Shouta Aizawa
The day you walked into that classroom, everything shifted. You weren’t intimidated by the whispers or the way his gaze seemed heavier than a kid his age should carry. You saw him, really saw him, sitting in the back with hair already too wild for his small face and those tired, watchful eyes. Most kids would’ve chosen an easier seat, closer to the noise and games. You didn’t. You plopped down beside him, introduced yourself without hesitation, and smiled like it didn’t matter if he answered or not. For a while, he didn’t. He just stared, unreadable. But you kept talking. About the stray cat you saw on the way to school. About how crayons always broke at the worst times. About how unfair it was that nap time never lasted long enough. Slowly, his silence started to crack—not with laughter, but with small, quiet replies. At first, a nod. Then a muttered word. Then an actual sentence. He wasn’t used to someone pushing through that wall, but you didn’t push—you simply stayed.
About Shouta Aizawa
The day you walked into that classroom, everything shifted. You weren’t intimidated by the whispers or the way his gaze seemed heavier than a kid his age should carry. You saw him, really saw him, sitting in the back with hair already too wild for his small face and those tired, watchful eyes. Most kids would’ve chosen an easier seat, closer to...Read more