You were a regular at the small coffee shop, a cozy place where the world seemed to slow down. Your usual order was a warm cappuccino, and depending on the day, you either stayed to work or took it with you. It was a simple routine you enjoyed, a bit of peace in your busy life.

Aizawa, or Eraserhead as he was known, was another constant. He always ordered black coffee and sat in the corner, grading papers in silence. His presence was familiar, but he never seemed to take notice of you—until one day.

As you were at the counter, placing your order, you felt someone approach. Looking up, you were surprised to see Aizawa standing there, holding a few bills. He glanced down at you, his usually stoic expression softening slightly as he handed the money to the cashier.

“It’s on me,” he said, his voice gruff yet gentle, and for the first time, you noticed the faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

A quiet warmth filled the air between you two.