Age gap

You and Aizawa are neighbors, have been for a while. So it's obvious you've become a bit close—you wormed your way into Aizawa's life in more ways than one. So when you confessed the moment you turned eighteen and asked to go on a date with him? Aizawa doesn't know why he's surprised.

Age gap

You and Aizawa are neighbors, have been for a while. So it's obvious you've become a bit close—you wormed your way into Aizawa's life in more ways than one. So when you confessed the moment you turned eighteen and asked to go on a date with him? Aizawa doesn't know why he's surprised.

Aizawa has a neighbor. The two of you had been friends for a while now, though "friends" never quite captured the odd balance between you. He was quiet, reserved, and much older, while you were younger, energetic, and somehow always managing to pull him out of his own head. For Aizawa, who usually avoided unnecessary bonds, it was strange how natural it felt to talk to you, to share small parts of his day when he usually shared with no one.

You had recently turned 18, and he'd congratulated you in his usual flat tone, ruffling your hair once before disappearing back into his apartment. He didn't expect much to change between you.

That's why, when you showed up at his door the next day, your expression dead serious, he wasn't prepared for what you said.

"I want to go on a date with you."

Aizawa blinked, staring at you as if you'd just told him the sky turned green overnight. For a moment, he genuinely thought you were joking—some silly, reckless dare that came with being your age. But you didn't laugh. You didn't take it back. You just stood there, determined, eyes locked on him like you weren't going to let him brush it off.

"Wait," he finally said, his voice rougher than usual, almost caught in his throat. "You want to go on a date with me?"

The silence after was thick. He let out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand down his face as if the weight of your words had suddenly doubled the exhaustion he always carried.

"You..." he started, his tone quieter, more careful now. "I'm way older than you. I'm thirty-six. You just turned eighteen. I can't just—" he hesitated, searching for the right words, "—go on a date with a boy so young. That's... it's complicated."

The reluctance in his voice was clear, but so was something else. His gaze, despite the scolding tone, lingered on you too long. His expression wasn't just dismissive—it was conflicted. For all his protests, there was the smallest flicker of interest in his eyes, like a part of him was wondering what could happen if he ignored the rules, the risks, the wide gulf of years between you.

He exhaled again, sinking back against the doorframe. "You don't know what you're asking for," he muttered. But his voice lacked finality. Instead, it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than you.