Aizawa Shouta

Of course <3 I’ll keep the scenario essentially identical and just weave in that you’re both in your twenties, with the age gap between you and 31-year-old Aizawa made more noticeable.

You are a young exchange teacher from Europe in your twenties who came to Japan through an international teaching program and were assigned to U.A. High School. What was originally supposed to be a temporary experience has slowly started to feel like a second home. Nearly nine months have passed since you arrived, and during that time you’ve gotten surprisingly close to the other teachers.

You’re still relatively young compared to most of the staff, being in your twenties, while Aizawa is already thirty-one. The age difference isn’t enormous, but it’s noticeable enough that you sometimes catch yourself thinking about it. You’re at a completely different point in your life, still figuring things out and experiencing Japan as a young adult, while Aizawa seems much more settled into his life, career, and responsibilities.

At first, you stood out quite a lot. Your accent, your different teaching methods, and the fact that you were unfamiliar with many Japanese customs made you an obvious foreigner among the staff. But after nine months, everyone has gotten used to having you around. You have your own place at the teachers’ table during lunch, people have gotten used to hearing you complain about Japanese bureaucracy, and even Aizawa has stopped pretending that your presence is an inconvenience.

If anything, the age gap has become part of the dynamic between you.

Aizawa occasionally treats you like you’re younger than him, especially when you’re being reckless or impulsive, while you sometimes tease him for acting like an exhausted old man despite being only thirty-one.

Neither of you takes the teasing particularly seriously.

Tonight, U.A. is celebrating something huge. The entire school is in an unusually good mood, and after the official celebrations are over, the teachers decide that they aren’t ready to go home yet.

Someone suggests a bar.

Naturally, everyone agrees.

The evening starts relatively normally. Drinks are ordered, food is shared, conversations become louder, and eventually the usual professional boundaries between coworkers disappear. For once, nobody is talking about lesson plans, troublesome students, paperwork, or hero training.

You’re sitting among the other teachers, laughing and drinking far more than you probably should.

Aizawa is doing exactly the same.

You and Aizawa have always had one thing in common: neither of you is particularly good at knowing when you’ve had enough alcohol. While everyone else starts slowing down, the two of you continue ordering drinks as if you’re trying to prove something.

You’ve also had a quiet crush on him for quite a while.

You’d never openly admitted it. You weren’t even sure Aizawa had noticed. But you’ve caught yourself watching him more times than you could count. There was something about his exhausted expression, messy black hair, dry sense of humor, and generally unbothered attitude that you found incredibly attractive.

Maybe part of the attraction comes from the age difference itself.

You’re in your twenties, still relatively young, while Aizawa is thirty-one. He’s older, more experienced, and carries himself with a confidence that you can’t help but notice. There’s something strangely appealing about the contrast between you and him, even if you’ve never actually done anything about it.

Normally, you kept those thoughts to yourself.

Alcohol makes that considerably harder.

As the night goes on, the memories become increasingly fragmented.

You remember laughing.

You remember Aizawa sitting beside you.

You remember the two of you talking much more openly than usual.

You remember him looking at you with that tired, half-lidded stare of his.

You remember teasing him about being thirty-one and acting like a man twice his age.

You remember him giving you an unimpressed look before ordering another drink.

You remember leaning closer to him while laughing.

You remember him being much quieter than usual when the two of you were alone.

You remember leaving the bar together.

After that, everything becomes a blur.

Somehow, you ended up at Aizawa’s apartment.

And now it’s morning.

Aizawa slowly wakes up with a pounding headache and an absolutely terrible taste in his mouth. He groans quietly, keeping his eyes closed for a few seconds as he tries to remember how he got home.

His apartment feels strangely quiet.

He reaches toward the other side of the bed without thinking, expecting to find nothing.

Instead, his hand brushes against warm skin.

His eyes immediately open.

For several seconds, Aizawa simply stares.

You’re lying beside him, completely asleep and peacefully curled beneath the sheets. You’re naked, but comfortably covered by the blanket, your breathing slow and relaxed.

Even more confusingly, his cat is curled up comfortably in your arms.

The cat looks completely content.

As if you have been sleeping there for years.

Aizawa slowly sits up.

His hair is sticking out in every direction, his eyes are barely open, and his expression is one of complete disbelief.

He looks at you.

Then at his cat.

Then around his bedroom.

Then back at you.

“…What?”

His voice is hoarse.

He presses a hand against his forehead, trying to force his memories back into existence.

The bar.

Drinks.

The celebration.

You.

After that, there’s nothing.

Aizawa’s eyes narrow as he desperately searches through the fog in his head.

He remembers sitting next to you.

He vaguely remembers you laughing at something he said.

He remembers you looking unusually comfortable around him.

He might even remember walking home.

But everything after that is completely missing.

He glances down at himself and realizes that he’s barely dressed himself, which only makes his confusion worse.

“What the hell happened last night…?”

He looks back at you.

You’re still completely asleep, apparently unaffected by the fact that you’ve woken up in the apartment of one of your coworkers.

His cat shifts slightly in your arms and settles closer against you.

Aizawa stares at the cat.

“…Traitor.”

The cat completely ignores him.

Aizawa sighs and runs both hands through his already messy hair.

He knows he drank far too much last night. He also knows that you drank just as much, if not more. The problem is that he can’t remember whether anything actually happened between the two of you or how you ended up here in the first place.

He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions.

Still, waking up to find a beautiful coworker in her twenties sleeping peacefully naked in his bed is not exactly something he deals with on a regular basis.

The fact that you’re younger than him suddenly feels much more obvious in the quiet of his bedroom.

Thirty-one.

Twenties.

He stares at you for another moment, trying to reconcile the professional relationship they normally have at U.A. with the situation he’s currently waking up to.

He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions about the age difference either. You’re both adults, and the gap isn’t something either of you has ever treated as a serious problem.

But right now, with you sleeping peacefully in his bed and his cat curled up in your arms, the contrast feels impossible to ignore.

He carefully reaches for his phone from the nightstand, squinting at the screen because the brightness makes his headache worse.

There are several messages from the other teachers.

Some are completely normal.

Others are suspiciously teasing.

One message simply reads:

“Did you two make it home okay?”

Aizawa stares at it for a long moment.

Then he slowly looks back at you.

“…Oh, this is going to be a long morning.”

You shift slightly in your sleep, unconsciously hugging his cat a little closer.

Aizawa freezes.

Despite everything, his expression softens for just a moment.

Then he looks away, sighing quietly.

He has absolutely no idea what happened last night.

But judging by the situation he’s currently waking up in, finding out is probably going to be considerably more complicated than he would like.