Work Text:
Aizawa groaned. The thin arm around his middle tightened. He opened his eyes and then shut them again against the sunlight filtering through the bedroom curtains. Yagi liked to keep the curtains open. He enjoyed the morning sun.
It was so late already. On school days, they both were usually up before dawn. Weekends were more idyllic, especially after they moved into their own apartment off-campus. Aizawa hated the commute; it always felt like such a waste of his time, especially when compared to the efficiency of living on campus, but he had done it before the dormitories were set up and would deal with it again now.
Moments like this, waking up before Yagi and having the opportunity to watch him sleep, made the commutes worth it. His features appeared softer. Yagi had put on a little weight and muscle thanks to a specialized diet and training regiment that Aizawa made sure he adhered to. It wasn’t that Yagi ever skipped his exercises—he had a tendency to get impatient and try to do more than his body could handle, to lift heavier weights or swim more laps than specified. But slowly his routine was working. Yagi gained muscle tone. He’d never be normal, let alone be All Might again, but at least this could help him feel less useless, give him a goal to work towards.
At quiet times like these, all Aizawa cared about was that Yagi was alive. He survived. All Might and the whole world could be damned; Yagi Toshinori lived. Aizawa hoped that, maybe, he was happy, too.
He needed coffee if his thoughts were so sentimental. His muscles tensed to move and Yagi’s arm tightened around him again. The other man’s eyes weren’t open yet. Aizawa could tell from his even breathing that his lover’s mind rested somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. He leaned close enough that their noses touched, lips a bare centimeter apart. “Let me up, Toshinori. I’m hungry.”
“G’ morning.” Yagi yawned and opened his eyes. Aizawa scooted back a few inches to better take in the blue of them. Yagi grinned at him but didn’t yet loosen his hold.
Aizawa half-heartedly fought against the arm that bound him. “Let go,” he chided. “Breakfast.”
Yagi pulled him closer until their bodies pressed together and Aizawa’s face fit against his shoulder. He buried his nose in long, black hair and took a deep breath. Satisfied, he released the younger man from his grip.
Aizawa rose. He opened his drawers to search for a clean pair of shorts. His body missed the warmth of their sheets and the rest of him, sentimentally, missed Yagi’s touch. He was getting sappy. That wouldn’t do. One of them had to be level-headed, and Yagi was lovestruck enough for them both. He did permit himself a glance back as he grabbed his phone from its charger. Yagi stretched. Sunlight streaming through the open curtains painted his gaunt body in golden hues. Gorgeous.
He was lingering. Aizawa didn’t linger; it was a waste of time. He snorted at his own behavior as he finally padded to their bathroom. He brushed his teeth and tied his hair back loosely. He ran fingers over a few of his better scars. Yagi sported the more severe of their wounds. A battle-worn pair, the two of them.
The kitchen was smaller than he liked, but with their schedules, using the equipment was a luxury. Most nights for him consisted of take-out, jelly pouches, and leftovers. Many mornings he just drank coffee. Their blender saw the most use with Yagi’s smoothies.
But this morning, he was going to try to make an actual breakfast.
He started rice in the cooker while using his phone to look up a tamagoyaki recipe. Yagi had made it a couple times, the few times he had time to make bento lunches. Aizawa scrolled through a few recipes before realizing the technique was far out of his beginner (and impatient) league, but he was going to try anyway. He scanned the ingredient list. They had everything, but to keep Yagi’s sodium intake down, he decided to substitute in dashi instead of the soy sauce. They had instant dashi packets, right?
He found them in the cupboard and dissolved one in warm water. Reading through again, he had no idea what a tamagoyaki pan was, but he figured there couldn’t be much difference between it and a regular pan. Their barely-used pots clattered together as he searched for an appropriate-sized pan.
Once he had the eggs, dashi, mirin, and salt (just a miniscule amount, because while Yagi had to take it easy, they did have taste buds) mixed together in a bowl, he read through the recipe yet again. He couldn’t seem to understand it. He could, however, look up an instructional video. Soothing music played while he watched an anonymous pair of hands fry a small portion of the egg batter in a square pan before folding it into the traditional tamagoyaki shape and adding another layer of egg. Aizawa didn’t think they had a square pan, did they?
He searched the cupboards again.
“One cabinet to the left,” Yagi’s voice directed.
Aizawa started and turned to face him. “How long have you been there?” He was self-conscious, he realized. Here he was, standing in their kitchen in nothing but his shorts, completely out of his element.
Yagi didn’t seem to mind, however. He leaned his side against the wall, blue eyes shining with a smile. His thin body was hidden under old clothing like a form of armor. The oversized, faded yellow ALL MIGHT T-shirt hung from one skinny shoulder and completely tented the light pink sweatpants that at one time, Aizawa couldn’t believe he owned. He looked so pastel and absolutely perfect. “I heard you banging around and figured I might have to save you from a villain.” He grinned gently before retiring to the living room couch. Aizawa heard the morning news from their television. His face felt warm as he opened the appointed cupboard. The tamagoyaki pan was hidden behind the stock pot. Aizawa distinctly remembered washing that pot after Yagi used it to make chicken kayu the previous week.
He put the pan on the stove to heat. He had his spatula ready, as well as chopsticks and a paper towel to help oil the pan. It was time to start. He felt nervous. He’d cooked basic things for his lover before, like fried eggs or miso soup, but never an undertaking like this.
He should have taken more time to watch Yagi in the kitchen, he realized.
The pan seemed hot. He poured the oil in, and then used the chopsticks and paper towel to mop the excess oil up, as well as coat the sides of the pan. He set them aside in a small bowl.
He could do this. He was Aizawa Shouta. He had faced countless villains and survived. Cooking breakfast for the love of his life should have been easy. Not that he would ever call Yagi that to his face. He had a reputation to maintain.
It really didn’t help that, out of the corner of his eye, he could see Yagi watching him over the back of the couch. He tried not to let his nerves take over.
He poured a portion of the egg batter into the pan. It sizzled and stuck. Belatedly, he realized that he hadn’t poured enough to completely cover the bottom. He added more and swirled the egg around to even out the layer like the person in the video did. While the egg cooked and began to set, he grabbed his spatula and started detaching the sides of the omelet from the pan. The egg seemed firm enough. Holding his breath, he slipped the spatula under one side and tried to fold the first third over. He cursed as the omelet tore slightly and a bit of loose egg spilled out. He gathered it back into the rest of the egg and tried to fold one more time. The side caught and caused the fold to rip.
This wasn’t going right at all.
He almost jumped as arms snuck around him and a hand covered his own left one on the pan’s handle. Yagi’s familiar chest pressed against his bare back. With his hair up, Aizawa could feel the other man’s breath on the back of his ear. It was terrifyingly intimate.
“Hand me the spatula.” Aizawa let Yagi take the spatula from him on the right. The former hero seemed in no hurry to let Aizawa leave, however, and kept him caged between his body and the stove. “You have to be patient and work gently.” Yagi removed his left hand from over Aizawa’s on the handle to pick up the oily towel with the chopsticks. He ran it over the uncovered bottom and sides of the pan to redistribute the oil. Setting those aside again, he took the bowl of egg. He poured a bit more into the pan and took the handle from Aizawa’s grip before using the spatula to lift the tamagoyaki. He then let the runny egg slip underneath.
“Here, take it back,” Yagi instructed as he handed the spatula back to Aizawa. When the younger man took it, Yagi put a hand over his to gently lead his movements. “You take the part that’s already folded, and,” he trailed off as he guided Aizawa to flip the omelet over the newly-cooked layer of egg. With each additional fold, the tamagoyaki grew in size. “One more layer. You try it.” He took his hands away, giving Aizawa free reign again. Rather than back away, he wrapped his arms around Aizawa’s middle and rested his chin on the top of the shorter man’s head.
Aizawa felt warm both inside and out as he poured the remaining egg into the pan, swirled, and lifted the omelet to let the rest of the batter run underneath. He tried to mimic Yagi’s practiced movements. The layer his lover had done hid his prior mistakes, but he didn’t have high hopes for this final layer. He released the sides from the pan and quickly folded the tamagoyaki over. It didn’t break this time, at least. His heart jumped with this small success.
“Now,” Yagi continued, “use the spatula to flatten all of the sides. That gives the tamagoyaki its squared shape.”
As Aizawa did so, Yagi pulled back to find a serving plate. He handed it over and Aizawa flipped the finished tamagoyaki out. He could see the spiraled layers on either end, including where he tore the sides early on.
“The rice should be ready,” he commented offhandedly. It looked so easy in the video—he couldn’t believe that he messed up. He frowned as he began cleaning up the stove and bowls. A part of him knew he was scrubbing the pan a bit harder than needed, but he was frustrated with himself.
Yagi busied himself with cutting the tamagoyaki and dividing it between two plates. He popped the rice cooker open and watched the steam dissipate. The smell of cooked rice filled their kitchen. He pulled a rice paddle from a drawer and portioned some out for them both, his portion much smaller than Aizawa’s.
Aizawa stared at the plates as Yagi walked them to the table. He should have made miso soup or some vegetables as well. He wasn’t sure how Yagi managed when he cooked. He pulled a chair out anyway and sat across from Yagi, who already had a fork and was joyously starting to dig into the hot egg. Aizawa never understood Yagi’s love of forks but wasn’t in the mood to go back for a pair of chopsticks.
“Don’t get too excited,” he mumbled, picking up his own fork and poking at his eggs.
Smiling, Yagi took his first bite and Aizawa’s stomach dropped. He hoped his face didn’t show his anxiety. “It’s good!” Yagi replied. “Obviously there’s room for improvement since this was your first time trying, but it still tastes great.” He took another hearty bite and a part of Aizawa wanted to remind him to slow down, that his stomach could only handle a little at a time. “I love it. Thank you, Shouta.”
He may have normally been a hard, strict man with high standards, but his name spoken by Yagi Toshinori made him weak. Face warm and doubtlessly pink, he took a bite. It tasted fine, he supposed. The texture wasn’t nearly as good as Yagi’s. Realistically, he knew the difference was mostly from practice and patience.
It was hard, though, to be mad at himself when Yagi, the man who should have been dead a few times over, was so relaxed and happy. Aizawa watched him mix the egg into the rice, smile softer now than the flashy grin he usually showed people. He stretched a leg out to touch an ankle to Yagi’s bony one. Yagi paused to give Aizawa a questioning look.
“You could teach me,” Aizawa suggested.
“I’d like that.” And Yagi looked so beautiful in the bright sunlight, at home in their kitchen, their dining room. Aizawa never thought of himself as the domestic type, but Yagi made him want to do the simple things like cooking, just to see his pleasure like this. Yagi caught Aizawa’s eyes again. “Say, what do you want for dinner tonight?”
“Beef,” Aizawa answered without a second thought.
Yagi laughed. “Alright, then. Why don’t we head to the grocery store in a bit?” He watched the younger man eat with a content look on his face and thanked the gods he survived to this point. He could get used to this happy feeling.