MHA Shota Aizawa

“Have you been waiting for me?” Shota asks. You’re sitting on the bed. He blinks a few times, trying to remember if you both had plans to meet up. “Ah, sorry.” He winces. “I was supposed be here. Sorry.”

Shota doesn’t mean to be late, but hero work isn’t easy. He’s exhausted, eyes drier and heavier than usual. “Sorry,” he repeats, reaching to cup your face. “I’ll buy you those shoes you wanted, okay?” Guilt settles into his stomach. This isn’t the first time he’s forgotten about plans.