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Yagi fell back against the wall and stayed. His left hand splayed across the smoothed concrete to steady himself. His right clutched at his oversized shirt. He absentmindedly loosened his tie and kept breathing. Deep breaths or, damn his body, as deep as he could manage. Slowly, meter them, measure them out. The breaths rattled and rasped but slowed to a more even pace. The itch in his broken lungs died down. He brought his right hand up to his mouth and gave one last, weak cough. He wanted to keep his left anchored to the wall but needed his handkerchief to wipe up the blood. Fingers shaking, he pulled the cloth from his back pocket and covered his mouth.
He didn’t want to see how much blood stained the handkerchief. “Take it easy,” everyone told him. He didn’t have to do everything on his own; there were plenty of heroes to pick up the slack. But who was he to ignore a cry for help when he could feasibly push his body a little further, even when he was no longer All Might?
His breathing quiet again, Yagi lifted himself off the wall. His joints protested the movement. He should head to the teacher’s lounge, grab something to eat, and take his medications. There was a more discrete path around the school that, while longer, would keep him away from the students. He didn’t need the children to see their Symbol of Peace for what he was now: a sickly mess of a man. It was bad enough that the whole world knew how he looked after the last battle against All for One. It was something else entirely to have young, impressionable kids see him slowly dying, his condition eating at him like a cancer.
Yagi trudged, shoes dragging roughly against the grass. He was tired and he hurt. In these rare moments alone, he could allow himself that freedom. His shoulders fell as the world finally seemed to weigh on him.
Distracted, he almost didn’t see Aizawa as he turned the corner. The younger man sat on the ground, tucked in the building’s shade.
“Ah.” Yagi stopped and automatically held up a hand in greeting. It wasn’t the smartest or most eloquent greeting, but Yagi prided himself for reacting in any way with how surprised he was. Aizawa stared at him in silence. His eyes widened slightly at being caught but this was the only reaction Yagi could detect.
The mangy tabby at Aizawa’s side meowed when his hand stopped moving. He resumed scratching the scruffy head, fingers tracing over the spot where most of an ear was missing. The cat swished its half-tail languidly as its eyes closed in pleasure. Curled up in his lap, a calico bobtail stood in stark contrast to his black clothing. To Aizawa’s other side, a smoke-colored cat devoured the contents of a can of cat food.
Yagi broke eye contact and noted several empty cans spread around them. “So,” he began, “this is where you disappear to after classes.”
“Yeah,” Aizawa answered abruptly. He turned his head to look at the cats again. His capture weapon hid his face from the nose down so Yagi couldn’t read his expression. Aizawa was hard to read on the best of days.
The smokey cat finished its meal and leapt over Aizawa’s knee. It approached Yagi, tail up. When it reached his feet, it stared up at him. “Kemuri, he doesn’t have food.” The cat ignored Aizawa’s call and continued to stare until Yagi kneeled. The cat (Kemuri, Yagi supposed) jumped back and out of his arm’s reach, ears flattened. Yagi held his hand out, patient and quiet, and Aizawa must have fed these cats regularly because it wasn’t long before Kemuri’s ears pointed forward as it stretched out to sniff Yagi’s fingers. Finding him acceptable, it butted its head against his palm and Yagi ran it down the cat’s body length. He couldn’t deny the thrill of the action. He almost never got to actually pet cats.
“She’s too trusting for her own good,” Aizawa commented. He’d pulled his capture weapon down so it wouldn’t muffle his voice. As if to punctuate his words, the tabby looked at Yagi with its one good ear flattened back in suspicion.
“Well, she is pretty safe here.” Yagi had to smile—he was getting to pet a cat! Though his body argued against the action, he sat down in the grass to give Kemuri better attention. She arched against his leg and circled him, reappearing on his other side.
“She’s only about a year old.”
Yagi smiled at his companion. “You know these cats pretty well.” It wasn’t a question, so Aizawa didn’t deem it necessary to answer. They pet the cats in silence for a few moments. The calico rolled on its back and stretched its front legs upwards. Aizawa fiddled with one paw with the index finger of his free hand. The calico used its claws to drag his hand downwards and nip him gently. An easy look came over Aizawa’s face and Yagi’s breath caught.
He'd noticed that, in the heat of battle, when Aizawa as Eraserhead was in his element, the other man was a glory. He moved with a grace and confident ease not unlike one of these strays. Eraserhead was enigmatic and beautiful.
Aizawa Shouta, the man sitting before Yagi now, was something else entirely. In a world that favored the sun, Aizawa was more like starlight, if that made sense to anyone except Yagi in his musings—often out of sight and overshadowed, but no less wonderous if one took the time to look. He was so different from anything that Yagi was used to. Even when Yagi was All Might, Aizawa never bowed or scraped to appease him. All Might learned quickly that Aizawa never gave respect freely; it was earned through action and not reputation or pretty words. Yagi respected him for it, and perhaps that lack of excessive politeness was what first attracted Yagi to him in the first place.
He saw Aizawa as an equal in all respects except physically. Where Yagi looked like a walking corpse, Aizawa was stunning.
“Hey, Yagi, are you okay?”
Yagi remembered to breath. Unfortunately, he remembered to cough as well, and the current fit sent the cats racing for the trees. He groped for his handkerchief and covered his mouth. The remnants of his lungs burned. How fortunate he was already on the ground, a distant part of his brain mused, else he would be there now by force.
Aizawa’s face appeared in front of him. The younger man’s hand rubbed his back in firm circles. “I have water, when you can manage it.”
Yagi tried to nod his head but it was lost as his body shook.
Aizawa frowned and removed his hand from Yagi. Contrary to Yagi’s expectations, he moved to sit next to him and continued his ministrations. His other hand settled on Yagi’s chest, just over his pounding heart. They waited the fit out together. Aizawa didn’t say another word, just waited. Yagi was grateful.
Finally, as the coughs subsided, Aizawa removed his hand from Yagi’s chest and handed him an open water bottle. Yagi counted slowly in his head and took measured sips. He dropped his handkerchief to the side and concentrated on breathing.
He hated this body sometimes. He didn’t want to appear weak—to be weak. He wouldn’t take back any of his heroic actions leading to this point, but if only he hadn’t been shattered in return.
“You’ve got it,” Aizawa murmured.
“Thanks,” Yagi replied. He really wished Aizawa hadn’t seen him like this.
There was a heavy silence before Aizawa leaned in and began speaking in a low tone. “Stop trying to shoulder your burden alone. One person can’t carry the whole world, and then pick up the pieces alone after it crushes them. You can rely on us.” He was so close that Yagi could feel the heat of his leg against his own. If he turned his head only a little, their noses might touch. If he were smooth, if he were charming, if he were All Might, he could have been brave enough to kiss Aizawa.
But he was Yagi, the broken man.
Aizawa’s hand still lingered on his back, but it had dropped to his waist during the interim. He looked like he wanted to say something. His mouth opened, his gaze lost on Yagi’s lips, and in that moment he was perhaps the rawest Yagi had ever seen him. But then his expression closed again. His hand gave one firm squeeze on Yagi’s waist before he stood and brushed himself off.
Yagi took Aizawa’s hand when he offered it. The younger hero helped him to his feet.
“Go home,” Aizawa directed. “Get some rest.”
“Yeah, thanks for the assistance.” Yagi tried to put on a brave smile to reassure Aizawa. It was the same smile he plastered on as All Might, the one made to hide behind when he hurt but the world still needed him.
Aizawa turned to walk away and Yagi thought his bluff had worked up until Aizawa stopped. “You know,” he called without turning back, “I prefer Yagi Toshinori to All Might any day. For example, Yagi could have stolen a kiss just then and gotten away with it.” He waved and continued walking.
Yagi’s face flushed. His name in Aizawa’s voice made his shredded stomach flop in a not-unpleasant way. He could replay and comprehend the implication that Aizawa had wanted to kiss him later but for now, one thing at a time. He liked the sound of his name in that quiet voice. Even though there was no one around to reassure, despite the pain, he smiled.