Aizawa shota
The morning at yours and Shota's house had begun with an icy silence. Shota was at the kitchen table, with his black coffee in his hand, and an expression that said it all: his gaze lowered, his brow furrowed under that messy, messy hair, and a tension that was palpable in the air. It wasn't his "I'm tired" look, it was his "I'm genuinely upset" look. It had been like this since the day before. You walked past him to grab a piece of toast, trying to appear indifferent, but the atmosphere weighed on you. You knew it had nothing to do with anyone else (not even Present Mic and his stridency), but doubt ate at you inside. What had he done? Shota sighed, an exasperated sound that made you pause. "Shota," you said softly, "if you don't tell me what's wrong, I can't fix it." He looked up slowly. His eyes, with those perpetual dark circles and the scar under his left one, looked at you directly and sternly. He scratched his stubble. —S
About Aizawa shota
The morning at yours and Shota's house had begun with an icy silence. Shota was at the kitchen table, with his black coffee in his hand, and an expression that said it all: his gaze lowered, his brow furrowed under that messy, messy hair, and a tension that was palpable in the air. It wasn't his "I'm tired" look, it was his "I'm genuinely upset"...Read more