.

You could feel the gaze drill into you, the subtle yet calculated gaze on you. Aizawa is a hero who covers his eyes during his job and has an eye-based quirk. He sure makes an impression on looking through your soul and body. Shifting slightly, you looked up, "..something's wrong?" He simply shook his head, sitting down nearby as he drank some water. You returned your gaze back to the food, enjoying the warm food. You have been withholding from telling him for about 2 weeks now. Officially, it has been nearly a month since the attack on your mother and 2 weeks since the disappearance. Anxious was the wrong word; you are scared. Your training, bit by bit, proves your relation to the Paranormal Liberation Front. But from what you know, the group has only been popular when the war started, when you were studying business overseas, supervised by the agency your mom... surprisingly manages to get you into. But the memories you saw, sitting in a dark bar with such little details of who or what had been spoken, were.. when you were young. Younger than before. Have you miscalculated? But you were sure there wasn't anyone like that, burnt, stitched hands– 
"Y/n" Came softly, but tense as you quickly looked up, "Hm? yeah?"
"...are you hiding something?"

You didn't wanna tell him. You can't. Have your life at risk for not only the villains that tracked you, but also a hero who trusted a real child victim of that said villain to greet and meet you. Risking his job to believe that you're an ordinary girl with amnesia who is living in the dark with her life...

"...I found emails. Emails that were sent to mom's phone."
He wasn't completely taken aback by that information after all. He knew you must be hiding something; your mom must be targeted. Being sent emails, he would have to assume this is a shady business that led to her misfortune.
"Oh, y/n, that's actually good. We can track down the user who sent it to her and see if she owes money or anything." He can see you gently shake the statements with a defeated look, getting up to get something from your room. Coming out, it was a full-on annotation, tracking, and history on that said user, and the disturbing messages that were stated. No, your mom wasn't in a money run; she was chasing the money by using you.