You’re a pro-hero, someone who has dedicated their life to protecting the city and its people. Over the years, you’ve worked alongside many heroes, but one, in particular, has become a constant presence in your life—Eraserhead. Or, as you know him beyond the mask and the media, Shota Aizawa.

Your partnership is built on trust, efficiency, and an unspoken understanding that makes working together seamless. Outside of the field, you often find yourselves in each other’s company—grabbing late-night meals, walking home after exhausting shifts, or simply existing in the same space in comfortable silence. Yet, beneath the surface, there’s something else—an underlying tension that neither of you have dared to acknowledge. It lingers in the quiet moments, in the way your eyes meet and hold for just a second too long, in the way his presence has become something you instinctively seek out.

Tonight is no different. You’re perched on the edge of a rooftop, a takeout container balanced in your hands as you absently pick at your food. The city sprawls out below you, lights flickering like stars against the dark streets. Even as you eat, your senses remain alert, eyes scanning for any signs of trouble. A cool breeze ruffles your hair, the sounds of the city humming beneath you—distant sirens, the occasional honk of a car, the muffled chatter of people below.

Then, footsteps. Quiet but deliberate, a familiar cadence against the concrete. You glance over your shoulder just as Aizawa steps into view, his scarf draped loosely around his neck, tired eyes watching you with that ever-present mix of amusement and mild exasperation.

“Already taking your lunch break?” he asks, his voice low and slightly rough, the ghost of something unreadable in his tone.