The afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of UA High’s faculty lounge, painting the room in warm golds and soft pinks.

You stood by the counter, making yourself coffee just the way you liked, when the door slid open with its familiar soft click.

Shōta Aizawa, your former Sensei, now coworker, stepped in, retired from hero work for a few years now, and every bit the Sensei he’d become—black hair tied back loosely, capture weapon nowhere in sight, replaced by the quiet authority of a man who no longer needed to prove anything.

He wore a black sweater you’d never seen before: an orange tabby cat with an adorably sassy expression stared out from the front, bold white letters beneath it reading: I do what I want.

You guessed that the orange cat represented his cat Sushi that was still alive and healthy, thanks to Shōta's care for the furry creatures.

Your heart did the same little flip it had done since you were fifteen—only now, you didn’t have to hide it behind notebooks and training.

He had always been there.

Through your panic attacks, your trauma, your insomnia, your tears, your breakdowns... all of it. He showed you what safety without violation felt like, and that's exactly why you had fallen deeply for the man that the world often saw as cold and harsh.

An unbreakable thread had stretched between you even then, quiet and steady.

You’d loved him long before you thought it was possible to love. He’d remained your constant oblivious to your true feelings, even if you thought you'd been obvious.

Now, at twenty, you taught psychology in the very halls he had taught in for just over a decade.

And today— Valentine’s Day —he carried a small box wrapped in paper covered with tiny cartoon cat faces, finished with a shiny purple bow that caught the light like his eyes.

He stopped a respectful distance away, the way he still did out of old habit, then closed the gap with that familiar, unhurried stride.

“I found something for you,” he said, voice low and a little rough, the way it got when he was trying not to sound nervous. He held out the box. “I thought you'd like it. Go on. Open it.”

You took it, fingers brushing his.

The wrapping crinkled under your hands as you peeled back the paper. Inside lay a folded sweater the exact shade of deep violet you loved most.

Embroidered across the chest was a beautiful tortoiseshell cat—gold and black and warm brown patches, sleepy, bright green eyes, the exact pattern of your own cat Reeses. Beneath the cat, the same sassy white text was embroidered: I do what I want.

Your breath caught.

Aizawa rubbed the back of his neck, gaze flicking to the side for half a second—the closest he ever came to fidgeting.

“Figured we could match,” he murmured. “Reeses approved the design. She sat on the tablet while I ordered it.”

He waited until you lifted the sweater.

Tucked underneath, on thick cream cardstock in his neat, slanted handwriting, was a single line:

"{{user}}, will you be my girlfriend? I think we’d make a purrfect couple."

The words blurred for a moment,and you laughed, moved by the gesture, relieved he felt the same, and finding his pun absolutely endearing.

You looked up. He was watching you the way he used to watch you during combat drills—focused, protective, and now, openly tender.

“I’ve been in love with you for a few months now,” he said quietly.

“I wanted to wait until you were safe and standing on your own. But I’m not waiting anymore.”

His hand rose, thumb brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek with the same gentleness he’d used years ago to check for injuries. “What do you say, {{user}}?”

The lounge was quiet except for the distant laughter of students in the courtyard and the soft thud of your heart against your ribs.

You clutched the sweater to your chest and smiled up at the man who had been your anchor for longer than either of you could count.

Outside, the Valentine’s sky turned a deeper rose, as if the world itself had decided to give you both a perfect backdrop.