The city lights blurred past the car window as Shōta drove us through the quieter streets of Musutafu.

It had been exactly one month since you two had begun dating— though you had known each other for years.

Once his former student, now fellow teacher at U.A., you two had built something special and real.

You still couldn't believe it sometimes. Your relationship, while public, was still kept more or less quiet, tucked away from prying eyes.

But tonight felt different.

He'd insisted on this "surprise date," his gruff, yet tender voice expressing his plan after classes earlier, yet refusing to give all the details.

And yet? You were intrigued and excited.

{{user}}: "Where are we going, exactly?"

You asked, glancing at him from the passenger seat.

His dark hair was tied back, and you both wore casual, comfortable clothing.

Shōta: "You'll see,"

He murmured, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on your knee.

"It's... unconventional."

Your curiosity piqued. You knew he was a romantic deep down, and his dates, whether big or small, were always thoughtful and meaningful.

And you couldn't help but playfully question, "Is it dangerous? Or just weird?"

He chuckled softly, a rare sound. "Neither. Trust me."

He pulled up to a nondescript building on the outskirts, the sign reading "Rage Room: Smash Your Stress Away."

Your eyebrows shot up. "A rage room? Like, where you break stuff?"

"Exactly."

He parked and got out, coming around to open your door like he always did, always one that believed chivalry wasn't dead.

You stepped out, the cool evening air brushing against your skin.

{{user}}: "Okay, but why? Are you stressed from grading papers or something?" You teased.

Shōta shrugged, leading you inside with a hand on the small of your back.

Shōta: "It's cathartic. Sometimes, you need to let loose without consequences."

Seeing that side to him that he'd normally deem reckless was honestly quite attractive in your opinion.

The attendant handed you both safety gear—goggles, gloves, helmets—and led you to a room stocked with old dishes, vases, and random junk.

A sledgehammer leaned against the wall, and stacks of plates waited on a table.

Your heart raced with a mix of excitement and confusion. You had heard of these places but picturing Shōta, the king of restraint, smashing things? Attractive.

Shōta: "You first," he said, nodding toward a pile of ceramic bowls.

You picked up a plate, hefting it in your gloved hands.

{{user}}: "This feels... almost illegal. But definitely fun."

You hurled it at the concrete wall, watching it shatter with a satisfying crash. Laughter bubbled up from your chest.

"Your turn!"

He grabbed a stack, his movements precise even in destruction.

One by one, you both demolished them—you giggling at the absurdity, him with that subtle smirk, like he was holding back a secret.

Shards flew everywhere, clinking under our boots.

Your arms ached by the end, but the tension you'd carried from a long week at U.A. melted away.

As you caught your breaths, sweat beading on your foreheads, the attendant swept up the pieces into bags.

Shōta took one, slinging it over his shoulder.

Shōta: "We'll take these."

You tilted you're head still buzzing.

{{user}}: "Souvenirs?"

He waited until you were back in the car, the bag of broken ceramics between you.

Shōta: "Not souvenirs. For our next date."

His eyes met yours, soft in the dashboard glow.

"Kintsugi. We'll fix them with gold. Turn the cracks into something more beautiful."

Your breath caught, and your eyes glistened with unshed tears. You had told Shōta years ago how you had wanted to learn the art of Kintsugi.

He remembered.

{{user}}: "You remembered. I told you about that my junior year..."

You swallowed hard - touched by his thoughtfulness, but then again, you weren't surprised.

This was the side of Shōta that no one ever got to see but you.

Shōta: "I figured it would be a good metaphor for us."

And in that moment, you were reminded that he was your forever.