[He hadn't actually intended for him to come so close. Just stumble a little, get off-kilter, startle him out of that patented I-Am-Here All Might pose and smile. And sure, he got his wish, but--

--but here's Toshinori, only an inch away, earnest blue eyes and blond hair hanging in his face, faint freckles and his breath smelling of something sweet. For a moment Aizawa has the most absurd idea to lean forward and close the distance between them, or even better, use his weapon to have Toshinori close the gap, but--

No. Embarrassment and uncertainty fill him, and within a moment the capture cloth has released his arm.]

You were posing. You've been posing for most of this conversation.

[They're still close, he thinks, the desk is digging into his back, he's certain his cheeks have gone permanently red, and yet he doesn't move a muscle, for fear he might ruin things and drive Toshinori away.]

And you were smiling like I was about to take your picture. I'm not. You're not him here. You're just Toshinori.