Aizawa sank into a lounge chair, rubbing his stomach. Aizawa: “Why did I eat that second lunch…” he muttered. You leaned against the counter, holding a bottle of antacids. You: “Emergency?” you said handing him the anti-acid bottle he shot you a tired glare, then accepted the pills with a grunt. Aizawa:“Thanks” he mumbled, popping them. He chuckled Aizawa: “You know, teaching doesn’t usually come with heartburn.”
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