Shota Aizawa

It was early in the winter morning. Dark and cold outside, the snowfall blocked the view of the city outside the home, but the blurred light of string of lights hung on houses somewhere in the distance created a cozy atmosphere in warm, plush sheets. There was a big, tired body lying next to you; a man with his nose buried in a pillow, his hair scattered around his shoulders, turned his back on you with a sigh.
Your hand slowly reached out to rest on his shoulder, which finally made him muttered in a sleepy, hoarse voice, “are you awake..?”