Cleaned up part of an outline for a tumblr ask, realized i can't use it in the ask, you guys can have it here tho. LOV aoyama au and like mustardddd content idek. there's teasing but they're not dating, just a misunderstanding
He hadn’t really thought it through, to be honest. He didn’t take a moment to consider how it would look – or maybe he had but he just didn’t care enough to give it more than a fleeting appraisal – if he just showed up.
At UA.
Like he wasn’t who he was and this wasn’t going to be a problem.
Oh sure, it’s a little impulsive, but he’s off school early and things have calmed down marginally since the training camp, right? He just. . . he wants to see him. In person, just once, and it’s mortifying a little because he doesn’t know if Aoyama wants to see him back.
He’s so wrapped up in anxiety that it’s marginally difficult to act normal while standing outside the gate to the campus. He manages, barely, pulling a strained smile under the thin medical style facemask while the pro hero standing on watch raises a blonde eyebrow at him.
Why didn’t he think that there would be some kind of security?
He holds his breath as he hands over his student ID to Present Mic (THE Present Mic, if he wasn’t a villain he would be more starstruck- scratch that he’s plenty starstruck as it is) and tries not to sweat too much as the man’s grin twitches, glancing up from behind orange shades to check the photo against the half-covered face. “Hazama Sora? You uh, you looking for someone kid?”
“Yes.” He manages.
The teacher stares at him expectantly.
He feels his pulse drop into his throat, “Uh, Aoyama-senpai. We’re. . .” Villains, “Friends.”
The hero hands him back his ID with a too wide grin, and Sora feels sweat drip down his nape as his fingers close around it, tucking it back into his backpack that’s slung over his shoulder. He had changed out of his school uniform before he had made his way over to the hero school, and he blamed the sun combined with the jacket he was wearing for the dampness.
“Cool, student dorms are that way. If 1-A isn’t back from class yet they should be soon.” The teacher waves him off and he tries to go at a reasonable, normal, walking pace. He doesn’t look back, but he can feel the man’s gaze tracking him, and he wonders vaguely if this is how a fox feels trying to hide from the hounds.
—
Yuga is in the common room of Height’s Alliance when he sees him. For a second he thinks he’s imagining it as Iida answers the polite knock on the door (who the fuck knocked on a dorm building door?), staring at the mess of brown hair and mahogany eyes with dark shadows under them.
He looks nice.
He banishes the thought immediately, heart in his throat as Iida steps aside with a vague gesture and a warm smile, not an ounce of suspicion in his features.
It’s true though, Sora Hazama, League of Villains member Mustard, looks nice. A knitted cardigan vest is worn over a white button down, both tucked politely into a belt on high waisted slacks. (Slacks??? Seriously???). He looks like he comes from money, the only thing offsetting it being the worn out backpack slung over a shoulder and the equally worn out sneakers on his feet (but even those had to have been some high end brand, even if Yuga couldn’t place it immediately). He looked. . . older than he was, dressed like that, even with the doe wide eyes and too pretty features that normally made him look younger than he actually was in the school uniform Yuga was used to seeing photos of. Like he fit in with a group of high schoolers (not that he was that far off from being one himself).
There was no gas mask. There was no gun. Just a simple black medical mask concealing half of his face, as if that was enough to keep him anonymous on the campus of the highest security high school in the country.
His soul leaves his body.
He tries to play it cool, he really really does. Because there are eyes on them, because Sora is standing right in front of him (they’re the same height why are they the same height that’s not fair-), because Aizawa-sensei just stepped into the common room from his office with a stack of papers and headed out the door but Yuga can feel a curious eye flickering his way.
Unfortunately his idea of playing it “cool” is: “O-oh! Hello! Hazama-kun! You’re- You’re here! Yes- because of the- the thing obviously, you know, haha. E-everyone this is my. . . my friend. From. . . from middle school? Online? Both. He’s- he’s just a friend! Who I know! In a platonic and completely legal way!” While stammering this out he is trying to flee the common room, dragging Sora behind him and completely unwilling to turn around to assess the damage.
The damage has already been done, however, as he hears Mina start giggling uncontrollably. “Aoyama it’s fine!” She calls, “You can have your boyfriend visit you! You could’ve told us he was cute though?” She gasps, “Is this why you’ve been on your phone all the time? Oh my god was that him you were calling last night on the balcony-”
Aoyama flushed, but didn’t correct her. It was better they thought it was a boy than who it actually had been. He hears Tokoyami mutter something about a forbidden rendezvous and nearly trips though. Halfway. He was halfway to the stairs.
Now, in Sora’s defense, he had been trying to look normal. He really was, and Aoyama could see that, and it was completely Aoyama’s fault because Sora hadn’t even gotten a word out to him yet and for the better if he was being honest because if he had the brain power right now to talk to the younger teen he would be verbally throttling him for showing up at UA of all places was he out of his goddamn mind?
Credit where credit was due, he supposed, side eyeing the door where Aizawa had apparently decided he was done watching the “torment Yuga show” and had just slipped out. It was closer than the stairs, but he would have to make a turn and it would be even more obvious he was trying to escape. Honestly, if Yuga hadn’t panicked they could have made this a lot less awkward and he turns to mouth a silent apology to Sora who is trying his best not to look mildly panicked and the poor boy is red at the teasing.
Mina is trying to coax Yuga into coming back to the couch, but his feet have touched the first step and that has made up his mind for good. “Merci Ashido-chan, however we will be going to my room. We have beaucoup de choses à discuter, ah how do you say, many things.”
And then he fucking booked it, hearing his pink-skinned friend catcall him before they hit the boy’s landing. He pulled out his room key with a burning face, unlocking the door and nearly shoving Sora in so he could close it behind them before anyone could see or get the wrong idea.
One second. Two. Just to collect his fluster and resituate his emotions after the teasing. He rubbed a hand over his face — most likely smearing his make up but he could fix it — and turned on the younger teen staring at him with a mix of embarrassment and mild guilt. “À quoi pensais-tu?!” He demands, throwing the makeup smudged hand into the air, “Are you fucking crazy? Et si tu te faisais prendre? Et si je me faisais prendre à cause de ça?”
Sora stares at him, mouth working but no words coming out, and Yuga presses his back to the door and sinks to the floor, head tilted up and staring at the ceiling.
“. . . Why are you here.”
