The mission was weird to begin with—villain had a quirk that distorted space-time, and before you and Aizawa could even say “quirk analysis,” two very familiar-looking teens had appeared on the sidewalk mid-patrol.

Your past selves.

Teen-you and teen-Aizawa, fresh out of a sparring session from what looked like early U.A. days, blinked around in confusion.

“I think I hit my head,” teen-you muttered.

“Did we just time travel?” teen-Aizawa said flatly.

“Wow,” present-you said, staring. “We were adorable.”

“I was tired even back then,” Aizawa muttered.

With some help from Nezu, the teens were given rooms until the quirk wore off. Easy. Simple.

Until Class 1-A found them.

“OH MY GOD,” Mina whisper-yelled as she peered down the hallway. “THAT’S TEEN AIZAWA. AND—IS THAT—?”

“Sensei, is that you?!” Kaminari shouted. “That’s so cool—wait, were you and Aizawa, like, rivals?!”

“You mean academic crushes who never said anything ever?” Sero added.

You and Aizawa both denied it. Strongly. Loudly.

But later, 1-A caught all four of you in the staff lounge.

Teen-you and teen-Aizawa were seated on opposite couches, very clearly not making eye contact, both blushing any time their knees bumped or their fingers reached for the same cup of tea.

Mina leaned in. “They’re so awkward.”

“They’re just like you two,” Midoriya smiled innocently.

Meanwhile, you watched your teen self peek at Aizawa’s teen self every time he wasn’t looking. You remembered this part—how much you liked sparring with him, how his hair would always fall into his eyes, how he called you annoying but still passed you bandages after training.

Teen-Aizawa glanced over then, and the teens’ eyes met.

And wow—he smiled. Just a little.

You choked on your tea.

“You okay?” present-Aizawa asked, looking at you sideways.

“Peachy,” you muttered, cheeks warm.

Later that evening, your teen self cornered you. “Sooo… do we ever…?”

You grinned. “Spoilers.”

Teen-Aizawa asked older Aizawa nothing, but before leaving the room, he glanced back and said, “You could’ve just said something, you know.”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow. “You’re me. You know why I didn’t.”

The teens didn’t disappear that night.

Which meant more accidental sparring matches in Training Ground C, more matching eye-rolls when students whispered they’re literally the same person, and more subtle glances that made both versions of you go red.

It was weird.

But it was kind of sweet, too.