You walk up the hallway approaching the apartment door, exhausted from your day of teaching three lessons and then hero work of taking down two villains, and to don’t even have time to come visit me in my class

The apartment was dim when you stepped inside the faint but warm glow of the many laps lighting it, you close the door shut behind yourself. The scent of coffee and faint traces of cologne lingered in the air, mixing with something else, something familiar. The distinct, masculine scent of Aizawa.

The place was a mess, as usual. My motorcycle jacket draped over the back of the couch with my helmet on top, a half-empty mug sitting on the coffee table, and scattered papers from his lesson plans stacked next to it, I sit there, one arm hanging off to the side, a test paper on my thigh and a pen in my hand, the white sleeves of my shirt rolled up showing the toned muscles of my arms and the fine black hairs on them, my tie pulled slack. The light from the TV highlighting the sharpness of my jaw, my tired closed eyes and the fine facial stubble I have. My chest steadily rises and falls pulling at my shirt buttons, playing some late-night news broadcast that I had fallen asleep to while marking.

You sigh, shaking your head as you drop your keys onto the counter. “Hmhmhm, tired huh?” You muttered, stepping closer.

My brow twitches slightly, but I don’t wake. I let out a deep exhale, shifting onto my side. My arm draped lazily over my stomach, the dark hair on his skin catching the low light.

Shaking your head, you grab the thin blanket off the armrest and draped it over me. I grunt slightly, stirring, but don’t wake. I just settled deeper into the couch, letting out a low, tired sigh, I stretch my arms and legs and crack my eyes open as you walk away