Chapter Text
Aizawa’s apartment wasn’t anything grand. Despite being a well-off Pro Hero alongside teaching at UA High School, he didn’t seem to be raking in enough income to afford anything better than a tight box apartment in one of the more concerning neighbourhoods. But you had long since figured out that Aizawa merely preferred to live simply, and that ‘missing’ cash was actually funneled towards people in greater need. He was noble like that.
He also didn’t like cleaning. The smaller the house, the less there was to clean. He was lazy like that.
You had the spare key and let yourself in, announcing yourself and kicking off your heels in the boot room. Relief seeped into your tired frame. You changed into the slippers left on the step and walked inside. Although you did have your own separate place, you stayed over at his enough to make it seem like you’d already moved in. He’d given you a drawer in the closet, after all, and that meant a lot coming from him. The place radiated with familiarity, and you walked past a framed picture of you grinning brazenly at the camera with your arm slung over his shoulder as he rolled his eyes.
You couldn’t deny that you and Aizawa weren’t getting any younger. Most people at your age were already hitched with miniature bratty versions of themselves kicking up sand and eating boogers in the playground. Sometimes, there seemed to be a sense of urgency hovering over you like a big ticking clock. But Aizawa didn’t seem too bothered by societal pressure. He was pretty much unbothered by most things and did things on his own clock. You liked that quirk about him; it made you feel at ease, yourself.
The two of you hadn’t been officially dating for very long, but long enough—maybe half a year, something like that. You’d known each other for much longer before then. But this was the first time that you’d be spending this day in the year with him differently than before. After all, it was Valentine’s Day.
In the car ride home, you couldn’t help but over-eagerly think about all the scenarios that could play out. Maybe he’d pick you up by the waist and swing you around? Well, no; that didn’t sound like him, and he’d probably end up throwing out his and your backs. Strike that out. Maybe you’d open the door and an avalanche of red roses would fall onto you? Well, no; he didn’t seem the type to enjoy keeping flowers around, and the thorns would probably do a number on you. Maybe he’d make you dinner? Now that sounded more likely.
So you kept on daydreaming about what he’d make for you. Hearty, crispy tonkatsu with crunchy shredded cabbage? Bright, aromatic curry udon with tender cuts of beef? Savoury okonomiyaki with all of your favourite toppings and creamy, decadent mayonnaise? Gyudon with thin slices of meat and sweet onion over piping hot rice? Or maybe, Western food, like—
Well, needless to say, you got yourself very excited and very hungry.
“Hey,” he greeted, turning around when you walked into the kitchen. He was standing over the stove in his casual clothes, having had no class today. His stubble was more outgrown than usual, giving him a shadowy, rugged look that you didn’t exactly hate. Crossing his arms, he gestured to the table with his head. “You had good timing. Dinner’s almost done, so have a seat.”
You almost punched the air—you were right after all! Maybe you had a secret quirk of clairvoyance. If only you could predict the weather this well. After setting down your purse and plopping down into your chair, curiosity got the better of you, and you had to ask.
“What are you making?”
“It’s up to you. Chicken or beef? Or vegetable?”
He made three dishes?! you thought to yourself, absolutely shocked. You didn’t think Aizawa’s cooking skills were that sophisticated, much less distinguished enough to prepare that much food. But you hadn’t smelt anything in the air, which confused you.
“Uh…” You made your choice a bit hesitantly, and he nodded agreeably. He looked like he was about to ask you something, probably ‘how was your day’, but you were too hung up on this food business and rudely cut him off.
“Is it a surprise?” you asked desperately. “What you made?”
“What?” He arched dark, thin eyebrows, and you watched them disappear into his mane of dark hair. “It’s just noodles.”But noodles in Japanese cuisine could mean anything, from yakisoba to soba to shirataki to somen to udon to ramen! You weren’t very good with being kept in the dark and was about to demand an answer when you were interrupted. The kettle went off behind Aizawa with a signature plastic click and suddenly, you had a thought.
Ramen…?
You saw him tear a styrofoam cup of instant ramen and felt all your hopes and dreams deflate to your feet with the crinkle of the soup packet. Right. So tonight’s special dinner was packaged noodles after all. All those reveries about decadent meals, dead…
Still, you weren’t about to make him feel bad for disappointing you with the expectations you had set up for nobody other than yourself. You tried to look as if your soul wasn’t trying to escape out of your body to fly into the stratosphere. You could pretend to love bottomless pools of briny MSG and rubbery, plastic-y noodles, right? You loved him that much!
After closing the plastic lid and setting it down before you with a pair of chopsticks, he looked as if he remembered something and excused himself for a moment. He came back right away with a box in hand. You looked up just as he threw it at you, and it would’ve clocked you right between the eyes if you hadn’t been fast enough.
“Here, this is for you.” He sat down heavily and began to eat his noodles diligently, slurping loudly. Curiously, you examined the box. It wasn’t very large, about the size of your hand, and was quite thin. It was silver with a slightly reflective sheen, but unmarked, so you didn’t have a hint of what brand it was. Rattling it didn’t give you any hints and it was so light that it didn’t feel like anything was inside.
“Can I open it now?” you asked. He nodded nonchalantly.
After prying the box open, you gasped and nearly dropped it right onto the floor. Blinking, you had to make sure that you weren’t mistaking what you were seeing. Your soul felt like it was going to vacate itself into the astral realm this time. Inside the box was a beautiful golden pendant necklace.
“What…?” you breathed, unable to form coherent thoughts in your own amazement. Aizawa shrugged from across you.
“It’s Valentine’s day, isn’t it? Yamada told me that I should get something for you. I figured yellow would suit you.”
You suddenly thought of his Hero outfit, with those golden goggles, and the yellow sleeping bag he constantly carted to school. Your heart thumped in your chest a little bit more fondly.
“I love it!” you gushed, your emotions exploding all over the place. You might have even cried, but hastily sucked it in. Nobody had ever really gotten you such an expensive looking gift before, and your first instinct was to refuse it. Aizawa seemed to anticipate that and got up, taking the box from you before you could tell him that you didn’t need it (even though you actually really wanted it). He unhooked the chain and looked down at you expectantly.
“Turn around.”
You couldn’t argue with that. Obliging, you twisted in your seat. In your peripheral, you saw his arms come down around you carefully. The hairs rose on your neck and you thought you felt his breath ghost against your nape, making you shiver. The chain was light on your skin and felt a bit cold, but quickly began to warm up to your skin. You looked down at the small, elegant pendant resting on your chest and felt your heart overflow with love yet again. Whirling around in your chair, you beamed up at him like a little kid at Christmas time.
“Thanks, Shouta!”
“Yeah, yeah.” He sat back down and resumed eating, and you watched him affectionately. Suddenly, cheap noodles for dinner made sense.
“Hey, Shouta?”
“Yeah.”
You stood and leant across the table, tilting his chin up with your hand to kiss him. He froze under your touch and you felt his eyelashes flutter frantically on your cheek like lost butterflies. Two people can play with surprises. You grinned into the kiss and then leant away, your other hand twisting around the pendant charm, which lay close to your heart.
“Love you. But next time, let me cook.”