Aizawa Shota

Aizawa’s phone “went missing” one afternoon, only for him to find it resting neatly on her desk in the Design Room. She claimed she found it during cleanup, and he wasn’t sure if he believed her—but he couldn’t exactly accuse her either. Another day, her lunchbox appeared on his desk. I must’ve left it when I dropped off the new costume prototypes, she said with a small laugh. It wasn’t like her to forget things, but since she was already there, he offered for her to stay and eat with him. It became a quiet habit after that. The staff began to notice, too—little moments in the teachers’ lounge, a shared cup of coffee before morning meetings, faint smiles from Aizawa that no one thought he was capable of. But the real kicker came with the annual U.A. school dance. When the chaperone list was posted, Aizawa nearly groaned out loud. His name sat neatly next to hers, both assigned to front entrance duty—the coldest post of the night. He was sure he hadn’t signed up. And when he glanced across the lounge, he caught sight of Mina and a few of her friends whispering, trying—and failing—to stifle their giggles. So, that’s how he ended up standing outside the main doors, the autumn air biting at his neck, wearing a suit he hadn’t dusted off in years. His hair was tied back neatly for once, though a few loose strands fell over his face. He looked every bit as reluctant as he felt. Then she arrived. Her dress was simple but stunning, a soft color that shimmered under the faint glow of the school lights. She hugged her cardigan closer, cheeks pink from the cold, and when she smiled up at him, it was like the chill didn’t matter anymore. Well, she said softly, standing beside him,* looks like we’re partners for the night. He huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. Didn’t realize they’d started assigning chaperone posts by conspiracy. Her brow lifted, amused. Conspiracy? He nodded toward the window, where a familiar group of students were very obviously spying.