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In his dream he was sixteen (not the best age to be) and Yamada always sat next to him in class and the jokes were getting more and more absurd. Shouta had lost his pen to a pit of howling snakes (because that made sense) and was trying to borrow one from Recovery Girl who somehow also sat next to him and laughed at every single one of Yamada's jokes. Then Bakugou made the whole class explode after Midoriya punched his head off.
Shouta woke up with his ears still ringing from all the noise and one thought in his head.
“Shit. I'm going to be late for school.”
It's only then that he noticed the long arm wrapped around his waist, as well as the fact that he was not in his childhood home any more. Now that he thought it through, that wasn't even his bed.
He was an adult now. All was well.
Still a bit hazy, Shouta lay back down on the mattress, just as the grip around his waist got tighter. A little bit too tight for comfort, maybe, but there wasn't much that Aizawa was willing to do about it.
He closed his eyes.
Remembered the two kids in the dream that definitely had not been part of his school days and opened them again.
“Shit, I'm a teacher!”
The realisation was as sudden as it was painful, especially coupled with the fact that he was, indeed, running late. He pushed the long arm away from him, ignored the grunt to his side and got up to get started on his Great Hunt for Underwear.
“Shouta...”
“Shut up. It's your fault. Why couldn't you put your alarm on?”
He would not have time to go home and change, but the good thing about teaching in his costume was that students did not expect him to wear different clothes every day anyways.
“I didn't put the alarm on... because it's Sunday.”
That gave him pause.
Shouta blinked and turned back (spotted his eyedrops on the bedside table) towards the skinny figure on the mattress, heaps of blond hair spread over the pillow. It turned out the great All Might liked to sleep on his stomach, at least when he wasn't trying to glue every parcel of his skin to his lover's.
“Sunday?”
“Sunday.”
A long, long sigh. Shouta took off the top he'd put on in a haste – perhaps the best thing about it all was that he could call off the Great Hunt for Underwear – and crawled back to bed.
This time, he was the one to turn to his side and entangle his limbs to Toshinori's. It was still better than that flimsy thing All Might called a cover.
“'Night.”
“Actually,” Toshinori said, his voice always softer in the morning, “I'm gonna go exercise for a bit. Now that I'm awake, might as well-”
“Don't make me get my scarf,” Shouta threatened against his shoulder.
There was a small laugh, and then Toshinori turned to face him in a tight embrace. Shouta wasn't completely used to how he could feel his ribs, nor to that damn scar which made him want to punch things. But he took it nonetheless.
“All right then,” said Toshinori.
Eventually, Shouta went back to his dreams, or, more specifically, to a class of kids that would not do anything he asked of them and seemed resistant to his Quirk. But at least he felt warm, and comfortable. As if wrapped in something even cosier than his sleeping bag. So all was well.