Aizawa was much more grumpier and tired today than usual. That was quite obvious from everybody around him. The students have noticed, as well as the teachers. None of the students approached him about, which he was both relieved and not surprised. He was glad he had given a first unapproachable impression, for future problems like this so he wouldn't be bothered by them. God knows kids meddle too much in his own life, personal matters shouldn't be a concern from them, especially when they were asking their teachers. Hadn't anyone taught them to not stick their nose out of someone's business- especially a respective elder? Tch, he would teach those kids a lesson about personal matters if he could, but Nezu would be quite angry he would waste time for class for something as trivial as that. He would agree with the mouse principal as well.

However, it was expected that the teachers were much more bold. Several of them had noticed and had given them personal space, while Toshinori- All Might, and Hi-fucking-zashi of course. He wished it was anybody but his blonde friend to notice, Lord knows how loud and persistent he was, saying that it was irritating was an understatement. He wasn't sure how he handled his obnoxious behaviour from before in his childhood. He wasn't surprised by All Might noticing, after all Golden Boy here thinks he can save everyone, whether from a bad day or being murdered.

Luckily, the day had ended, and he was almost eager (though he wouldn't describe it as that) to go home, except he wasn't looking forward to sleep or grading papers. He had much more important, much more personal issues he had to deal with.

Setting his things aside, he plopped himself on his couch, letting his mind roam things freely without worrying about blanking out. He put his phone on vibrate, then placing it down on the wooden and glass coffee table in front of him. Placing out both of his arms along his side, he settled his heads back down onto the plump cushions.

He was pissed, and that was all he could summarize his emotions right now. He had a mix of many other feelings, but for one, he knew that he was incredibly pissed at himself.

He has been having recurring memories of her in his dreams. He wasn't sure why, but he was sure that he had moved on from them. How couldn't he have? It's been fifteen years, fifteen fucking years.

He hated those memories. In a sense, it was because of her, but mostly because of himself. He made those into something he hated, he made those memories into his demons. It was ironic really, before the incident happened, those memories used to be something he held close to his heart. He would look back at them everyday, and it would have just made his day, just from that, it was his trophy, his reward, his need and want, and the reminder of what he wanted.

It was simple what he wanted. He wanted her. He wanted Y/N L/N to be more than just a friend, to just be seen more than once everyday or so. He wanted her to be in his goddamn life and wanted to spend every single second with her.

He knew that ever since that incident, that yearning, all that longing and hoping, was for nothing, because all of the chances of that happening has just... disappeared. Disintegrated. Now, all he had was the dreadful and painful memories still buried inside of him, not just subconsciously in his mind, but in his heart as well, and he hated it. It reminded him of what he had done to her, and the chances he had missed because of his stupidity.

He hated the good memories because he hated that it was his fault that they couldn't make more of those. He hated how he was still stuck on this problem for fifteen years, and despite trying to convince himself that he had overcome it, he knew, deep in that the wretched and broken heart that only he had damaged himself, he would never be able to bear through it. It was part of him, forever and ever, and it was like torture knowing that something like this reminded him of that day, was permenant.

He had to forget. He had to. If these emotions let loose again, who knows what he would fuck up. He had too many things to care about to screw things over just because of some damn emotional problem.

So these memories may be like demons? Well, what's a better way to get rid of them than to face them?

With a passing thought, he raced down to his basement, passing by shelves and shelves of books and other miscellaneous items, the basement leading to a hallway of multiple rooms. Most of them were just guest rooms or storage rooms, but the last one at the end of the hall was special, never to be touched at all, from anyone.

Anyone, including him.

A chill ran up his spine as he grew closer and closer to the white wooden door. Its frame was still intact, and its lock was still in place. His hands grazed the doorknob, instinctively pulling back as the cold metal erupted goosebumps along his arms.

This room hasn't been touched in years either.

Reaching for the mat under, he lifted it, revealing a dusty floor that hasn't been vacuumed in years, left to sit and rot. There, lay a single metallic key.

Kneeling to the ground, his fingers brushed against the ridges of the item, seemingly afraid just to touch it. His index finger ran over the surface, before gently, he placed his thumb and said finger on either side of it, picking it up, and readjusting it so he could insert it into the keyhole.

Taking a deep breath, he didn't know what to expect. This was the room where he "supposedly" buried his memories. It's where he had thought he left the past behind, and where his memories before slept. It was an area to be avoided at all costs, never to be open and reveal what was beyond the doors. It was almost like a weakness, hiding before him with only the door to keep it in the dark.

Inhaling a breath of nervous air, he inserted the key inside the hole, then twisting it slowly with caution until he heard a click. His fingertip of his pointer finger traced over the wooden partner of the door, before pressing on it with his palm, the door creaking open and light began to creep in the room, dimly illuminating the room.

From just the light, there is an outline of a shelf all the way in the back of the room. It was a medium sized room, it was supposed to be a guest bedroom, but the only furniture there was a few shelves in the back against the porcelain walls, a few fold up chairs that collected dust, and boxes, dozens of boxes all across the room, littering the dusty floor.

Lifting his foot, he allowed a single slipper to pass through the doorway and settle down. He inhaled another breath, before moving his other foot until he was fully in the room. Searching for the light switch, his hands wandered the area of walls near the doorframe, feeling a knob on his right side. Feeling the cold plastic around it, he flicked it up, and radiating, yellow light emitting from the light bulb in the center of the room. His eyes roamed around the room, with a heavy burden forming in his chest as nostalgia hit him harder than any Nomu could.

Noticing a familiar photo on a shelf, he walked over there, taking the picture frame in his hand as his eyes began to water.

It was a picture of all five of them.

Nemuri was dressed in a T-shirt, that showed cleavage, as expected of her, revealing her shoulders, some of her lower chest, and, well, other parts. A blue-tight jeans hugged her legs, as she stood in some sort of pose for a selfie. Her long black hair settled over her chest, and she was smiling almost mischievously, as she always acted. Her left arm wrapped around the figure next to her's shoulders.

To her left was Y/N, with (f/c) sundress that seemed to have fit her so elegantly. Her bent right arm held up a peace sign, while her other one was in a lock with his, who was in the middle of the five. She smiled so brightly with her eyes closed, she seemed so peaceful, so graceful, so beautiful, so... out of his league.

He lifted a hand to his nose, wrapping around the shape of it loosely, and he forced his eyes shut as he contemplated.

"Hey, let's all take a picture! To celebrate, guys! Guys!" Y/N shouted at him, he looked over to her, before quickly averting his eyes to the ball.

"I got it!" Hizashi yelled, rushing to the ball, and receiving it perfectly, throwing it back in the air towards his direction. Aizawa took a deep breath, looking back at Y/N, and meeting her eyes. He gave her a confident smirk before he spiked the ball down across the other court.

"YAAAAAAAA!" The blonde next to him cheered happily. "23 to25! Good game!"

Aizawa looked back at Y/N, raising an eyebrow when he caught her staring, and she blushed, flustered and humiliated, and flinching her gaze off of him. Aizawa chuckled lowly to himself.

"Aww, hey, Y/N! You're good at volleyball right? Help me crush Sho and Zashi next round!" Oboro gestured towards Y/N.

Y/N walked over to the court, shaking her head playfully. "Nope! I'm gonna side with Sho Sho this round!"

"Hooo, get replaced Zashi!" Nemuri teased.

"Let's make it a 2v3! I am a god at volleyball! Zashi, go on Oboro and Nem's side!"

"Oh, you're on!" the voice hero-in-training challenged.

"We're gonna destroy you guys!" Y/N shot right back at him. "We got this, right Shota?"

"Yeah," he bluntly replied, smiling at her for reassurance. "We got this in the bag."

"Oh no! She activated Shota's god mode! RUNNNNNNN!" Hizashi screamed, panically.

In the end, he and Y/N won, 25-14.

"Oh my god," Hizashi panted heavily. "H-how are you this good, in a dress?!"

"You guys are so bad. I could easily beat you just from standing still," Y/N answered. "And plus, me and Shota are the best team in anything!"

"Oh, even in bed too?" Nemuri cooed.

It was an understatement that he and Y/N both killed Nemuri after that comment.

"Alright, alright! I'm sorry for saying the truth for you two love birds."

Both of them glared at her.

"Hey! C'mon guys! We need to take a picture! Tomorrow is when you guys go to your hero work studies!"

He looked at the bottom of the picture frame.

September 9, 20XX: Day at the Beach

He looked back at the photo, the same clothes he wore and the same clothes as all of the rest were the same from his memory.

Tears rolled down from his cheeks.

This was the most recent picture of Oboro.

A/N: How do you like the trip down memory lane? ... poor Oboro. I just combined fluff with unintentional angst... that's on my part, my bad. Whoops-