Chapter Text
The flash of the camera wasn’t anything new for Hizashi. He was, after all, something of a minor celebrity. Plenty of heroes worked day jobs in the public eye, and his face was plastered across several billboards across Japan. Aizawa watched as Hizashi struck a pose before the camera could go off again, sticking out his tongue with a smile.
Thankfully, Shouta had let go of his hand by then. A small thing, Aizawa knew. Not worth worrying about. Easy enough to explain.
He could tell Hizashi noticed when he’d let his hand go. He saw it in the glance he shot over his way—eyes that Aizawa didn’t quite meet. This was dangerous territory, the world beyond the walls of U.A. Aizawa had a balance in his life, a routine, and preferred the daily dose of adrenaline come from his late-night clashes with crime rings rather than the unpredictable collateral damage of high school rumors.
The person with the camera was a young girl—probably about fifteen. Her looks were unremarkable; her hair was dark and her eyes were a little too close together. Not a student he recognized from U.A. Probably just someone who took the bus to a later stop, or a tourist who wanted a firsthand look at the gates of U.A.
Aizawa expected that to be the end of it, but she followed the two of them off the bus. Aizawa kept walking forward, leaving Mic behind.
“Hey, Present Mic! Oh my god! I’ve been listening to your radio show for like, three years now! You’re always so great!”
Despite Shouta’s beeline towards the gate, he did stop to wait. Hizashi would think he had something against him if he sprinted too far ahead.
“I—your hair is great, by the way,” She rambled on, “Could you sign my phone?? Please?”
Shouta never wondered what it was like to be a celebrity. He assumed it involved building up an elaborate fake persona that never stopped smiling. Had to be handsome enough to sell stuff, too. At school with the students, Mic was always on. Smiling, loud, hello, listeners! How did anyone believe that was how he acted all the time?
Still, he saw Hizashi pull it off over and over again. He signed the back of the girl’s phone with the marker she provided, signature a legible flourish (unlike the scribble that he used for everything else), and she looked absolutely starstruck.
Mic thanked her and added some little quote or quip before turning to head in to work, but she stopped him.
“Wait!” She said, “I listened to your show last night. The one everyone’s talking about.” She lowered her voice, “Is it true?”
Aizawa bristled internally, trying to think of all the possible things she could be referring to. What had they said last night?
“Well, listener, I try not to lie on my show, but you’re going to have to be a little more specific.”
“That you got kicked in the dick and Muttering Man shut your quirk off so you didn’t blow up the entire club.”
Aizawa couldn’t help but laugh. It was loud enough that even Hizashi heard it from where he was. He saw him turn, looking absolutely mortified. Embarrassed, angry, but not angry enough to say anything. Not in front of a fan, anyway.
It only made Shouta laugh harder in his quiet sort of way.
“Never ever tell anyone about this, ever.”
Hizashi was sitting with Aizawa in the men’s room, bottle of iced water sitting in his lap. They were young, still. Hizashi was still trying to grow out his hair, and he’d just pierced his ears for the first time. Aizawa had gotten his done, too. In solidarity, even though he already regretted it.
The music outside the bathroom was so loud that the bass cut through the walls. Both of them could barely hear one another anymore without yelling, seeing as they’d been out in the worst of it for nearly two hours.
“You shouldn’t have been using your Quirk,” Shouta told him, leaning against the side of one of the stalls. No one else was in here with them. “He warned you.”
“Well he shouldn’t have kicked me in the dick.”
It’d been one hell of a scene. The DJ had been botching every song he played, and Hizashi— a lover of music and a fan of the artist he was metaphorically murdering— heckled him to hell and back. A fan of the DJ had taken offense, they’d yelled it out, and then Hizashi had been on the recieving end of a calculated low blow.
If Aizawa hadn’t caught it on the inhale and used Erasure, it was likely the club would’ve lost it’s roof.
And maybe a few patrons.
Mic kept trying to defend himself, “And I have a provisional license! I can technically use my Quirk in public,”
“For hero work.”
“I think it’s my civic duty to tell the DJ how awful he is.” He said it matter-of-fact. “I could do a better job and I don’t even know what DJ stands for.”
“’Zashi.” Shouta was giving him that look. The clearest way he knew how to tell him he was being a dumbass. “I brought you because I thought you liked this kind of thing, not so you could yell at the—“
“I do! I like music more than anyone has ever liked music, ever.”
“And yet, somehow,” Aizawa continued, “You’ve never actually been to a club that plays music.”
“I didn’t even know they existed! I didn’t grow up in a neighborhood where kids went to these kinds of things. Everyone always wore nice shirts and dress pants all the time and if my mom saw me right now I think she’d die.”
He looked down at himself. Distressed jeans, sleeves-ripped-off t-shirt, hair slicked up with what had to be a gallon of gel—he loved it, but he wasn’t very good at rocking the look yet. Shouta, meanwhile, looked so in his element it was stupid. His clothes weren’t as obviously ratty, no. Hell, they were kind of plain, but they fit in with the rest of the crowd here.
“You are the last person on this earth that I thought would like this kind of thing. It’s loud! You hate loud places.”
“No, you’re saying that because you think I don’t like you.” Aizawa cut back, “And I don’t like the music. This is where I go to get my drugs.”
Hizashi looked at him in absolute horror. “Are you kidding me? Shouta, you could get expelled, why didn’t you tell me I know people who can help it’s not th—” He cut himself off when he saw Aizawa trying not to laugh.
Of course he was messing with him. “You are awful and I hate you.”
“Fine, get someone else to spot the door for you.”
“Okay! Okay. Geeze. But… seriously, can we not tell anyone at school about this?”
“About how you almost took down an entire nightclub because a civillian got a hit in on you?”
“Don’t just say it like that.” He leaned back, “Man. I’m glad you have that Quirk. That could’ve been really bad.”
“Yeah. You’ve gotta get better at control.” As Shouta said it, he reached into his pocket for his eyedrops.
“I can get it down to 130 decibels sometimes! I’m getting better.”
“You’ll be a pro-hero in no time,” He muttered, dousing his bloodshot eyes. “You about ready to go back out there?”
Hizashi looked at Aizawa, then at the door. There was some reluctance on his face. “I… I dunno. You think we could just go grab a burger or something? I’m kind of starving.”
He watched closely for a read on Aizawa’s response. He was rarely straightforward about things that he wanted with most people, preferring to take the path of least resistance. Never cared where they went to get lunch, just about the fact that they ate. Never cared about which classes he enrolled in so long as he got the required credits. Maybe it was a stupid thing to notice, but he was getting better at putting the little cues together—
Yep! He’d raised his brows, just a little. Burgers were a go.
“So you won’t tell anyone?” Hizashi asked one more time, just to be clear.
“No,” Shouta replied, “Never.”
Hizashi was blushing when he sent the fan away, which was probably more than enough of an answer. He jog-walked to catch up with Shouta, punching him in the arm.
“I was drunk.” Shouta’s smile was gone, the laughter had stopped, but Mic could still that fucking mischief in his face.
“Not an excuse! That was the third worst night of my life.”
“Really?” Aizawa asked, voice muffled by his scarf. “I brought you to your first club. Pretty monumental for you—introduced you to studded leather jackets.”
“Bar the profound impact it had on my life, third worst night of my life.”
This, Hizashi realized, felt different. The morning had been relaxed, their usual back and forth, but this felt more… giddy? Happy. Like they were too excited about something, nervous. It was a good feeling, and trying to put it into words made him conscious of the weird fluttering feeling in his chest. Remember back then and looking at them now—
He reached forward and took Aizawa’s arm, winding them together until he had his hand again.
“Y’know, if you think about it, I think we could’ve dated in high school.”
Aizawa, despite his protests yesterday about keeping their relationship underground at U.A., didn’t pull away. “No.”
“What? Why not?”
“We weren’t mature enough for any kind of relationship.” Shouta was back to his usual tone, “I only gravitated towards you because you got my sense of humor.”
“Dry as the Sahara desert.” Hizashi nodded wistfully, like it was a long gone memory and not something he experienced on the daily. “I thought you were really cool. I mean, I still think you’re cool, but… nah, no, wait, like—I respect you.”
“That’s why we couldn’t have dated in high school.” Shouta surmised, “It would’ve been a mess. We were still trying to find out who we were as people, and we built ourselves up off one another. The additional stress related to a relationship would’ve put the groundwork we built for ourselves as heroes in jeopardy,”
“Which would’ve been super illogical.” Hizashi finished for him, miming his expression. “Is this what goes on in your brain all the time? Do you think about that stuff? Man, no wonder you’re so tired.”
As they crossed the threshold into U.A., Mic let Aizawa go.
“Teach the kids how to swear in English,” Shouta told Mic over his shoulder.
Mic, in turn, replied, “Would you stop asking me that?”
And they went their separate ways.
Homeroom was actually not the first class of the day. It happened after first period and right before lunch, meaning that if Aizawa booked it, he’d make it just in t—
Five minutes late.
Which, as he soon found out, had the students in an absolute uproar.
“Please!” Iida, the poor soul, was standing behind the podium at the front of the room. “I am sure Mr. Aizawa will be here any second! Do not panic!”
“Are you checking the news feed?” Kaminari asked, looking at Kirishima, “Does it say anything? Did he get caught up with a mission last night?”
“Hell if I know! They never report anything about Eraserhead!”
Aizawa stepped through the door casually, and the class went silent.
“Yo.” He said, giving them a half-wave.
So many sets of eyes, all on him.
“Sorry I’m late. I overslept.”
Iida bowed, “I tried to handle things in your absence, Mr. Aizawa!”
Shouta didn’t say anything, giving him a muted thumbs up before turning to address the class. A lesson plan for the day, reminders about midterm projects, answering a few questions—thankfully, no one brought up the radio show from the evening before. He was pretty sure that only a few students in the hero program actually listened to Mic’s show—they probably had enough of his voice during class.
From there, it was back to the teacher’s lounge. He sat at his desk, next to Hizashi’s, and began filing through paperwork.
The mug he’d bought Hizashi was still sitting on his desk, unused. The one he’d bought for himself was sitting in front of him in the same state. A damn shame. Two days, two empty mugs, not a drop of coffee in either. (Not that he cared much for coffee.)
He stood up after taking a half-hour to grade, and went into the small faculty kitchen to start a pot brewing.
Toshinori joined him, setting down a half-empty cup that had once contained a smoothie. “Good morning, Aizawa—It’s not often I see you drink coffee. Late night?”
“As always.” He replied, internally praying that the coffee machine here worked as quickly as the one at Mic’s place. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Toshinori, it was more that he didn’t want him to see the mugs. The mugs that he’d already seen, the mugs he already knew he’d bought for himself and Hizashi. For some reason, now that he and Mic had talked, having them felt dangerous.
“I wanted to ask you,” He continued, “Where did you pick up those mugs? I was thinking of getting one for myself! Do they have a tiger?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t check. I’ll see if I can pick one up for you next time I’m in that part of town.”
“Excellent!” His voice boomed, taking on that legendary All Might quality. “Thank you, Shouta!”
He patted Aizawa on the back before picking up his smoothie and heading out, and Aizawa was left to pour the coffee into Hizashi’s mug. He microwaved a cup of tea for himself, and then went back to sit at his desk. His timing couldn’t have been more perfect—no later than three minutes after he’d finished his short quest, Hizashi walked in looking like a half-wilted daisy.
“Why can’t I beam all the stuff I know directly into a kid’s brain? Man, what I’d do for that kind of Quirk.” He flopped into his desk chair, leaning back before reaching to take a sip of the coffee without thinking. “I mean, you’d have to control what you sent, I guess, but that’d be so useful.”
“Mm.” Shouta nodded.
“Man,” Hizashi continued, “Toshinori is so nice. He can’t even drink coffee and he still makes a pot every day! It’s like he’s a hero in everything he does. Pro goals.”
“We’re both already pros.” Aizawa reminded him, not feeling any need to tell him who’d really made the coffee.
“You know what I mean.” Hizashi spun his chair towards him, holding up his little cockatoo cup. “Cheers. To—y’know.”
Aizawa looked at the mug, and then back to Hizashi. His hair was down, his glasses were sliding down his nose, and he was smiling.
He reached around the prospective mug with one hand, picking up his own with the other, and straightened Hizashi’s glasses while clinking their mugs together.
“Yeah. To ‘y’know’.”