Laughter bounces off the walls of the common room. A stray bubblegum pink pillow whizzed past, almost catching the tip of your nose. You pull your head back instinctively, a little too late because the matching pair rams itself in the side of your head. You go down with an undignified shriek, arms scrabbling for the ground to cushion your fall. Thankfully, there is an array of colorful pillows and blankets beneath you that helps you as you drop.

“Minaaa!” You yell, an edge to your voice but the smile you wear betrays your true feelings. You reach out, hand catching on a pillow with an All Might design-Midoriya’s-with all your strength to fling it at where the pink pillow had come to assault you.

You hear a cackling laugh from what you know to be Sero and a loud yet muffled “Hmph!” as your pillow smacks into someone's face. With a triumphant grin, you twist your body from your position on your stomach on the floor to see...not Mina. To your utmost dismay, it wasn’t Mina but it was Kaminari, hands covering his nose. Not bleeding, but that must have hurt. You cringe thinking about it, legs scrabbling as you stand, ground uneasy with it being more of a messy bedspread than anything and the fact your pajama pants may be an inch or two too long.

“I’m so sorry Kaminari!” You apologize quickly, maneuvering your way through the room, ducking from a pillow thrown by Ochako that hits Kirishima in the gut, to Kaminari’s side. You want to reach out but notice the black stain that marred his left wrist, like a wristband, circling all around. You have stains on the pads of your fingers, on both hands. Yours don’t match Kaminari’s in the least, you 100% know this. The sight of his mark just makes you hesitate before speaking again. “I didn’t hit you that hard did I!? I swear that I-”

Once again, before you can react, Sero slips Kaminari the pillow he held behind his back and hits you with it. It smacks its desired target which is square in the middle of your face. With something similar to a squawk you trip backward thanks to the force and your slick socks and you fall to the floor, for the second time this night. You groan from the small pounding in your nose, hands gripping the pillow closer to your face as if to smother the minuscule pain away.

“Ooohh! Kaminari, you hit the man a bit hard, you think?” That’s Mina’s chipper voice that mingles with the chuckling of Sero. “You may have messed up his beautiful face!”

Kaminari speaks up to defend himself, “Says the one that hit poor Iida in the groin!”

“That wasn’t my fault! I was trying to-”

“And you are all this loud at midnight, because?”

An involuntary shiver tingles the tips of all your limbs at that voice you know so well. The fact he sounds scarily close to you, has your mind reeling. If you had known he would show up tonight you would have paid more attention to your appearance, choosing generic blue pajamas instead of the bright yellow ones you wore currently because they reminded you of him, his goggles, his horrid sleeping bag.

A hush falls across the room at his presence, you could cut it with a knife if you had one. Iida, the saint with more courage than you can ever hope to have, speaks up first from his spot in the kitchen where he had taken refuge after being attacked by Mina and her poor aim. “A simple slumber party in the common room sir. It is a Friday night so we all thought it was a perfect idea.”

You hear him let out an aggravated sigh that leans more to being an exasperated echo of ‘What else did I expect of them?’. He starts by giving everyone a small rant about reasonable hours to make such noises and a few rules they should follow if they wish to keep having this slumber party at all.

As he speaks you try your best to be slow and sneaky, hands digging into your pillow so you can drag it down your face from your place on the floor. Eyes peeking over the edge of the white pillow you hold you see the cause to all your trouble this year. The reason why you would sometimes bump into a wall when distracted by him walking in the hallways. The reason you spaced off in the middle of class. The reason you would stare at his own black stain marks in hopes they completed your own.

Aizawa-sensei stood there in all his glory. While a few feet away, he was still practically towering over you. He wore the clothes he always did, indicating he must have been up late himself. Perhaps grading papers or having alone time cause it was the weekend. Whatever it was, you would die to know what your teacher did behind closed doors.

Were you a stalker to think such things?

You would personally say no, but eyes traveling up his body from your upside-down view was incredible. This would have to be the closest you have gotten to him since meeting him. You were too anxious to ever invade his space so closely ever again. That was a bad choice though because just like before you saw his blacks marks clearer and more defined. Long lines starting from below the outer edges of his eyes on his cheekbones. Four streaks on each side cascading back to where they almost touched his ears. So unique and so unlike any other mark you had ever seen before. You had always wondered who would touch him like that, fingers brushing his cheeks, and from the back no less.

But he'll never and has never looked at you in that way.

It’s like all sounds had faded then until they come back without warning. Everyone else is back to their bickering, their laughing, and their roughhousing. You watch, maybe a little too fixated on him as he stands there for a little longer, eyes surveying everyone. It comes to your surprise when his eyes shift downwards and bore into your own, sharp, quick, entirely calculating.

He has the same face he always has, contorted to form utter boredom. Disinterest showing in the way his back hunches just the slightest bit like he can’t be bothered, a hand upon his hip. He stares at you now like that, as he does to every other student he has, because speaking honestly, who are you to him other than another student passing through his life to become a pro hero?

You are thankful for the pillow that covers everything below your eyes. Otherwise, he would have seen the blush that had progressively traveled up the expanse of your cheeks. It strikes you odd though, his prolonged staring. You understand your own, you just can’t believe you haven’t been more obvious for him to not have noticed.

But then you see it, his arms coming to cross over his chest, head tilted down to look at you better. Right there for just a split second before he swiveled on his heels and walked away. A devilish smirk, there in the wide-open, all for you to see and witness.

When you can longer see him and the sound of his footsteps disappear you grab the pillow you have and scream into it with all your might. Your classmates look at you like you’ve gone crazy, they know not why so you don’t care to tell them either way.

*

You sit there on the couch thumbing through your phone on your favourite social media site. Everyone else was asleep, either on one of the couches, the bare floor, or on one of the air mattresses that were blown up. You forgot to mention Kaminari curled up on the kitchen island and Sero on the common room table.

You hug your knees tighter as you toss your phone to the other side of the couch you had successfully snagged. Letting out a sigh you lay your forehead on your knees wishing you were tired already. Unfortunately, that smirk he had given you was dealing hard blows to your mental stability. So eyes closed and trying to use the snores of your classmates as an unintentional ASMR you will yourself to try to become tired. The dim light from the moon outside hopefully aiding in your endeavors.

Barely five minutes pass before you hear the soft sound of footsteps coming your way. Lifting your head up with some effort you turn to your right and see him standing there in nothing but some off-gray sweats with untied strings that dangled from his walking. To see him shirtless and in the dark moonlit lighting seems more than indecent for a student to witness so you snap your head to stare straight ahead at Jirou snoozing on the couch across from you, head smothered by blankets but hair comically poking out.

“Aizawa-sensei…,” you say, soft and small. You expect him to greet you and leave but he comes around the side of the couch and sits right next to you. You feel it, the couch depressing with his weight and having you get in a good position again with how close he is. Hand idly dangling on the armrest, left leg coming up to rest on his right knee, and lounging back he seems more than happy to just relax there.

A few minutes pass with you both sitting there in silence, thankfully it isn’t one that makes you uncomfortable albeit it makes you a bit fidgety with nervousness. You break the silence with: “What are you doing?”

You see him turn his head towards you out of your peripheral vision so you turn your own. His lips turn up into a smirk, not unlike the one you saw just a few measly hours ago. “Doing here, awake so late at night? Or do you mean sitting here by you? Maybe it's not one of those and you're wondering what I am doing by acting so out of character towards you earlier?”

His black marks are just a few lengths away from your face, their starkness such a striking contrast against his pale skin. You notice then that the scar he got from the USJ incident bears part of his black mark, though it's a light gray where it runs over the long scar beneath his sparkly black eyes. In the moonlight, he looks ethereal.

“All of the above,” you answer knowing he noticed you scrutinizing him.

He lets out a chuckle, it’s low and gravely like he had fallen asleep for just a bit and woken up. “Well first off I came up here to see if the problem children went to sleep because-”

“Because you care,” you blurt it out, interrupting him, a statement at that. You meet his eyes and it’s the hesitation in his voice that makes you understand that you're right.

“Because I’m not going to be nice to everyone coming next school day still groggy from messing up their sleep schedules,” he rebukes, eyes narrowing. The snores continue around you and hope nobody wakes up when you have finally seen a different side to him. Talked to him for more than it takes to ring out an answer to one of his questions in his classroom.

You remove your head from its resting place on your knees to lean back on the couch. “I don’t think so,” you say, marking the end of that question.

He huffs, eyes closing for a second or two before meeting your own again, answering the second question, “Nothing is wrong with sitting in an open couch space, now is there?” You shake your head no and he connects it with his third question. His face loses its huffiness as he speaks. “I’m afraid I can’t answer the last one?”

“Why not?” Your eyebrows furrow together, lip catching between your teeth to gnaw on it in confusion and intrigue.

“I don’t think you're ready for that information yet,” is all he says.

Just because of the way he said it doesn't mean he sees you in that light.

Your eyes blink rapidly in realization, head tilting mischievously as you stare at your teacher. “Yet. You put a ‘yet’ at the end of that sentence. That means you might tell me in the future.”

His eyes widened just the slightest. “You are too perceptive for your own, do you realize that?” His voice is almost laced in what you believe is the sound of being impressed. A flush brushes your cheeks faster than you can beat it back down without him noticing.

Your eyes flick to your classmates' snoozing faces and wonder what they would think if they knew about your little crush and how it had just exponentially grown just from what you portrayed as praise. Minutes go by and his voice brings you out of a non-important thought.

“Were you doing each other's hair or have you and everyone else always worn obnoxious clips and ribbons in your hair?”

It’s then you remember that there are hair clips pinned in your hair, sparkly and just like he said, quite an obnoxious colour. “Oh, um...yea,” you chuckle, nervousness pointing your eyes downward to not meet his gaze.

“Nice colour pallet you have.”

There it is. A compliment right out of the left field. And of all things, it’s about how ridiculous you truly look, but his tone sounds so sincere it has you peeking at him through some of the hair that falls in your face.

“Want me to do yours?”

Before you can retract your question, knowing it’s a very, very stupid one he answers back with a resounding, “If you would like.”

“Your,” you turn towards him, eyebrows shooting up, face open in surprise, "telling me I can mess with your hair? For no apparent reason?”

“I assume it’s to indulge in some childish fantasy you still have hanging around in your head even though you're quite literally a full-fledged adult.” He offers you nothing more as he looks straight ahead and closes his eyes. When you don’t immediately get off the couch he crosses his arms over his naked chest, opening his left eye to peer at you. “Well?”

You scramble off when he slides his eye shut. Rounding the couch your mood lifts, reflected in the bounce you obtain in the balls of your feet. “I’ll use the clips in my own hair and put them in yours.”

“-lucky-,” he mumbles.

“What sir?”

He lets out a grunt, leaning farther back so his hair is hanging over the back of the couch. “I said you're lucky I like you enough to be doing something so humiliating.”

You wish you weren’t so hung up on it, but the way he said ‘I like you’ has your head spinning. It may not be the type of ‘like’ you want, but it's closer than you thought would ever be possible. So shaking your head you go ahead with your task. He wouldn’t look at a boy like you anyway, someone more mature and beautiful like Yaoyorozu would be more to his taste. Plus he would miraculously have to be gay, something everyone in the world is sure he is not.

“I might put your hair into a ponytail,” you lean over the back of the couch so he can hear you better, “I’ve never seen you with your hair up I think. Mind if I see it now? I bet you’ll look really pretty.”

He hums an affirmation without opening his eyes, though the twitch in his brow has you silently chuckling. “It’s not pretty, I believe the word you are looking for is more akin to handsome.” You let out a tiny laugh this time, eyes flickering to the sleeping bodies of your classmates. They must have really tired themselves out to not wake up, you internally fistbump yourself and thank your gods for this blessing. To be able to banter like this is a miracle in itself.

You scan the couch and find the brush you used and a few different colored scrunchies. Putting the brush closer you lean back, settling yourself right behind him. Hands both reaching forward you plan to gather up all his hair away from his face. “Excuse me, Sen...sei…,” Your fingertips drag along his cheeks as you gather the front strands of his hair, but right away it hits you.

Your legs feel like jelly, knees almost locking as the nerves on your fingertips burst like fireworks. They travel all up along your arms and down your spine. It’s all pleasure riddled with the tiniest bit of pain as something foreign locks into place. You don’t understand the feeling and can only see out of hazy vision.

How does he see you now?

“I’m sorry Sensei,” your voice breaks, shaky hands slowly retracting from his cheeks and hair, “I should have-should have never touched you-I-” He swivels around to face you and you flinch with eyes shut as he grasps one of your wrists. His grip is a little too tight and you fear you have pissed him off by touching something so precious to him. To touch someone’s soulmate mark without permission is a high offense. You did it to your own teacher no less, an adult that could charge you with soulmate tampering. You rush out more apologies, eyes already drowning with tears. You turn your face away, the tug you give to try to get away seeming to shake him from his stupor.

“Wait, please!” His voice is louder than it should be in this setting, it freezes you on the spot. He fixes his mistake as he continues in a voice more gentle and softer than anything you ever remember hearing come from him. “I didn’t mean to scare you I-”

You tremble in his grip even as he lessens his hold on you. He still holds on though and you open your eyes when some kind of pressure settles onto the sensitive tips of your fingers. They twitch slightly, but settle down the longer he presses. Turning your head you flush as you see what he is doing. Kissing your fingers with an expression on his face that has your heart-melting on the spot.

When he lifts his head to look at you, thumbs pressing into your palms, the moonlight from the window hits his face and your fingers just right. You see it, the black marks upon his face sparkling with that milky white and glittery vision you had learned so long ago to signal a completed bond. They reflect the glittery look of your thumbs. Eyes meeting your own you gasp once again seeing his own hair has flecks of the substance, the front strands smothered with it where you had begun to collect them for a ponytail.

“Aizawa-sensei, I-”

“No, please don't call me that,” he interrupts you, getting up and pulling you by your hands to drag you into the dark hallway adjacent to the common room, careful to not let you trip over your long pajama bottoms. Away from the students sleeping so openly. You are bathed in darkness but a sliver of moonlight illuminates the space you occupy and it is with surprise that you find out soulmate bonds, once ignited, faintly glow in the dark.

And this man in front of you, your soulmate is something beyond beauty with the fingertips streaks, and strands of hair glowing faintly in front of you. He pushes himself forwards into your body that thumps softly against the wall, his naked chest offering you quick heat that seeps through your yellow pajamas with ease. You are caged by a man around 10 years your senior, not a care in your mind at all. One leg coming between yours to push you harder into the wall. He hunches over, compensating for your shorter stature, forehead resting on your shoulder. He is transfixed holding secure your wrists, pressing tender pecks to your fingertips that also give off their own signature glow.

“Isn’t this,” you breathe out, pleasure coursing through your veins as he continues to press into your soulmate marks. You know for sure he knows touching them was sensitive once activated, yet he still does so. “Isn’t this illegal?” You try to rationalize all of what’s wrong with this situation. You speak only of the teacher-student relationship, otherwise, all would be sort of okay. “And I’m a...I’m a guy, you’re just under the effects of this bond.”

You mourn the loss of him at just the thought, all of this chalking up to being a platonic soulmate blond. A friendship that ends at comradery.

“Shouldn’t I have been the one to tell you how illegal this is? I’m your teacher for christ's sake!” He continues to act out of character, or is he this emotive alone? He pulls back so you can admire each other's marks as you talk. “And what does being a guy have to do with anything?”

You blanch a bit, “Well, your not-your not gay, everyone knows that. You’re only being so touchy because of all these hormones! All the hormones you yourself taught us about! You should know-!”

Aizawa surges forward and captures your lips with his own, those dark eyes of his staring into your own as he pushes forward. You free your wrists from his grasp and try to push him away from you, but it only causes your fingertips to start sizzling as they connect with the naked skin of his chest. He feels it too, a low groan bubbling through his throat at your wasteful efforts. He pulls away too quickly for your liking and against your will you moan at the loss.

There’s that smirk again upon his face, your brain wants to smack it away while your heart wants to kiss it away. “Other people can’t decide what I am attracted towards. I see you in that kind of way which should be forbidden right now,” he clicks his tongue in agitation. Eyes burning into yours. “And it may be unprofessional of me but,” the glowing strands of his hair fall in front of his eyes as he tilts his head to meet your lips again, “I may not be able to legally do anything too risky when we are teacher or student, but believe me when I say this.”

Does he see you?

He grabs your wrists and guides your fingertips to graze across his face to glow and pulse in reaction when your soulmate marks touch each other. It’s heavenly and you wonder if this is okay. If being with him, touching him this way, loving him this way is alright. Thankfully you don’t have to make the tough choice of running or staying.

“After you graduate-and even starting now-I will never, ever, let you go. I only have eyes for you," his lips meet yours, softly, so softly.

Oh god.

Finally, you know for sure.