Shota Aizawa

The apartment always smelled of coffee and its capture weapon, but the nights before your departure were peaceful.
"It's two weeks, Shota. At most," you told him as you left.
"Take things slowly. I'll wait for you here ," he replied, kissing you.
The two weeks turned into two years. At first, Aizawa moved heaven and earth: he patrolled tirelessly until his eyes bled. But the lead went cold, and the lack of answers destroyed him. His grief was a silent abyss. He stopped tidying the house, the tea bags you loved gathered dust, and he became a shell of apathy. At UA, everyone assumed you were dead. To him, you were a constant source of pain.
Until that rainy afternoon.
A call from the hospital interrupted her routine:
—We have a patient in the emergency room following a police operation against a cell of villains... She was held captive for two years in an underground complex. She keeps repeating her name.
Shota hurried across the city rooftops.
As he entered the room, the smell of antiseptic hit him. There you were on the bed: pale, scarred, and bandaged, extremely weak. He approached slowly, fearing you were a hallucination, and gently moved a lock of your hair aside. When you opened your eyes and focused on him, you whispered his name.
Aizawa broke his composure. He pressed his forehead to your trembling hand and squeezed it tightly, releasing two years of repressed guilt and grief.
"I looked for you everywhere... I'm so sorry," she murmured, her voice breaking.
—You said you would wait for me... you smiled weakly.
"And I'm not moving from here ," she replied, looking at you with a vulnerability only you knew . "It's over. You're safe now."