tea4teagan

Actually a redraw of the first drawing I made of the b-man (2020)

Shota Aizawa reminded you why you worked at UA every time he stepped into the nurse’s office. Even compared to the hundreds of students who trained daily to become heroes, even compared to someone like Vlad King who’s quirk literally revolved around blood, he somehow managed to become your most frequent patient. It was almost hilarious. Even that student of his with a penchant for breaking his bones didn’t visit as much anymore.

Every other day, it seemed, Aizawa would walk in with a different ailment at the expense of his class. The most notable was the time he was drenched in blood—his own, you might add. But it paled in comparison to the notorious USJ incident that turned him into a mummy for a month. Other minor incidents included a broken pinky finger, a bleeding cut he assured wasn’t from dropping scissors, and on one occasion, the first inch of a pencil embedded in his forearm. He hardly spoke on that last one, gruffly mumbling the entire time about how he was going to kill his student.

Obviously, he never did. As much as he complained, as much as he claimed he couldn’t wait for them to graduate, Aizawa cared for his class deeply. You’d catch glimpses of this truth when patching up one of his students during their training, or when he informed you in thickly-veiled pride that his newest injury you were treating was from a move one of his kids learned.

Most of the time, his nurse office visits weren’t focused on them, but you didn’t mind in the slightest and once again welcomed him to rest on the medical cot. He sat down with a yawn; fatigue pooling around him in thick, heavy waves. That was one thing you wished you could cure. Exhaustion.

Recovery Girl was your grandmother, and you’d inherited your quirk from her—which was also how you got your job at UA. Healing people was your specialty too, and it left a similar drain on their energy. Having to witness Aizawa trudge around every day while hanging on his last threads was hard to deal with as a nurse, but the best you could do was patch him up and send him on his way.

But he would continue to return with new injuries and always-remaining eye-bags.

The dark bruises bore evidence of the toll his job took on him—both hero and teacher. You had a suspicion that even in a different career, exhaustion would still plague him. Some people were just like that. All you could hope to do was study more in medical school and learn how to maximize your quirk output with minimal energy cost. But even then, it wouldn’t do much. Aizawa always insisted on traditional means for tending to him, as if the pain and long healing process reminded him he was alive.

In the office once again, it was just him and you, like it often was. Recovery Girl preferred to take care of students herself since they were top priority; leaving you with the staff and, most commonly, Aizawa. You had only minded when you were first getting used to the job. Many teachers and students could be exaggeratedly described as some level of crazy, and you ran out of ice packs the first week of school. Aizawa hadn’t yet marked himself as a frequent visitor to the office, but he was an anchor in the storm, making your work quick, simple, and easy. Multiple years later and he was a comfortable constant in the background while you focused on your job.

Getting a crick out of his neck, he sighed. The tension in his shoulders loosened up and he waited for you to finish restocking a cabinet. “Do you have any eyedrops?” he asked monotonously, raking a hand through his messy hair. “I ran out.”

The tiredness in his voice didn’t fail to reach you even as you focused elsewhere. There was never a time he didn’t sound like that.

You opened another cabinet and grabbed one of many containers. “Do you want me to administer them again?”

He nodded. “Sure.” His lidded eyes followed your movements as you washed your hands and slipped on disposable gloves. “You’re better at it than me.”

It was hard to believe, considering he’d probably used more eyedrops on himself than you would ever give people in your entire career, but you had a steady hand and an outward view. Chances were he just couldn’t keep his eyes open for it himself. You were happy to help.

After Aizawa tied his hair back in a way you had to admit was rather flattering on him, you readied the dropper. His head tilted up, and your thumb gently rested on his upper eyelid to hold it open; displaying the redness of the veins and the reason for today’s visit. You squeezed the rubber bulb. A single droplet left the glass pipette, landing on his sclera—he blinked—and mixing in with the limited moisture of his eye. You repeated this once, twice. He blinked in the solution all while staring expressionless at the ceiling. You did the other eye, and he cooperated to the fullest degree.

Now done with the procedure, you removed your gloves and disposed of them while Aizawa sat on the cot, expecting that to be it for the visit. You heard a breath, an inhale, preparing to say something. But nothing came.

Mildly perplexed, you turned and found yourself alone in the room—the door currently sliding shut. Just before it closed, a quiet “thank you” carried from the other side.

It wasn’t what you expected, but it was more than enough. Aizawa’s regular gratitude was casual, simple, and enough to keep you going with this Herculean task of making sure UA’s staff didn’t die on the spot. It wasn’t easy, but it’s what you wanted to do. You would treat him a thousand times over if it did any good, and maybe with a little luck, the frequent visits would dwindle down into nothing.

The next day, Aizawa showed up in the nurse’s office with smoke trailing from his back like an ominous cape. He sat down on the medical cot, and soot immediately stained the sterile whiteness of the sheets. You fetched some supplies.

Apparently, he’d elected to take a nap in the middle of class training and Bakugo took advantage of it to attack him from behind.

The face your coworker wore was terrifying in a way you hardly ever saw. “I hope that kid enjoys a month of detention,” he said with a manic grin. His eyes were bloodshot again, so you mentally noted to give him eyedrops afterwards.

You moved to the other side of the cot and waved away some smoke. Part of his costume was burned—his scarf was already removed—and you had him unzip and shrug off the top half to provide access to the wound. He winced as he did so. The reveal was freshly burned skin on his left shoulder blade, about the size of your palm, red and blistered beyond belief.

“This is probably going to scar,” you informed, taking in the sight. There were other, older scars sprinkled across his arms and back—proof of his profession. You didn’t linger on the new one encasing his entire elbow. That had taken long enough to heal.

Aizawa shrugged, then winced at the action. “That’s fine.”

The unspoken was clear: he didn’t want you to use your quirk on him. That was okay. He barely had enough energy to go around, and you’d hate to take it away. Still, walking around with a second degree burn on his shoulder was going to hurt for a while.

With new gloves, you prepared the necessary materials and got to cleaning it. Each gentle (yet professional) touch and prod resulted in a faint flinch from the body beneath—and you knew he was trying not to. Muttering an apology, you finished the cleaning process, applied burn cream, and taped on a bandage.

“Try not to use your left arm too much—though I’m sure you’ve realized that by now.”

He nodded, and you could tell it was the kind that bordered on nodding off to sleep.

“Hey.” You placed a hand on his arm to make sure he was still with you. “Come see me during your lunch break so I can change the bandage.”

He nodded again, slower, without turning to look at you. Relieved, you promptly gave him more eyedrops—still having to hold his eyes open—and started to tidy up your supplies. He didn’t leave right away like yesterday. For some reason, he sat there a few minutes, watching you in silence, before he zipped up his sooty costume and wandered out the door.

You hoped his injury didn’t give him too much trouble.

Aizawa never showed up after lunch.

The clock on your wall ticked past the allotted hour, and you hated to admit that you were worried. Your grandmother noticed your anxiousness while you ate, so before it could compromise your work, she sweetly advised you to go search for the poor teacher. Luckily, it didn’t take long. The first place you looked (the teachers’ lounge) was empty except for a dark shape on the couch.

Tenderness overcame you as you got closer. Aizawa was fast asleep, with fatigue pressing bruises deep into his eyes, and in that moment you wanted nothing more than to let him rest. His shoulder would be fine for another hour or two. Creeping around him, you searched the supply closet for a blanket and slid it over his heavy form; careful not to make a single noise and resisting the urge to kiss his temple for a boost of health.

He stirred.

You froze, watching him turn onto his back. With a groan, his eyes squinted open at the sunlight filtering through the blinds. You dashed over to the window. “Wait—“ he grunted, shifting around.

You shot a hand out while closing the blinds. “Don’t worry, I’m leaving.” Teacher wasn’t a title you possessed, after all.

“‘s not that,” he grunted again, struggling to sit up. When the noises of pain didn’t stop, you went and helped lift him. He sagged against the cushion, sighed in relief, and looked absolutely done with life. When he spoke, he sounded different. “I’m not really supposed to sleep in here.”

“Oh, well… “ You didn’t know what to do with your hands now. “I won’t tell anyone.” They clenched into fists at your sides. “I’ll go now,” you said, but didn’t step away yet.

Aizawa, still waking up to the conversation, rubbed a palm over his scrunched-up face. He inhaled deeply, then mumbled, “Sorry for not visiting.”

In a voice normally reserved for young students, you spoke softly to reassure him. “No, I… I’m sorry for waking you. I’ll change your bandage later. Please—just, get some rest.”

Head against his hand, he opened one eye up to you. It was still bloodshot. More importantly, its weight made him look so, so tired. You’d do anything to cure it. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead, his head dipped forward, falling asleep once again. You wanted to giggle goodheartedly but needed to stay professional.

“Hey.” Your tone brimmed with rare affection as you leaned forward, brushing aside his bangs to get a better look at him. An eye cracked open. “You can sleep in the nurse’s office.”

“Really?” he mumbled, head bobbing.

“Yeah.” You smiled at him. “Anytime you need a nap, I’ll let you take one of the cots.”

Eyes closed, he shifted your palm down to his cheek as an impromptu pillow; leaning into it with a pained, tired expression. He breathed in, then out. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” you replied, slipping your hand out with no resistance, lest he fall asleep with it. “I’m here to help.”

You didn’t receive a response, but the closest thing you got were quiet snores filling the room. Smiling, you readjusted his blanket to surround him fully, and left. He looked peaceful once again. That was all you ever wanted.

You saw Aizawa three days later when he came in for a few minor scrapes and bruises. It was nothing out of the ordinary, especially with his job, and you’d still seen him many times since then to tend to his burn. Those periods were brief due to work, and ever since the incident in the teachers’ lounge, you were wracked over his sorry state and what you could do to help. Now that he was here, your little plan could begin.

“What’s your diet like?” you asked, holding a notebook and pen.

Aizawa, freshly bandaged and drugged up with pain medicine, stared at you blankly. Not a thought behind those eyes.

“My… diet?” He said it like a foreign word.

You gripped your pen tighter. “Yes, your diet. I want to see what’s missing so I can make recommendations for your health.”

He didn’t get defensive over you playing doctor; simply scratching his scalp and looking to a diagram on the wall. “I mean, I eat the food that Lunch Rush prepares. It changes every week.”

That was good. You wrote that down. “And what about your other meals?”

This was where his apparent confusion thickened. “My… other meals?”

Your pen nearly pierced the paper. Forcing a smile, you tried to communicate clearly. “You know, breakfast and dinner. What do you eat for those?”

The longer Aizawa hummed to himself in thought, the greater your concern grew. Finally, he dispelled it with answering, “Mostly microwave dinners.” You were relieved. It was better than nothing. “I cook a little when I have the time, but it’s usually easy stuff, like rice. Oh, and I eat ramen too, but I guess that’s also a microwave dinner.”

You were utterly appalled. No fresh produce, no fresh anything, except for processed food. Of course, lunches at school and cooked rice were good, but it wouldn’t be enough to support an average man’s diet.

Clearing your throat, you shoved aside those concerns and retrieved something from a cabinet to hand to him. He turned the bottle around, no doubt reading what you already knew: daily vitamin supplements.

“They can’t supplement a perfect diet,” you began, “but they can help make up what you’re missing.” To your good luck, he was looking at them thoughtfully. “Obviously I’m not a doctor, but I know a few things. One contributor of chronic exhaustion is lack of necessary vitamins. Actually…” You returned to the cabinet and grabbed another bottle—this one containing an iron and calcium supplement. “I would take this too. About twice a week.”

He held them in each hand, weighing the bottles against each other and shaking them to hear the pills, but it really felt like he was determining if they were even worth having in the first place. The result he came to was giving you one of those scary smiles he sometimes wore. Like someone on their last breaking thread. “Thanks,” was all he said, pocketing the bottles and staggering out the room.

If villains didn’t kill him first, then his tired clumsiness would.

It took only a day for you to see Aizawa again. You hadn’t even noticed him enter the room—only turning around at an empty cot to find it not-so-empty anymore with a dark spirit facing you. You dropped what you were holding and rushed to pick it up. He apologized, but he sounded terrible; like a real evil spirit had sucked up his life force.

“It’s okay.” You put the item away. “You’re always welcome in here.”

“That’s good…” he sighed lightheadedly, like he could tip over at any moment. A subtle shiver sent his gray scarf spilling over one shoulder. “I was just hoping…” His faint words trailed off as you approached him to feel his forehead. Heavy eyes looked up at you through dark lashes.

“Have you been drinking water?”

Averting his gaze, he swallowed. “No.”

Your worried tone rose higher. “You have a fever.”

If Aizawa felt guilty about any of it, you couldn’t tell. He simply waited for you to fetch him water and medicine, watching and trying not to doze off. “I just need a nap,” he attempted to insist, but it wasn’t convincing. You continued to run around the nurse’s office, racing against time, suddenly forgetting where everything was in your panic. As soon as you had the water and medicine, you set them by the cot, but there was more you could give him, more you could do.

In the midst of your frenzy, something stopped you.

Aizawa had pinched the hem of your sleeve. He sagged forward—face covered by his mop of hair—and weakly tugged it like a sickly child. You stopped everything to spare him your undivided attention.

“Aizawa?”

He hummed at your voice, pressing his forehead into your side. Your arm hovered around him, then you sat next to him. No words were exchanged as you helped him drink the pills, then the rest of the water to rehydrate him, and when it was done, you continued to sit there. He’d leaned into you the entire time, relying on you like an anchor to stay afloat. By the end of it, he was truly asleep and burying his face into your shoulder. He looked so peaceful, so precious. You didn’t have the heart to pull away.

But unfortunately, duty called, so with a pang in your chest, you laid him onto the cot and draped a blanket over him; making sure to draw the curtain for privacy. You would still be here when he woke up.

And just in time—a student walked in. You briefly ignored the occupied space right next to you and helped the kid with his stomach aches. Nothing too loud occurred for the next handful of hours—though you had to nervously explain the situation to your grandmother when she returned, but she only smiled—and a lovely sight greeted you when the metal of the curtain rungs moved sharply out of the way.

Aizawa’s feet swung over the side. He lazily tried to fix his bedhead by combing it with his fingers, but it didn’t reach the intended effect. He looked scruffy like usual and you loved it, because despite it all, he looked less tired. Once the brain fog left, he would actually have some energy.

Cheery with success, you used a thermometer to check his temperature. Your suspicion was confirmed when the number came back normal: he’d had a flash fever due to dehydration. So to keep the current results, you got him another glass of water and mandated him to drink it. You explained the situation as he took tiny sips, advising he drink more during the day. “Maybe carry a water bottle with you,” you added casually.

“I’d rather have you remind me,” he said, covering his face with another sip. His voice was still husky from sleep. You stiffened in flusteration at this rare attitude of his, for in your opinion, he was much too ill to be acting playful around you.

“I won’t always be around for that.”

His retort came quick. “Then I guess I’ll just have to visit more frequently.” Dry eyes met yours in a challenge.

You threw up your hands and stepped away. “You already do that.”

“I know.”

His subtle amusement was audible. He was having fun toying with you and you couldn’t do anything about it, which admittedly had you sighing in a not-unpleasant manner. If he was feeling well enough to toy with you—which was an additional concern for an entirely different reason—then perhaps you shouldn’t be so worried.

If only he wasn’t still conditioned to visit the office multiple times a week from injury.

“How are the vitamins?” you asked. Switching the subject would let the humor die down, but you tacked on cleaning your work space for further distraction. Now was not the time to blur lines between you two. Nearby, fabric shifted and a glass clinked on the bedside table.

“…Really great, actually.” He sounded hesitant, or surprised, or something else altogether. You couldn’t tell. You continued to clean while he reflected his experiences. “At first I thought it was placebo, or something, but after a few days I felt less tired.”

At that, you turned around and he looked down; his hand on the back of his neck.

“I forgot to take them today though,” he admitted. “Stayed up too late last night.”

It didn’t matter that he forgot—you were just happy you could help him. And, a smaller part of you was really happy he had taken your offer to nap in the nurse’s office. Even if you preferred him getting enough sleep every night, this was a delightful alternative.

Getting back to cleaning, you called out behind you, “Come back tomorrow if you need it. I’ll be here.”

You heard a strange breath—maybe a laugh—and listened to Aizawa make his way to the door. It made you smile more.

You could tell he was happy too.

The next week was uneventful from an outward perspective. UA High hadn’t burned down, villains hadn’t attacked, and Aizawa stopped collapsing in places he shouldn’t. Almost every day, on the dot of his free time, he entered the office to take a cot and mumbled “goodnight” before curling up and passing out. You would drape a blanket over him and pull the curtain forward, happy he was here, and happy that he no longer skipped out on your offer. It did little to improve his usual mood, but something told you he appreciated it more than he would ever say.

You loved it. You loved that he let you watch over him. What you didn’t love, however, was having to wake him before the hour was over—resulting in a fatigued expression and forlorn sorrow that haunted you until he left. The one bright side was the ability to double up the visit as a checkup and change the bandage on his shoulder. His burn was getting better, and on his most recent visit, you told him how much longer it had to heal.

“I wish it wouldn’t take this long,” he grumbled, but not at you. Never at you.

You cut up tape behind him for the new bandage, getting into the flow of friendly banter. “I tried to warn you.”

He was sitting sideways on his designated cot and you stood on the floor behind him; both of you used to this position, this interaction, when it came to your dynamic. It hadn’t always been this way. Proximity was never a struggle at the start, as it was necessary, but the trust and comfortability you put in each other grew over time. Existing next to each other was as easy as breathing now. Truly, you couldn’t imagine your job here today without him. He was as vital as the band-aids, the medicine, and the sticker sheets you rolled through every week.

You moved a lock of black hair out of the way and over the front of Aizawa’s shoulder. He did a strange, slow flinch, then brought all of his hair forward for good measure, revealing a previously unknown beauty mark on his neck.

“You know,” you began, setting your scissors aside, “I could speed up the process if you wanted.”

The offer was open-ended. Floating. It existed with hope but always without offense. He could accept, and let you touch him with your lips, or he could decline and allow nothing to change.

Sometimes it felt like nothing between you ever changed.

The bandage was ready—the tape bending over backwards to try and stick to your gloves. It was almost like it wanted this as badly as you, to reject the usual practice in favor of something better, more desirable. But only if he wanted.

“Sure.”

You almost didn’t catch his response. It wasn’t said quietly—you just couldn’t hear something you didn’t expect to be said. The tape carelessly fused itself to one of your gloved fingers and you flippantly peeled it off into the trash. There were no words to string together for him—none that you’d be proud of, anyways. So, with the lightest touch of your palm on his bare shoulder, you leaned forward, closed your eyes, and pressed your lips to his warm skin.

Your quirk acted instantly. A sparkle coated the reddish burn; shrinking it, turning it pink, leaving nothing but a sensitive scar. You couldn’t help yourself and kissed it again. Aizawa sagged forward, gripping his knees. It was as good as it would get, now shiny and smooth, but surely one more kiss would fix any lasting issues.

A hand enclosed yours, halting you. It moved your touch off his shoulder and silently squeezed your fingers to ask you stop. You’d only needed a little energy for this, but it seemed it was still too much, even for him.

“I’m sorry,” you said to him, hoping you hadn’t overstepped anything.

He zipped the top of his suit up, speed nonexistent, not even bothering to look back at you. “It’s fine.” His tone didn’t match his words.

You picked up his capture scarf. “Can I help you with—“

He took the item from you; not with fury or impatience, but still with the intent to do it on his own. He didn’t want your help.

The realization stung, but you couldn’t change the fact. You had wanted change, and you’d gotten it, but at what cost?

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” His voice came out strained, holding something back. You were uncertain if you wanted to know what laid hidden in his throat.

“Yeah.” You sounded hollow to your own ears as you started throwing away your gloves to join the tape. “See you tomorrow.”

You didn’t expect to be shown gratitude for today, so you heard nothing as Aizawa left the room.

No two days were alike, but you never expected the day you would step into Class 1-A’s home room. In all your time at the school, It was simply something you never had to do. Now, you stood right outside, holding a student ID that was unintentionally abandoned in the nurse’s office. Such occasions were common—personal belongs were often left behind on account of most visits inherently involving someone’s health being compromised. You’d lost count of how many phones and bags had been left in there. In those situations, you found a teacher and passed it on so you could stay put in the office, but first period just started and an ID was an important matter.

So here you were.

The tall, gray door tried to be intimidating. It reminded you of your recent interaction with Aizawa and everything he’d said and done; replaying in your head on loop, turning you dizzy. The subtle heartbreak drained you horribly, following you around without end and dragging you down. He’d still visited the next day and the next to nap in the office, but he hardly met your eyes. He didn’t view you the same way anymore.

And maybe your help was emotionally charged, but you were still quite literally doing your job. Off course, you only needed to kiss his shoulder once and got carried away, but it still rendered his reaction unusual. If you were lucky, you could mend things. Right now.

Gathering all your courage, you slid the large door open. Before you even finished entering, nineteen visible pairs of eyes stared at you, and even the invisible pair seemed to be locked in your direction. Across from you, a student stood behind the teacher’s desk, enacting his duties as the class representative. He looked offended at your presence.

Someone else beat him to the punch.

“What are you doing here?”

You knew this student. Bakugo.

Holding up the ID and ignoring him, you raised an eyebrow and calmly read its name aloud. The student who had visited less than an hour ago rushed forward to take it and returned to his seat. Your task was complete, but where was Aizawa?

“Can I help you with something?” the class rep asked you. You deliriously looking around the room must have ticked off the reason before you could answer, because he followed up with, “Mr. Aizawa is right over there.” He gestured to the wall, right where your blind spot from the desk was. You peeked around and found Aizawa, but the discovery was stranger than the mystery.

He was in a yellow sleeping bag, slumped on the floor, fully dead to the world. You felt many things—mainly shock and bewilderment—but the quickest emotion to assert itself was concern. He’d been sleeping in the nurse’s office, and now he was also sleeping here. Progress was apparently made with the vitamins, but when you looked closer, the bags under his eyes appeared darker than ever.

Worry wormed its way into your heart like a parasite.

“Is this common?” you asked, making sure to keep your voice down. You would never forgive yourself if you ever accidentally woke him up.

Beside you, the class representative affirmed the unfortunate truth. “Yes, he sleeps in here almost every day.”

You didn’t even know how to respond. You simply clasped your hand over your mouth, watched Aizawa’s shoulders rise and fall in slow breath, and wondered what in the world he did to deserve such cruel circumstances. He deserved more than this. He deserved rest.

“Are you okay?” one of the students asked.

You easily dismissed the concern, “Yes. I need to go now,” and walked out the room.

You would not let this continue. Even if Aizawa didn’t enjoy your company like he used to, even if things could never go back to normal, you would find a way to help him. This job was killing him—withering him from the inside out. The threads were wearing thin and trailing behind him in pieces. Your skills couldn’t fix things. Your quirk could only make things harder, but you would find a way.

No matter what.

“Thank you so much for meeting with me today,” you said, gripping the armrests of your seat. Across from you, Principle Nezu sat in the raised chair behind his desk, regarding you with all the patience and kindness you associated him with.

His voice matched the demeanor. “Of course. I’m always happy to meet with my employees and discuss any concerns they might have. What did you need to talk with me about?”

You pinched yourself. This was the part you worried about most upon stepping into his tidy office. When you contacted Nezu the other day—stating you needed to meet with him—you were running on fresh concern from the new realizations of Aizawa’s sleeping situation. Now, you felt less sure how to proceed. You were just coworkers, you weren’t even friends. How could anything you have to say possibly help him? For all you knew, Nezu wouldn’t be able to do anything.

The memory of Aizawa’s face returned—tired, worn down, stressed. The fear in your heart shifted.

You couldn’t just do nothing. You had to try.

Taking a deep breath, you ripped off the band-aid. “I’m worried about Shota Aizawa. He’s not getting enough sleep. His eye-bags have gotten worse since the start of the school year and I’ve started letting him nap in the nurse’s office—“

“He’s been napping in the nurse’s office?”

“—but even with that and vitamin supplements, he hasn’t improved and I just found out yesterday that he’s been sleeping in his classroom during first period—every day, Principle Nezu, every day—and I’ve been trying to help him but it’s not enough. He’s still so exhausted and I—“ Your lack of breath caught up with you so you gasped out the rest. “Please—help him please—”

Winded, you watched the peculiar-looking principle absorb all the information. His soft-spoken surprise hadn’t interrupted your rant, but now he was quiet; face completely still as he contemplated everything with paws silently resting over each other. His brow may have furrowed. When he finally spoke, his voice was more gentle, more caring than it had been a minute ago. “I always had my suspicions,” he began, gazing at his desk forlornly. “I knew this job was taking a heavy toll on him, especially considering all that’s occurred this year. I suppose I was being optimistic, convincing myself he was managing it well enough. I was hopeful—“ He raised his eyes to yours. “—but I was wrong.”

You let out a breath, having been holding it in. Worry melted away. Encouragement replaced wariness. In its stead, the hope you had in Nezu burned bright and you asked, “Is there anything you can do?”

He tapped his little paw-fingers on the desk. His solemness shifted to an expression much more bright and thoughtful. “Yes, I can think of a few things.”

“Is—“ Your throat strained. “Is there anything I can do?”

Humming, Nezu turned to his laptop and started typing something up. “Nope, just keep doing what you’re doing! Aizawa may seem a bit closed off, but there are people he’ll let into his life anyways. I’ve always sensed you were one of them. I suspect it has to do with your inclination to care for him.”

Hearing his observations made your heart soar from its pit of despair. Which did he mean? To care for Aizawa physically—his health—or to care for him beyond that of a simple coworker? You were about to ask, but he spoke first.

“Remember that with your job, the most important person to look after is yourself.” He turned away from his laptop to provide you his full attention. “We can’t very well have one of our wonderful nurse taking care of everyone if you let yourself become worn down with worry.”

You’d been prepared to try and convince Nezu of Aizawa’s situation, argue with him even, but you never expected to be up for trial to defend yourself.

“I don’t…”

His knowing eyes hushed your protest. “You work so hard to look after others,” he said, gesturing for you to rise from your seat, “but if you spare a second to look in a mirror, you’ll find you’re not so different from the people you care so much to protect.”

Shocked at what you were hearing, you numbly moved towards the door. Before you left, Nezu imparted you one more piece of wisdom.

“Attributes like those are what make great heroes.”

You turned to face him, grasping at straws. “But I’m not a hero. I’m a nurse.” The doorknob felt heavy in your hand.

Nezu smiled. His next words hit you square in the chest. “I’m not speaking of professions, I’m speaking of something much deeper.”

Hinges creaked, and you bowed once in gratitude before leaving. The door clicked shut, putting you in an empty hallway where all your thoughts could echo around your head. The longer they yelled, the more your lightheadedness expanded through your skull, trying to steer you from a straight path as you traveled back to the nurse’s office. There, you dropped onto a cot, then rose in defiance to reach the medicine cabinet mirror.

The reflection had eye-bags.

They weren’t very dark (compared to others you had seen) but they were there nonetheless. Sighing heavily, you ran your thumb along one, stretching it, dragging it away from your eye. Nothing changed. The face in the mirror was unfamiliar, and you hadn’t the slightest idea when you grew distant from each other.

Your mood shifted the second a student opened the door. Nurse mode activated and pushed your personal problems to the back of your mind as you bandaged up a minor cut; waving goodbye as the kid thanked you and left. You propped your arms up behind you on the counter and dragged out another sigh—this one even heavier.

You had a lot to think about.

Thinking too hard, it turned out, gave you a headache.

The first thing you did when clocking in for work the next morning was take some medicine. You’d have about twenty minutes of splitting pain to deal with until it kicked in, but you could handle it. What you couldn’t handle, evidently, was worrying so much about Aizawa that you failed to get a wink of sleep. Every time you started to settle, the thought of him jolted you awake. You tossed and turned in bed all night, and when you frantically brainstormed more ways to help him, you woke up infinitely further. Now you were suffering for it.

Your shift went by twice as slow. You had to power through the exhaustion to make sure you didn’t fumble anything sharp or give a patient the wrong medicine. It didn’t help that Aizawa was a potent distraction on the back of your mind, but your grandmother’s support in the office and Nezu’s promise to help him made everything easier. It was a pleasant time, being able to work together when most days were busier. You were secretly planning to crash somewhere for a power nap once you had your break, so meanwhile, you reassured her that you were absolutely fine.

She wasn’t convinced, but that was to be expected.

“I need to go help that one sweet student again,” she said right after lunch, getting ready to leave the office.

“The one who keeps getting ill from her quirk?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “It’s a shame what these young people put themselves through. They ought to value their health more, or else they’ll just struggle more as a hero.”

The corner of your lip quirked up. This was nothing new from her. Whether it be school curriculum or a kid’s own conviction to push further, so many students suffered on their path to become heroes. Recovery Girl hated to see it, hated being complacent, and you seemed to inherit the same ideology.

“While I’m at the other side of the building, I might as well make rounds to see who else needs help. Goodness knows someone’s always injuring themself in this school.”

The grandmotherly concern in her tone was heartwarming, if not uncomfortably familiar.

You always did do better at reading someone else’s symptoms than your own.

Once the door slid shut, you waited a little longer until your break, then grabbed a blanket and collapsed onto the nearest cot. For the first time that day, your head wasn’t screaming all sorts of things at you. It took two minutes to black out. A variety of thoughts and emotions swirled around in your unconscious state, but one in particular appeared to manifest into reality when it stirred you from sleep.

“Hey.” Something shook your body, your shoulder, and it was warm and heavy—much like the voice. Affection slipped between the seams of your mind, and you unstuck it from shadowy claws to force your eyes open, but only halfway, since you couldn’t manage more than that.

“Aizawa…?” you mumbled, squinting at the black smudge of ink filling your vision. You tried to sit up to get a better look. As you rubbed bleariness from your eyes, the blurry edges sharpened, and the smudge better resembled the man you recognized. “Oh,” you said under your breath. “Your hair’s tied up…”

You weren’t sure why it was the first thing you noticed. His face was fully displayed, putting all his handsome features on view, and you ended up sighing longingly.

Moving on, you tried to stand.

“Hold on.” Aizawa stopped you with a hand. You fell back onto the cot; keeping you at eye-level with the drapes of his scarf.

It was strange. Always before, he was the one sitting here, looking up at you, and you looking down at him. Now, it was the opposite. He was much closer than you remembered—leaning in with calloused hands to cradle your face, like he was concerned. That didn’t make sense. He looked scraped up and in need of your assistance. He was saying something, but you didn’t process any of it. Was he staring at your eye-bags? They would be quite shocking to see on someone who always stayed in perfect health.

When his breath brushed your lips, you were finally awake enough to comprehend the situation. You asked him what was wrong. He hesitated, then swallowed. Whatever look he had in his eye turned dull, and he casually pulled back, becoming disengaged.

“You’re on my cot.”

Oh.

You quickly got to your feet—too quickly—and had to rely on his reflexes to catch you. Your senses sharpened at the contact of his hands on your arm and back, and sharpened even more when he let go. The empty air stung.

Without caring enough to correct him on the ownership of the cot, you let him sit down while you splashed cold water on your face from the sink. Refreshed, you opened a cabinet.

“Eyedrops?” You made sure to keep every ounce of fatigue out of your voice that you could. One may have still slipped through.

“Yes, please.”

Humming to yourself, you murmured, “How polite,” and prepared the dropper. He’d never said “please” before, but in the early beginnings of your workplace dynamic, he always asked for eyedrops respectfully, and the formal inclination dropped as you fell into a familiar pattern. You admittedly didn’t mind him saying it now.

Standing between his knees, you readied the dropper, and he kept his face tilted up. It was a trouble to steady your hands, so you rested one on his nose bridge and cupped his cheek with the other; letting your thumb brush over the scar under his eye. His lips parted in an exhale that warmed your forearm. All at once, you were too aware of how intimate the setting was. He was encasing your hand with his, pressing your palm deeper against his cheek, and you found yourself leaning closer, staring into his dark eyes. He blinked the solution away as quick as he could to retain his sight, and the pipette was soon empty. You continued gazing at each other beyond normal conventions, having been put under a spell of eyedrops and silent trust.

It broke with the sliding of a door. You stepped back just in time for your grandmother to walk in, and a glance at Aizawa revealed no reaction.

“Oh don’t mind me,” she said, opening a drawer to grab some band-aids and stickers. “I’ll be in and out.”

You relaxed, then felt silly. You were at work, fulfilling your job with your coworker, and yet you acted like your mom had walked in on something. This wasn’t anything remotely like that.

Breathing out your misplaced frustrations, you washed your hands in the sink and switched your focus onto what you should be doing. You weren’t getting paid to do nothing, after all, but you realized Aizawa was still sitting on the cot, continuously watching you.

“Oh!” You bumped the base of your palm to your forehead. “You also came in for general medical aid.” Feeling foolish for forgetting, you opened a drawer for bandages.

While you tore open the packaging, he said, “Aren’t you going to use your quirk on me?”

The paper ripped in half. You looked back in shock. “Do you want me to?”

His expression was unreadable and devoid of emotion. There was nothing there, nothing to find, nothing to examine.

You’d have a better chance at analyzing a featureless rock.

“Yes.”

His face tilted up again as you shuffled forward. You couldn’t touch him yet—not until you had this all figured out. Last time, he reacted so badly to your quirk that you thought he’d never want you to use it on him again. Had you misread him then? If you were wrong about that, what else could you be wrong about?

For now, you needed to tuck your questions away.

“Where do you want me to use it?”

The area didn’t matter. You’d chosen to kiss his burn directly because it seemed the most fitting, but anywhere would work, and you’d do whatever he wanted.

Aizawa’s blank eyes turned away. Silently, he raised his finger and tapped his cheek twice. Your heart did a strange little skip. Part of you felt like you were overstepping something, but if he was allowing it, then you would never say no. Stepping closer, you brushed some stray hair behind his ear, leaned down to press your lips to his cheek, and activated your quirk. The effect was instant. There was a hint of stubble against your skin that mixed with the sparkly feeling of your ability. When you pulled back—suddenly woozy—you still couldn’t read his expression. He wouldn’t look directly at you.

“Thanks,” he said.

You removed yourself fully, almost faltering. “Anytime.”

And you truly meant it. Anytime. Anytime he needed you, whether it was healing or a nap or a form of support, you would do it. You would do practically anything for him, and that was the truth. The idea of caring for him so strongly didn’t even scare you. It was simply your reality now.

“Hey, you should take a nap.”

Swaying slightly, you furrowed your brow. That was your line for him. However, when you staggered forward and had to rely on him catching you, you suddenly didn’t mind so much.

“I’ll—I’ll be fine,” you insisted, trying to push away and failing due to your sudden loss of strength. “Just one—two more hours to go…?”

His voice cut through your uncertainty. “It’s four hours.”

“Oh, well then.” You slumped into his strong arms and he tightened them around you. “I guess I’ll sleep a little bit. I was planning on doing that.”

As he adjusted you onto the cot (and unknowingly thrilled you with how easily he handled you) you caught sight of an expression of concern that betrayed his monotonous tone. “Do you normally sleep during your breaks?”

You laughed tiredly at the idea. “No. Today’s the first time.”

It seemed the answer satisfied him. With little fanfare, he grabbed the blanket—the one usually reserved for him—and redrew it over your shoulders. A “goodnight” was mumbled as he brushed his thumb along your temple like a kiss. The last thing you saw before falling asleep was the face of a man who cared for you as much as you did him; like that had always been the case.

It may have been no more than a dream, but that would be enough for you.

The next two weeks were, unequivocally, the best of your time at UA. Ever since you used your quirk on him, Aizawa visited you daily, checked that you got enough sleep the night before, and sometimes slept on his cot afterwards. More often than not, you got to see his sleeping figure while you worked. But things were better. The naps were less common than before, and so were his injuries.

If anything really changed, however, it was how he acted around you. Something was undeniably different. An unsuspecting endearment became more visible with every visit, every expressed concern. He held less back, but so did you, and you found that your lack of inhibitions brought you closer than ever. The most delightful example was how freely he touched your face in turn to you touching his, or how he didn’t hide his preference for where you used your quirk on him. Upon asking if he preferred where you put your hands—his face, his shoulders, or even nothing at all—he calmly replied that it didn’t matter. So you did a combination.

Yesterday was the most notable, being the nearest instance so far of something substantial occurring. With one hand on his shoulder and the other cupping his face, you kissed his cheek with more passion than you should have. You couldn’t help it. With his hair tied back in a loose bun, with that look he sometimes gave you, it was impossible to avoid the emotional influence of your heart—and Aizawa didn’t seem to mind at all, in fact, as he held your waist when you got woozy and kissed him again. Then he quickly inhaled and turned close to your cheek, but didn’t do anything.

There was definitely something going on, and there was no way it was one-sided.

It kept you awake more than your long-dwindled distress of his health. More than once, you found yourself recalling memories of his gentle touch and the feel of his skin against yours. Love wasn’t always an obvious thing, but you could no longer deny the fact it was staring you straight in the face—and it had dark, heavy eyes.

At the end of a long shift, you sighed deeply in thought as you put a band-aid on Midnight’s finger.

“I know that sound,” she crooned with a grin; propping her chin up with a hand. “Someone’s wormed their way into your heart, huh?” It was clear by the glimmer in her eye that she wasn’t about to let this go.

Blinking, you mentally put a mask on your face to not give anything away. “It’s nothing like that.” You threw the bits of band-aid wrapper away. “He’s just… I worry about him. That’s all.”

Her widening grin was not the result you wanted. “Then how come he’s the only one you never call by their hero name?”

“When did I say that he worked here?”

“You didn’t.” She leaned back with a flourish. “I simply have a knack for these things.”

Frowning, you turned away from her prying gaze. It was true that you referred to the rest of the teachers by their hero names, but in your defense, they didn’t visit you nearly as much as Aizawa did. You two grew close because of that. Additionally, as an underground hero, his alias wasn’t something he personally branded to. He was merely himself. Not some flashy hero looking to make a name in their line of work.

Since Midnight was still watching you, you attempted to nip this non-misunderstanding in the bud. “There’s really nothing going on.” You didn’t believe the lie yourself—you just needed her to.

Confidently lifting her chin from her palm, she said, “Fine. As long as you’re not misunderstanding your own feelings.” And with that in the open, she rose from her seat and sauntered out the door.

Oh, you knew what your feelings were. That was easy. You just didn’t want your feelings to be so easily known by someone who wasn’t the recipient.

And true to regular routine, he walked through the door.

Pulse spiking from Midnight’s words, you ignored looking his direction as you asked what he was in for.

“I’m going to take a nap.” He sounded more tired than as of late, but less so than what was originally standard.

You grinned before you could help it. “Go right ahead.” Work never stopped for you, and you needed some time to calm your nerves.

From the other side of the room, he said, “Make sure you don’t overwork yourself.”

You wanted to tell him to take his own advice, but when you turned back, he was already curled up on the cot, softly snoozing. With fondness, you fetched the blanket (that you now reserved for him) and covered his sleeping form. He wasn’t much different now compared to being awake, but you loved this side of him just as much.

Since school was already out, he could sleep as long as needed, and you cherished him simply being nearby while you tidied up and prepared to go home for the weekend. In truth, you were getting tired too—but you had no time to rest. Once you were done, you relaxed in your chair and watched Aizawa. The act made those familiar feelings bloom inside your heart. Every second looking in his direction affected you, and it left permanent change.

You didn’t even hide your staring when he woke up.

He rolled into a sitting position, yawning, and used a palm to rub the sleep from his eyes. His hair was a tangled mess, but you’d thought ahead from last time you saw the rat’s nest and retrieved a hairbrush from a drawer.

“That for me…?” he mumbled sleepily, already tipping backwards to make it easier for you to brush the knots out from behind.

“Yes. I wrote your name on it.”

The letters written with marker disappeared and reappeared in an ocean of black tresses. You practically heard a smile, like he could see the careful penmanship.

With care, you brushed out the last of the snags; dragging your fingers through his hair to double check—but it was really because you wanted to feel their newfound softness. Afterwards, you retrieved more eyedrops to give him, and your hands retained their usual steadiness without needing to rest on anything. Your thumb held back his heavy eyelids, and once you were done, you found it dipping to curve along the bruises beneath—now lighter than before. Had it been a month ago, maybe either of you would have questioned the behavior, the casual touches. But it was too late for that.

He held your hand against his cheek, and you didn’t pull away.

“You care too much,” he spoke lowly, gruffly, letting his tone tumble over into ill-hidden affection.

You gave him a wry smile, unable to hide your own affection. “Maybe I do. Is that such a bad thing?”

He averted his gaze, but couldn’t keep it away. No matter how much he tried, you noticed, his eyes inevitably returned to you. Tipping forward, he spoke with less apprehension. “I wish it was.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles in confession. “I really wish it was.”

You felt along a scratch on his cheek; having missed it and some others when he walked in. “Want me to heal you?” You’d done much better recently at not depriving him of energy when you did.

He shook his head. “No. It’s fine.” Then, he chuckled dryly while observing your features. “You’re like my own personal nurse.”

Your mouth twisted further. “And you’re not my only patient.”

“No,” he mused, leaning closer. “But I am your most frequent one.”

“And I suppose you think that must make you my favorite.”

“Am I not?”

He had challenged you once again, and you could do nothing but accept defeat. However, you would not so easily wear your heart on your sleeve, so you instead relented to say, “You’re my favorite teacher.”

A limp hand hovered over his heart in fake mocking. “I’m touched.”

You prodded him between the eyebrows before walking away. “So you are.” Silence followed you all the way to the cabinet you returned the eyedrops to. It infiltrated your thoughts and feelings, begging to make them known. So you listened, with no resistance. “You’re the best part of my job.”

Facing the counter, you anxiously awaited a response. None came. So when you turned to gauge his reaction, you were startled to find him right in front of you.

There were no excuses, not this time, as he grazed his calloused knuckles along your jaw. No pretenses of you needing to use your quirk as he enclosed you between him and the counter. “You’re the best part of mine too,” his voice rumbled softly.

You melted into his touch. Then, your sights fell to the empty space between you; something you never thought would close. “Surely not,” you said a little forlornly. “I’m just a nurse.”

Thumb brushing your cheek, he replied, “You’re so much more than that.” He was quiet, as if anything above a breath would disturb the moment. Hair fell forward with his face. “Remember Nezu?”

“Yes… of course.”

“Well,” he began, blinking slowly like a cat that felt safe with its owner. “He’s taken a bunch of work off my plate recently. At first I didn’t get why, but when he made the comment that I should try and get some more sleep, I managed to put two and two together.” Your heart fluttered at his discovery. He angled closer, sharing your air and simultaneously stealing it. “Thank you,” he murmured. A warm hand covered yours on the counter.

“Of course,” you said again, lulled under the trance of his enraptured eyes. “Anything for you.”

“Anything?”

You nodded. It was obvious what you meant by that.

In response, Aizawa tenderly cupped the back of your head. You held his face, and with your usual gentleness, you kissed him. This time, it wasn’t on the shoulder, and it wasn’t on the cheek.

A sensation sparked from your lips to his at the point of contact. When you pulled away in sudden lightheadedness, he stared at you with wonder.

“Oh.” His eyes widened, something akin to awe in his expression. “Oh wow,” he repeated, cradling your head closer, revering your proximity. There was no space between you now.

“‘Oh wow’ indeed,” you chuckled lightly, and your breath caught when his thumb brushed over your lip. Hidden in the depths of his eyes was a longing almost imperceptible, like he hadn’t known how much he could want something like this. His face hardly showed it, but you could read between his lines, and you loved what you saw. You loved him.

“Your lips,” he murmured in fascination, touching them again. “They’ve done something.”

You weren’t sure what he meant—then you noticed. The scratch on his face had healed. Every minor injury you could see was, inexplicably, gone. “But how can this be?” You shared his wonder, noticing he now only bore the faintest of eye-bags. “How can you still have so much energy?”

He drew in for a sweet peck and you felt that spark again. This time, you recognized it for what it was: energy transferring from you to him. It coursed through your veins, raced across your lips, and filled his internal battery.

“I think you’ve misunderstood your quirk,” he suggested, holding you close and tiredly nuzzling your neck. “Instead of healing people at the cost of their energy, I think it was always the energy you had a form of control over. Spending it in someone’s body for health was only one way of using it.”

Your head spun over the implications—you now had a lot to think about. And a lot to learn. If even a fraction of what he was saying was true, you could significantly amplify your healing abilities.

You realized something else.

“And—” you gasped in delight, grasping his scarf. “—you can finally get better. I can feed you my energy, Shota.”

Aizawa let the first name slide, but he didn’t let the other thing go by unchecked. “Hey now,” he criticized, turning almost scary with his hands weighing heavy on your shoulders. “You can’t just spend all your energy on me. Focus on your needs first.”

You countered with, “How could I ignore the needs of a loved one?”

His eyebrows shot up. You winced at your boldness.

Instead of mocking you, instead of refuting it, he made his voice small once again. “‘A loved one’?”

You briefly looked away. “Mhm.”

“You love me?”

You held onto his wrists in earnest; still a tad nervous. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Examining your face, he came to the same conclusion as you. “Yeah,” he admitted, “I suppose it is.”

He kissed you again, so you returned his sleepy fervor. It felt really nice—no longer holding back, no longer worrying about crossing a line. Just him and you, the scrape of his stubble, and the electric feeling of energy coursing back-and-forth between your lips.

Breaking apart, Aizawa held you close; lacking a little breath and completely mesmerized by something. “I think we both need a nap…” he suggested. It was at that point your knees started to give out, and he brought you to the cot to lay you down. The lights were quickly turned off. The other side of the mattress dipped as he lowered himself; keeping his eyes locked on yours as he dragged the blanket up to huddle closer.

You struggled to keep your eyes open. The day had been long, and even with the emotional thrill of the last five minutes, you were the most tired you’d been all week. Still, you kept them open. He was so beautiful lying next to you, hair spilling everywhere, callouses brushing over your cheekbone, and the moment was something you wanted to hold on to forever.

“I love you too, by the way.” It was a whisper on the wind.

You were fully awake. For the first time, the slightest hint of pink showed on his face. It made your stomach do somersaults. He possessed an uncharacteristic piece of bashfulness from the confession, and it was, without a doubt, the most wonderful look you’d ever seen on him.

“Sorry for not saying it sooner.” His fingers dipped into your hair. “Although I probably won’t say it often.”

You gave him a deep, prolonged kiss as you closed the space between you.

You were fine with that. Shota Aizawa was a man who loved quietly, and you understood him almost entirely, so you didn’t need repetitive phrases to receive the notion of his affections. You much preferred the shared looks of longing, the easiness of living in each other’s space, the warmth between you now, and the desire to better one another’s life to the fullest extent.

You looked forward to the future. Everything was changing, and it started right here, with him.

He yawned. Then, he confessed, “I don’t want to sleep yet,” as he held your hand beneath the blanket.

“Well, as your nurse, I’m requiring it,” you stated, snuggling impossibly closer. “You’re not to leave this cot for at least three more hours.”

He chuckled softly and brought your hand to his lips. “But you’re not a nurse.” He lazily kissed your fingers. “You’ve saved me more times than I can count now.” He kissed your palm next. “You’ve saved me in ways no one else can.” He kissed your wrist with reverence.

You finally let your eyes rest, and he did the same when your lips touched in the sweetest and softest of kisses.

“You’re my hero.”

Outside of UA’s grounds, a war was taking place.

Not a literal one, because that would be disastrous. It was a war of rumors and knowledge, all created by the hoard of journalists swarming the grand entrance like a shiver of sharks. Their noses picked up on the traces of blood—the hints of information—that trailed from staff members wading their way through the crowd, and you watched helplessly as your poor coworkers got mercilessly ripped apart with pointed questions akin to sharp teeth and ravenous appetites.

 The analogy was actually insulting to sharks, you came to realize. Dolphins, if anything, had a better capacity for cruelty. You could even liken the swarm of journalists to a circling pack of wolves, but nothing animalistic could compare to the psychological violence of humans. They were their own kind of predator.

And you were the prey, stepping into snare.

It wasn’t like you had a choice. With the new dorms constructed last week, you had to take time out of your summer break to bring (and buy) everything you needed for your room. The only things left were a few personal items being carried in your bag. But with so many unanswered questions about All Might’s retirement, it seemed unlikely you would reach your destination in one piece.

The journalists hounded in on you for any scraps they could get.

“Is All Might still teaching at UA?”

“How is All Might’s recovery going?”

“Has All Might given any additional details on his retirement?”

They were suffocating. Unrelenting. Trapping you within a wall of bodies.

Even though you couldn’t press forward, the last question was enough to make you pause. You’d seen the footage, just like everyone else. You knew the extent of the damage. Your grandmother had been tending to All Might personally since the fight, and while she didn’t need your help, she confided in you of the tolls it took on his body.

He was worse than most people realized.

And you would never give them anything.

Pushing forward, you prepared to tell them off for preventing you from entering the school, but someone accidentally knocked into you and you stumbled.

You didn’t fall—someone caught you.

With a strong arm, Aizawa pulled you in by the waist; guarding you at his side from the journalists. You were relieved, then afraid at his expression. He eyed them all like they had each personally stabbed him in the back.

“Don’t you have better things to do than harassing UA staff?” He spoke roughly, harshly, leaving no kindness or sympathy. He wasn’t threatening, but his disheveled appearance and blood-shot eyes certainly scared them enough to make them back off. It provided a breath of fresh air. You’d be head-over-heels if you weren’t already.

Tightening his hand at your side, Aizawa started for the entrance. The frightened journalists parted like water as he led you through their ocean. You never took your eyes off him. The arm around you kept you shielded from any threats, and a proper glare took care of the rest. Like a knight in not-so-shining armor, he rescued you.

The deadening hoard grew quieter in the background, but still, he held onto you. You began to think he might never let go, given how tight his grip was. It had to happen at some point. You had lives to get to. In the meantime, though, you were happy to be whisked away (escorted) onto school grounds.

Once you were away from prying eyes, you allowed yourself a moment of indulgence; turning to slip your free hand into the layers of Aizawa’s scarf. His touch slid to your back. He no longer looked aggrieved—only mildly agitated. His hair was long and disheveled. Stubble unshaved. Tired eyes only softening for you.

Handsome as ever.

“Thank you,” you told him. While mentally tracing the lines of his face and all the affection hidden there, you spoke slowly to make sure every ounce of fondness seeped through. “You’re like my own personal hero.” Then, with your gratitude known, you leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

Holding you closer, he grumbled to himself, “Never should’ve said that line.”

You tugged on his scarf. “No no, that’s not how the next line goes. You’re supposed to say, ‘You’re not the only person I’ve saved,’ and then I say, ‘No, but I am—“

He interrupted you with a kiss.

You forgot what you were talking about.

His voice rumbled softly into your ear as his arms tightened further. “I was finally given the chance to save you. I’d consider that a successful career.”

Suddenly dizzy, you let him help you walk across the grounds as he continued escorting you to your dorm building. It was a quiet, peaceful stroll. At the door to your room, you shared another moment of privacy, in which he showed an uncharacteristic amount of tenderness.

“You doing okay?” he asked, casually leaning against the doorframe and cupping your jaw. You melted into the comfort.

Squeezing his other hand, you nodded with closed eyes. “Yeah. Thank you for the help.”

“I’ll make sure to talk to Nezu about ushering them off school property.” His thumb rubbed your cheek repeatedly, making you shudder. “Enjoy the rest of your break.”

He no doubt said that because it truly was the only time you could take a breather from your job. During the semesters, it was always an onslaught of injury and illness, so you never had decent time to rest.

“You too,“ you said, but he was already down the hallway. Last second, he paused at the elevator and waved his hand; signaling he heard you.

You couldn’t help but smile. You were both hypocrites sometimes, but at least you were there for each other. Without that, who knows where the two of you would be right now. You would overwork yourself. He would have no help with his health. Life would get worse and worse, with no end in sight. The potential change was so bizarre to you that it felt entirely out of place. It would never be. Not in this reality.

As Aizawa stepped into the elevator, you called out to him again. “Shota?”

“Yeah?” He laxly held the door open with a button.

“Promise me you’ll get some rest.”

His eyes rolled—not from annoyance, but from realizing he had to acquiesce to your request. Distantly, you caught a quick, faint smile. “I promise.”

The door closed with a ding.

You closed yours with a click.

The world around you was being upheaved from the rise and fall of villains and heroes, but one thing would never change. You would be there for each other, no matter what. You would love each other until the day you died. You would heal his wounds, and he would protect you from whatever harm came your way. Because that’s what love was. He was your hero, you were his nurse, and your souls would never part.