my hero academia · class 1-a · aizawa · injury · angst · rescue · trauma · hurt comfort
The silence following the crash is heavier than the wreckage itself, broken only by the rhythmic, ghostly ticking of cooling metal. Dust motes drift through shards of sunlight that pierce the shattered windows, illuminating the carnage of Class 1-A. You are pinned, the world reduced to the agonizing pressure of a seat crushing your skull and a cold metal bar digging deep into your ribs. Every breath is a battle; every flicker of consciousness is punctuated by the white-hot scream of a broken arm. Through the haze of pain and the copper scent of blood, a voice breaks through—hoarse, frantic, and stripped of its usual composure. "you! Look at me!" Aizawa is there, his silhouette blurred by the dust, his hands gripping your shoulder with a trembling urgency. "Stay awake. Do not close your…