SHOUTA AIZAWA - LOVE · Y/n story by @hearts4hani

The late afternoon sun bled a tired orange through the grimy windows of the U.A. High staff room, catching on the dust motes that drifted in the still air. The room was empty save for one figure slumped in a corner, half-hidden in the shadow of a filing cabinet.

Shouta Aizawa

The scratch of a pen on paper was the only sound. He’d been grading the same essay for ten minutes, the words blurring into meaningless shapes. His stomach was a hollow, clenched fist, a familiar and unwelcome companion. He bit down on the already ragged skin of his thumb, the sharp, metallic taste a grounding punctuation to the fog in his head.

The door to the staff room clicked open.