#jangalian

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.