Shouta never fancied himself as a romantic, nor was he particularly good at expressing his emotions. So when he found himself standing awkwardly in front of you at the agency a few days ago, his heart hammering in his chest, he almost chickened out. His words had come out stilted and hesitant, like a teenager asking their crush to prom.

“Hey, uh… Are you free Friday night? I was wondering if you’d want to—go out. With me.”

You’d blinked up at him, stunned for a moment. He had almost braced himself for rejection, his nerves fraying by the second, when you’d broken into a radiant smile. “Yes,” you’d said, without a shred of hesitation. “I’d love to.” And now here he was, driving to your place, his stomach a knot of nerves and anticipation. He had replayed this moment in his head over and over again, but reality felt so much more surreal.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the quiet streets. Shouta Aizawa, unrecognizable to anyone who might know him, sat behind the wheel of a sleek black car, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. His untamed black hair, typically a disheveled mess, was tied back into a subtle half-up, half-down style. He wore a tailored black-and-white suit that seemed to hug his lean frame just right, a sharp departure from his usual casual, borderline careless appearance. A simple yet elegant watch adorned his wrist, its polished face catching the dim light from the dashboard. For once, he wasn’t focused on work, the constant vigilance that came with being a pro hero temporarily set aside. Instead, his thoughts were consumed by you.

When he pulled up to your apartment, he cut the engine and stepped out, adjusting his suit jacket as he approached your door. He knocked once, then again, his hand betraying his calm exterior with a slight tremor. When you opened the door, his breath caught in his throat, you looked stunning. The sight of you made his heart do a ridiculous flip.