Chapter Text
“You’re not serious?” Toshinori demands, incredulous. His grip tightens on the paper cup he is holding, nearly sloshing the lukewarm tea over the rim. “You - “
Aizawa gives him a flat look. “Are you intending to skip class?” he asks drily.
Toshinori flushes. Of course he doesn’t, but apparently (and regrettably not unreasonably so) Aizawa is still not convinced he’s earnest about teaching. He gestures with his free hand, shakes his head hard enough to make his hair fly. “No, of course not, I -”
“Neither of you ought to teach,” Hizashi interrupts from where he’s slid down against the couch seat with his feet propped up on the table. Bright green socks form an interesting contrast to his black leather pants. “Neither of you is in any condition to do anything but rest.”
“And how much sleep did you get last night?” Aizawa returns. The bandages hide the raised eyebrows as he turns his flat stare onto Hizashi who slides even lower on the couch, looking more asleep than awake.
“I’m used to all-nighters,” Hizashi mutters, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You know I work late, and sometimes -”
A paw tapping his thigh distracts Toshinori momentarily from the conversation. He glances down to see Nightshade next to him, silently studying his lap for a moment before apparently deciding it will do: the cat noiselessly climbs on, and then plops herself down.
It’s adorable enough Toshinori loses track of the conversation. He sets his paper cup onto the table, moving carefully in order to not disturb the cat.
“Maybe you both should stay here and relax,” Toshinori offers, and holds his hands up in a pacifying gesture. “I can go and inform the principal. And do my best to substitute for you. My English should be fairly decent.”
Nightshade purrs as if to support him and Toshinori has to smile. Neither Aizawa nor Hizashi look convinced, however.
“You are coughing up blood,” Hizashi states bluntly. “If I’m supposedly not able to teach due to sleep deprivation, I think coughing up blood disqualifies you, too.” He frowns and there is a note of concern to his voice.
“At least I slept,” Toshinori defends himself weakly.
“Sitting up,” Aizawa chimes in smugly. “If it comes to sleep, I probably got the most in the last forty-eight hours.”
“Well, I didn’t almost die on Tuesday,” Hizashi returns sharply. His relaxed posture belies an underlying tension that makes Toshinori suck in a sharp breath.
Aizawa purses his lips, though Toshinori hangs his head. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there faster.”
“Stop that,” Aizawa says, while nudging Toshinori’s side with an elbow. “We already had that discussion.” Hizashi’s eyes widen at that. “And look,” Aizawa turns to his friend of fifteen years. “I’m quite aware of what happened on Tuesday, but if we don’t leave now, we are all going to be late for class. And then Nezu is going to lecture us.”
Hizashi grimaces. “He might even do it in front of the students…” He shudders with what might be a memory, and the notion both intrigues and frightens Toshinori.
“Not to All Might,” Aizawa declares with smirk. “And not to me. I mean, do I look as if I could remain upright long enough for a lecture?” He pretends to swoon, and that makes both Toshinori and Hizashi instinctively reach out to steady him.
Aizawa snorts, amuses, though Toshinori can’t help the way his heart races. He buries his hands in Nightshade’s fur, while Hizashi grumbles, peeved, and then turns pleading eyes onto Toshinori. “Lemme hide behind you, yes? Shouta’s gonna rat me out to Nezu, but you won’t, will you, Toshi?”
Toshi. He’s not been called that in decades, but it’s actually not a bad feeling. It leaves him somewhat dumbfounded, though, and while Hizashi plots how to avoid the principal, Aizawa stands up.
“I’m going,” he simply says, and that’s that.
Well, there is a short kerfuffle about whose car to take. However, Hizashi’s sports car only has two seats, so Toshinori’s it is.
They make it to school barely in time. Aizawa totters off toward 1-A’s classroom, and waking into their direction Midnight stares at them.
“Please tell me you didn’t drive.”
The next days pass quietly, peacefully. UA’s students are busy preparing for the upcoming sports festival, and it appears the crime rate drops with the anticipatory hype. Toshinori now makes sure he has enough time left to instruct class in his muscular form - the idea of being late has become terrifying.
But his fellow teachers don’t blame him at all. In fact, Cementoss and Bloodking declare their support and appreciation, and Nezu explicitly encouraged him to consider teaching as a possible future career. He still feels like a fish out of the water when put before a class, having to instruct twenty students who can easily come up with twice as many interpretations of instructions on what Toshinori initially had considered a ‘simple task’. Nonetheless, when on the following day Hizashi greets him with a clap on the shoulder plus a painfully high-pitched ‘morning Mighty-boy’ while Bloodking grins into his coffee, he feels strangely at home.
Like he’s finally found a place to stay.
Aizawa totters in and out of the teacher’s office. He’s asleep on the couch more often than not; the sleeping bag temporarily abandoned due to difficulties operating its zipper. But one afternoon Toshinori returns to find Aizawa typing on his computer - fingers thickly bandaged, but out of the casts.
“Your hands look much better,” Toshinori comments, taking a step closer. “Did Recovery Girl get around to healing all the nerve damage there?” He remembers the dire predictions from when Aizawa had been hospitalized - devastating nerve damage, a chance of a complete loss of vision and fine motor skills - but the very careful application of Recovery Girl’s quirk and an individualized recovery plan so far have worked well.
Aizawa half turns on his chair and slowly wriggles his fingers. “Mostly,” he says. “The muscles are stiff, and apparently the repaired nerves will be fragile for a while so she recommended I continue wearing the casts.” He nods, and Toshinori spots the two thick casts resting on Aizawa’s desk, nearly buried by paper. “But I thought I’d use the chance and catch up a bit.”
Toshinori knows that nearly all of their colleagues had offered to help with the paperwork. But apparently Aizawa had still kept a good amount for himself. To be honest, it doesn’t really surprise Toshinori at that point.
“How very much like you,” Toshinori replies with a chuckle. “But I’m glad to hear your hands are healing well. Did she say anything about the injuries to your face?” He’s proud his voice remains steady, despite the images rising in his mind. Of all the devastating injuries he’s seen in his career, the shattered orbital sockets of his colleague were among the worst.
“It will still take a while,” Aizawa replies with a small sigh. “She can only heal the damage step by step; healing everything at once would actually cause further nerve damage. Actually,” he swivels around in his chair, “I meant to bring it in today, but forgot it. Could it be you forgot your scarf at my place? It’s dark blue, and I don’t own anything like that and I know Hizashi doesn’t either… also, Nightshade is rather fond of it.”
“So that’s where it is,” Toshinori says amused. “I couldn’t quite remember where I left it. Would you mind if I stopped by after work to pick it up?” For all that it’s not an expensive scarf; it was a gift from Tsukauchi after Toshinori’s first round of surgeries.
Aizawa hesitates. “If you can wait a few days, I’ll have it cleaned. I’m afraid it might sport a few cat hairs by now.”
“Don’t bother,” Toshinori with an easy smile. “I can do that myself.”
Thus, once they have both finished their duties at UA, they climb into Toshinori’s car. Aizawa’s arms are back in their familiar casts, though he’s moving far more steadily now that a few days ago. Still, the continuous healing coupled with teaching must be exhausting and Toshinori insists on stopping at to get food.
“I’ve seen your kitchen,” he says when Aizawa protests.
The sun’s nearly set when they reach Aizawa’s place. Instead of handing Toshinori his scarf and sending him on his way, Aizawa invites him in.
“The food’s still hot, would be a waste to let it go cold when we can just eat it,” he says, while Nightshade Winds herself happily around Toshinori’s legs.
Before long they end up on the couch, discussing their students over pre-heated curry. This is what they call hanging out, Toshinori thinks with warmth spreading through his chest while Aizawa animatedly gestures with a plastic spork and Nightshade has curled up at his side.
How are the students coping with the attack; how will they fare at the sports festival? Bakugo is to make the speech on behalf of the class - Toshinori learns there is a betting pool among the staff concerning the number of explosions.
“What’s your estimate?” Toshinori asks, wondering himself. Bakugo’s temper is already legendary among the staff room, yet at the same time Toshinori has seen a glimpses of a quiet, serious side to the boy.
“None,” Aizawa says with a confident smirk between the bandages and pushes the empty plate back. Nightshade is too well-behaved to go for leftovers, and apparently prefers Toshinori scratching her head. “I’m not sure about the audience, though.”
“What about 1-B?” Toshinori wonders. “They seem keen.”
“1-A will trump them,” Aizawa proclaims confidently. “Absolutely.” Toshinori grins, because he’s hoping that, too. Class 1-B certainly has talent, but they’re lacking the spark 1-A has.
“Though there’s one student in the general education department who might give us quite a surprise,” Aizawa continues, leaning back against the couch, and pulling one leg up. “Shinsou Hitoshi. Have you noticed him?”
Toshinori shakes his head. He hasn’t had interactions with the general education students, due to his limited time. While that seemed sensible, now he wonders if he isn’t missing out.
“He has a brainwashing quirk, and had apparently been aiming for the heroics department. Didn’t do well enough in the entrance exam, but considering his quirk, that’s not a surprise,” Aizawa says.
“Brainwashing?” Toshinori echoes, eyebrows rising. “That’s not a quirk people will easily accept.” Especially not from a hero. “But useful, I suppose.”
Aizawa smirks. “See if you can’t catch him at some point. He’s got potential.”
And, Toshinori guesses, probably a need for good words. Aizawa wouldn’t suggest this if he didn’t have a reason; though not losing a kid with a brainwashing quirk and hopes to be a hero itself is reason enough.
“Actually,” Aizawa adds after a short break. “The moment we get an empty seat in 1-A I’m nominating him.” He winks, which is both endearing and frightening.
“Is there somebody you intend to expel?” Toshinori asks, trying to stay calm. Midoriya oughtn’t be on that list any longer; the boy made progress.
Aizawa slumps back. “Mineta,” is the short reply, and Toshinori sighs with relief and understanding. “If he doesn’t clean up his act, I don’t see how he’s going to be a hero.”
“I have to admit I was surprised at your patience with him so far,” Toshinori replies, resuming his ministrations of Nightshade’s rather soft fur.
“Nezu spoke up on his behalf,” Aizawa confesses. “I’d been ready to dismiss him after the first week, but Nezu pointed out that this might adversely affect the dynamics within the class. To be honest, I’m still not entirely certain if the class wouldn’t be doing well without him, but well…” He trails off with a shrug.
Toshinori contemplates it. He’s not paid much attention to Mineta, except to reprimand him on occasion. But the boy seems somewhat integrated within the class, and he has to admit he has no idea how an expulsion might have affected the dynamics.
“I wouldn’t know either,” he admits. “So I guess we’re trusting Nezu on this.”
Aizawa nods with a grin, and the conversation shifts over other students. Kaminari’s abysmal test results, Cementoss’ poetry assignment - the highlights, including Kageyama’s Ode to Darkness, had been read out loud in the teachers’ office. Eventually their talk turns to Midoriya, and Toshinori automatically stiffens.
“It is a very powerful quirk, no question,” Aizawa says, gazing into the distance. “In fact, the sheer power does remind me of you. However, even if he has improved his control, using his quirk is still hurting him, and Recovery Girl already warned me he might incur lasting damage if he continues.”
Toshinori swallows. A part of him longs to tell Aizawa the truth; another isn’t certain how the other hero will react. “I think Midoriya has shown impressive progress,” he says instead. “If you give him time, I am sure he will learn to use it without hurting himself.”
Aizawa nods, eyes fastened contemplatively on the cat tree sitting against the opposite wall. “Probably. It raises some questions, however. Like why he never - “
A shrill beep cuts him off. With a sigh Aizawa pulls his phone from his pocket; and the alert flashing on the screen comes from a number Toshinori recognizes.
“A call?” he asks, confused. “But you’re off duty.” After the last mission gossip around Tokyo’s hero network had ascertained nobody called on Eraserhead, not even to just “have a look”. In fact, Edgeshot had felt guilty enough about having called Aizawa out he’d sent a large gift basket to UA.
Aizawa frowns as he scrolls through the message. “It’s a surveillance gig,” he says. Then his face twists. “Damn. I need to take that one.”
“You can’t be serious!” Toshinori exclaims, exasperated and Nightshade hisses at the sudden disturbance. She also demonstratively pushes her head against Toshinori’s hand, demanding he continue his ministrations.
Aizawa gives him a flat look over his phone screen. “All Might would have stayed at home?”
That’s unfair, Toshinori wants to protest, but grinds his teeth instead. He’s only stayed home when he was too injured to walk. And while Aizawa is definitely badly injured enough to stay home, his ability to walk hasn’t been impacted.
“It is only an observation mission,” Aizawa adds, his tone suggesting a deal.
“Like the last one was?” Toshinori retorts and hates himself a little for sounding like a petulant five-year old.
Aizawa snorts. “This time the looking at things part won’t even involve my quirk.”
That’s not really a good argument, Toshinori thinks. But in truth, he feels torn. Aizawa ought to stay home; but a hero’s duty is seeing a task done.
“Can’t somebody else do it?” he asks, attention straying back to the contently purring black cat in his lap.
Aizawa gives him a small smile. “There’s only Midnight, Farreach and myself working on the case. They both have other duties tonight and no other hero has the intel.”
Toshinori tilts his head, curious. While he’s been on a number of missions involving classified intel; to have intel not widely shared among the hero network is exceptional.
“We have been tracking a human trafficking ring for a while now,” Aizawa explains very quietly. “It’s a secret operation, but I guess if I can trust anyone, it’s you.”
Toshinori’s lips quirk, though there isn’t much humor in it.
“The ringleader has some powerful connections both in parliament and in the police force,” Aizawa continues. “We know who the police mole is, but we want to make sure we catch all the leaders. And we know there will be a meeting tonight.”
Toshinori swallows. He shouldn’t encourage Aizawa, but -
Human trafficking.
He shudders.
“How were you planning to observe them?” he asks instead.
A toothy grin appears between the bandages on Aizawa’s face. “Well, usually my style is perching on rooftops. But I suppose, today might be time to take leaf out of Midnight’s book.”
Toshinori has always known his own approach to being a hero was unique. But, he thinks as one of his hands tangles in Aizawa’s hair, while the other hero is cupping his face while straddling his lap, this is a no less unique approach as well.
His poor car has been turned sleazy by the addition of a fake license plate, some fake-fur seat covers, plastic bags on the backseat and an empty box of cigarettes on the dashboard. A beat-up keychain dangles from the rear view mirror, and the front seats have been tilted back. Aizawa had needed less than ten minutes for the transformation - and Toshinori can only hope the change back will occur just as fast.
Dull beats of music echo from a nearby nightclub. The neighborhood is rather run-down; empty industrial buildings with broken windows, shady massage parlors, and late-night stores. But also a few normal offices in between, as well as sad nightclub which figures in their cover story.
The building they are observing is slightly behind their parking spot, allowing them to observe it through the mirrors. Aizawa has several hidden cameras trained on it as well - according to the signs on the door, the three story building is home to a lawyer, an employment agency, a therapist and a psychic consultant. According to Aizawa’s intel, except for the psychic all the others are fake.
“Can you see anyone?” Aizawa asks, voice warm against Toshinori’s ear. He’s hidden his casts behind old newspapers on the passenger seat, and keeps his head tilted so his hair shields his bandaged face from view. This close Toshinori can spot patches of red and healing skin between the bandages, and the hair tickles his cheeks. Anybody passing the car would think them a pair of lovers.
“All quiet on my end,” Toshinori returns, forcing himself to stay still. This pretense is awkward enough without him absentmindedly starting to play with Aizawa’s hair.
Long stakeouts aren’t really his style of work; Toshinori contemplates in the ensuing silence. He’s much better at fast thinking than at acting, and the current experience makes his respect for Aizawa and Midnight grow.
“How long do these missions usually take?” Toshinori asks, thinking it probably won’t be amiss for two lovers in a car to be talking.
Aizawa’s dry reply is at odds with his passionate body language. “Depends. We have had stake outs that went on for entire nights; sometimes they weren’t successful. But due to that faulty intel we managed to identify the mole among the police. So that wasn’t wasted in the end.”
Toshinori gulps as fingers trail down his neck. He’s not keen on spending the entire night in the car. Doesn’t think it will do Aizawa’s health any favors either.
“This won’t take as long,” Aizawa promises with a secretive grin. “There’s already somebody coming.”
With that, he leans forward. Abruptly presses his lips against Toshinori’s, and their bodies against each other. Toshinori freezes.
Then he recalls it’s an act and they had better be convincing. So tightens his grip on the back of Aizawa’s head, allows his fingers to card through that thick black hair, and puts his other arm in the small of Aizawa‘s back. Despite knowing it’s all a play, a spark runs down his spine, leaving him breathless.
They break the kiss, and Toshinori catches a glance of their target in the rear view mirror. The man in his dark suit seems inconspicuous. And if Toshinori hadn’t seen him on television, he’d never have recognized him.
He stiffens in surprise. “Secretary of municipal administration?”
Aizawa pulls their faces together, obscuring Toshinori’s view and plays with Toshinori’s hair. “Yes,” he whispers, breath hitting Toshinori’s skin. “But don’t let him see we’ve noticed him.”
Toshinori starts to move his hands at this. He’s not really sure what he’s doing - how does a passionate make out session in a car function anyway? - but he guesses pawing aimlessly at Aizawa’s hair must at least look right. He only hopes he isn’t accidentally upsetting any injuries.
The man disappears into the house without a second glance into their direction. Toshinori notices somebody coming from ahead of them, says so to Aizawa.
“Kiss me, and make sure they see as little as possible of our faces or anything,” Aizawa whispers back. Then he presses his lips against Toshinori’s again; this time with tongue. Aizawa rises on his knees, brings his face above Toshinori’s and allows his hair to fall forward, curtailing their faces.
One hand slips underneath the collar of Toshinori’s shirt, cleverly hiding the bandages from view. Toshinori’s breath hitches; it’s been a long time since anyone but a doctor touched the skin there.
“Apologies,” Aizawa whispers, hot breath hitting Toshinori’s lips. Before Toshinori can reply Aizawa kisses him again; and footsteps pass right next to the car.
It’s a long, strange moment for Toshinori. The gentle caress of his back, the warm press of lips against his and the feeling of long hair tickling his cheeks and neck. Yet at the same time the knowledge of an unknown enemy walking past them, and that all of this is a ploy.
The sound of another car coming along catches Toshinori’s attention.
“Don’t look,” Aizawa whispers, drawing him close again, breath hot on Toshinori’s skin. He presses his lips right next to Toshinori’s mouth and whispers. “We ought to leave once that car’s gone.”
Through strands of black hair Toshinori catches a glimpse of a luxury car with tinted windows and gulps. He’s not sure if it’s from the tingle running down his spine from where Aizawa’s hands or the cold horror of the car stopping a few paces behind them.
If they are spotted they are outnumbered. And as little as Toshinori knows about this case, he’s certain there will be people with powerful quirks either in the car or in the building.
The car door opens and Aizawa presses his lips to Toshinori’s, again, grip on his face abruptly insistent. Toshinori unfreezes, reminds himself to reciprocate - though he only notices his hand slid from Aizawa’s back down to his arse when his fingers curl, and meet well-formed muscle.
Aizawa doesn’t bat an eyebrow, but Toshinori flushes bright red. Footsteps cross the pavement, a door opens and closes. Behind them, the car drives off.
Once the lights are gone, Aizawa leans back. Casts a look at all mirrors.
“That ought to be enough for now,” he says and sighs. Toshinori can’t quite look away from the reddened lips between the bandages. “Let’s leave.”
Toshinori nods. Forces his nerves to calm - this was an act for a mission, nothing more. Aizawa climbs back into the passenger seat, and Toshinori starts the car.
“Let’s not head back directly in case anyone trails us,” Aizawa instructs once Toshinori sets the car into motion. “I don’t think they noticed us, but if you want to make certain, maybe consider getting a new paint job. I’m sure the police department will cover the expense.”
Toshinori takes a shuddering breath. “There are thousands of blue cars in the city,” he returns, shakily. Now he’s more thankful than ever he decided on a popular, non-descript model when purchasing a car for himself.
Aizawa’s lips quirk. “That’s true.”
They are quiet while they make their way out of the neighborhood. Toshinori keeps glancing into the rear view mirror, though he can’t see any car behind them.
“Did you see who came in that car?” he asks, subdued. Looking back, he’s rarely dealt with cases like this - but he has always admired the heroes who did.
Aizawa nods, sighs. “Mizuki Yoshinori, he’s a board member Mizuno bank. We know he’s using his position for money laundry; catching him here will help proof he’s not merely involved on the financing side.”
Toshinori gulps, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “Will you bust them soon?” He thinks about the dead-eyed children he’s encountered a long time ago when he was called on a bust. They hadn’t even reacted when he’d come in, smashing down the wall. Thinking the same thing must be happening right now makes him want to burst in and change it.
“Soon,” Aizawa replies, and tilts his head when he picks up on the tension in Toshinori’s shoulder. “We have started to disrupt their operations already. It’s why the bigshots themselves now are appearing at these meetings.”
And yet, Toshinori thinks, for those caught in the structures help cannot come soon enough. Logically, he understands the need to wait - dismantle the structures, catch the heads. Still. “If anything can be done, to help the people caught up in this, let me know,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. “I may be on limited time, but these are things where I can’t stand by idly.”
Aizawa gives him a slow, contemplative nod. “I will. If you don’t mind, I believe having you with us on the bust would help. With these types of persons involved, they often try to cast aspersions on our research and credibility. But I doubt they would try that with you.”
“Then that’s good,” Toshinori insists, feeling a little breathless. He’s never been keen on the politics, but if throwing his status around will help, he’s going to do it.
Aizawa’s eyes widen, surprised. Then his expression softens. “Thank you, Toshinori.”
Hearing his first name from Aizawa makes him feel warm inside. More so, than the fake caresses earlier did.
“Having you there will be an immense help,” Aizawa continues. “Especially since it usually is difficult to find heroes willing to help with these things. Few are willing to risk the fallout if things go badly, or can risk being publicly discredited by the lawyers of these people.”
Toshinori casts a short look at Aizawa - the road is empty at this time of night - and offers a toned-down version of his All Might smile. “That’s what I’m here for, Aizawa-kun.”
It draws an amused snort from Aizawa. But there’s warmth in his eyes when he smiles at Toshinori and says: “Call me Shouta.”