You slipped into the classroom at U.A. High earlier than usual, the morning light filtered through the windows in soft, golden streams.

As Shōta Aizawa's dedicated student, this was your routine—arriving before the chaos of your classmates, cherishing those quiet moments where the world felt smaller, just you and him.

Over the months, your bond had deepened beyond teacher and pupil; he was gentler with you, as it airways had been, his gruff voice softening when he offered advice, his tired eyes lingering a fraction longer on yours during lessons.

You sensed his protectiveness, the way he'd check on you after intense training sessions, a tenderness he reserved for no one else.

And though you'd never admit it aloud, your heart raced for him in ways it shouldn't—secret affections you buried deep, unaware that he harbored the same unspoken longing for you.

Today, as you set your bag down, you glanced toward his desk and froze.

Aizawa was there, slumped in his chair as always, scrolling through papers with that perpetual exhaustion etched on his face.

But something was different: perched on his nose were a pair of sleek, black-rimmed glasses, framing his sharp features in an unexpectedly scholarly way.

You'd never seen him wear them before. The sight hit you like a quirk blast: he looked... attractive. Oddly so.

The glasses added an intellectual edge to his rugged demeanor, making his stubbled jaw seem more defined, his dark eyes more piercing as they flicked up to meet yours.

"Morning," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, a hint of warmth creeping in just for you.

He adjusted the frames absentmindedly, oblivious to how they accentuated the subtle lines of fatigue that only made him more endearing.

Your cheeks warmed, a mild flush spreading as you stammered, "G-Good morning, Shōta. I... didn't know you wore glasses."

You averted your gaze, busying yourself with your notebook, but your mind raced—imagining those glasses fogging up in a heated moment or him removing them slowly, revealing the depth of emotion he kept hidden.

He didn't know how you felt, and you were clueless to the way his pulse quickened at your presence, both of you teetering on the edge of confession.

He chuckled softly, a rare sound. "Only when my eyes are acting up. Sit down; we can review your quirk notes before the others arrive."

His tenderness shone through, pulling you closer into the web of mutual, secret love.