Chapter Text
Izuku stared at the unfamiliar walls of Aizawa’s apartment. It was… quiet. Not cold like the group homes. Not loud like the dorms at U.A. Just quiet.
Aizawa had left him alone in the living room for a bit, giving him time to breathe, to adjust, to unpack—though Izuku hadn’t brought much. Just a small duffel bag with his uniform, a few notebooks, and a worn photo of him and his mom.
He sat on the edge of the couch, too afraid to lean back. The silence pressed on him, then came the footsteps.
“You hungry?” Aizawa asked casually as he walked in, holding two mugs of tea. “Didn’t know what you liked, so I guessed.” Izuku took the cup with shaking hands. “Thank you… Er—um, Aiz—sir.”
Aizawa raised a brow but didn’t comment. Instead, he sat beside him—just far enough to not crowd, but close enough to be felt.
“You don’t have to call me anything special,” Aizawa said eventually, voice low. “Not until you want to. Or if you never want to. I’m not here to pressure you into some fake version of ‘family.’ You’re here because I want you to be. That’s enough.”
Izuku stared into his tea. It smelled like chamomile. He hated chamomile. But he drank it anyway. The words wouldn’t come easily, but they tugged at his throat like trapped tears. “I don’t know how to be someone’s son anymore,” Izuku whispered.
Aizawa didn’t flinch. He just looked at him, expression unreadable but soft. “That’s okay. I don’t really know how to be someone’s dad either. Guess we’ll figure it out.”
That made something hitch in Izuku’s chest. Not hurt. Not fear. Something gentler. Something terrifying.
Hope.
Weeks passed and Izuku didn’t tell anyone at U.A. at first. The idea of explaining it, of facing the stares and questions, made him sick. Only Nezu and Recovery Girl knew though Aizawa suspected All Might had figured it out just by the way Izuku seemed a little lighter, more present.
Aizawa gave him space but also brought structure: they had dinner together when possible, and he started teaching Izuku things he didn’t teach the other students—like how to budget, how to make soba, how to wrap a sprained wrist without panicking. They didn’t call it bonding. They just did it.
Some nights, Izuku woke up from nightmares his mom’s screams, the sound of collapsing buildings, the heat of the fire. He’d wander out into the hallway and find Aizawa still awake, sitting on the couch with a cat curled in his lap, grading papers.
“Can’t sleep?” Aizawa would ask. Izuku would shake his head, and Aizawa would simply pat the other side of the couch. No words. Just quiet company.
One night, Izuku asked, “Why me?” Aizawa blinked. “What do you mean?”
“There were other kids. Better ones. Ones who probably smiled more. Who weren’t already… broken.” Aizawa’s voice came steady and sharp. “You’re not broken, kiddo And I didn’t choose you because you smiled more. I chose you because you needed someone. And I did too.”
Izuku didn’t speak after that. He just leaned his head on Aizawa’s shoulder and stayed like that until he fell asleep.
Eventually, it slipped out.
Kaminari blurted it out at lunch one day after walking by Aizawa’s office and seeing a form with Midoriya’s name listed under “emergency contact: guardian – Shouta Aizawa.”
“You’re living with Aizawa!?” Kaminari shouted, nearly choking on his rice. Izuku froze, all eyes turned.
He opened his mouth then shut it and then Ochako reached out and gently touched his hand. “That’s really nice, Deku.”
He nodded, small and unsure, but not afraid. No one made fun of him. No one whispered. They just… accepted it. And when Eri ran up to hug him after class later that week and called him “big brother,” it kind of stuck.
One night, near the end of the semester, Aizawa found a note on his desk. It wasn’t much. Just messy handwriting, scratched out and rewritten over and over.
“Thank you for not leaving me. I’m still scared, but less when you’re here.” — Izuku
Aizawa didn’t cry. He rarely did but he folded the note, tucked it into his coat pocket, and kept it close because Midoriya Izuku wasn’t just his student, he was his son long before either of them had realized it.