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Aizawa sighed and combed his fingers through his hair. Another long, long day rounding out an equally exhausting week. The start of the year had been rough, and even though it had leveled out by now, his homeroom class was starting to run him ragged. Between Midoriya’s late developments, Bakugou’s explosive temper, and Todoroki’s refusal to use half of his quirk, Aizawa had been struggling. Each night it seemed like he stayed in his office longer, reviewing training tapes and papers, trying to learn how to support each of his students. With the sports festival behind them and final exams looming close, he was beaten down.
“Shouta!” Sekijiro called as he knocked on the doorframe of his office. Aizawa stiffened and shuffled through his papers again. “Burning the midnight oil?” He took a quick glance over his shoulder, and wished he hadn’t. Sekijiro had broken out of his shell in the few months since starting to work at UA, and was desperately trying to make Aizawa follow him. His customary frown had softened into something close to a smile, dressed in a button up and slacks instead of his hero costume. Shouta clenched his jaw and nodded slowly. “We’re all heading out for drinks. You should come along.” Their competitive natures had cooled to something closer to a game. Instead of pitting their students against each other and goading each other into stupid mistakes, they simply talked in words weighted with subtext.
He pushed his chair away from his desk and turned toward the man, again wishing he hadn’t. There was just something about the other hero. Maybe it was the game they played, delicate and full of subtext, or something he could never quite put his finger on. He shrugged at the offer, making Sekijiro groan dramatically and step into his small office.
“You work too hard Aizawa.” He slid his hands into his pockets and stared down at the other teacher. It made him feel hot and nervous, teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek. This had become somewhat of a regularity as well. The strange excitement he felt when he got too close to the man, or ended up alone with him. The feeling that made their teasing game seem so much more charged and intense. He blinked up at Sekijiro and wished he had eyedrops, wondering in the back of his head if Sekijiro felt it too.
The glimmer in his eyes that he saw sometimes made him think so. That vague, knowing quirk of his lips when Shouta was flustered by him. If he looked hard enough, he could place a name to that feeling, but that would break their game. Just as if he said no flat out would, or if he looked away from that challenging glint. Sekijiro was the only person he would play for. “You can handle your liquor can’t you? Scared that you’ll get sloppy in front of your coworkers?” His lips pulled into a real smile, making Aizawa’s face relax into something similar.
He crossed his arms over his chest, swallowing roughly as Sekijiro leaned a bit farther into his personal space. “Is that a challenge, Blood King?” He laughed as he leaned on the edge of Aizawa’s desk. He cursed his voice for shaking minutely.
“Absolutely, Eraserhead.”
This was how he found himself crammed into a booth, surrounded by several of his coworkers, sipping on a beer. The bar was clean enough, a few blocks into town and not too busy. A happy haunt for professional heros seeking some privacy. Toshinori sat on one side of him, drinking a pint of beer and laughing at one of Yamada’s jokes. Kayama was sitting on his other side, still in her full costume as she drank straight vodka. His stomach curled at the sight. She was engaged in avid conversation, with the newer hero, Mount Lady, whose name escaped him. Sekijiro was across from him, laughing along with Yamada as he sipped on some drink that must have been popular in America. The headache that had initially abated when he left campus was now back in full force, pounding between his eyes as his coworkers chatted happily.
He watched each of them with mild interest. He didn’t particularly mind not being involved in their conversations, instead enjoying Yamada’s jokes and Toshinori’s bellowing laughter. The girls beside him tittering happily about the recent criminals they had brought down. His eyes had a hard time pulling away from Sekijiro. Something tethered them together. Something more than a casual competition or the games they loved to play. Something more than the quiet challenges and that glint he always seemed to have in his eyes. Aizawa blinked. He wanted to impress. Wanted to be close and involved with him. He wanted to be involved with someone. His mouth was dry.
And Sekijiro was staring at him with his lips pulled into a frown. He started slightly before looking down to his cheap bottle of beer. He lifted it to his lips, eyes falling to the wood grain of the table as he gulped some of it down. It lowered his nerves somewhat, eyes darting between the two conversations and glazing over Sekijiro. His face felt hot. When he did look to him again, Sekijiro’s lips were quirked into that smirk that he knew so well. He wasn’t even looking at Aizawa and he felt that traitorous flush flare on the tops of his cheeks.
Aizawa snuck little glances as he listened to the women beside him. They hadn’t been in class together at UA, the man was still mostly a mystery. Even after he started working as a teacher, he was an enigma, as introverted as Aizawa if not more. Eventually, he pulled out of that. Making friends and sharing jokes, in the way Aizawa never changed. He took another sip, rolling the bottle between his palms as he sighed. Maybe he had really reverted back to being a teenager. Made stupid and bumbling by their game, by the challenges, the need to know and understand. He hadn’t felt this urgency, and anxiety in years.
His eyes slanted toward Yamada, tilting the beer bottle to his lips as he reminisced. What a stupid boy he was. Maybe not much better now. He tried to keep his eyes focused on Hizashi, but he could still see Sekijiro in his periphery. A looming tower of muscle, with the brains to match. He pulled his beer from the table as he leaned it back, cradling it against his chest as he chuckled at Toshinori’s joke. His heart wasn’t in it. He was too preoccupied with the man sitting in front of him. They seemed to be balanced on a knife edge, rocking back and forth on some sort of precipice. Unnamed and terrifying. His hair was sticking to the sides of his face, his head felt like it was full of broken glass.
“You alright over there?” Kayama was looking at him as he pulled himself out of his head. He must be back in high school if he was this worried about a crush. His head pounded even harder. A crush. On a full grown man. Pathetic.
He sighed. “Yeah.” She was still staring at him expectantly, as he tried to keep his panic in check. “Head hurts.” Conversation on the other side of the table dropped off. He finished off his beer and started to extricate himself from the booth. It was a mistake to come out when his head was already pounding. An even worse idea when Sekijiro could scramble his thoughts so easily. He was being melodramatic. He would get a good night's rest and have a stress free weekend and when he came back to work on Monday, his silly crush would be gone and he could move on.
Before he could nudge Toshinori out of the way, Sekijiro broke in. “Well, we just have to get you drunk then Shouta.” He thunked back down into his seat, eyebrow lifting as he waited. Another play in their game, they stared at each other silently, something passing between them before Sekijiro gestured for the server.
He took a rough breath and shook his head. But didn’t interrupt the man as he ordered. “You’re paying.” Chuckles were peppered through the group around them. A moment later two shots of whiskey were dropped in front of them. “My favorite.” His voice was dry as conversation started up around him, eyes raising to Sekijiro.
“I know.” He blinked, unable to decipher the tone of his voice as Yamada’s laugh overlapped it. The heroes found a lull in the conversation as he grabbed the first glass. Sekijiro moved at the same moment, tapping the base on the table before knocking it back. There was hoots around them as the whiskey burned his tongue. It was expensive, surely not meant for shots. It burned his mouth and throat, smokey and pleasant in the way he never found vodka. His face was impassive as he dropped the glass back to the table, drops of alcohol spraying its glossy surface. It was warm between his ribs, making a small smile pull at his lips as he watched the other man. He was at least able to take the full shot in one go, but his face curled, wincing and frowning as he set the glass on the table.
His headache was already beginning to abate, whiskey sour on the back of his tongue and bubbling sweetly in his veins as he cocked his head. “What? Can’t handle the heat?” Sekijiro scowled at him, the laughter peppering the group making the muscle in his jaw twitch. His thick fingers engulfed the next glass, keeping eye contact with Aizawa as he knocked the second shot back. He sputtered and dropped the glass, coughing into his large fist. “You shouldn’t have promised to get me drunk when you can barely take shots.” Sekijiro’s eyes narrowed as Aizawa gracefully took the next shot. His lips tingled as he set it back on the table, body loose and happy as his vision wavered.
Sekijiro looked down his nose at him, dark eyes churning with something unreadable. Even so, his stomach curled, teeth tearing at the flesh of his lip as he struggled to hold eye contact. “I can handle my alcohol Shouta.” Tension pulled tight in their little booth, his voice was thick and beginning to slur. His name sounded good on Sekijiro’s tongue. Even better when their dance was clumsy and clear between them, less subtext the more alcohol flooded his system. It was the first time something not life threatening was this exciting.
He leaned back on his side of the booth, eyebrow pulled into an arch as he crossed his arms over his slim chest. “Prove it then.” The words dripped from his lips, viscous and burning with the sweetness of raw honey. Sekijiro gestured for the server again.
Sekijiro cannot, in fact, hold his alcohol. One would think, with all his bulk and cold bravado, that he could handle some liquor. He and Aizawa went shot for shot. Switching from smokey whiskey, to burning vodka. Another round of whiskey, before settling in with tequila. Each brand too expensive, each shot scorching his throat and tastebuds. Each shot making the other man cough and choke, where Shouta himself was barely holding on. The alcohol was cloying and disgusting, but his eyes stayed narrowed and clear as Sekijiro tumbled headfirst into his drunkenness.
He was slurring a few shots in, face flushing and hands shaking as he raised the next shot to his lips. The other teachers were either enthralled in their own conversations, or had escaped. Toshinori and Yamada disappeared right at the start of the game, Kayama starting to look annoyed when Sekijiro nearly vomited up his tequila shot. The tab increased steadily, neither of the men willing to give up until the bartender cut them off. There was still a smile on Aizawa’s lips as Sekijiro tumbled out of the booth, bumbling and drunk as he roared for another round. With anyone else, he would have found the display disgusting at worst, annoying at best. “Whadda mean? I wanna ‘nother round!” He yelled as Aizawa pulled him to his feet.
“You’re cut off.” He blinked down at the man, sweat beading at his temples as he struggled to understand. “You win, big guy.” A dopey smile spread across his face, lopsided as he slung an arm around Aizawa’s shoulders.
“Toldya!” He exclaimed, leaning half of his weight on the smaller man as he grunted and tried to keep him up. He was barely able to keep both of them standing as the remaining heros slipped out of the booth.
“You can handle him right Shouta?” Kayama shouted over her shoulder, slipping out the exit before he could protest. He sighed and shifted his grip on the larger hero. Sekijiro tried to support some of his own weight as Aizawa helped him pay and gather his stuff, but it was more of a hinderance than anything as he dragged them out into the parking lot. He took about one step toward his car before the world started to bleed and spin.
“Yeah, we’re taking a cab.”
“Whoa! Whoa! Take it easy.” He was barely able to save Sekijiro’s head from smashing into the doorframe of his apartment. His face ended up shoved into the crook of Shouta’s neck and shoulder, hot breath fanning across it as he struggled to keep the larger hero on his feet. His entire body was fighting against the shakes as he did his best to lead them through his dark, messy apartment. They nearly skidded across the floor on stacks of newspaper and dirty clothes, Sekijiro’s feet dragging useless as he breathed into the side of his throat. Sekijiro’s shoulder smashed against the doorway of his room, coming awake with a groan. His feet finally caught purchase on the ground, helping Aizawa the last few steps before he tumbled into bed.
He sat up halfway, face pulled into a confused snarl until Aizawa pressed him back to the bed. “You wouldn’t tell me your address, sleep, I’ll take the couch.”
He squinted for a moment longer, looking Aizawa up and down a few times before he nodded. Even as his headache was coming back full force, buzz wearing off into the disgusting aftermath, there was a soft smile on Shouta’s lips. “Okay, I’ll see you in the morning.” He turned and tried to stay on his feet, vision warping before he caught his balance again.
Just when he got steady a hand closed around his wrist, yanking him back to the bed. He tripped over his own feet with a strangled scream, body colliding with Sekijiro’s firm chest as he tried to squirm away. A blush flared on his cheeks, body flooding with warmth instead of annoyance as he was pressed back into the bed. Muscled arms wrapped around him, keeping him close to the furnace Sekijiro had become, face shoved into his throat as the man growled. “Stay.” Alcohol was sharp on his breath, making Aizawa’s head spin as he tried to move. Whether it was to get out of his grip, or to get more comfortable, he couldn’t tell. He tangled their legs together, shifting Aizawa against his side until they were somewhat comfortable. As comfortable as two fully clothed, grown men could be when sharing a double bed.
“Stay.” He murmured again. Waiting until Aizawa had relaxed against him to lay his head down on the pillow. A moment later he was snoring. Aizawa blinked at his relaxed face in the dark, unable to believe that he just got drunk with his coworker, then took him home, and was somehow dragged into the same bed with him. He could have pulled away. He could have extracted himself from the man smelling so strongly of booze. He could have pushed the limp arm off of his shoulders and went to sleep on the couch like he had planned. Instead, he silenced any voices trying to discourage him and pressed closer to the man. He got comfortable beside him, with his head on his chest and their legs tangled together.
He absorbed his heat and synced their breathing. He let himself be pulled into a deep sleep. He wrapped his arms around the muscled hero and let his eyes fall shut. He didn’t care. He didn’t care if their challenges were disrupted, or pushed too far. He didn’t care about playing coy, or trying to be the winner in some convoluted game they had created. All he cared about was pressing into his chest and memorizing the pounding of Sekijiro’s heart against the side of his face. He fell asleep wearing a smile.
But, when he awoke, his bed was empty. The shades were still drawn tight, the barest amount of light filtering through the cracks. He pushed himself up onto his hands, looking around the dim room with a scowl on his face. He felt disgusting, hair snarled and matted to his head, while his body felt greasy and dirty after sleeping fully clothed. The pounding pain between his eyes and the bile he could already taste on the back of his tongue didn’t help. He smacked his lips together as he swung his legs over the edge of his bed, rubbing the last strands of sleep from his eyes as the gnawing dread grew in his stomach.
He caught his balance on the wall and limped from the room. He stood in the hallway for a moment, stomach churning as he bit at his lips. What in the hell was he doing? Sekijiro was in the bathroom, vomiting from the sound of it. He rocked back and forth on his heels, body and mind fighting between staying still and helping the other hero. A moment later he felt warm arms around his hips, tension melting from his body as he breathed deep, the feeling of being wrapped up in bed with him. Safe through the nightmares and the worry. And yet the anxiety prevailed, boiling low in his stomach as he leaned on the doorframe. Toxic voices whispering doubts, convincing that warm sweet feeling to shatter. Leaving him cold and pained.
In the end, he stepped into the bathroom anyway, convincing himself that he was simply going to brush his teeth. Sekijiro was hunched over the toilet, retching and shaking as Aizawa reached for his tooth brush. He rocked back onto his heels and flushed, eyes turning up to Shouta as he stared resolutely at the mirror. “Sorry.” His voice was rough and clogged. “This is the worst hangover I’ve had in years.”
He reached for his toothbrush, seemingly unable to look at the other hero as he struggled for any words at all. “Can’t handle your alcohol as well as you thought?” Even in his own ears his voice sounded strained and fake. He scrubbed the disgusting taste from his mouth, trying to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his skull. Sekijiro stared up at him, ignoring his dangling bait. The delicate balance had tipped, game crushed underneath their bumbling drunk feet last night. This wasn’t the same silly flirting and challenges they quietly threw at each other. They had slept in the same bed. Some of the most restful sleep he had gotten in years. Safety. Warmth. He spat frothy toothpaste into the sink, rinsing his mouth out and combing his hair away from his face with damp fingers. He gripped onto the sink and stared into his reflection. The circles under his eyes had lightened.
“What are we doing?” A loaded question, not quite the right one, either. He didn’t look to Sekijiro as he stood. Or when he nearly fell before stepping up beside Aizawa.
He couldn’t look at him, could barely take quick glances at him in the mirror. He was a warm steady presence beside him, intoxicating as Aizawa tried to keep his mind on track. He went breathless as Sekijiro smiled, wide and dopey. “I have no idea.” He shrugged, making Aizawa snort and shake his head. The bubbly feeling that filled him, reminded him of high school. Reminded him of Yamada. He leaned in closer to the man, until an arm wrapped around his shoulders and sucked him into Sekijiro’s side. “The only thing I can think about right now is this fucking hangover.” Aizawa nodded, listening into the steady beating of his heart. “You were right, I can’t handle my alcohol.”
“Don’t know how to take shots either.” He pulled out of Sekijiro’s grip and shook his head at the gasp. “I’ll make you breakfast, and get you some Advil.” The larger man followed him out of the bathroom.
“And then, we’ll talk.” Aizawa’s smile was genuine and wide as he nodded.