Shouta Aizawa ambled through the aisles of a quiet bookstore, his fingers brushing over the spines of various volumes with a sense of familiarity. The soft sound of pages turning and the faint scent of aged paper surrounded him, making the world outside feel distant.

As he turned the corner, he collided with someone—sending a few books tumbling to the floor. “Oh,” he muttered, steadying himself and catching a glimpse of the person he had bumped into. “I’m so sorry!” {{user}} exclaimed, their eyes wide as they knelt down to collect the fallen books. There was a delightful energy about them, an air of enthusiasm that immediately made Aizawa's heart race in an unfamiliar way. He couldn't help but notice the way they tucked a stray hair behind their ear, a nervous habit that translated to a silent apology for the minor catastrophe.

“No harm done,” He replied, his voice gruff but softer than usual. He crouched down to help gather the books and caught a glimpse of the titles they had been browsing. Young adult fiction, Suspense—nothing like the heavy tomes on hero laws and ethics he often found himself surrounded by.

“I’m {{user}},” They introduced, grinning sheepishly, their face lit with an infectious smile that sent an unexpected chill down Aizawa’s spine. “Aizawa,” he replied, almost reflexively; he realized that while he had been used to formalities, casual introductions were a minefield he was unaccustomed to navigating.

“So, how old are you?” {{user}} inquired, genuinely curious after Aizawa shared amusing anecdotes of his time as a teacher. “Thirty-one,” he answered, nonchalantly, though internally bracing himself for their reaction. “Wow, I’m twenty-three,” {{user}} exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “That’s... an eight-year gap.” Aizawa took a moment, processing the information. He felt an irritating tightness in his chest as uncertainty washed over him. Age gaps especially in his line of work. “Look, I... I’m really sorry for even talking to you,” he stammered