Work Text:
There’s only one good reason for Aizawa Shota to climb five flights of stairs inside one of Cementoss’s lowest-effort creations at a truly ridiculous hour of the night, which is: if he’s sleeping at school again, he’ll at least do it with a view of the world outside.
The only real purpose this bold choice serves – or so it feels after the third flight of stairs – is that it allows him to keep a paranoid third eye on the horizon while he closes his two overworked regular ones for a few blessed hours. Aizawa would have carried on sleeping in the car he woke up in, but it poses too many risks of being found and talked to. He prefers a spot where he can be as close to not existing as possible, at least for a short while. Aizawa’s just put his head down to that very end when the plan gets shot to shit.
“Heeeeeey, hot stuff.”
Right. Never mind. “How’d you find me?”
“Are you kidding me? This is the best view of the city from anywhere on campus! I come here all the time!”
When he's in school Hizashi is a little less… Mic, but fresh from the rush of an after-school villain bust and spontaneous press conference, the mild-mannered (not) teacher of UA is almost entirely consumed by his ego – that and whatever convenience store beer he’s sipping. Aizawa can't miss the can-stuffed bag swinging from his wrist containing more.
So there’s a wholly Present Mic swagger about him right now; a strut that looks more at home on a catwalk than an empty rooftop at one in the morning.
“You used the GPS on my phone,” Aizawa guesses with a yawn. The tracking app is inconvenient when Hizashi’s only coming to pester Aizawa, but is worth it a hundred times over for the rare moments he needs to be traceable. “I was about to sleep.”
Hizashi slurps, loudly, from the beer and then stops a few paces from Aizawa to cast his gaze out at the city like a roaming spotlight, tugging his glasses down the bridge of his nose because it’s dark out here for god’s sake. Hizashi’s quieter, using practically an indoors voice as he decides of the view, “It’s not bad, actually.”
“You’re an idiot,” Aizawa tells him, but when Hizashi takes a beer out of the bag and tosses it at him, Aizawa catches it.
“Some night, huh?”
“They’re reckless.” Aizawa cracks the tab on the beer and takes a sip – not warm, not exactly cold, but still just right to hit the spot after a long, long day. Possibly two days, judging by when he last slept in a bed. This finally-ended ordeal has been running Aizawa ragged all damn week. Fitting the cat-and-mouse game of intercepting yet another All Might assassination around this Spirit of Unity couples’ tournament madness has been tough. Aizawa could sleep for a thousand years and would still wake up in debt for the rest he’s due.
“They’re kids.”
“Not for that much longer.” Aizawa takes another sip while Hizashi finally stops pacing around and sits, like a dog that needs to circle the room several times before it’ll settle. Right on the end of Aizawa’s sleeping bag, as it happens; in case he tries to slip into it and pass out when Hizashi’s not talking. So… never.
“They did good, you know.” Hizashi lifts own beer and takes another unnecessarily loud sip. Aizawa flinches away from the slurping sound akin to a handful of change rattling down a drain, and wonders why he wasn’t smart enough to leave his phone in the car. He could have thrown Hizashi off his trail for long enough to already be unconscious when his accidental life-partner found him. “You should be proud of them.”
That’s right: because Aizawa doesn’t mind being found. Not by Hizashi.
As if it’s the natural end to the train of thought Hizashi was riding on, he breaks into a plucky, “Hey, why the fuck’re you out here anyway?”
Aizawa gives a laugh so dry it could be stepped on like autumn leaves. “This is where Bakugo and Uraraka train.”
“Shit, is that why Cementoss made it so ugly?”
“He told me they destroy anything beautiful he makes in a day.”
Hizashi laughs good and loud, and Aizawa flinches again before bothering to explain, “They’ll be here in the morning, and I want to see what they’re doing together up close.”
“You sure about that?” Hizashi suggests lewdly, and Aizawa rolls his eyes. “They’re crazy good, you know,” he offers as more of a conversational point than follow-on from his first remark.
“Seems that way.” Aizawa sips again. “Toshi thinks it’s trouble.”
“What is?”
“Partnering up with anyone you’re… involved with.”
Hizashi huffs in an utterly ridiculous fashion. “Does that make us bad role models?”
“You know we’re bad role models,” Aizawa riffs. With Hizashi’s skintight leather-wrapped butt parked on the slippery surface of Aizawa’s sleeping bag, Hizashi slides easily when Aizawa reaches over to grab him by the elbow and yank him close, looping an arm around him. Hizashi complies. After a moment of blessedly quiet, comfortable contact, Aizawa notices something unusual and gives a nonplussed, “So is that what I think it is in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
It’s a joke told purely for Hizashi’s benefit, which is good because he almost blows Aizawa’s head off laughing at it. “If I had a dick shaped like a box of cigarettes, you’d be an unlucky man.”
Right now, Aizawa couldn’t feel luckier. He pulls the packet out of Hizashi’s pocket and brings his arm back around, checking the brand in the shitty light-pollution and cloud-moon glow. “They’re bad for your voice.”
“Yes, mother,” Hizashi replies in a shrill tone, but whatever sass is meant to be coming out of his mouth next gets cut off by Aizawa’s nonsense-stopping kiss. It renders Hizashi mute, for once; the very-very-special conditions under which he actually shuts the fuck up.
Pleased with the exploit, Aizawa opens the pack and pulls out a cigarette, which he sticks in Hizashi’s slightly ajar mouth before rummaging in his pocket for a lighter. Aziawa strikes the flame and brings it up, while Hizashi’s lips curl into a smug grin and then pinch the filter, the other end burning bright as it catches on his inhale.
Hizashi lifts his hand to take the smoke away between two fingers, blowing an enveloping cloud that comes out with his next line. “So if I’m not meant to buy cigarettes, why’re you carrying a lighter?”
“My quirk has nothing to do with my voice,” Aizawa points out as Hizashi drags again and blows a plume of smoke over Aizawa. It smells like garbage, but so does Aizawa. He can’t remember his last shower. Lucky for him Hizashi’s game for a roll in filth every now and again.
“Smoke gets in your eyes,” Hizashi counters, snatching the carton off Aizawa just to hold it back out to him like an offering from an old movie. “Hey, that’s a song, yanno? Theeeeeeey ask me how I kneeeeew, my true love was trueeeeee-” he breaks into birdlike warbling while Aizawa takes a cigarette of his own and sets it between his lips. “I of course repliiiiiied-” Aizawa cuts off the serenade when he tugs on Hizashi’s coat again, pulling him as if to kiss – but for the unlit cigarette sticking out of Mic’s mouth.
Hizashi takes the cue to return his own smoke and pulls on it, touching the lit tip to Aizawa’s unlit. Hizashi moves back upright when the deed is done, taking the cigarette back between his fingers. Facing the sky, Hizashi bellows a fresh plume of smoke at the moon as it emerges from the cloud-trails. “Something here insiiiide, cannot be deniiiied.”
“Jukebox,” Aizawa names and shames, sipping from his beer again and then taking a long drag on the cigarette, letting it out with a soul-alleviating sigh. Without making a show of it, he leans into Hizashi, shoulder to shoulder as he keeps smoking and Hizashi sings.
“Theyyyy, said someday you’ll find, all who love are bliiiiind,” more warbling, muted into a humming pause as he drags on his cigarette, probably gunning to finish the verse so he can drink some more beer already. “When your heart’s on fire, you must be re-a-liseee … smoke gets in your eyes.” Hizashi emphasises this point by taking another fast drag on his cigarette and literally blowing smoke in Aizawa’s face. Hizashi’s still there when the smoke clears, just poised with his lips pursed in a truly ridiculous grin. Waiting.
Taking the invitation, Aizawa leans in to press a tobaccoey mouth against Hizashi’s. Daring to let his eyes close even though it’s tempting fate – or sleep, technically. The languid kiss draws to a close and Hizashi moves back just far enough to gaze at Aizawa over the top of his shades. Aizawa’s a hot second away from pulling them off Hizashi’s face for being so utterly illogical; this walking contradiction of a man he can’t live without. “Why don’t you come back to my place?”
“Our place.”
“It is?” Hizashi feigns being genuinely perplexed, and takes another drag on his cigarette. “But I never see you there.”
“I’ve been busy.” Aizawa ducks for another kiss, but gets a mouthful of pencil moustache for his trouble. Hizashi pouts, pulls on his cigarette again and then blows it back in Aizawa’s face as he reaches across them to take Aizawa’s beer from his side.
“You bought these beers,” Aizawa points out wearily, and god he’s tired, but still not too tired for this. “Do you still have to steal mine?”
“Yes.” Hizashi slurps loudly, smacking his lips as if it tastes that much better because Aizawa started drinking it first. “The cats miss you.”
“We don’t have cats.”
“How would you know?” Hizashi retorts. “Maybe I got lonely and adopted five.”
“Five?”
“Yes, all named after weekdays,” Hizashi claims. “Tuesday sleeps on your half of the bed now.”
“I don’t have a half of the bed,” Shota contests like a true stickler. “You invade whatever side I’m on.”
“If it’s vacant for more than twenty-four hours that’s unoccupied territory, baby,” Hizashi teases. The king sized bed is always – has always been – entirely Hizashi’s, and Aizawa is just the strange hobo-man who resides there sometimes.
“And about that,” Aizawa starts on next.
“What?”
“You can’t call me baby in front of students.” That Aizawa even has to say this is astonishing, but this is the lot he bought. Aizawa’s gotten way too accustomed to Hizashi’s particular brand of madness to ever be able to reintegrate back into the normal world of dating. Not that he’d care to go.
“Now technically, that was outside school jurisdiction.” Technically Aizawa’s ass.
“That doesn’t stop them being my students when we get back here,” Aizawa points out drearily. “Just cut it out.”
“Alright, baby.”
“Idiot.” Hizashi loudly slurps Aizawa’s beer again, and he finally snaps, reaching over to pluck the glasses off Hizashi’s face. They’re prescription lenses, but Hizashi doesn’t need them this close. The tint must be worse for his vision than the lenses are good for it.
“You love it,” Hizashi declares confidently as Aizawa folds the glasses and slides them into Hizashi’s pocket. Being an unknown, undercover hero partnered – in most senses of the word – with a bona fide celebrity is a weird bag at times. It means Aizawa’s seen this smile on the covers of magazines as well as on Hizashi’s face. But only he gets to see it up close and sincere, and that counts for plenty.
“I love you,” Aizawa states simply as he takes his beer back and drinks, slow-burning cigarette trapped between his knuckles on the same hand. “For all the good it does me.”
“That’s outrageous!” Hizashi retorts way too loud for anyone who’s literally right in front of the person they’re talking to. “Are you suggesting I’m not the best thing that’s ever happened to you?”
“Debatable.” Aizawa takes a slug of beer before Hizashi filches the rest of it.
Hizashi laughs again, pulling on the last of his cigarette before stubbing it out on Cementoss’s smooth concrete. Then, he throws his arms around Aizawa’s broad shoulders, teetering into him like a stack of boxes falling over. “Tell me that when you meet the cats.”