The day Recovery Girl frees Aizawa from his bandages, he’s informed you’re in town. He’s not sure whether he should be happy or annoyed, but he carries on with his days as usual. It comes as no surprise when you make no contact with him; you’re a busy woman with a repertoire to your name.
The day after, he allows Midnight to conduct his class, helping his students choose their hero names. He’s grateful for the time he can spend napping and consequently not thinking about anything else, namely you. That afternoon, once all the children have gone home, Principal Nezu pops into the lounge with what he deems is exciting news. You’re to visit Yuuei tomorrow and assist Aizawa with his usual Hero Informatics class. Again, Aizawa isn’t sure whether to dread it or look forward to it.
The next day, the students are ecstatic, to say the least, when Aizawa announces a Pro Hero will be joining him for today’s class. They don’t know who it is, but they’re buzzing from head to toe with anticipation.
“Who do you think it is?” Uraraka asks Midoriya from across the room.
“Maybe Endeavour?” muses Midoriya.
“I highly doubt it,” says Todoroki. “He didn’t mention anything.”
“Maybe Best Jeanist?” grins Kirishima.
“Please, no,” grumbles Bakugou. He doesn’t need to be fitted in tight jeans and have his hair styled again.
“I hope it’s Selkie,” says Asui. “He’s so cute.”
“How about Mt. Lady?” Kaminari asks.
“PLEASE, NO! NOT THAT HORRIBLE WOMAN!” screams Mineta.
“Enough!” barks Aizawa, raising his voice, his scarf floating menacingly around him.
The door rattles open. “Oi, oi, Eraserhead. No need to be so harsh on them. They’re still children after all. Let them enjoy their youth.”
“ELEMENTAL!” yells the class collectively, obviously pleased by the results of which pro hero will be joining class.
“Good morning, kids!” you smile, clad in all your costumed hero glory, waving cheerily at the students as you make your way to where Aizawa stands. You turn to him, your lips curling into something a little more heartfelt than a simple, innocent smile. “It’s been awhile, hasn’t it, Shouta?”
“I think in class you should refer to me as Aizawa,” he says, frowning at you.
“As professional as ever, Aizawa-san, but I digress, you’re right,” you say, turning back to the students. “Well, then! Let’s get started, shall we? What’s our agenda for today?”
“What?” Aizawa deadpans. “You don’t know?”
“No, I don’t. Principal Nezu said you’d explain everything to me,” you say, brows furrowed.
He sighs. “Of course he did. His sadistic side must be acting up. He must know about the situation between us.”
“The situation between us?” you ask. “Is there some situation I don’t know about?”
The students watch you bicker until Asui speaks up. “Um, is it that you two are actually pretty close to each other?”
You and Aizawa pause, turning to look at the class before you force a lopsided grin. “Ah, actually we were classmates back in our Yuuei days and as of now we-” you explain until you’re rudely cut off.
“[NAME], IS IT REALLY YOU?!” Yamada bursts into the classroom, giving no care to the students present.
“Oh, Hizashi-kun, it’s nice to see you,” you greet. “Your hair is as horrible as ever, I see.”
“HAH?! WHAT’D YOU SAY?!” he yells in his usual overly boisterous voice.
“You’re loud,” you frown, before your lips crack into a grin. “You haven’t changed one bit. Come over here!”
Yamada laughs as he walks over and you wrestle him into a hug.
“Aaah, it’s good to see you, [Name],” he beams, oblivious to the children in the room. “Oi, Aizawa, when’re you gonna finally propose to her. She’s a keeper, y’know.”
Silence drops and Aizawa has to mentally stop himself from facepalming then and there. The class subsequently explodes.
“Whaaaaaat?!! Aizawa-sensei and Elemental are dating?!” “I can’t believe it!” “How did we not know?!”
“Oh, jeez,” you sigh.
“You fucking idiot,” grumbles Aizawa.
“I’m sorry,” Yamada actually whispers for once in his life.
Five minutes later, Yamada is shoved out of class and told never to return, the students finally quieten down for fear of Aizawa’s wrath and you awkwardly stand next to him while he finally begins class.
When lunchtime arrives, Yamada is greeted by a whack to the head.
“I said I’m sorry!” he pouts, rubbing the sore spot at the crown of his head.
Aizawa just huffs, collapsing in his seat and wishing he could take a nap or go home.
“Where’s [Name]?” Yamada asks.
“She got called away for some other business,” Aizawa replies, waking his PC monitor.
“And you’re just gonna let her go like that?” questions Yamada.
Aizawa sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Who am I to interfere with her life? I don’t control her. Besides, she’s the number 3 hero, so it’s to be expected that she’d be so busy.”
“We have the number 1 hero here at Yuuei and he just lounges about most of the time,” says Yamada.
“Yeah, well, he didn’t just return from an out-of-country trip, did he?” counters Aizawa.
Yamada shrugs. “True, but you know, you could always ask Principal Nezu for the rest of the day off. I’m sure he’d give it to you.”
“You know I’m not that type of person,” says Aizawa.
“Suit yourself. I’m just giving you options. Besides, we both know her trip away was supposed to be for longer. She obviously cut it short for a reason.”
“I know that. You don’t have to point it out,” grumbles Aizawa.
Yamada holds his hands up defensively. “Look, I’m just saying, she shouldn’t get the feeling you’re giving her the cold shoulder. She probably travelled all the way here for you.”
Aizawa doesn’t reply, instead choosing to glare icily at his monitor and hope this day will get over faster so he can just go to sleep.
Aizawa knows he’s not alone the minute he steps into his apartment that late evening. The lights are all off, which gives the illusion of vacancy, but you stand in his field of vision, forearms perched on the railing of his balcony with the late spring breeze ruffling your hair.
He deposits his keys on the coffee table in the middle of the room as he makes his way over to you, pushing the french window aside to take a spot at your side. You’re still in your hero costume and there’s a tired hunch to your shoulders, a look he constantly sports.
You turn to look at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Hi.”
His face stays the same as he studies yours. You’re so tired. He can see it in the circles beneath your eyes and the way you lean against the railing, taking support from it. Suddenly his annoyance with you seems so petty.
“Hey,” he finally replies, voice as soft as yours, but with more baritone.
“How was your day?” you asks, turning your body, angling it ever so slightly towards him.
“You know how it went. You were there for the majority of it,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets.
“No, I wasn’t. I was there for forty-five minutes of it,” you say, suddenly angry and frustrated. “Before I was pulled away for some stupid meeting.”
“It’s your job. You can’t help it,” comes Aizawa’s placated response.
“How…” you begin, brows furrowed. “How do you not get angry with me? I’m never here enough. I’m never around enough. How are you still with me?”
“Because you’re the only human I can stand,” he says bluntly.
Your lips crack into the tiniest of smiles. “I’m honored,” you say, turning your head to gaze at the city below, “but really, Shouta, maybe it’s time you find someone else.”
“You really think so?” he asks.
You nod, still not looking at him. “Mm-hmm.”
“Okay, then,” he agrees. “But only if you can look me in the eye and say that.”
“Oh, come on, Shouta. Don’t start,” you sigh.
“I’m fucking serious,” he says sternly, a hand reaching out of his pocket to grab your wrist. “Look me in the eye and tell me you want me to be with someone else.”
You sigh again, turning to look at him. “Aizawa Shouta... I think... it’s time you find someone e-”
He doesn’t let you finish. Instead he pulls you in by the wrist and kisses you hard on the mouth. His hand snakes around your neck, cradling your head at the nape of it, and you melt. God, it’s been so long. So long since you last touched him, so long since he last touched you, so long since he kissed you, so long since you’ve simply just basked in his presence.
And he’s changed. You can feel it in the way he’s holding you, like he’s stronger now and at the same time weaker. You wonder if it’s his encounter with the League of Villains and the thing they call Nomu and the trauma he was forced to pull through.
He pulls away for a moment, allowing himself to speak. “Still want me to find someone else?”
Your eyes dart to the scar under his eye and you nod. “I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there to help you or defend you or fight with you or even protect you. You shouldn’t be with m-”
He cuts you off with another kiss, this time rougher and more insistent, like he’s trying to force his resolve onto you. His lips are chapped against yours and his fingers calloused around your wrist and he feels just like you remember him, but you know that’s just the surface. Deep down he’s a changed man and somehow he still wants you.
He pushes you against the railing, cornering you and at the same time succeeding with his goal. Your resolve is crumbling and all you want to do is kiss back. You want to feel his hands on your skin, in your hair and in turn want to feel him.
“How about now? Still feel the same?” he asks upon pulling away for the second time. He has to admit, pausing in between kisses is getting increasingly difficult.
You chuckle briefly against his lips. “You’re such an asshole.” Then you’re pulling him back to you by his collar, reconnecting your lips so you can pay him back.
He lets you, hands moving to the small of your back so he can hold you closer and really feel you against him, but then your stomach growls.
“Way to ruin the moment,” he says flatly, leaning back to eye you blandly.
“I’m sorry,” you say sheepishly.
He smiles ever so slightly. “Should I make dinner?”
“Last I remember, you were terrible at cooking,” you tease with a mocking smirk. “Have you improved?”
“I’ll leave that to your judgement,” he says, moving inside.
You follow him in, watching as he flicks on the lights in the kitchen. He’s never been one for comforts or luxuries, so his apartments is sparsely filled and decorated. He owns the bare minimum; cooking utensils, a couch and a table for the living room, a bed and T.V. for his bedroom and toiletries for the bathroom.
Dinner is ready in fifteen minutes and you’re not surprised to find it’s ramen sitting in front of you on the coffee table in the living room. You don’t hold back on the teasing.
“Oh, wow,” you say sarcastically. “Such an improvement in your cooking skills. I’m so amazed. Please teach me, oh wise one.”
He rolls his eyes at your antics, but can’t help the little Totoro grin that spreads across his face.
“On a serious note, please tell me you haven’t been living off of these,” you say. “If you have, I’ll have to seriously consider moving in with you just to make sure you don’t die from these.”
“Hizashi comes over every so often and cooks something or the other, and I cook every now and then,” he admits. “But are you serious?”
You’re mid-bite when he asks. “Hmm?” You slurp down a mouthful of noodles. “Serious about what?”
“Moving in,” he clarifies.
You nearly choke and have to hit your chest to clear your windpipe. “I was just- I was just joking.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” he says nonchalantly.
“W-what?” you sputter. “What brought this along?”
“We’ve been together for five years now, call it what you want, dating, going out, hooking up, I don’t know, I don’t keep up with the slang these days,” he says. “I think moving in together isn’t such a big thing.”
“You sound like such an old man,” you laugh. “But would you really want to live with me? You’ve always seemed much better off on your own.”
He shrugs, finishing off his ramen. “Now that my class knows, it won’t be long before the media knows about us.”
“So?” you prod. “That doesn't have anything to do with moving in together.”
“If we keep on going the way we are, the media won’t think we’re serious and I’ve had just about enough of Ms. Joke hitting on me,” he says.
You scoff. “Since when have you cared what the media thinks?”
“What I’m trying to say is just move in with me,” he grumbles. “I’ve had enough of you being away.”
You grin, placing your chopsticks down to lean over and place a wet, oily smooch on his cheek. He’s less than thrilled about, calling you gross for it, but you couldn’t be less bothered. You move in for more kisses, but he shuffles away, picking up both of your empty bowls and heading for the kitchen.
You watch him as you move to his couch, letting him take his time as he rinses the dishes and puts them in the machine. He doesn’t join you immediately, instead escaping into his room to change into something more comfortable, a pair of sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. He throws an over-sized top at you, knowing you mustn’t be very comfortable, and you smile at his soft ways as you change into it.
Ten minutes later and the two of you find yourselves lounging on his couch, his head in your lap and your fingers in his hair, which is surprisingly soft for such a scraggly man. He’ll never say it aloud, but he’s missed this. He’s missed just being with you. The two of you don’t even have to talk or do anything of importance, and it’ll still be enough for him. In fact, he prefers this, and maybe that’s why the two of you are so compatible.
You watch as the tiniest of content smiles slowly stretches his lips, eyes traveling down until they find the pink, raw-looking patch of skin around his right elbow. Your heart and conscience twinge painfully and your lips pinch into a straight line.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” you whisper.
Aizawa’s eyes crack open to look at you. He sighs, shifting to straighten up and turn to look at you. “Do you really think I’d be a hero if I had to constantly depend on you being there for me?”
“I know, but,” you begin. “I just feel so helpless that I wasn’t able to prevent this from happening.”
“Nothing could’ve prevented it, [Name],” he says. “No one even knew it would happen.”
You reach up, hand cradling his face and thumb tracing the scar under his right eye. It’s rough and bumpy underneath your touch. “I just wish I could’ve been there for you at some point during it all.”
“It’s not your fault,” he assures you, taking comfort in your touch.
You don’t respond, instead leaning forward to press a kiss against the scar across his cheekbone. He lets you, his hands moving to rest at your waist, and once you’re done pressing a trail of kisses along his scar, he tilts his head, angling it so your lips meet his. The kiss is slow and lazy and the embodiment of who Aizawa is. He takes his time, lips moving gently against yours, really savouring the way you feel against him and committing it to memory.
And then you’re moving in closer, rising onto your knees and weaving your hands into his hair while he tilts his head back, his hands travelling under the t-shirt you’re wearing and feeling you some more. Your skin is just as soft as he remembers it, such a contrast to the calluses on his fingers and palms. He sometimes wonders if the roughness bothers you and scratches you, but you’ve never complained, and you’ve always been one to voice your mind, like the time his five o’clock shadow scuffed your skin raw when you made out with him.
You pull away to look at him and he’s got that same blasse expression on his face as always, his eyes lidded, but for once, not so bored. Your expression isn’t any different, really, and you’re just staring at him, so happy to finally be with him again. Then you’re falling, his arms around your waist pulling you down with him as he falls backwards.
“I’ve got work tomorrow,” he explains, shifting into a more comfortable position with you lying atop him. “If I don’t sleep, I won’t wake up tomorrow.”
“Hmm, is that so?” you smirk, pressing kisses along his jawline. “Maybe I should keep you up all night so you’re forced to spend the day with me tomorrow.”
He peers down at you. “Save it for the weekend. The kids are gone for internships next week, so we’ll have it all to ourselves.”
“You speak as if you’re their father,” you tease.
He huffs in annoyance. “Goddammit, I might as well be.”