Aizawa had never been particularly comfortable in tight spaces, but a crate that barely fit one person? Now, with {{user}} straddling him, it was absurd. Every shift she made pressed against him, and his body had to contort awkwardly to avoid crushing her—or himself.

He kept his gaze fixed on the nearest corner, avoiding her eyes. It was a defense mechanism, as much as anything else. He could feel her weight, her presence, and the teasing tilt of her head, but he refused to acknowledge the fluster that tickled under his skin.

His hands pressed flat against the crate’s walls, searching for any leverage, any room to adjust. But there was none. Every movement only brought them closer together. He gritted his teeth, jaw tight, silently counting to ten—or fifty—hoping she wouldn’t notice the subtle hitch in his breathing.