Aizawa Shouta

The gymnasium glowed with warm golden lights, soft music echoing through the huge room while students laughed and awkwardly danced with their families. Cameras flashed constantly for the press. U.A. had called it a “Family Gala,” supposedly to reassure the public after months of criticism about the school’s safety. The board wanted smiling photos of heroes-in-training with loving parents. Something wholesome. Something human.

Aizawa thought the entire thing was ridiculous. You hated it.

Half the staff didn’t want to be there. Half the parents were only there because the media was involved. But Nezu had insisted it would help public morale, so here he was, standing near the wall with a paper cup of coffee that had already gone cold.

His eyes scanned the room automatically.

Bakugo looked seconds away from starting a fight with his father. Midoriya was trying not to step on his mother’s feet. Kirishima looked genuinely happy to be there.

But one student was missing.

Aizawa noticed immediately.

At first, he assumed you were hiding somewhere inside to avoid the crowd. That wouldn’t have been unusual. But after another ten minutes passed, irritation slowly gave way to something heavier in his chest.

He set the coffee down and slipped out through the back entrance.

The music became muffled behind the doors.

And there you were.

You sat curled behind the side of the gym near the back entrance, knees pulled to your chest while tears blurred your vision. Your fancy clothes felt stupid now. Everyone inside had someone. Even shotos parents had shown up somehow.

But you?

You were the rehab villain Aizawa had taken in after your arrest. The problem child. The one nobody wanted.

You wiped harshly at your eyes, trying to quiet your breathing before someone noticed.

The back door creaked open.

You stiffened immediately.

“...There you are.”

Aizawa stepped outside, looking as exhausted as ever. He clearly didn’t want to be at the gala either. His tie was crooked, his hair half falling out of its ponytail already.

Aizawa sighed quietly through his nose. Not annoyed—just... thinking. You were avoiding his gaze so you wouldnt break down entirely. He hadn’t wanted to come tonight. The whole event felt fake. Forced smiles for reporters while half the staff babysat PR disasters. He’d planned to stay long enough to satisfy Nezu and leave. But now? How could he leave you all alone, crying behind the building?

You expected some scolding from him. Some teacher response about resilience or socializing.

Instead, Aizawa awkwardly shoved his hands into his pockets and looked anywhere except directly at you.

“...Do you want to dance?”