Chapter Text
Shouta thinks this could be a terrible, terrible mistake.
The part of him that is ruled by logic and reason knows that he should try to have Kurogiri arrested. Hell, he shouldn’t have come at all, especially not without telling anyone. This could so easily be a trap, and he's about to walk into it heedless of that.
But the part of him that had frozen solid at sixeen years old and can still hear a static voice yelling that he could do it pushes him forward. He and Hizashi hadn't been able to get much from Kurogiri in Tartarus. It had barely been an actual conversation. Sometimes, when it's late at night and he's staring at his ceiling without being able to sleep, he thinks about the last conversation he'd had with Oboro, he plays it over in his mind, sure that his fickle memory is leaving gaps in the day.
So he walks until he's standing next to Kurogiri on the rooftop, facing the city lights and the roaring sea in the distance instead of each other.
Shouta tries to convince himself this also has nothing to do with the conversation he’d had with Ashido mere days earlier, or the bleeding, nearly painful hope that had started splintering in his heart when he and Hizashi had managed to make something like a breakthrough with Kurogiri in Tartarus, but he can’t quite convince himself.
Some of his very best memories happened on rooftops just like this one, next to the boy this man used to be, laughing with careless abandon and not caring about anything save for the fact that a part of Shouta wished his lunch period could last forever, that this never had to change.
But he’s not sixteen anymore and the boy who made him laugh when he felt he could cry is long, long gone, only alive in Shouta’s slowly fading memories and the rooftop is just that; a liminal space where the two of them can talk for a moment without being seen.
Shouta thinks that the image of his student, limp and bloody in his arms, has been burned into his memory. The thought of Kurogiri promising her safety and what that conversation had to look like is playing on a loop in his mind since the last time he’d seen the man. There had to be some sort of deeper meaning to his actions that day, invisible threads he can't quite see.
"Is your student alright?" Kurogiri asks in his usual deep rumble of a voice, the words themselves low and bordering on cautious.
And now... now he's asking about Ashido.
He had learned the hard way that sometimes hope could be as sharp as a knife. And right now, it stuck painfully between his ribs and was twisting, twisting, twisting.
He wants so badly to believe that golden boy with the crooked smile and the reckless compassion is still there, buried maybe, but still there in echoes, but he needs to be rational.
Kurogiri has hurt people. Shouta had seen the scars on Anan’s body when the two of them were in the hospital together. He’d overheard Kirishima talking to Bakugou about his night terrors. The League has done so many of his students irreparable damage and Kurogiri hadn’t hesitated to go right back to them as soon as Tartarus fell.
"Ashido is tough," Aizawa says, praying his tone doesn't waver. All of his students are tough, stronger than people their age should ever have needed to be, and while a part of that leaves him deeply saddened, another part of him can't help but pray it will be enough to keep them from meeting the same fate as Oboro. "She's going to be okay,"
"That is good." Kurogiri replies absently. His flickering golden eyes are staring off into the distance, toward the waves on the horizon and all the way past the lights of the city.
Shouta's fingers twitch near the fabric of his capture weapon where it billows in the late night breeze as his brain once again seems to scream that he needs to have the man in front of him arrested.
"Ashido wants to know why you let her live."
Kurogiri flinches ever so slightly, more like a ripple branching out through the fog.
"I couldn't...." Kurogiri's voice cracks, and just for a moment, he sounds closer to that boy who made Shouta laugh, like a version of that boy that had gotten to grow into a man. He clears his throat, his hand balling into a fist on the edge of the roof, and the next words he speaks are in his usual deep timbre. "I did not want her to die. I did not wish to see her hurt."
“It’s a little late for that.” Shouta can’t help it, the words leaving a bitter taste on his tongue as he speaks them.
He thinks about the nights Mina had spent in the ICU, having to explain to her poor parents that she got hurt on his watch. The fact the first thing she’d said to him after they’d removed the breathing tube was that she was sorry for getting separated from the group. She was sorry.
And that’s only Ashido.
He’s not sure that Bakugou’s parents have fully forgiven him for what happened to their son at camp. The sound of Midoriya’s mother sobbing when she’d seen his throat after the mall is burned firmly into his head, playing on an awful loop. He has nightmares where he’s only seconds too late to stop Shigaraki’s quirk as his hand makes contact with Asui’s face, and he’ll wake up in a cold sweat.
Kurogiri hums thoughtfully, the sound low and reverberating through Shouta’s bones, sets the skin of his forearms dimpling with gooseflesh.
And then Kurogiri turns to face him fully, and asks, “Why did you agree to come?”
Shouta doesn’t know. He really doesn’t know. He thought he did, tried to convince himself of reasons that this was actually a practical decision and not something born of sentimentality, but somewhere between making his way up here and standing next to Kurogiri, that justification grew weaker and wearier until he couldn’t bear to voice it.
He opens his mouth, unsure of what he’s going to say, and then his phone begins to buzz in the deep pockets of his uniform.
There’s only one person who’d call him at this hour and not answering the call is not an option.
“Hey, Kayama.”
Nemuri wastes no time on greetings, her tone businesslike, “You need to get back. Eri had a bad dream.”
Shouta knows exactly what that means and barely restrains a wince- Eri has nightmares more often than not, but some nights, the nightmares leave her wordlessly seeking Shouta out and pressing herself into his side until her heartbeat regulates and she can focus on something like a movie or, more often, fall asleep in his arms with her head pillowed against his chest.
Nemuri, well aware of these nightmares, had told Shouta he shouldn't go out.
“Hand her the phone.” Shouta instructs.
He hears shuffling, sniffling, and then Eri’s soft little voice, “Aizawa?”
It’s a purely instinctual thing, turning away from Kurogiri to speak to her on the phone, but he can feel the man’s eyes practically burning the back of his neck, his tone as gentle as he can make it, despite the fact that he’s never considered himself particularly reassuring, “Yeah, kiddo, I’m right here,”
“Where did you go?” She asks in the hiccupy tone of recent sobs, “I woke up and you weren’t here-”
He can’t exactly tell her about the message or the villain or the fact he was stupid and desperate enough to willingly follow the man to a rooftop a few miles away from UA- he hadn’t even mentioned it to Nemuri, who would still try to capture Oboro’s likeness in her sketchbooks, or even to Hizashi, who has all but written Kurogiri off.
“I know, Eri, I’m sorry. I just had to take care of a grown-up thing. I’ll be back home in ten minutes, okay? You remember when I showed you the clock?” There’s a soft and sniffly sound of affirmation on the line, “Where is the long hand?”
“It’s almost on four,” Eri says, voice wavering and hesitant. The next thing is half a question, audibly unsure, “That means twenty...?”
“You’re right, very good,” Aizawa assures. “When that long hand gets to six, I’ll be home. We can watch a movie or read.”
“Can we read?”
“Yeah, kid. Absolutely. We need to figure out what the magician is up to and what Sayuri is gonna do next.”
With a final sniffle, Eri asks, “And you’re gonna be home before the long hand gets to six? You promise?”
“I promise.” He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t quite help it. “See you soon.”
“You too.”
And with that, Eri disconnects the line and leaves Aizawa looking at his lock screen, the picture of Eri sitting on the counter with the cat and in the frilly little sweater Yaoyarozu picked out for her, her smile wide and bright and easy in a way that fills him with relief.
Kurogiri clears his throat, as if Aizawa could have forgotten him,
"Do you... Was that your child?"
Shouta finds himself holding very still, almost holding his breath. Personal connections could easily become liabilities if left unguarded enough. He had his issues with Endeavor but at least respected him for being so private with his children that no one even knew their names before Todoroki had debuted at the Sports Festival. Shouta is good at flying under the radar, no one aside from the heroes who helped save her is asking about Eri and they never will if he can help it.
“I will not tell Shigaraki Tomura or the rest of the League of Villains.”
But... Shirakumo had always loved children and children had always loved him, been safe with him.
Shouta swallows around a lump in his throat, his eyes stinging in the dark.
He thinks about that day in Tartarus, about how Kurogiri had declared himself the protector of Shigaraki Tomura, how that was what had finally gotten reality to land; not the test results, or dental records, or the DNA evidence in black and white. The fact that the man beside him couldn’t help but care entirely, had not been able to love in half measures.
Now that he’s thinking of it, it’s another answer to a question Shouta hadn’t been brave enough to ask; why Kurogiri had willingly gone back to the League.
Shouta thinks about where the line would be for Eri, for him to stop loving and believing in her, staying by her side to make sure she was safe and protecting her with his life. While Shouta doesn't think he's nearly as loyal as Oboro used to be, or maybe still is, he isn't sure anything short of Eri telling him to leave could sway him.
“I need to get going.” Shouta says.
Kurogiri nods, “Do not let me keep you,”
Two rooftops away, Shouta can't help but turn around. Kurogiri has not moved from his spot on the rooftop and Shouta is only barely able to make out his eyes glowing in the dark like misplaced streetlights.
Shouta doesn't know if he's ever going to bridge that distance between who they were fourteen years ago and whoever they both are now.
He tries to keep his mind off it as he heads back off in the direction of UA. Shouta still isn’t quite satisfied, nor does he have all the answers that he’d like to about Kurogiri and how much of Oboro he’s got in him. He also isn’t sure which will win in the end; Kurogiri’s loyalty to Shigaraki, or his evident lack of wanting to see Shouta’s students hurt.
Shouta thinks it will need to be a morning sort of problem. Tonight, he has a promise to keep.