Chapter Text
A knock at his door distracted Denki from the day’s homework, and he shoved it away with a sigh before calling over his shoulder. “Yeah, it’s open.”
It was probably Kirishima. He’d gone to borrow Bakugou’s notes, so they could catch up on what they’d missed together.
But it wasn’t Kirishima. Or Bakugou. Or Sero, or Ashido, or any of his other classmates.
“Want to tell me why you’re avoiding me, kid?”
“Mr. Aizawa!” Denki leapt to his feet with a yelp and nearly tripped over his chair. “What are you doing here?”
Aizawa slunk into the room, hands in his pockets, body language reminding Denki of the stray cats he’d sometimes fed on the way home from school. “Show me your hands.”
He held them out, letting his teacher examine them closely. “I’m okay,” he offered weakly. “Recovery Girl didn’t need to bother you with this.”
“She didn’t,” Aizawa replied. He seemed satisfied with his examination and leaned back on one leg, crossing his arms. “Your classmates care about you, believe it or not. They told me you’d been rushed to the nurse’s office after your hands started bleeding, and you weren’t back in classes all day.”
Denki didn’t answer. Recovery Girl’s treatment had worked, and his hand had healed up without even leaving a scar. He’d be tempted to say it wasn’t a big deal but could still remember what it felt like. It hadn’t even hurt at first. He’d just known something was wrong, and the pain had really only hit when he’d seen his fingers all sliced up.
“Want to tell me what happened, Kaminari?”
“Not really?”
Aizawa sighed. “I know I haven’t been around the last few days—”
“That’s not your fault!” Denki burst out. “I know you’ve got other stuff to worry about, it’s okay. This is nothing, really. I’m just fine.”
“Kid, wait.” Aizawa held his hands up. He was several inches taller than Denki, and even though he knew his teacher wouldn’t hurt him he couldn’t help but feel like the man was looming over him.
Aizawa seemed to sense this. He guided Denki to sit back in his chair and crouched in front of him, looking up with a steady gaze. “Tell me what happened, Kaminari.”
He fidgeted a little, flexing his unmarred fingers. “Someone put broken glass in my pockets while we were in gym class.”
The man sighed. “And you didn’t want to tell me?”
“Because you have enough to worry about. Todoroki needs you a lot more than I do right now. This isn’t that important.”
Aizawa rested a hand on his knee. He looked so tired it made Denki’s head hurt in sympathy. His teacher was doing so much to help one of his students, and Denki was just screwing things up as usual. Couldn’t even handle a few stupid pranks.
“I know it’s been tough dealing with this when I’m not around,” Aizawa said. “But just hold on, okay? Everything with Todoroki should be cleared up in a day or two, and then we can get to the bottom of this. Okay?”
He couldn’t help it. He opened his big, stupid mouth. “What if something else happens?”
It was all bubbling up now. He was scared. At dinner tonight, Mineta had been joking about grabbing one of Denki’s “love notes” to see what he was hiding from everyone. Others had started asking pointed questions about why someone would target him like this. There would be rumors now, and it wouldn’t be too long before someone guessed his secret.
“Would you be comfortable telling Mr. Yamada?”
Denki frowned. He liked their English teacher, sure, but he wasn’t sure about that. “I don’t know.”
“I’ve known him a long time. He can be trusted to protect your identity, and he’d be able to help if I’m not around.”
He still didn’t know. Denki shrugged and looked away, tightening his hands into fists on top of his knees. Mr. Aizawa and Recovery Girl had been supportive when he’d had to come out to them, once the dorms were announced. Aizawa had come alone to speak with Denki’s parents and had sat through that grueling interview where they took every opportunity to inform him that Denki was, in fact, their daughter and this delusion would only get in the way of his career as a hero.
“I won’t force you,” Aizawa said, when Denki didn’t answer. “Just think about it.”
He nodded. He could do that. Thinking about it wouldn’t hurt anything.
Aizawa checked his watch and let out a sigh. He pushed himself up to his feet and rested a hand on Denki’s shoulder. “Just another day or two. Hold on for me, okay?”
“Okay.” Impulsively, Denki shot to his feet and wrapped his arms around his teacher before the man could leave the room. “Thanks, Mr. Aizawa.”
The man wrapped an arm around his shoulders, his other hand gently patting the back of his head. “We’re gonna get through this, kid. Just a little longer.”
“Yeah.” He tilted his head up enough to grin at his teacher. “A little longer.”