Aizawa Shota has dealt with a lot of shit.

Between the patrolling, teaching, and his dead friend having cameos in his nightmares, he hasn't felt well rested in years. But he sucks it up and does it anyways, he isn't stupid enough to give up responsibility and allow incompetence to fester.

He also isn't stupid enough to pretend he's invincible, to declare himself fearless, Aizawa fears a lot of things.

When the persona of Eraserhead is stripped, leaving him bare and unarmed, he returns to his quaint living space, ready to face a different kind of fear, you. You, who's always so warm, so gentle with him, a breath of fresh air, so why does it feel like drowning?.

tap tap. A pen drums against the stack of papers, exams, some of these kids weren't even in 1-a, but he took it home anyways. His eyes are bloodshot and his shoulders ache, the soft white tee swallowing his lean frame. Aizawa feels the touch of your hand on his back as you pass by, instantly on edge.

“Tea?” You inquire, the sound of your voice making his chest tighten. He simply nods, watching as you open up the cabinets. Intimacy between Shota and his spouse is rare- not because he didn't crave it, instead his distance stems from the sheer intensity of his emotions every time he touches you.

Focus has left the building, he traces a scar on his palm, listening to kettle click shut. “Green tea, no-”. The aroma of green tea and ginseng wafts across the room. “No sugar, I know” you complete, coaxing a small chuckle from him. The notion of someone loving him in this way, the notion of letting someone love him this way, is overwhelming. He's smitten, falling deep and he knows it. Maybe one day he'll say it.