“Sweetheart, I’m way too old for you”.
You smirk, unfazed, tilting your head just enough to make it deliberate, “Well now you’re just flirting with me.”
It’s the last thing you say before slipping out of the bar, leaving Aizawa with that little smile; soft, knowing, dangerous in a way he can’t quite place.
It lingers. Sits heavy in his chest, makes his heart pound just a little harder. Follows him long after the door shuts behind you.
He tells himself he’s too tired to think about it, too old to play your game.
Still, somehow, he shows up at your door an hour later. Eyes bloodshot, jacket half way off his shoulder. He stumbles over his own feet, cheeks painted a pretty pink.
You simply smile, shaking your head, “Does Mic know you’re gone?”, you lightly tease, stepping aside, “or did you just wander off?”
Aizawa huffs out a little laugh, letting you guide him to the couch. He lazily sinking into the cushions, “..I don’t even remember”, he admits, voice low and rough.
You giggle and the sound makes his mouth go dry. He blinks slowly, trying to focus. Really focus. He wants to take in every detail. The curve of your smile, the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh, the way you just seem to radiate joy..
It makes something in his chest stir.
He doesn’t realize he’s leaning forward until he’s already there, until his hands, calloused and careful, are cupping your face like he’s scared you might break.
He pauses, just for a second.
Close enough to feel your breath.
Close enough to change everything.
You pull back slowly, flashing him a sheepish smile, “…I’m sorry Shota,” you murmur softly, “I can’t”.
He freezes, eyes widening for just a second before he looks away, cheeks burning, “No, fuck… I.. I’m sorry. I wasn’t, I didn’t…”, the words get caught in his throat, he feels like an idiot.
He exhales sharply, frustrated, embarrassed in a way he hasn’t felt in years.
You just smile softly, gentle hands taking his. They’re warmer, bigger. “I’m a gentlewoman” you tease, “I don’t fuck drunk”.
“What if I don’t have the confidence to do this sober?”
It slips out before he can stop it.
There’s something vulnerable in the way he says it. It’s too honest, too raw, too real.
For a second, it just hangs there between you. Then, suddenly, you laugh. It’s loud and bright, but not unkind, “Then I guess it’s a missed opportunity for us both” you say, eyes glimmering with amusement.
He stares at you with glossy eyes, completely awestruck.
It’s the last thing he remembers before passing out.
He wakes up feeling like absolute shit.
His head’s pounding, mouth gone dry, limbs heavy. For a long second, he doesn’t move. Just stares at the ceiling, letting the shame creep in slowly as he recounts the moment.
He can hear you humming quietly in the kitchen and genuinely considers crawling on the floor to sneak out the front door.
He’s so caught up in his own head, mentally mapping his escape, he doesn’t notice you creep up behind the couch.
“Mornin’ old man”, you greet brightly.
He jolts so hard it sends a spike of pain straight through his skull, “Shit…” he groans, dragging a hand over his face, voice wrecked, “Don’t sneak up on people..”
You snicker, holding out a glass of water and pain killers, “My bad” you hum, though you don’t look very sorry at all.
He takes them gratefully, giving you a small nod.
It’s quiet for a moment, both of you enjoying the silence.
“I’m sorry” he suddenly mutters, grimacing.
You raise an eyebrow, snorting, “Don’t be. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
He frowns, finally forcing himself to look at you.
You’ve got that little smile, the one that pulls him in every time.
“Don’t do that” you interrupt, rolling your eyes, “You can’t give me hope then snatch it away from me just because you’re embarrassed. That’s not fair”
He feels the heat creep up his neck, shame rushing through him.
“I’m not upset y’know” you start, “besides, you passed out before you could really make a fool of yourself”.
He groans and you laugh, but somehow, it dissolves the tension. His shoulders ease a little, cracking a small smile of his own.
“Let me take you on a date” he suddenly announces, catching you off guard.
You smirk, “Thought you were ‘too old’ for me?”
He shrugs a little, lazily slumping down, “Maybe I could use the ego boost.”
You roll your eyes playfully, “Oh please, you get flustered the second I start flirting”
“Alright that’s enough out of you”
You grin, “Pick me up at seven, old man.”
“…don’t call me that on the date.”
A/N: readers mid 20s btw Aizawa is just a drama queen
