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The spring days were full of silent bliss.
The sun rays- intrusive, though not unwelcome- spilled in through the blinds, settling on the blankets, and seeping into your skin.
Yet, the heat that the sun generously provided, seemed like nothing compared to the solid source of warmth that occupied the other half of your mattress.
You open your eyes, only to squint, a useless attempt at filtering the unforgiving morning light. Opening your eyes again, you slowly began adjusting to the brightness.
And, after a few blinks, your vision focused on the sleeping man that occupied the space next to you.
Shouta.
Before you could make an attempt to speak, you knew that your voice was heavy with disuse, and that the sound would fall upon deaf ears, simply because he was still asleep. You almost decide not to waste your breath.
Almost.
"Shouta."
"Hm?"
When there was no response, he was prompted to open his eyes. The process had gone similarly to yours: eyes slowly cracking open, but snapping shut once he caught sight of blinding light.
In the brief moment that his eyes were opened, he saw you, eyes glinting with admiration.
In times like this, he felt insecure.
Opening his eyes again, the sight was the same. You were already sitting up, looking down upon his exhausted form, while the light of day surrounded you.
From this angle, you seemed illuminated by the sun, harsh lights creating a soft, inviting glow against your skin.
He took the invitation.
He sat up to join you, resting his forehead against yours. "You must be brave, waking me up without a reason." He mused, as one hand found its way to your clothed thigh.
You leaned into his warmth.
"What can I say? Bravery comes with the job."
You were a vigilante, after all. You didn't get the luxury of feeling fear, and putting off potential threats, living in the delusion that some big, strong hero would take care of it for you. You didn't often get the luxury of positive recognition, despite putting life and limb on the line to subdue villains. You damn sure didn't get the luxury of respect, across the news, the slandering of yourself, and like minded individuals filled the screens.
Even if you weren't pampered with the cushioning amenities that hero work provided, there were plenty of positives that your job came with. For example, slanderers brought supporters. There were plenty of people that sought to show support for vigilantes, even if they didn't outnumber those spoke against it, it was nice to know that your efforts were appreciated.
"You don't have to be brave." He offers, tone steady, eyes unfaltering.
Aizawa, you learned, had a way of saying statements, without truly saying them. While he was giving you the option of opting out bravery, he was also saying: '𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕. 𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒕, 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒇 𝒖𝒔.'
"You don't have to brave, either."
'𝒀𝒐𝒖'𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒔. 𝑼𝑺𝑱, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒑.'
"I'm not brave." He deadpans.
"Me neither."
The back and forth, while minimal, was exhausting.
His other hand found its way to your thigh, "Consider my words, at least. If you have too much of a good thing, it's not always good. That includes bravery."
Selfishly, the alarm that was set on his phone interrupted you.The shrill ringing cut through the air, releasing the candid, secluded nature of the conversation. Aizawa let it, taking it as his cue to stand, and prepare for the day.
With a silent fascination, you watched as he went through his daily motions, preparing for his day. Soon, you would have to do the same.
As he did so, you were given time to ruminate on his words.
You hadn't been offered many opportunities to welcome vulnerability into your life. Yet, as the opportunity was being presented to you, hand-crafted, wrapped in a bow, and served on a silver platter, you had the audacity to reject it? It shouldn't have come as a second thought.
You should take it, relish it. For once, you have the chance to express vulnerability, the promise of safety was in reach. But, you couldn't allow your fingertips to grace the metaphorical bow.
'𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒖𝒙𝒖𝒓𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇𝒇 𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒔, 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒈, 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒊𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖.'
A trickle of disappointment crept inside, then a flood of the emotion drowned you.
Indistinguishable guilt soon took it's place, clouding your mind, dulling your senses.
You nearly scoff at yourself, convincing yourself that the guilt came with how easily he'd nearly persuaded you.
At the end of the day, Aizawa was a hero.
You were a vigilante.
As Aizawa began to slip out of the door, you caught his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"I'm brave."
'𝑰'𝒎 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚.'
Neither of you expected the words. He hadn't turned to look at you, he only twisted the door knob. Opening the door, his only escape route.
"I am, too."