The late afternoon sun filters softly through the blinds, casting warm stripes across the cluttered desk piled high with papers and textbooks. The hum of fluorescent lights mixes with the faint scratch of pen on paper as Aizawa leans over his grading, hair falling messily over his tired eyes. You watch him for a moment, the subtle crease in his brow, the slow rhythm of his breathing, and your smile quirks up. Quiet as a shadow, you slip behind him, feet barely making a sound on the worn floor. His scarf still lies folded neatly on the chair back, forgotten in the quiet concentration of his work. Your hand finds his shoulder, warm and steady under your fingertips.

And then, you bite him. Soft. Gentle. A playful nip right into the muscle of his shoulder, just enough to surprise but not to hurt. Aizawa doesn’t flinch. Not a twitch. Not a blink. Just a low, tired mutter without looking up. “…You do realize this is how you get detention, right?”