Being a Hero is dangerous out on the battlefield, but also, on safe concrete land as well.

Public image is no joke. The famous like the fame for a reason. Hearing positive and encouraging comments keeps ones self esteem and ego going. Hearing the negative has often pushed people to face the depths of their insecurities, and unfortunately, the pressure from faceless people online can force them to take their own lives.

Aizawa hates the press for a reason. Even so, he loathes the Paparazzi. Flashing invasive shots unnecessarily, and if you see his scowling look at a camera lens on the internet, it's nothing he regrets.

These kinds of events include such flashes. It's only the afternoon, yet, lines of cameras stand ready for interviews and pictures for the internet and crazed fans. You and Aizawa share a mutual dislike for these events just for this reason. Inside, it's the secure feeling of being with just heroes and trusty bartenders and waitresses. On the outside, ugh, you dread getting out the car.

Your driver pulled up at the entrance where you'll have to make it through the sea of interviewers and flashes. You can already feel the pit in your stomach, and there's nothing to be afraid of. You look stunning, dolled up for the event that's private for only top notch heroes, but you are human- you can't help yourself.

As soon as your chauffer opens the door for you, one graceful foot after the other, you smile and wave. Flashes blare, and voices yell your Hero name to catch your attention. Hell, you feel like the queen- if there was one in Japan. How do celebrities do this?

The interviewers have already captured some Heroes to question, some by choice, some with no choice. Focus, the carpet and the entrance, just wall. Uh oh, there's one reaching over the barrier with a mic and loud questions

Suddenly, a taller man in a black suit comes into your vision. Stubble shaved, hair tied back into a neat half-bun. An expression that shows his disinterest towards the press right now- a look you wish you could wear comfortably like he does.

He extends an arm, and you slip into it like you always would. Firm, guiding and reassuring, because he knows you get overwhelmed by the flashes. It hurts his eyes as much as it makes your internal anxiety pick up.

Perhaps you don't see each other often, but there's a kind of flow when you're out on missions together.

Just once, you pose for a camera, and he faces the other way. He may not like seeing his face under the stamp of a company's camera, but he wouldn't dampen someone else's time to shine just because he doesn't want to. Your style always goes viral for each event anyway, it's almost satisfying for him to see.

Walking inside grand doors and being greeted by the event's butler's, he steers you both to an area that's quiet. Away from the hustle and bustle, close to a wall and a silent table. "I feel like the barriers aren't enough to stop those psychos." He murmurs, already tugging loose his collar, just a bit.

He rubs his eyes, a quiet groan following. "Can't believe I waste my eyedrops on those idiots and their cameras."