#begt

Shouta rolls halfway onto his back to meet the gaze of his taller peer, and sits up with an indifferent shrug, "It's fine. Still better than a couch." He ruffles idly at his hair, brushing a few stray locks out of his face, and climbs out of bed, leaving a wrinkled mess of blankets and sheets behind, at least until he catches on to Yagi taking the time to tug them back up into a neater arrangement, and pauses to help on his side, taking mental note on etiquette for non-sleeping-bag living. "You're due to eat," he reminds the stomach-less hero good-naturedly, "And I could too. Something easy?"

Running through a quick mental inventory as he fishes an elastic from the night stand and pulls his hair up, Toshinori nods and ducks into the bathroom to take his retainers out, then heads for the kitchen to double-check a couple expiration dates. "Yeah," he grins at Aizawa and refreshes himself with a quick splash and scrub in the sink, "I'm thinking pancakes."

Eraserhead smirks in a silent agreement and steals into the bathroom himself for a few minutes, dragging the bottoms of those long, pink-patterned pajama pants along the carpet as he emerges, his face and hands damp and his hair messily combed up into a loose ponytail. He ambles over to peer around Yagi's shoulder, raising one eyebrow at the runny consistency of the batter in the bowl, but says nothing to contradict the more experienced chef as he leans back against the counter. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Hm?" Yagi glances up at the offer as he pulls a wide griddle from the back of a sparse cabinet to set on the stovetop, and as an afterthought, he grabs a smaller one to set on the counter, as well as another mixing bowl from the next shelf down. "Here," he hands off the bowl to the younger teacher, who puzzles over it curiously, "Why don't you scramble us a few eggs?" He jerks his head toward the fridge, and Shouta nods seriously to take up the task.

Aizawa tries, in earnest, to accomplish this simple culinary task. But the loner of a hero lacks even the most basic of cooking skills, having gone from pampered living as a child, to college campus cafeterias, to instant packaged foods and takeout. After just a couple minutes, his grumbles of frustration draw Toshinori's attention, and the older teacher glances over to see Shouta reaching gingerly into the bowl to pluck out the broken shells from the goopy mess of eggs.

"Everything ...going okay over there?" All Might tries not to grin too hard at the sight of Eraserhead, struggling in the kitchen, as he pours a hefty puddle into the skillet and leaves it to brown, sidling up behind Aizawa to get a better look at his progress. "Oh dear." He sighs and reaches over Shouta's shoulder to pick out the rest of the eggshells, then takes one more egg from the carton to give a quick demonstration. "Like this," he coaxes softly, giving a couple firm raps against the countertop, "Just make a little starter crack, then pull it apart with your thumbs." He turns the egg over to show the motion, his fingertips dwarfing the egg with their size as he nimbly cracks it open over the bowl.

Aizawa watches the example raptly, and carefully repeats the steps on the last egg. He winces a little as the left half of the shell starts to fracture and buckle under the pressure of his thumb, but he manages to get the gist of it without another mess-up. "Aha. And then just... stir it?" He fetches a whisk and jabs it against the yolks, giving a half-hearted swirl to the mix, looking up as Toshinori nods a confirmation and adds a dash of milk to it. "...Sorry I'm not more helpful. Never learned for myself."

"It's not too late to learn now," Yagi encourages him, speaking over his shoulder as he teases a spatula under the edge of the first flapjack. "Eggs are a good place to start, anyhow. Good protein, you know, and lots of ways to use them." He hums softly to himself as he makes a fluid gesture with the skillet and flips the hotcake over in midair, then scoops a smaller one into the pan beside it. “Learned that from the American chefs,” he boasts, “Can’t do it with the thick puck-shaped cakes like you usually see.”

Shouta watches with interest from a foot or two away, idly stirring at his own mixture as an uncharacteristically soft little smile melts over his features. The taller hero seems to be just as much in his element here, in the kitchen, as he ever does out on the streets or in front of the cameras. Aizawa muses silently that Toshinori's cheer and charisma might very well translate into any setting, once he manages to build some confidence on the subject. He can only hope to see that sunny personality start to shine just as brightly in the classroom, not too far in the future.

(Inspired by this pic from Kotilae!)

After a leisurely breakfast, and a couple of showers, there's still a good few hours before they're due back on campus, so Yagi makes good on his word to show Shouta on a quick tour around the shopping mall nearby. The complex of shops and kiosks is sadly lacking in the way of department stores, and for the time being, the most they're able to find as far as furniture is a plastic three-drawer bin, and a decently-wide plastic bookshelf - some assembly required. Toshinori tucks these under each arm to let Aizawa spend a little more of his accidental nest-egg on clothing and other supplies, until the two of them can't carry anything more, and they trudge back to the apartment, belabored with their new additions. The assembly of the new plastic shelf would have to wait for later that night, as there's no estimate on the box of how long it might take to complete, and by this point, both teachers are growing anxious to report back to UA. Rather than taking the subway to campus again, All Might leads the way across town, leaping in his great, bounding hops, and pausing just within sight atop rooftops and other structures. He waits for the stealthy Erasure hero trailing along behind him to catch up, with his erratic mixture of scarf-slinging and parkour, as he plots out his own version of the overland route between work and home.

Once at the campus, the two roommates part ways to attend to their own schedules and duties, catching sight of each other again only once, during the staff meeting to start the planning stages for the end-of-semester exams. Neither Eraserhead nor All Might are particularly happy with the prospects of sending the students through the same paces of robot-based evaluation, but the newcomer to the faculty holds his tongue, while the jaded veteran teacher bitterly recounts the multiple times he’s already been shot down during previous attempts to steer the exam away from the impractical automatons. The respective frowns on either face shift only slightly as the two pros lock eyes briefly across the table, and Aizawa shakes his head a little and sighs, silently vowing to tell Toshinori all about his gripes with the current system, just as soon as the meeting lets out.

The commiseration session is cut short preemptively, however, when All Might is pulled aside as they leave the conference room, by that same solemn police officer who’d responded to the call at USJ, beckoning the Symbol of Peace for a word alone. “Go on without me,” Toshinori nods toward Aizawa as he leads Tsukauchi into the staff lounge, “I’ll catch up.” Eraserhead turns reluctantly and heads for home, keeping an eye pointed upwards the whole way for that telltale blur of blue, white, and yellow soaring overhead through the sunset-streaked skies. But it never comes.

The younger teacher is halfway through following the instructions on another box-meal from the pantry, attempting to cobble together some dinner, when All Might lets himself in from the balcony, under cover of relative darkness. “Hey,” Shouta calls over the sound of sizzling pork belly, “What was that about?” He glances up, about to poke fun at how long it had taken Toshinori to ‘catch up,’ but stops cold when he catches sight of the older pro’s expression. “...Yagi?”

The Number One Hero had immediately deflated as soon as he’d stepped foot on the balcony, still trailing steam and the hems of his slacks as he’d come in from the humid night air, and the lines and shadows of his gaunt face had fallen even deeper than usual. “It was... an information leak from the police, about the villain I fought at USJ. The one who smashed your face in.”

“Nomu.”

“Yes.”

Aizawa tears his eyes away and turns back to the pan to stir it absentmindedly, suddenly losing his appetite as he recalls the pain and humiliation and fear of being pinned beneath that hulking monster. “What about him.”

Toshinori draws near and listlessly rummages through the cabinets for a jar of mushrooms, and drains their fluid slowly into the sink. “They ran DNA testing on him. He was a low-profile thug, relatively normal-looking, who’s been altered to contain the DNA and quirks of four other people.” Yagi sighs and adds the mushrooms into the pan, and stares at the mixture for a long moment, his vision going out of focus, before he pulls away and collapses into one of the chairs nearby. “We only know of one person who can do that... I thought I’d killed him, six years ago. Apparently not.” The lanky hero sighs again, curling forward to plant his elbows on the table and wedge his fingers into his hair, eyes sinking shut in shame and frustration.

The would-be chef freezes in place as he processes the information, not even flinching when the speckles of grease fly out of the pan to catch at the skin of his hands. His voice rumbles out softly, low and inflectionless as he speaks without meeting Yagi’s eyes, “Since when do you kill people, Toshinori.”

“I don’t, not usually,” All Might shakes his head and looks up, his heart breaking a little at the flat delivery of his new friend’s words, what had sounded like betrayal or accusation or suspicion, “This was... a special case. The villain who gave me this scar, the nemesis of every hero who has carried the mantle of this quirk that I have. Had. He killed the one before me, and now... will probably finish me off, too.” Toshinori cringes and turns to meet Aizawa’s judgement, “All For One. He’s not as much of a tall tale as the history books would suggest.”

“If he’s actually the one behind this,” Aizawa backtracks for a moment, still reeling as he recounts the various rumors he’d heard in connection with that legendary name. “It could have been caused by something -or someone- else, right?” He reaches to turn the stove-top off, and splits the meal onto a couple of plates, setting them on the table and joining Toshinori in the other chair.

"Since I started as a teacher," Shouta eventually replies, hiding a scowl in his scarf as he avoids meeting Yagi's eyes again. "I stayed with an old college buddy for a couple months, but he moved suddenly for a job offer, and took most everything with him."

Toshinori sighs and inhales the little trickle of steam from his cup, almost afraid to ask, "And none of the other faculty offered to put you up? Do any of them even realize?"

Aizawa snorts derisively, "Nezu knows, I'm sure. It's impossible to keep secrets from him. But he sleeps in a nest under his desk, so he may not even think of it as a bad thing. And honestly, it's not so bad, with no rent and no commute, if I'm being more rational than sentimental. The gym and cafeteria have all the facilities I need, the secondary teacher's lounge holds my groceries, and the couches make for decent beds. It's fine." He bites his lip to stifle the sour note creeping into his words, pulling the rolled-up sleeping bag into his lap to shove both hands into either end of it, "And besides, how could anyone miss it? I'm not exactly subtle... I kept waiting for somebody to say something, or to kick me out, but it just never happened."

Toshinori chews this over for a few minutes, zoning out over his tea as he silently kicks himself for having never put the pieces together without being outright told that Eraserhead needed help. "I... praised the kids for their observation and philanthropy work," he murmurs softly, both to himself and to the more tenured teacher, "But I'd forgotten to do the same... And I guess the rest of us 'pro heroes' must have, too. I'm sorry, Aizawa." He tips his head back and drains the rest of the tea, then crumples the paper cup in his fist.

Shouta only shrugs noncommittally, having expected this sort of apology from his childhood friends and long-time peers, not from the newest member of the faculty, who'd barely been at the school for two months. Perhaps it took an outside perspective. "It's fine. You've more than made up for it already." He pulls his right hand free from the sleeping bag and reaches over to lay it gently on Yagi's for a brief moment, then plucks the trashed travel cup from the older man's fingers, and takes the opportunity of the train's pause at a station to cross the train and drop it into the bin mounted on the wall by the doors before settling back into place against All Might's side. "So, how does this work? You've already given me a key, what else do you need from me? By my estimates, I probably already owe you about forty-two thousand for everything you've covered while I was healing. How much is rent?"

Toshinori's head snaps up quickly from where he'd been wallowing in various shades of pity and concern, and he fixes Aizawa with a stern look, "You don't owe me for that, it came with the offer. And don't worry about rent either, I already cover it alone."

Shouta meets those eerie eyes without flinching, his expression still just as neutral as ever, "I'm not a charity case, Yagi."

All Might can't help but crack a toothy smile at that, and shakes his head with a little sigh. "Fine, then, pay me back if you want, and split the utilities and groceries and we'll call it even."

"Hm," Aizawa intones softly, clearly unamused, "You'd better eat more, then, or I'm covering all the groceries." Though the threat is delivered in a droll deadpan, Toshinori breaks into another deep laugh, drawing forth a mirrored grin of mirth from Eraserhead. The younger teacher always seems to get drawn into that laugh, the sight and sound nearly as much of a treat as a student making a breakthrough or a cat sprawled belly-up in the sun. He falls quiet for the rest of the ride, enjoying the company, as he brainstorms a little more on the differences between cohabitation as a guest, verses sharing the space as a proper roommate. "...What about furniture."

Yagi hums questioningly as he slips Mrs. Ogawa’s mail under her door and turns to unlock the apartment across the hall, only to find that Aizawa’s already let them in with his spare key. “Furniture? What about it?” He kicks his oxfords off to join Eraserhead’s combat boots by the door, and follows the younger teacher down the hallway to the bedroom, quickly catching himself before he collides with him where he’d paused just inside the doorway.

Aizawa tosses the yellow roll of sleeping bag onto the bed, where Toshinori slides the duffle bag from his shoulders and sets it there too, watching as his new roommate takes a moment to open each drawer in the dresser, then poke his head into the cramped little closet in the corner. He shuts it again and leans against the closet door, arms crossed with a typically neutral expression. “I don’t have a lot of belongings right now, mostly by necessity. But you’d have to do some re-shuffling to make room for what little I do have, and I figured I could just buy a second dresser, and put it there-” Aizawa indicates the few feet of carpet beside the existing dresser, before he turns back to the big king-sized centerpiece of the room, “But... there’s probably not enough space for a second bed. And if I’m going to be sleeping on the couch, I’d want to buy a better one.” He nods decisively, as though he’s already decided on a course of action.

“A second dresser is a fine idea, but don’t worry about the couch,” Yagi waves one hand dismissively, then gestures vaguely at the bed, “We already know there’s room enough for both of us. I’m fine with sharing if you are.” He steps a little further into the room, unbuttoning his maroon blazer to shrug it off as he approaches the closet door, pausing to let Aizawa sidle out of his way.

“That’s certainly a lot easier,” Shouta admits, blinking once in surprise, “But I have no idea whether I’m fine with it.” Toshinori pulls a hanger from the closet to drape his jacket over as he listens, then glances back at Aizawa in confusion. The younger teacher only shrugs a little and crosses over to his duffle bag, resting one hand on the strap as though unsure whether to take it elsewhere, “Aside from those two nights here, when I was partially immobilized? I haven’t shared a bed with anybody in... a very long time. I could snore, or kick, or crowd you, or steal the blankets. No idea.”

“Oh, is that all,” Toshinori laughs a little and hangs the oversized blazer back in the closet, then tugs his button-down shirt from the tightly-belted waistband of the matching maroon trousers, casually unbuttoning it to toss into the hamper under the dresser. “Well, the same could be said of me, but you didn’t mention any bad behavior while I slept, so...” He shrugs one freckled shoulder, then fetches a fresh t-shirt from the bottom drawer and pulls it on, “If there’s an actual issue, we can look for alternatives, but until then let’s not worry about it.”

Toshinori finishes getting into more comfortable lounging clothes, and the casual lack of modesty helps to put Aizawa more at ease, silently assuring him that the platonic familiarity they’d built up between them out of necessity hasn’t suddenly vanished into professional prudery now that he has his own hands back. “Fair enough,” he nods once more, a grateful little quirk tugging at one corner of his mouth, “I’ll check out that shopping mall you kept running off to, see if they’ve got a furniture section. Maybe actually get myself some pajamas while I’m there. Can you show me tomorrow where it is?” Shouta pulls the duffle from the bed and sets it on the floor between the bed and the far wall, where there’s just enough room for it to slide to the carpet.

Noticing this squeeze, Yagi bustles over to the bedside, picks up the night stand and shifts it to the left half a meter, then throws just enough strength into his arms and back to pull and drag the entire bed with relative ease, dropping it that much closer to the closet to give Shouta enough space to maneuver and climb in and out on the other side. He releases the little sparks of his quirk with a dusting of his hands and a thin few trails of steam, then beams at Aizawa as he heads back out toward the kitchen. “No problem, we’ll have most of the day free with the A-Class out on their internships. And you can borrow mine again in the meantime. I’d been thinking you were the type to sleep in the nude, but... I guess you just slept in your uniform at school?” He glances back at Shouta, who nods a reluctant confirmation, “Gotcha. So, what sounds good for dinner?”

Still reeling in relief at how easily Toshinori accepts each new facet of his hidden hardships, Aizawa smiles a little at the older hero’s back. “Anything, so long as you’re cooking.”

With their bellies full of a frozen shrimp and veggie stir-fry, and the night already well past their usual bedtime, the two teachers retire almost immediately to bed. Yagi offers up the first set of soft cotton and flannel he finds in the drawer, a slate grey tee and pink-on-pink bottoms with an odd pattern of what could have been hearts, or the letter V repeated on it, depending on how you look at it. Shouta raises one eyebrow at the selection, but changes into it without protest as Toshinori chuckles sheepishly, “It’s not always easy to find long enough pants that aren’t bespoke. I think Mrs. Ogawa actually found these the last time she went out... She used to shop for me on the sly when I was a kid, the family had trouble keeping up when I kept outgrowing my school uniforms. And when I moved in here, she kept doing it, even though I assured her I can afford my own clothing now.” He shakes his head with a fond smile and heads for the bathroom, leaving the door open as he brushes his teeth.

After a moment to dig the toiletries out of the duffel, Aizawa joins Toshinori in front of the mirror, thankful to be able to brush his own teeth now, and not have to worry about leaving residue in the school’s sink. He’s just finishing up when Yagi spits and rinses, then reaches for a D-shaped plastic container in the medicine cabinet. Shouta watches with renewed interest as the taller man cracks the container open, plucks out two little translucent plastic trays, and fits them over his teeth before biting down. “Ush dat,” Aizawa tries to ask, causing Toshinori to frown slightly with incomprehension as he tucks the container back behind the mirror. Shouta clears his mouth of the sudsy fluoride and rinses, “Sorry. I meant to say, what was that.”

“Oh, retainers. If I don’t wear these, my teeth go back to how they were before braces.” Yagi grins nervously, a little self-conscious of the sibilant rounding of his consonants with the slight obtrusion in his mouth, and of the odd stare of disbelief on Shouta’s face, “What, did you think a smile this perfect was all natural?” He shakes his head and hangs his toothbrush up to dry, flicking the bathroom lights out as they head for the bedroom, still a little chatty and compelled to explain himself, “My folks had to take out a loan to afford the orthodontics, it would have been irresponsible to let that go to waste. That’s... half the reason it ended up as such a prominent feature in the All Might trademark.”

“Huh. So you were... poor, growing up?” Aizawa crosses to the right side of the bed, stepping carefully around the makeshift dresser of a duffle bag on the floor,  tosses the rolled-up sleeping bag down next to it,  and crawls in under the comforter. He takes a moment to arrange a couple pillows and fluff them up for comfort, pushing the rest to the side toward All Might as he rolls into a loose fetal position, facing toward the door to chat.

“Well,” Toshinori shrugs a little as he swats the last light switch before clambering in on the other side of the bed, “My parents tried not to let it be that big of a deal, you know, they’ll shield you when you’re too young to understand. We got by, we had a few nice things, a vacation every few years... But no, we most definitely weren’t rich.” He reaches one long arm to switch the alarm clock to something more reasonable, more of a precaution than an actual necessity with as late as they’d be able to sleep in. “It was... kind of life-changing, to work my way to the top and finally be able to afford everything.” Shouta nods as he gains a deeper understanding of All Might’s motives, letting his eyes fall shut as Yagi lets out one last sigh and murmurs softly, “I only wish they’d been here to see it happen.”

"Hmm?" Toshinori glances down and over at his walking companion, giving a wry little chuckle as he turns back to keep an eye on their route, "It's certainly escalated since my days as a student, that's for sure. I suppose that never really hit home just from watching on TV. I still can barely comprehend the extremes the finalists went to in their fights, especially..." He trails off with a little shudder, jamming his hands into his trouser pockets as his mind's eye flashes back to the sorry state Midoriya's fingers had been in by the end of his last battle.

"Midoriya and Todoroki, yes. About that." Aizawa spares a glance upward at the older teacher, who meets it hesitantly for a moment before they both look away, "He can't continue like this. A hero who damages himself more than his opponent is nothing but a liability out in the field."

"Yeah. I know. Recovery Girl said much the same thing, she made him vow not to come back to her with injuries like that any more." The Symbol of Peace takes his turn to get a lung-full of the fresh air, echoing the sigh with a further slump of his sloped shoulders, and reaching with one hand to tuck his fingers in a tight grip around the strap of the duffel as they walk. "Even with as much progress as he's made in this past year, though, I don't see how he's going to be able to just... stop hurting himself so suddenly. He still has so far to go..." Toshinori falls silent again, as the hospital draws into view.

"Was it like this for you?" The question is soft, muffled, as Aizawa mutters into his scarf, not even facing the older hero as he asks, and only clarifying at the sound of a questioning hum from Yagi. "When you first got the power. Did it hurt you, like it does him?"

"No. It was... so easy, when it settled into place, like I'd been wearing weights my whole life and they were suddenly lifted. It felt good." Toshinori shudders a little, clenching his teeth in a little grimace, "That's why I... have no idea how to help him. I'm almost worried that-" He bites his tongue as the words hitch in his throat, and slows to a pause beneath a street light, finally turning to Aizawa with deep shadows hiding his eyes, "What if the difference between taking in seven's worth, and taking in eight's worth, is the difference between being able to handle it or not? What if the power I added was too much, what if I... broke him?"

Not entirely clear on all the details of what Yagi is trying to get at, but still following along as best he can, Aizawa hesitates as his mind rushes over possible outcomes, and glances over at Toshinori with a sidelong look, "Can you take it back?" Impatient to get in out of the now-chilly evening, he resumes the walk, leaving the other teacher to catch up or be left behind. All Might quickly makes up the distance with his longer strides, hardly noticing at all.

"I... have no idea, it's never been done. It's possible, but probably unwise for us to try. I don't think my body could handle the strain, not anymore. And it would probably rob him of any inherent strength he may have started with, quirkless or not." By now the enthusiastic hero is tapping away idly at his chest, lost in contemplation of the possibility. "But no, I wouldn't want to do that to the boy."

Aizawa shrugs and lets his arms swing back down into the gauze slings still propping them up, "Then it's not an option. All that's left is to keep him moving forward. Or to retire him prematurely." The option is meant to be a joke, but by the time it leaves Eraserhead's lips, it's already begun to twist sourly into a threatening ultimatum. Trying to clear the air, he adds, "We'll see how he does after the internship."

"Yeah." All Might hangs his head guiltily, left only with the hope that some other pro out there will prove to be a more competent teacher than he's managed to be. Within a few moments of silence, Toshinori's thoughts wander the short distance to the matter he'd meant to discuss, looking over as they draw near into the lights of the hospital and through the automatic doors, "Oh, Aizawa! I meant to tell you, I talked to Endeavor, and-"

"Welcome to MGH, Can I help you?" The two heroes look up from their conversation as a harried-looking receptionist greets them, glancing between their approach and the piles of folders, binders, and files she’d continued to sort as they’d walked in. As they draw nearer in the light, however, she seems to get a spark of recognition, and glances up at the small television in the corner of the waiting room, where a re-run of the Sports Festival is looping again, confirming her hunch. “Mr. Aizawa, right? Eraserhead? Recovery Girl told us to expect you soon for cast removal.”

“Yes,” Aizawa nods in resignation and sighs at the ease with which he’s now able to be recognized, already regretting the boost in exposure from the announcer role. Cutting off the receptionist’s next question as her gaze turns to Toshinori, he answers preemptively, “He’s fine, he’s just with me.”

The receptionist smiles absently and directs them through the emergency room waiting area and to a smaller, more secluded waiting room where an even smaller TV loops a later part of the Sports Festival, thankfully on mute. “I talked to Todoroki,” All Might picks up his earlier train of thought thanks to the silent reminder, his eyes listlessly watching the flashy display of ice and fire on the screen, “Endeavor, I mean.” He turns back to Shouta, who suddenly won’t meet his eyes, pointedly glaring through the bandages at the little stack of magazines on a table across the room. “Shouta, he... scared me, the way he talked about his son.” Aizawa finally does look up at these words, his brows furrowed as he turns in slight disbelief to listen while Toshinori continues, “Between that, and the brief conversation I had with young Shotou on the podium... There is something very wrong with that man. I don’t know if he was always like that, or...” The older hero trails off a little as he notices a slight tremble in the shorter man’s frame, but before he can inquire any further, they’re called back by a nurse, and anything Yagi thought he might have seen is instantly wiped away.

The process is pretty straightforward, if a little tedious. Working on first Aizawa’s left arm, then his right, the nurse applies an old-fashioned dremel saw to either side of each cast, instructing Shouta to twist his arms at awkward angles in order to apply the best pressure along the seams being cut into the hardened outer shells. Then, with the application of special pliers and a little force, one by one the casts come free with a satisfying series of thunk sounds as the nurse tosses each half-shell into a nearby bio-waste bin, then starts in on the bandages and padding still remaining. Aizawa recoils a little as this last layer comes away, freeing a pungent scent of concentrated skin cells, like the inside of the strap on an old beloved watch worn every day. Toshinori remains calm as he watches from the chair in the corner, the duffel bag propped on his knees. He’d smelled this and much worse during his long stints in various hospitals, and it doesn’t phase him now. He does perk up a little with interest, though, when he catches a glimpse of Aizawa’s right elbow, “Hey, it’s a little hard to tell under all the layers of peeling... but it looks like you’ve got a miniature version of the same scar that I have. We match!”

Shouta, his eyes slightly manic, glances over to meet Toshinori’s sunny grin, before he turns back to the nurse, “Are we done?” The helpful nurse confirms their discharge, and points down the hallway to a single bathroom across from the check-out desk. Aizawa rushes to it and slams the door locked, leaving Yagi to wait just outside it with the duffel slung back over his shoulders.

The newly-freed teacher spends no less than three minutes scratching the accumulation of every itch he’s suffered over the past two weeks, shedding and flaking the piled-up dead skin and scabs across the linoleum floor, until his arms are bright pink and a little raw, covered in nothing more than the layer of fresh, new skin just generated by Recovery Girl’s last treatment. He spends another few minutes at the sink, letting the cool water flow as high up as he can manage, wedging each arm under the tap until the refreshing rinse reaches his elbows, then vigorously scrubbing them down with the antibacterial soap helpfully supplied by the hospital. Lastly, glancing up in the mirror, he rips the gauze free from his face and shoves it in the trash before emerging, his arms still wet and dripping.

“Ah, there he is! Better?” Yagi beams and steps forward from where he’d been leaned back against the desk, chatting amiably with the administrator there. Drawing near to Aizawa’s side, he continues to chatter, “Sakura here was giving me ideas - what say we go for a celebratory dinner, my treat? You can actually feed yourself now, how’s that sound for putting your new arms to good use?” His good-natured chuckles suddenly cut short as Shouta, who had been staring idly as he stretched and flexed his fingers and wrists, snaps his gaze up at the suggestion, and lunges in to put his arms to good use immediately. Still damp and slightly weakened from two weeks’ atrophy, it’s not the best hug Aizawa’s ever given, but his fingers wedge themselves between the weight of the duffel and Toshinori’s bony frame, pulling the older hero in with as much strength as he can muster; his arms tremble with the force of it, loaded with the weight of a thousand overdue ‘thank you’s he’d never managed to put into words, and one impending ‘goodbye’ he still refuses to acknowledge.

“Yeah,” he mutters against Yagi’s chest, a little breathless laugh escaping his own, “Dinner sounds good.” Toshinori hesitates for a moment, taken aback by the odd show of affection from the usually aloof teacher, but eventually returns the embrace with a fond arm around Aizawa’s shoulders until the younger man pulls away, his face nearly as pink as his arms. Clearing his throat softly, Aizawa takes a moment to pull down the sleeves of his uniform shirt, and to tug his scarf up protectively over his chin, ducking into it a little as he tucks his hands into his pockets and leads the way out. “If you’re buying, then let’s go to that steakhouse we passed on the way here. Looked expensive.”

Yagi pauses as the duffel bag is snatched out from where he’d been about to grab it again, purely out of habit by this point, when Aizawa pulls it over his own shoulder and leads the way back out into the night, pausing long enough for his peer to catch up after paying the bill. The taller hero meets him out front with a little smile, somehow fond and sheepish and wistful all at once as he offers, “Can I walk you home?”

“No.” Aizawa’s reply is brisk and curt enough to completely wipe Yagi’s smile from his face, and while the sight of that cheer fading away is no welcome consequence, Shouta can’t be bothered this late at night to formulate any pretty words to cushion the blow to his friend’s ego. “Thanks for dinner. I’ll see you at school, Toshinori.” He slings the weight of the duffel more evenly across his shoulders and turns to head back the way they’d come earlier, in the general direction of the UA campus.

“See you, Aizawa.” All Might sighs softly and tucks his take-home bag into the crook of one elbow, ambling in the other direction to take the subway back home alone, already mostly drained for the day from keeping up appearances during the Festival. He spends the next two days getting very little rest at all; fighting crime and making public appearances by day, consulting with Naomasa and the rest of the police force by night, and constantly refreshing the data file of the offers pouring in from agencies interested in the A-Class students, hoping to see at least a fewcome in for Midoriya. The self-imposed flurry of activity keeps Toshinori away from home for the most part, leaving him there only long enough to sleep and shower and wash his costume, but not for long enough to let the Aizawa-shaped hole really sink in, like it had when the injured hero had spent the night at Mic and Midnight’s. Toshinori doesn’t care to have another repeat of that little crisis again, so he pointedly ignores the little throne of pillows still left on the other side of the bed, and keeps himself busy, instead pushing his limits just a little further, posing for just one more photo, smiling just a little harder, until the time comes for classes to resume.

Eraserhead does much the same, once he’s stopped by the school to drop off the duffel in the locker where it’d come from. He spends the rest of the night and most of the next day in the gym working himself into an exhaustion, his muscles burning from neglect and atrophy and reconstruction, until they’re stretched and flexed back into some semblance of working order. The next two nights, he rejoins his fellow underground heroes out in the city, getting his feet back under him with a few decent captures and rescues, and learning the new limits of his quirk after so near a brush with blindness. So long as he keeps working, Aizawa figures, he should be able to keep his mind off of things; Toshinori’s gentle hospitality, the home he had grown accustomed to but not welcome to, the company he’d learned first to tolerate, and then to enjoy. It doesn’t leave much time for sleeping, this attempt to keep himself busy, but then… he’d been resting for two weeks, and sleep had never come easily anyhow.

By the time class resumes on Wednesday, Aizawa is back to his scruffy, baggy-eyed, unkempt appearance as though the the shiny-haired, well-rested, properly nourished version of the homeroom teacher had never existed. And to the students, who had only ever seen him wrapped in bandages and from a distance of ten feet or more, perhaps he never had. While Nezu and Recovery Girl may have noticed, they know better than to chide the loner of a teacher, so long as he shows up for work and does his job well. Midnight, who had only ever caught a close-up glimpse of Aizawa that one night he’d been at her apartment, knows no better when she joins him in class to aid the students with their name selections. And Toshinori, his thoughts occupied with the single offer from Gran Torino for Deku’s impending internship, doesn’t even get a chance to see Aizawa, nonetheless talk to him, before the end of the week rolls around and the first-year students are dispersed to their temporary mentors.

After that, All Might tries his best to relax and put Gran Torino out of his mind, figuring any progress he made with Deku would be for the best, and couldn’t be helped by an old student worrying over things from afar. The workload is even lighter than usual with the first-years missing, leaving Toshinori with only administrative functions and the few sparse appearances and events they’d scheduled with the older students in mind during the interim. Feeling even more useless than usual, he ducks back into the teacher’s lounge for a cup of tea at the end of the day, surprised to find it dark and empty. A flick of the lights, however, reveals the lounge to be less empty than it had appeared, with the lumpy yellow form of Aizawa’s sleeping bag occupying the couch. Toshinori recoils a little in surprise, then steps inside and shuts the door behind himself. “Aizawa?”

A soft groan of annoyance can be heard from the lump on the couch, who turns over and sits up, blinking and squinting in the light without unzipping from the sleeping bag. “What do you want, Toshinori.”

Wringing his hands a little, Yagi steps over to the beverage machine and selects a tea, setting the cup to steep as he turns back around to face the other teacher and leans back against the counter. “I was just going to get a drink before heading home for the night. What are you still doing here, Shouta? You should go home and get some real sleep.”

“I can’t.” The bitter admission is muttered before Aizawa can stop and think better of it, and he blinks again in surprise at himself, letting his gaze fall from his towering peer to the table nearby.

Toshinori frowns a little, his fingers tapping silently against the lip of the countertop, “Can’t sleep? It seemed like you were just now, and that couch-”

“I can’t go home,” Shouta cuts off the other teacher’s well-intentioned rambling, figuring it’s too late to go back on his words now.

Yagi’s jaw clicks shut at the interruption, and he frowns even more, his mind racing in different directions again as he waits for Aizawa to continue and explain himself. The younger man seems to have no intention of doing so, however, his gaze planted firmly on anything else besides Toshinori, until finally the curious do-gooder sighs and gives in, “And why not?” As the machine behind him sputters to a stop, he turns to carefully ferry the steaming drink over to the little table, settling in beside Shouta with another soft sigh.

Eraserhead glances up at All Might, and the older hero thinks he almost caught a trace of alarm in those tired eyes, before they face forward again, still reluctant to answer but not ignoring the question entirely. “I… don’t…” Aizawa grits his teeth a little and lets his eyes sink shut, a shallow furrow forming between his brows. “Look. There are a lot of ways I could answer that question, and they would all be true. I could say, I haven’t been home in fifteen years.” Opening his eyes once more, he stares blankly at the opposite wall. “I could say I already am home.” Then, finally, turning to Toshinori, he falters a little in his speech, “Or… that it would be inappropriate, for me to …continue.”

Toshinori meets the other’s eyes, the gears in his head whirring and slotting into place as he recalls the sore hostility with which Aizawa had always referred to ‘home,’ except for that one time he’d said it, when they were on the subway, referring to Yagi’s apartment. Only several minutes after the fact does it register that their ‘password’ had been uttered, and he snaps back to attention, his expression growing dark with a tender sadness. “You’re… homeless?” All Might’s heart practically breaks at the ashamed little nod from the man still cocooned in the faux protection of his sleeping bag. “Oh, Shouta… I…” Torn between pity, disbelief, his usual instinct to offer help, anger at the rest of the faculty for never doing so, and a slight pain that Aizawa had never confided in him with this, Yagi is caught once more at a loss for words, and can do no more than wrap one long arm back around the shorter man’s shoulders, an echo of that comforting gesture they’d built up over two weeks’ time, and sure enough, Shouta leans right in against him as though nothing had come between them. “I don’t understand… why? You get a paycheck just like the rest of us, don’t you?”

“Sure,” Eraserhead nods a little, “But it’s not that simple. You know how difficult it is to find a vacancy, you said yourself it was either a miracle or a murder that freed up your place across from Mrs. Ogawa.” He chuckles softly, fully aware that Toshinori had explicitly stated no such thing, but the implication had not gone unnoticed. “All of the places I found were either cheap little holes-in-the-wall, too far on the outskirts of town to be able to commute here, or they required too much paperwork and identification and direct deposits for someone living off the grid. Or they were flat-out too expensive to afford on my own, and I didn’t have anyone to split with. Mic was already paired up with Midnight, and… well.” He shrugs a little, the gesture odd when concealed in that bulky sleeping bag, “I don’t really trust others easily. You may have noticed.”

Toshinori laughs sadly and teases a playful squeeze around those padded shoulders, “Isn’t that the understatement of the century.” He pulls his arm free and takes a sip of his tea, then stands and brings it back to the counter to fasten a lid over the top. Then, standing expectantly by the door, he juts his chin and a thumb out toward the hallway, “Well? Let’s go, then. Grab your bag.”

“Go where.” Already unzipping himself from the sleeping bag, Shouta stretches stiffly and ruffles his hair into place, then clambers out of the bag with a curious glance back at Toshinori.

Yagi breaks into that sunny grin once more, his eyes weary but still welcoming as he holds the door open for Aizawa, responding simply, “Home.”

With Aizawa up and swaying a little on his feet, Toshinori helps him get dressed and stocked for the day, ensuring each pocket of his utility belt is well-equipped in case of emergency. The duffel is already packed, for the most part, and after breakfast Yagi spends a few more minutes ensuring any odds and ends left around his apartment are tucked into it as well; chargers, toothbrush, the mostly-empty pill bottles, extra juice packs, the leftovers for lunch, even the water-stained checklist which Yagi had consulted so diligently those first few nights.

“Hey,” Aizawa catches Yagi’s attention as he shrugs into his freshly-ironed navy blue suit jacket, “What about-” With a jerk of his chin, Shouta indicates the spare apartment key, still clipped to the loop of his belt.

“Hmm? Oh, keep it.” Toshinori shrugs a little, “It’s not like I need it for anything, I had it made for you.” He hoists the duffel bag over his shoulder, securing it across his chest by the long strap. “The subways are sure to be jam-packed full again today with all the traffic for the Festival...” In a sudden little burst of steam, he puffs up to his more powerful form, all teeth and bulging muscles, “How do you feel about taking the hero’s route this time, now that you’re all healed up?” He crouches and lunges, pushing the seams of his suit to their limits as he stretches out his legs for the first time in a while. Then, with a smooth arch of his back and a soft groan, he crosses the living room, hovering near the handle of the balcony door as he glances back to the other teacher. Aizawa meets his gaze with a little smirk and a determined nod.

Flying across the city with All Might, seeing the world from his perspective, is... a completely new experience. It’s not actually flying, as Eraserhead comes to learn, but when each powerful bounding leap is separated by multiple city blocks at a breakneck speed, the difference is purely semantic. Even with his new set of goggles in place to help shield his eyes from the winds, and to keep his hair from whipping too badly at Toshinori’s face, the view is still incredible. Aizawa finds himself twisting and gawking in All Might’s arms, his own cast-bound arm hooked around the thick neck of the Number One Hero, drinking in the sights below them as they head for the UA Sports Festival arena district. “There goes Kamui Woods, they must have roped him into security detail for the event.” Aizawa points clumsily with his free cast to the pro below them, his long branches expanding and propelling him across rooftops and construction cranes as the arboreal hero waves to his adoring fans as he passes them.

“Yes,” All Might glances down with a grin to take a gander before he snaps his eyes back to their next landing, “Most pros actually like a bit of fanfare on their way to a big event like this. Look, there goes Endeavor now!” He lifts his hand momentarily free from where it had been clutching Aizawa’s leg, and points at a thin pillar of smoke from the other side of town, rising up from the Number Two Hero making an entrance for the cameras, his boots melting a trail of little prints in the asphalt as he walks.

Aizawa scowls as he follows Toshinori’s gesture, focusing in on the overbearing, entitled tyrant. “Hmm.” Turning back to All Might with a little shake of his head, his hair still flying around him, Shouta speaks only loudly enough to be heard over the whistling winds. “Be... watchful around him, Yagi.”

“Who, Todoroki?” The Symbol of Peace crouches gracefully into another landing, sweeps another take on their surroundings, and quickly launches into the air again. He glances down once more, this time to meet the shuttered gaze of the teacher in his arms. “Why, what about him?”

“It’s probably nothing. Just a feeling I can’t shake...” Shouta ducks his chin into his scarf for a second, trying to piece his thoughts together before he continues, “Just that, between him and his son, Shotou, he reminds me a lot of my old man. In a bad way. Just- keep an eye on him for me, that’s all.”

Toshinori nods and files this tidbit away, mentally vowing to have a word with his unofficial rival if he gets the chance.

The two teachers land on the outskirts of the Festival district, skidding to a halt in a little cloud of dust and steam as All Might sets Aizawa back down and releases his bulky silhouette. The taller hero takes a few moments to put the both of them back together- tugging Eraserhead’s goggles back down into his scarf, administering a few eye drops, and plucking the spare roll of gauze they’d tucked into one pouch pocket to re-wrap his face and arms in what has become little more than a disguise at this point. His own appearance needs little adjustment, a quick finger-comb through his unruly blonde locks, and a tug at his sleeves to get the baggy wrinkles pulled out of the oversized blue blazer. Pausing to swing the duffel bag around front to rifle through for a second, he pulls out one plastic bag, full of the leftovers packed for lunch, and hooks its handles around one of Shouta’s casts. “Alright,” Yagi zips the large bag back up and hoists it back over his hip with a little slouch to counterbalance the weight, “I’ll tuck this into the lockers for you, head to the faculty section, and meet you up at the commentator’s box once the Festival is done. Try to have a little fun up there today!” He flashes another dazzling grin at the shorter teacher, who can’t help but return it a little from beneath his mask of gauze with an affirmative nod as they part ways to join the festivities separately.

Aizawa heads for the first-year stadium and makes his way through the crowd carefully, taking measured steps to keep from jostling the boxed lunch too harshly against his stomach, and to give the gathered Festival-goers time to part around him- the sight of his bandages and casts almost seems to act as a repulsion to keep them at bay. He laments silently that it would be impractical to keep this visage indefinitely, purely for the ability to keep strangers at arm’s length. By the time he joins Mic in the commentator’s box, the stadium seats are nearly filled with the population of the city, flocked to see the headlining class 1-A in action.

“Eyyy there he is! The mummy man of the hour!” Hizashi greets his co-host with a wink, a tongue-click, and a single finger gun. “You ready to see some kids beat each other up?” He spins in his chair, hands planted on his knees as he follows the sight of Aizawa, settling in beside him with a courteous nod as he bends over to set the bag of lunch on the floor beside himself.

“The Hero course students have made great strides of progress in just the past two weeks alone. It will be exciting to see them push their new limits.” Leaning back in his chair, Shouta kicks his feet up on the desk to get a little shut-eye. “Wake me when they’re starting.”

As expected, the students from 1-A (or The A-Class, as Aizawa’s taken to mentally calling them) are the frontrunners of the first two events, taking up most of the prominent spots with only a few outliers from 1-B and a couple surprises from 1-C and 1-H. Eraserhead takes the lunch break to do some info-scouting and pull up the files of each of the finalists, snacking away on the leftover dumplings together with Present Mic as he reads over them.

All Might, meanwhile, catches sight of his flame-riddled rival on his way down to the field to give Midoriya a pep talk. His curiosity piqued by Shouta’s warning earlier that morning, he flags the other hero down in the stairwell. “Yo! Long time no see! Let’s catch up, Endeavor.”

“All Might.” The Number Two Hero turns in place and fixes a burning glare on the other pro, and if Toshinori didn’t know better, he would have shrunken back from the obvious show of anger or hatred in Endeavor’s eyes. He holds his ground without flinching, hands planted against his hips in a fearless pose.

“I haven’t talked to you since that press conference ten years ago, been a while.” All Might raises one hand in a friendly gesture of greeting, “I saw you and figured I’d say hi.”

Endeavor sneers and turns back the way he’d been going, “Did you now. Well then, if that’s all you wanted to do, we’re done.” He continues down the stairwell in an obvious dismissal, muttering to himself, “Chatting like we’re old friends. What a joke.”

Toshinori can see when he’s not welcome, but with that cautious curiosity still driving him, he refuses to let the matter drop, and dives into the boisterous mask of the Symbol of Peace, giving a hearty (if forced) laugh as he catapults down the stairs to block Endeavor’s way. “Come on, why the cold shoulder?” A calculated risk, he hopes the temperature pun might be enough to provoke more of a conversation. “You should be thrilled! After all, your son’s doing very well out there, using just half his power.” Yagi had noticed, after all, how during the Festival and in general, young Todoroki seemed to avoid using his fire abilities. Aizawa’s words keep echoing around in his mind, determined to make some kind of connection. He leans in a little closer, “You must be a great teacher!”

Endeavor recoils, his frown deepening, “Are you implying something?”

“No!” All Might lies through his bared teeth, “I want to know your secrets, how do we train the next generation of heroes?” Almost a repeat of that second conversation he’d had with Aizawa, those few weeks ago, Toshinori hopes silently that this chat with Endeavor goes even half as well.

“Do you really think I’d tell you anything I’ve taught the boy?” Endeavor snarls and leans in to retaliate the encroaching on his personal space, then starts back down the stairs, “You’re all flash and no brains, as usual. Out of my way.”

All Might steps aside a little, not in the mood to get into an altercation during the Festival, at least a little secure in the impression that his ‘dumb blonde’ facade seems to have held up. “Okay...” He clasps his hands together a little nervously, not quite believing just how stand-offish the Number Two Hero has grown to be in the past decade.

The fiery man stops in his tracks, half-turning to have the last word, “Let me assure you of one thing, All Might. Whatever it takes, that kid of mine will beat you someday. I’ll make sure of it, that’s why I made him.”

Toshinori’s blood runs cold at the words, “You did what?”

Endeavor continues as though the man behind him hadn’t spoken, “He’s in a rebellious phase right now. But he will take your place. I’ll make sureof it.” Leaving the Symbol of Peace shaken in the stairwell, Endeavor continues on his way, intent on having another stern word with Shotou before the finals begin.

All Might turns to take a different route to the field, poofing back into his weaker form in the safety of an elevator as he leans against the wall, his head reeling as the puzzle pieces start to fall into place. He grits his teeth and makes some quick mental edits to the pep talk he’d been preparing for Midoriya, determined not to pressure him in the same abusive way as Todoroki had done, by the sound of things.

As the first match of the finals starts, Shouta can’t help but see a little of himself in young Shinsou as the boy rants his backstory at the determined Midoriya. The brainwasher’s frustration reminds the underground hero of how much trouble he’d had taking on the automated obstacles of the entrance exam, some fifteen years ago. He hadn’t had his capture weapon back then, just a makeshift chain he never had learned to wield with any real skill. Much like Midoriya, with no villains’ quirks to neutralize, he’d passed by the skin of his teeth, earning points from rescuing would-be classmates, and occasionally assisting in the destruction of the robots. He sighs and shakes himself out of the reverie just as All Might’s secret successor supplants the enterprising General Studies student past the boundary.

Eraserhead sighs and files Shinsou away in his mental archives, another casualty of a system built more for entertainment than for utilizing every hero to their highest potential. He can’t help but wonder again whether there might be more of those special passable quirks, like the one currently transferring from Yagi to Izuku. Or some other way to stop this sort of soul-crushing disappointment from happening time and time again. Aizawa vows to try to press Toshinori for more details about that strange transfer of power at the next opportunity.

“W’s too tired t’pull out th’couch,” the sleepy blond slurs his words, “Sorry, I c’n...” He jerks softly in place, starting to drag his long limbs over the side of the mattress.

“I mean your alarm didn’t go off, are we going to be late?” Shouta glances over at the digital clock, and Yagi follows his eyes to confirm, then shakes his head and relaxes back onto the comforter.

“It’s Saturday, Shouta. We just have our conjoined afternoon class. The alarm’ll go off in an hour.” He writhes closer by a couple inches and rests his head on the unoccupied half of the pillow propping up Shouta’s right arm, nudging in until his forehead is pressed against the shorter man’s flank, with the blanket still between them. “Lil’ more sleep,” he mumbles softly, his arm tucked up between his chest and Shouta’s knee. The more alert teacher sighs and cracks a little smile at the sight, gently nudges in closer against Yagi’s head, and relaxes back into the pillows to catch a few more winks.

The class for that day is, all things considered, relatively low impact. All Might and Eraserhead tally up the scores of each team within The A-Class and declare the Green Team the winner, to nobody’s surprise. They spend the rest of the hour going over the procedure for the Sports Festival check-in and reporting location, how to secure tickets for family members, where to obtain and use their student Festival Passes, and refreshing them on the rules and regulations. They’re just passing out the packets of paperwork as the period bell rings, and the students rush to grab the forms as they pile out the door, chattering excitedly with nervous energy about the possibilities of the next day.

“Mr. Aizawa?” Asui, Izuku, and Mineta are still lingering in the classroom as the other students trickle out around them. The frog-like girl ducks into her desk, then steps forward, her hands behind her back. “We had something to give you, a thanks for... Well, for saving our lives, kero.” She glances back at the boys, who nod earnestly, encouraging her forward. Aizawa exchanges a wary glance with All Might, but tips his head at her until she approaches closer and pulls out a small parcel, holding it out to him in both palms. “We were close enough to see when they got broken, and you hadn’t replaced them yet... So we saved up together to order new ones.”

“W-we weren’t sure if anyone else had realized,” Izuku speaks up, and Mineta nods fervently, looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else. “When you’re done healing, Mr. Aizawa, we wanted to help make sure you’d be ready.”

Acting as Eraserhead’s hands, All Might draws forward to take the parcel from Sue, and she steps back to Izuku’s side, one finger to her chin. With a gentle squeeze into the opaque plastic, All Might pinches it between thick fingers and carefully rips it open, revealing a brand new pair of custom bronze shutter-shade goggles. “Oh!” He holds them up to show Aizawa.

“My goggles?” Eraserhead tilts his head slightly, “Broken? I thought they were just in my duffel bag...” He bows his head to let All Might drape the accessory around his neck.

The taller hero does so and shakes his head with a nervous grin and a little chuckle, “No, ah... they weren’t in there. I thought you were keeping them in your desk or locker, or maybe you’d left them at home that day.” He turns back to the students and pulls them in for a brief hug, “That was some fine observation work and philanthropy, you three. Nicely done.”

Aizawa nods graciously, “Thank you. Now go get rested up, we’ve a big day tomorrow.” He jerks his chin toward the door, and the three stragglers flash a quick salute, then scuttle out in a hurry. He chuckles softly and shakes his head a little, turning back to All Might, who is starting to leak little tendrils of steam after holding his form for so long. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, the entire student body is long gone by now.”

Toshinori sighs in relief and relaxes in a billowing cloud of steam, his over-sized blue suit draping around him. “Okay. Let’s go check in with Recovery Girl.” He holds the door for Aizawa and locks it behind them both, escorting the younger teacher to the nurse’s office, where the diminutive healer is bustling about to pack several crates and boxes full of supplies for the Sports Festival the next day. “Chiyo, glad we caught you... Did you need a hand?”

“Ah, Yagi and Shouta, yes! If you don’t mind stacking these onto that cart for me?” Recovery Girl gladly makes use of the larger teacher’s help, while Shouta waits patiently on the bed, staying out of the way while he nudges his chin idly into the nose of the new goggles, getting acclimated to having their solid weight around his neck again, in addition to the scarf. He looks up as the other faculty members finish the packing, and Shuzenji approaches him with a gentle touch to his knee, calling him out of his brief trance of boredom. “And how are you feeling today, Shouta?”

He nods amicably, “I’m doing well. We had an easy class today, letting the students conserve their energy for tomorrow.”

“Good, good.” The healer stretches up on her tip-toes to give him one last kiss to the forehead, washing away the last of his bruises, sprains, and fractures. Even the scabbed-over gash on his cheek seals up beneath the bandages, leaving the scar which Toshinori had predicted. “There.” She nods decisively, “That should do it. You’re all done, as soon as you get a chance to go back to the hospital to have your casts cut off. I’d do it myself, but I don’t have the equipment handy, you understand.”

“That’s fine. I was planning to keep them on through the Festival anyhow. If I need my arms in a hurry, I’ll get Ashido to dissolve them free for me.” He stands and shoots a glance to Toshinori, who follows his lead with a step toward the door.

“Ah, hiding in plain sight again, are you?” Chiyo chuckles softly and claps the younger teacher on the back. “Hopefully that won’t be needed. But not a bad idea, just in case.” She waves farewell as the two teachers head out for the day, and follows them out with her cart of supplies, locking up for the weekend.

Toshinori goes all out on dinner that night, with the extra time allotted to them from the light Saturday schedule. A full three-course meal stretches out across the sparse countertop space, the stove burners, and the table between them, with fried, steamed, and baked dishes alike. It’s far more than the two heroes can finish in one sitting, and Yagi dutifully splits the rest into portions of varying sizes- leftovers for Shouta’s lunch during the Festival, and smaller snacks for himself throughout the day.

As Toshinori tucks Aizawa into bed for the night, he stops himself with a little chuckle, “I guess you don’t need these propped up any more, huh,” He pulls away the pillow he’d been about to tuck beneath the other teacher’s arm, and tucks it under his own instead, turning towards the door to head back out to the pull-out couch.

“Stay.” The command is somehow gentle and firm at the same time, offering kindness but no room for argument.

Yagi pauses in his tracks, turning back to meet those dark eyes, shining in the dim light of the hallway fixture. “Shouta...”

“There’s room for both of us, and that couch isn’t doing anybody any favors. Besides, I... wanted to talk more, about what you said out on the balcony.” Seeing the older hero’s hesitation, he insists with a little jerk of his chin, “Go brush your teeth or whatever, then come back here.”

Toshinori sighs and sets the pillow down at the headboard next to Aizawa, then ambles off to get ready for bed. He spends a few minutes in the bathroom, then does one last round of the apartment to make sure all the doors are locked and the lights are all out, then shuffles back into the bedroom, plugs in his phone, and sets the digital alarm for the next morning. Then, hesitating for a moment, he pulls back the covers and slides in beside his peer. “Okay,” he mumbles quietly, and there’s something slightly different about his consonants, as though his mouth isn’t entirely empty, “What... was the real reason you want me here.” He carefully rolls onto his left side to face Aizawa in the darkness, his head sloped across the pillow and his own arm, while he clutches at a fistful of the blanket in his right hand.

Shouta clumsily tries to mirror the posture, though the casts still on his arms make it a little difficult to turn any more than halfway. “I’m not on painkillers anymore,” he grumbles softly, and sure enough his head aches a little from the sudden withdrawal, “And after tomorrow, I won’t need... you. To take care of me like this, I mean. I’ll have my own arms back.”

“Mmhm,” All Might nods, tight-lipped and unusually quiet, a stark contrast to his boisterous hero persona, “Bet you’re looking forward to getting your autonomy back.”

“As a matter of principle? Of course I am. But-” Aizawa glances away, his eyes drifting downward as he shifts his right leg closer toward the middle of the bed, seeking a little contact with the man next to him. “I don’t want us to grow apart once the necessity is gone.”

Toshinori blinks at the frank honesty, and without thinking much of it, stretches his knee out to close the distance, gently hooking his heel in against the side of Shouta’s foot. “It’s not like we’ll suddenly be strangers again, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Aizawa shakes his head softly, unsure whether Yagi’s night vision is acute enough to see the gesture in the dark anyway. “More than that. I am of sound mind right now, and I want ...More.” He pulls his foot in against Yagi’s a little, and realizing that he’s no longer bound by the throne of pillows, scoots in a little closer toward him.

Toshinori sighs and lets go of his grip in the blanket, extending his hand to rest against a cast, halting Shouta from getting any further in his effort to bridge the gap. “Stop. Shouta, I’m flattered by your interest, but-”

The younger teacher breaks into a soft hiss of a snarl, “Damnit Yagi, I’m not one of your All Might fangirls that you can just brush off so easily!”

“No, you’re not,” the hero insists, and his eyes are a hard shadow, even in the dim lighting, “But the dynamic is no less severe. I looked it up, after we talked, this is a classic case of Nightingale syndrome, nothing more.” He pulls his hand away, and props himself up on one elbow, adding a few inches of height as though to prove his next point, “If you’re really serious about this, about us? It needs to happen on equal footing, not when you’re still recovering from a vulnerable position like you are now.” He studies the dark, unwavering gaze of the man next to him, and sighs softly. “Look, I’m not shutting you down entirely. Just asking you to... hold that thought. Give it a few weeks. Go back to doing your pro hero work, go home, get your feet back under you, and re-establish a life balance. Let us get a little distance between us, and get to know me as a peer, rather than as your caretaker. Then... reassess, and see if you still feel the same way.” He lowers himself back down to the pillow, and reaches over to rest his hand on Eraserhead’s shoulder in a gentle grip, flashing an unusually-subdued smile in the darkness, “Let’s make a checkpoint here. Like an old-school arcade game. This way, you can go play some other games for a while, and then pick up where we left off. If you still want to.”

Yagi can’t quite make out the intricacies of Shouta’s expression that he’s learned to pick up on, but the younger hero sounds amused, “Is there a pass code?”

“Heh, if you like. How about... ‘Continue’? Say it when you want to come back to this, and if I feel we're in a good place, I'll say it back.”

“Fine.” Shouta sighs softly and bows his head a little. “Just...” He trails off, going quiet for a long moment before he shifts back to face the ceiling.

Frowning curiously, Yagi scoots in a little closer as his arm is tugged in by the shift, and he gives a gentle squeeze to Aizawa’s shoulder, “Just what?”

“You’d better still be there for me to say it.” He turns over in the other direction, facing away from Yagi as best he can until he pulls his shoulder out of the other teacher’s grasp.

Toshinori sighs and scoots in the remaining inch or two, letting his arm drape loosely over Aizawa’s waist in an attempt to comfort him, a little disappointed in himself for letting his morbid (if not realistic) sense of mortality taint Shouta’s confidence in him. “I’ll... try.” He pulls his arm in marginally tighter, keeping a reassuring grip around the smaller man until they both drift off to sleep.

All Might blinks as well, as though the surprise from Aizawa's admission is just as tangible as the eyedrops he's tucking back into the shorter man's belt pocket. “Of course,” he nods solemnly as he leans back to sit on a student desk, “Did things not go well with Present Mic?”

Aizawa sighs again and glances toward the door, “Yamada is a good guy. An old friend of mine, but... He still has a lot of growing up to do. And besides, their place is... I don’t belong there.” He leaves the implication unspoken, about the opposite being true at Toshinori’s place.

The Symbol of Peace doesn’t press the matter, all too familiar with the need to process for a while before sharing more details with somebody else. He simply nods and escorts Eraserhead back to the teacher’s lounge to grab the duffel once more, and bring the both of them back to their more familiar haunt. On the subway ride, Aizawa does open up a little more about his experience, actually offering the information freely rather than having it pulled or prompted from him. Toshinori marvels at the unusually forthcoming mood the other teacher seems to be in, almost as though he's trying to make up for something.

“That living room could only ever resemble an approximation of darkness if there were a widespread power grid failure." Aizawa blinks blearily and shakes his head, suddenly leaning against the wall as he glances up at Toshinori, his brows knitted in a light fury, "Oh, and did I mention, when Midnight finally did come back in for the night? She brought in a stranger, and they didn’t know I was on the couch, Mic must not have told her... And they weren’t looking when they went to sit down.”

Yagi winces a little in sympathy, "They SAT on you? Oh Shouta, I'm-" He hides his mouth behind one hand, shaking a little with laughter, "I'm so sorry... I don't mean to laugh, but-" Grasping at the subway pole with both hands, he keels over with a chortle while Eraserhead ducks his chin into his scarf, biting back a chuckle or two from the infectious mood of the hero beside him. "They sat on you, if that isn't just the kicker!" He guffaws that booming belly laugh for a moment, drawing a few stares from the surrounding passengers, until he seems to have gotten it all out of his system, wiping a tear from one dark eye and a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth as he settles down. "I can't believe it was so bad, I just... I'm glad you could feel comfortable coming back to me, even after- well." He shrugs a little and flashes a wistful smile to Aizawa, who sighs and leans back in against him to let that long arm scoop back in around his shoulders.

"Well," Shouta agrees vaguely, letting his tired eyes fall shut for the short remainder of their commute, "I wanted to discuss that, too, once we get home." Relaxed against the older man's scarred flank, Aizawa notices neither the verbal slip he's made, nor the tangled expression it elicits on Toshinori's shadowed face when he hears it. Yagi decides, mercifully, not to mention what is probably nothing more than a bit of mental exhaustion mixing Aizawa's words. He falls quiet for the remainder of the trip, his thumb stroking idly at the black fabric of the utilitarian shirt until their stop approaches, and he gives a few gentle taps to Shouta's shoulder to rouse him into readiness. They make the walk in a companionable silence at first, which slowly seems to grow more tense as they approach the apartment building. The strained atmosphere deepens steadily between the two men as they pause a moment to check first Yagi’s mailbox, then Mrs. Ogawa’s, before they head upstairs, pausing to slip the sparse collection of bills and bank statements under her door.

Once past the threshold, the energy between them is palpable as they stall to kick their shoes off at the door. Toshinori leans against the back of the couch as Aizawa hovers nearby and eventually settles on the isolated wall separating the living room from the hallway. Eraserhead steals a glance out the glass pane of the balcony door as if reminiscing on the last conversation they’d had, until All Might catches his eyes with a little clearing of his throat. “So. What did you have to say, now that we’re ...here.” Toshinori isn’t sure whether to expect an apology or an accusation.

“It’s... about Wednesday night.” Aizawa keeps a watch on Toshinori’s face just long enough to make sure his meaning is clear, before he glances away, letting his eyes settle on that framed photograph of the beach. “I should have just asked, instead of...” He trails off slowly, unsure how to finish the sentence without putting a spin on it which could be entirely different from how Yagi had seen things.

Toshinori awkwardly clears his throat a second time and motions his hand slightly for Aizawa to continue, attempting to goad the quiet man into speaking his mind. “Asked me what,” he prompts nervously, unsure of where this conversation could possibly be headed, aside from… what had happened on the couch the last time they’d shared a living space.

Shouta bites his lip for a second, half his face still hidden behind his scarf as he turns to fix Toshinori with a steely gaze. “You’re a much better caretaker than Hizashi. We’ve established this. You actually consider what needs done, and you get it done without me having to ask. Except...” He glances away once more, his cheeks starting to burn a little as he hisses out the admission, “Damnit, Toshinori, I’ve been trapped with NO privacy, and no hands for thirteen days. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone, without-” The more solitary teacher bites his tongue to keep himself civil as he glares back at his would-be caretaker.

The taller hero freezes in place as Aizawa’s words line up inside his head and the meaning of what the underground hero is trying to tell him appears. Slowly, a dark flush creeps from his collarbone up to stain his face a deep red, and he casts about desperately for something to look at other than the man staring at him with such intensity. After a taut moment he finally stills, unable to keep his eyes on Aizawa. “I... can help you, with that,” he slowly concedes, his hands clenched on the couch behind to him to hide the nervous tremors, “b-but not... right now. Let’s get some dinner and get your pills in you. You look like you’re pretty exhausted from the night at Hizashi’s.” Toshinori pauses to tap his own cheek, “And you’re looking a little scruffier than normal. Let’s get you cleaned first, okay?”

Aizawa’s eyes flare marginally wider at the offer, and he nods stiffly at the attempt to return to their prior nightly routine, settling in at the empty kitchen table while Toshinori throws together a meal. Despite several attempts to start a more mundane conversation over a quick dinner of chicken curry with leftover rice, the small talk soon falls flat as the two men spiral back into silent anticipation, their minds wholly occupied for better or for worse. Eventually, Toshinori makes a desperate play to break the silence, pulling his phone out to set some music going from his pocket as they move on to the bathroom. Shouta sighs softly and relaxes a little, the steam and gentle fingers combining with the music to help wash away some of the building tension between them. “You don’t have to,” he mutters softly, still not quite bold enough to make eye contact as Toshinori scrubs up under his bag-wrapped casts and down his front, “Not if you’re uncomfortable. I would understand.”

“I’m not uncomfortable, Aizawa,” the lanky blonde hero murmurs, preoccupied with making sure that his guest is clean and tidy once more, “I just want to be sure this is... a matter of convenience, and that you’re not trying to fit me into some kind of relationship neither of us is ready for at this stage.” He glances up briefly, meeting Aizawa’s eyes with his own oddly-shadowed blue ones, just a quick glance to make sure they’re on the same page together, before resuming his scrubbing.

“It’s not anything you don’t want it to be.” Shouta sighs softly, getting a good lungful of the soothing steam as he leans against the wall of the shower, letting his eyes drift shut until it comes time to turn in place, letting Toshinori get at his hair again. In just the short time he’d gone since their last night together, he’s managed to get the black curls tangled into a rightful mess again, though Yagi’s practiced fingers manage to get it combed loose once more in no time, with only minimal tugging.

Toshinori drags a gentle palm over Aizawa’s jaw as he towels him off, and he hums softly, “Looks like you don’t even need those bandages on your face anymore, it’s all but healed, aside from this gash... That’ll probably leave a decent scar. Let’s get you one last shave, that should tide you over until you’ve got your hands back, unless you’d rather stick to the lumberjack look?” Aizawa shakes his head, his cheek brushing against that calloused palm. “And I’m guessing you don’t want to be baby-faced every day either,” Yagi teases playfully, and Aizawa shakes a negatory again, his cheek rounding with a bit of a smile. Starting to break the mood into a lighter one, this last task of the evening goes by quickly enough once Toshinori’s grabbed a fresh set of baggy pajamas and replaced the wet bags with fresh gauze slings to start to get Shouta comfortable again. In no time, the built-up scruff is gone, and any last shreds of hostility they may have held between them has washed away with it.

Toshinori can’t help but smile a little as he watches the last of the tension drain from his guest’s shoulders, now that he’s clean and taken care of once again. With a fresh damp rag, he wipes the last of the soap and bristles from Aizawa’s face, leaning closer to inspect his work carefully. A little too close, he realizes a second later, when those dark eyes open too close to his face and he pulls back with a little jolt, surprised at the proximity. “What,” Aizawa intones softly, tracking the slight movement out of the corner of his eye.

“I-it’s nothing, just making sure that you were fuzz free,” the tall man laughs a bit awkwardly, trying to ignore the hammering of his heart which seems to be somewhere in his throat region.

Shouta only shrugs a little, “It wouldn’t be the end of the world if we missed a spot. Especially since... I’ll probably want to keep wearing bandages to school anyway. Mic was telling me last night that I’ll be his co-host in the commentator’s box at the Sports Festival, and I’d like to try to keep a low profile until that’s over with, if possible.”

Toshinori hums a little as he brushes his finger over a spot he’d missed. “So I suppose this won’t be a huge matter in the long run, if you’d like to keep your face covered for now. I think we should leave them off for tonight so that your skin can get some fresh air, too long under bandages and you start to get sores and the like.” He strokes the little bit of fuzz still left on Aizawa’s chin again, a bit meditatively, somewhat lost in his thoughts and not realizing that his hand is still pressed against his guest’s face, at least until the younger teacher nods gently into it in agreement. He blinks and quickly pulls his hand back, realizing how intimate the motion must seem, considering that he was just here to care for the injured man. “A-are you ready for bed,” he quietly asks, his voice very slightly hitching as he thinks about what Aizawa had asked of him earlier, albeit indirectly.

“I was ready for bed twenty eight hours ago,” the tired-eyed hero confirms, swaying forward on his toes a little. “Bed, couch, I don’t particularly care at this point.”

“My bed, then,” Toshinori says firmly, well aware of how the thin couch mattress had injured both of their backs, and resolving to himself to have it replaced when he could. The thought makes him pause and reconsider his train of thought, wondering when he’d last had another person in his home besides Aizawa, and when he would actually have another. It was almost as if he’d somehow become unable to fathom the small space that he lived in, without also picturing the dark-haired man sharing it.

With one arm lightly slung about the shorter teacher’s waist, Toshinori gently helps him to his feet before hanging up the wet towels, trying to get in a better frame of mind rather than fixating on what’s ahead of him, struggling to keep a tight rein on his emotions. “Well,” he says lightly, attempting to keep the mood relaxed, “l-let’s get that one last thing taken care of, if that’s what you were still interested in.” He pauses and looks to Aizawa, waiting for confirmation, briefly meeting those intense eyes before he lets out a laugh. “I guess that’s a yes.” The tall blonde turns without another word and makes his way down the hallway to his bedroom with Aizawa following close behind him, before turning to sit on the edge of the bed. He yelps and hops up quickly, nearly crushing his laptop in the process, but managing to spare it at the last minute.

“I... might’ve forgotten this was here...” Toshinori begins nervously, tucking the device under one arm, “Let me just... set this down somewhere.” He turns and lays it on the nearby nightstand, making sure that it’s secure before shifting back to sit on the edge of the bed once again.

Still hovering in the doorway, Shouta glances between the laptop, the bedside, and his nervous host, eyes narrowing infinitesimally. “Mhm.”

Toshinori gulps and springs to his feet, busying himself for a moment by ducking back out into the hallway to fetch the extra pillows he’d tucked into the linen closet. Bustling back in with his arms full, he sets up that throne-like arrangement to prop up the cast-bound arms, and sure enough, Shouta sinks right into it, scooting carefully on his knees to get settled before he glances back over at Yagi expectantly.

With a little awkward clearing of his throat, the taller man grabs the laptop from the nightstand and brings it with him as he sits back on the edge of the bed, then scoots closer until he’s pressed back in against Aizawa’s side, yet another facsimile of their subway rides, though now with his left ankle tucked under his right knee. He props the computer open just in front of his left knee, in sight of both of them, and boots it up, until the screen loads conveniently onto an appropriate webpage. It was very adult- no, not just adult- it was downright pornographic and Aizawa can’t help but gawk at the Symbol of Peace as he starts the video playing again, then reaches over to tug at the waistband of the borrowed sweatpants, easing them and the briefs below partially down his guest’s thighs.

“Sorry, let me help you out there,” he says quietly, tentatively extending his hand to lightly cup it around Shouta, feeling semi-firm flesh throb gently under his light touch and start to grow stiffer. He makes an almost unheard noise in the back of his throat and tries to think of something else, anything else, while his long fingers slowly curl around Shouta’s shaft. Aizawa shifts in place, sitting up a little to get a better view of the screen, and of the hand wrapped around him. He whimpers in mild disbelief as the fantasy he’d run through in his head so many times suddenly becomes a reality, with Toshinori’s grip tightening slowly before he gives a tentative stroke. Shouta trembles a little and licks his lips in anticipation, the tiny movement picked up by the larger man who nods very slightly to himself, his hand beginning a steady pattern in time with the actors on the screen.

Shouta tosses his head back as a low heat builds in his belly, a soft curse on his lips as he tries and fails to keep his hips from thrusting up into that tight grip. “S-shit,” he gasps, having pined for the sensation of being touched by someone else, far more than he’d been missing the more mundane activity of just touching himself.

Toshinori pauses his movements for the briefest of seconds as he glances down at the shorter man, watching him tremble and groan with his still-slightly-damp hair fanned out across the pillow under his head. Yagi bites down on his lip, chewing on it indecisively for a moment, before he gives in and shoves his unoccupied hand down the front of his own sweatpants to wrap a firm hold around his growing erection. He hisses a little at the friction of sensitive flesh against cloth and tugs himself free, awkwardly wrestling with the elastic waistband for just a second with one hand, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. He curses softly and presses his body back up against Shouta’s side as he strokes the both of them in tandem, synced up to the video playing on his laptop, the dark-haired man’s eyes on the screen, and his own eyes on Shouta. He can’t help but give a soft, low moan as he watches the thin skin slide over hard flesh as his hands work, his thumb occasionally swiping across each head and smearing the drops of liquid gathered there as Shouta squirms under his touch, back slightly arched and groaning.

Shouta, for his part, is hardly paying attention to the video either at this point, more focused on each tactile detail of the fingers and thumb working him into a frenzy. Growing a little bolder and a little greedier with the heat of desire starting to burn in the pit of his stomach, he risks a glance up and over at the man next to him. Half-lidded eyes fly wide open at the sight of the older hero, who seems to be just as worked up by this point, the waistband of his own pants shoved down out of the way of that improbably-large shaft, which seems nearly normal in Yagi’s massive palm. It’s fortunate that the larger man had already looked away, his dark, hungry gaze focused back on the laptop screen, for just the sight of him getting into this alone is enough to startle Shouta into a sudden climax, his head thrown suddenly back and his body trembling with the force of it as little sparks of light danced behind his clenched eyelids. Anything more than that stolen glance would surely have proven too much entirely, and as it is, the exhausted, injured hero shivers and blanks out, his fatigue completely overtaking him.

“What ever gave you that impression,” Aizawa deadpans, pulling his legs up under himself to sit up with now-practiced fluidity, hunching over to let his arms settle in his lap. “I slept as well as I ever have while hopped up on these painkillers. Speaking of which…”

“I know, I’m on it.” The taller teacher is already returning from where he’d been gathering supplies from the kitchen, leaving a steaming bowl of hot cereal percolating on the small kitchen table. “We’re down to just the guava juice today, sorry, I know it’s not your favorite. I’ll grab some more of the other flavors when I get a chance, maybe when I’m out this morning while you’re teaching.”

Eraserhead gulps down both pills in one quick swallow, smacking his tongue against the taste, then tilts his head slightly as the words register. “Out? During school hours?” He slides to his feet and straightens his posture a little, holding his arms up enough for Toshinori to finish gauzing them back into a supportive sling.

Toshinori nods as the two of them return to the bedroom, where he gestures to the fresh clothes he’s laid out on the bed to get Aizawa changed into. “Yeah, those are your last clean change that I could find in your duffel bag. Frankly, I’m surprised you had as much clothing in there as you did… So I figured I’d run over to your place today and pick up some more.”

The shorter teacher bristles slightly and bares his teeth a little as he speaks, “Can’t you just do laundry?”

Taken aback at the reaction, All Might mentally races through a few possible explanations, ranging anywhere from Aizawa being a total slob and not wanting him to see his apartment in its natural state, to such ridiculous extremes as there not BEING any more clothing back at his apartment… But the older hero knows better than to pry, even as his heart twists a little at the nagging thought that Eraserhead might still not trust him enough to divulge his own home address. “I uh… Yeah, I guess I can do that. I’ll get more detergent with the juice.” He makes a mental note to get a load’s worth of coinage for the apartment’s old-fashioned machines, too.

The easy acquiescence seems to cancel out any tension from Aizawa’s shoulders, and he nods a quiet “Thank you,” and relaxes into a cooperative state as Toshinori helps him dress for the day.

“Mrs. Ogawa?” All Might calls with a little rap against the neighbor’s door on their way to the stairwell. He waits just long enough for that muffled TV to dim down before continuing, “Doin’ laundry tonight, did you have any to add in?”

“Oh! Yagi?” The elder’s voice comes muffled from behind the door and halfway across her living room, “I do, yes please! I’ll set it out when you get home later! You boys have a good day at work!” Make that two loads’ worth of coinage to get.

Toshinori does still go out during Aizawa’s class, but only because he’d rather not have to leave once they’d gotten in for the night, and because his purchases are easy enough to take with them on the subway, nothing fragile or perishable. His pockets jangle heavily with the coins he’d begged from the cashier at the local supermarket, who had been annoyed at the request until he’d turned his charming smile up to 11. The ailing hero laments silently that had he gone in his “buff” form, it would have been a different story entirely. But he’d learned his lesson, mostly, about using his limited power reserves on frivolous activities, and more importantly, his priorities had recently shifted so that more and more seemed to be falling under that label recently… With the well-being of another person now his direct responsibility, after all, it was inevitable.

By the time the two teachers return from work, sure enough, Mrs. Ogawa’s door has been decorated with an old-fashioned wicker basket hamper full of even-more-old-fashioned clothes, made of sturdier fabrics than anything more modern which would have snagged and ripped on her scales. All Might nudges it inside the door once he gets it unlocked, then sets the duffel full of Eraserhead’s utilitarian outfits next to it. Toshinori remembers to add in the t-shirts and sweatpants they’ve been using as pajamas, as well, and thankfully just in time- he’s just run out of those as well, with just an embarrassing pair of bright pink track-pants left in the very back of his dresser drawer. They would have to do, leaving Aizawa shirtless after his shower and Yagi re-using the set he’d worn the previous night, with everything else whisked away down to the laundry machines in the basement. The task of juggling a basket, a hamper, and a full duffel bag might intimidate some, but Toshinori simply throws enough power into his shoulders until they’re broad enough to carry a whole person over each one, making short work of the laundry in a single trip.

Returning upstairs as he wipes a little trickle of blood away with the back of his hand, Yagi sets a timer on his phone for when the wash cycles will be done and ready to move to the dryers. He grimaces a little at the coppery aftertaste, wondering if he might be able to trade his neighbor’s clean laundry for a few more of those little wrapped candies. A spare guava juice would suffice for now. Toshinoiri listlessly drags himself into the kitchen, past Aizawa who is perched at the laptop on the table, poking away at it again with the straw. The taller hero absconds with the fruity beverage and settles in on the couch to watch the local news for a while. A movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention, and he glances over to see Shouta, squirming a little in the folding chair as though trying to get more comfortable. “Something wrong over there?”

Eraserhead groans softly in pain and sets the straw down before heading over to join All Might on the couch. “That couch bed really is awful,” he mutters angrily, “I didn’t notice this morning, but after a long day at work, it seems to have gotten exponentially worse. I can’t believe you spent eight nights on that thing.” He huffs softly and leans in against Toshinori’s left side, which seems to have become a favorite huddling location of his. Yagi humors him with an arm around his bare shoulders, though after just a moment, an idea flickers into being.

“Would a massage help? To undo the damage after each day?” The taller hero glances down at the one settled into the crook of his arm, who tips his head up inquiringly at the offer. “I mean, it’s only fair, if I’m hogging the bed, I figured.” Aizawa seems to be rendered speechless, as he only gives a slow nod, still maintaining eye contact. “Alright, then come stand here-” Toshinori pats beseechingly at the couch cushion he’s sitting on, indicating the space directly in front of himself. Shouta complies and shuffles into place, his calves braced against the couch as Yagi props his long legs out to either side of him and leans forward a bit to reach.

The older hero’s touch is electric on Aizawa’s skin. They’ve had plenty of contact over the past week, between the daily tasks of life, but this is different… this time, there’s nothing between them. No clothes to get dressed into, no towel, no razor, no scrub-poof, not even a spoon of applesauce or a pill to take. This is… touch for its own sake, and Shouta isn’t sure whether Yagi is even considering this in the same way, but he’ll be damned if he lets the moment slip by un-regarded. As those solid, work-roughened palms knead into his shoulders and along his spine, Shouta lets his head hang limply with his eyes shut, not too dissimilar to how he’d ridden the subway the day before.

Yagi pauses in his ministrations, his thumbs hovering just above the small of Aizawa’s back, “Hey, that big bruise you had back here is almost entirely gone! I’m going to try to get to that area, but let me know if I’m being too rough.” Still uncharacteristically silent, Aizawa only nods and tries not to tense up and spoil the other man’s work. It is still a tender area, where the monstrous weight of that hulking villain had held him pinned to the concrete, but it’s not unbearable, so he bites his lip to keep from whining at the pain. Soon enough, those firm fingers move on to his lower lumbar before one of them lifts and gently tugs at Shouta’s shoulder, a tender gesture to get him to turn in place. He does so, almost hesitantly, afraid for a moment to meet Yagi’s eyes while in such a compromising position like this. But Aizawa realizes as soon as he steels himself and looks up, that he should have known better than to worry. Toshinori’s sunny smile greets him, just as steadfast as ever, and seems to pay no mind to Aizawa’s hidden apprehension, simply working along the delts and pecs for the sake of thoroughness.

Before Aizawa even realizes what he’s doing, one of his knees has pulled up onto the couch cushion between Toshinori’s legs, and he’s leaning in to crane his neck upward, invading the older man’s space as he crushes their mouths together in a needy kiss. Shouta savors the firm texture of those thin lips, the subtle smell he can just barely pick up a trace of now that he’s close enough, and sure enough, it’s the same one he’d found on the couch mattress the previous night (danelions and hot asphalt and jasmine tea). He tries to slip his tongue in against those lips for more and can feel Toshinori suddenly tense against him, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t care, he’s wanted this sensation for days (years) and he’s chasing it, drowning in it, he’s-

Suddenly freezing as Toshinori yanks back, a shocked look on his gaunt face, his graceful hands still held up in the air above his chest. “Shouta, I…” That angular jaw works wordlessly for a moment as the Symbol of Peace is caught suddenly speechless, struggling for words in a way that he’s never experienced before. “I don’t… you can’t… Not like-” Before he can manage to get a whole sentence formed, however, the alarm he’d set earlier suddenly sounds from his pocket. He jerks in place as though jolted by a static shock, then jumps to his feet while fumbling for the phone, trying not to knock Aizawa to the floor as he edges past him. “I’llberightbackdon’tgoanywhere!” Rushing to the door, he nearly slams it behind himself and sprints for the stairwell, taking the stairs three at a time to get as much distance between himself and the situation upstairs as possible.