Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hitoshi stared up at the dreary sky, resentment welling up in him, hot and bitter. He tried to squash it down along with the rest of his pent-up emotions, but he could feel it beginning to boil over, tears prickling at his lavender eyes. He rubs them away with a muffled sob as he holds his nose and bites his lip, practiced ease allowing him to stop his pathetic crying before it really starts.

Right after the Sports Festival, he tried his best to be a good team player. He made up with that Midoriya kid, assuring him that there were no hard feelings, and even talked with his class a bit. It was the least he could do after they rooted for him and he let them down. He let them all down.

Shinsou pulled out his cracked, hand-me-down flip phone and realized he had been laying in one spot for an hour. That’s one way to pass the time, he thought as he pocketed the device and stood up, joints popping with a satisfying crack.

He looked across the near-vacant and moderately trashy park, eyeing a shady looking group of vaping tweens suspiciously. Thankfully, they didn’t seem to have noticed his miniature start of a mental breakdown that he had quickly put a stop to. In fact, they didn’t seem to have noticed him at all.

 Hitoshi wasn’t certain of whether he should feel relieved about that or not. At least if no one remembered him, they couldn’t ridicule his horribly embarrassing performance from that day. His face still goes red just from thinking about being pushed out of the ring so effortlessly by someone a whole head shorter than him.

 Even so, he couldn’t help his spiteful feelings towards Class 1-A. He’ll admit that some of them worked pretty hard to get into the hero course, but most of them have a life of fame and fortune laid out for them on a silver platter. And the worst part of it all is, Shinsou doesn’t even want that. He just wants to be a hero. He just wants to help people. There’s this constant ache, deep within his very soul, and it hurts every single goddamn time he sees someone in trouble, someone in need, and he can’t do a thing. It makes him feel so weak, so useless, and it was starting to become more than he could bear.

With a heavy sigh, Shinsou put on a mask of indifference and began making his way back to his foster house, reluctance in every step. Little did he know, the next day would alter the course of his life forever.

As Hitoshi departed from the market, backpack heavily weighed down with cans of his recently purchased inexpensive cat food, he felt even more anxious than usual. The hairs on the nape of his neck were standing on end, and all of his muscles were tense as he tried to inconspicuously glance around to find the person watching him. Call it a sixth sense, but Shinsou just knew that something wasn’t right.

He picked up his pace, rounding a corner and ducking into the same alleyway he visits every week. Shinsou’s nose was immediately bombarded with the heavy stench being emitted from the dumpsters, but he couldn’t really find it in himself to care. He was used to terrible smells.

Hitoshi peered over his shoulder, his undergoing sense of panic beginning to fade ever so slightly when no one was behind him. Reaching into his tattered book bag, Shinsou retrieved one of the many cans of cat food and peeled off the aluminum lid.

Approaching a worn-down cardboard box ever so slowly, he made small clicking noises with his tongue, drawing the kitten out of her sanctuary. Her gray fur was less matted and she looked much healthier than when Hitoshi first found the animal several weeks ago.

He didn’t know what had happened to her mother, but she was flying solo in a big, scary, messed up world, and Shinsou couldn’t just leave her to fend for herself. He knew that caring for strays wasn’t good, but she was just a helpless baby. Maybe he could at least be a hero in her adorable, big blue eyes.

He bent down and smoothed her filthy hair down, attempting to gently untangle a couple of knots from her greasy tail as he stroked her back. She purred and gazed up at him with pleading eyes, grabbing his finger with her paw and nibbling it softly.

Shinsou chuckled to himself, turning the cat food over and dumping it in a lump in front of her.

“Hungry today, are we?” he said quietly, stroking her chin and feeling her swallow. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner. Matsuo-san has been a real hard-ass lately. He gave me more chores since I haven’t been ‘carrying my weight around this dump since I started going to that damn school for hero wannabes.’” Hitoshi said, trying to make his voice sound like his foster father’s. He rolled his eyes. “And that was him in a good mood. I think I like it better when they all just ignore me.”

The sad thing is, that was a lie. The worst possible thing is when you go home and no one even acknowledges your presence. There’s no ‘hello’ or ‘how was school?’ To be met with the cold shoulder and a ring of static in his ears is enough to drive him insane. At least there are other kids that interact with each other to aid in filling the empty void in his heart from lack of attention and care. It doesn’t matter that he’s fifteen now; everyone should have a family to come home to.

During the weeks that he has off of school, Hitoshi leaves the house straight away if he’s granted permission. He’ll do anything to get the tiniest shred of human interaction.

On some days, he finds it depressing that the only living thing he ever discusses his feelings with is a stray cat. In times like these, he doesn’t bother to affiliate himself with the fact. It’s good to get these things off his chest.

“It’s getting late, kid. This isn’t a good area.”

Shinsou’s mind clicked into place as the intruder’s voice registered, but he nevertheless whirled around to face him, years of conditioning telling him to always watch his back.

He felt his breath catch in his throat. Hitoshi really hoped that the owner of the bored drawl didn’t hear any of his confessions to the feline. As he took in the hero’s naturally unkempt appearance, Shinsou couldn’t help the childish excitement that bloomed in his chest. This was Eraserhead! He could remember years of going to local libraries and paging through dozens of news articles, looking for just another scrap of information that he didn’t yet know.

It wasn’t an obsession , not like all of those little kids who look up to All Might and follow him around like a litter of lost puppies. Hitoshi just thinks it’s amazing that someone with a nonphysical quirk - a quirk like his - became such an awesome hero. It’s not an obsession, but Shinsou definitely holds a hell of a lot of admiration and respect for the man.

When the silence stretched for too long, Eraser raised an eyebrow. Shinsou wanted to slap himself. He’s always been so good with words. Now that it actually matters, he can’t even bring himself to choke out a half-assed excuse for being out past eight in the cold weather with no coat. For some odd reason, Hitoshi just can’t bring himself to lie to the man he has adored for so long.

“I-uh, I don’t have to be home for an hour,” he ends up stuttering out a few moments later. At least he’s not being totally dishonest; he just left some parts out - like how his drunk foster mother had chased him out of the house, clutching a butter knife in her dominant hand. It may seem non-threatening, but Shinsou has been a victim of her anger before, and she can drive that blade into anything she puts her mind to-not that she has to any of the kids, yet. She had been yelling something about him needing to “get out and socialize”, and she was “doing my best with what I’ve got, you ungrateful little shit”. He thinks that she had the best intentions, just a horrible way of showing it. Besides, she was right.

His foster mother and her husband had welcomed him into their home when no one else would take him, and all he ever does is get in the way. Hitoshi also did admittedly have terrible social skills despite his silver tongue. After being excluded from all out-of-school activities in elementary and middle school, he hasn’t quite adapted to the happy-go-lucky attitude of the students at UA. He’s been invited to a few social gatherings, but between chores, stress, homework, and the recent training he’s been trying to stick to, it’s pretty difficult.

Remembering the other part of Aizawa-sensei’s statement, Shinsou hastily added, “and I take care of the stray kitten here. I don’t know what happened to her mother, but I found her a few weeks ago and have been coming since then.”

Shinsou doesn’t want to admit that he lives right near this “bad area”, only a few blocks deeper into the crime-ridden vicinity. It makes him feel this horrible, gut-wrenching shame to tell his hero and a UA teacher that he lives here. There’s a sick and awful twist in his stomach to think of the man in front of him associating Hitoshi with the “delinquents” of the neighborhood.

The purple haired teen crouched down and scooped the kitten up from around her ribs, keeping his eyes directed at the teacher. He lifted her up near his chest, glancing awkwardly to the side and gesturing vaguely with his other hand as if to prove his point.

Something in Aizawa’s face relaxes, and his mouth loses its frown, instead forming a flat line.

Then, something unexpected happens.

Aizawa reaches out and gently caresses the young cat’s back with an experienced hand. Shinsou almost drops her from shock. Eraserhead likes - cats. Of all the things he had anticipated from the man, it most certainly wasn’t this. The funny thing is, Hitoshi just admires him all the more.

Eraserhead retracts his hand, having to look down slightly at Shinsou since they’re much closer now. He lets out a long, exhausted sigh. “Come on, kid,” he mutters, tone as flat as ever. “I’ll walk you home. It’s not safe to be on the streets this late.”

Hitoshi panicked for a second, not wanting his childhood hero to see the rundown townhouse that was his foster home. Suddenly, he was hit with an idea. A crazy, ridiculous, totally unrealistic vision of something great, and he felt a burst of confidence rush through him.

“Do you remember me?” he blurted, just as Aizawa had turned around, expecting to be followed. He faced Shinsou once more, dragging his eyes up and down the boy slowly, trying to see with only the light of a flickering lamp overhead. Hitoshi’s muscles had tensed involuntarily immediately after the question left his lips, preparing to be struck. Knowing that Eraserhead wouldn’t do anything like that, he tried to discreetly relax, praying that the man didn’t take notice.

“From the Sports Festival, I mean,” he said, continuing to blurt out explanations. Hyper aware of every flaw on him and every twitch of his muscles, Shinsou tried his best to appear unbothered under the hero’s scrutiny. It was reminding him far too much of the lingering looks he would get in his last foster home, turned to lingering touches and-

“Yes,” the man said apathetically. Shinsou waited for the ‘Why?’ , which would be typical in everyday conversation, but realized after several seconds that Aizawa wasn’t going to say anything.

“Y-you commented on my fight. You said that the entrance exam is unfair and biased.” Hitoshi realized that he was just pointing out the obvious by now, and when the man continued to stare at him, he came to the conclusion that he has to get to the point before he lost his chance altogether.

He deposited the cat on the ground next to him, squared his shoulders, and looked his childhood hero square in his tired, red eyes. “I want you to train me,” he stated with as much confidence as he could muster. Hitoshi isn’t even sure why he decided this was worth asking. The only other time that he really took a leap of faith was when he declared war on Class 1-A, and look how that turned out.

Aizawa was quiet for a long time, and Shinsou felt his nerves spike but refused to break eye contact. After what felt like hours, the hero twisted his right hip and leg back, and Hitoshi knew what was occurring before it really started. It was happening so fast that Shinsou’s brain went on autopilot, and he didn’t have time to think - This is an underground pro hero. There’s no way he would deck a student. So, naturally, his subconscious whispered Stay still. Stay still or it will be worse. It will make him mad.

He flinched before the hero even started forming a fist, and he knows Aizawa noticed it. Shinou tightened the muscles of his stomach without even thinking about it, shoulders hunching slightly in preparation for impact once his brain registered where the man was aiming. After a couple of seconds, he felt like he missed a step while climbing the stairs and didn’t fall. The surge of adrenaline was draining out of him fast, and it made his heart skip a beat and fire burn in his stomach. Glancing down, he saw Aizawa’s clenched hand, mere centimeters away from his abdomen.

Looking up once more, Hitoshi saw something flash across the teacher’s face. Usually, he’s really good at reading people, but this man was like a brick wall. Either way, it was quickly schooled into his usual impassive expression.

“You’ve got quick reflexes, kid,” he says as a drop of liquid falls into his eyes from the small green container he’s holding and lets out another sigh. “But not quick enough.” Hitoshi can feel his heart breaking as the man turns away and begins walking towards the empty street. “Shinsou,” Aizawa turns to look him in the eyes, but the younger refuses to let himself hope that the hero has changed his mind. “You will never be a hero.” With that declaration, the man grabs onto the water drainage pipe and swings himself up to the rails of the fire escape on the other side. Scarf wrapping around the ventilation shaft on top of the building, Aizawa doesn’t even spare another glance at Shinsou. I guess I'm not even worth him walking me home, the teen thinks dully, at least he won't see the house. His feet swing up and over the edge of the building, and then he’s gone.

And Hitoshi feels his heart snap in two.

Chapter Text

Aizawa liked to consider himself a simple, logical man. He knew, of course, that no one was simple, and his life was most certainly complicated. Even so, he liked to follow basic rules and protocols in any given situation without allowing emotional influence to take effect.

When the purple haired boy from the Sports Festival - Hitoshi Shinsou, as he recalled - walked out of the market near his new patrolling region, Aizawa was conflicted. The boy had his backpack completely stuffed with things that weren’t all school books, and he wasn’t carrying any grocery bags. On the other hand, Shouta saw a passion in him during the Sports Festival. This kid definitely wanted to be a hero, so why would he steal anything and jeopardize his entire future? It would be against Aizawa’s better judgment to confront him, but the left side of his brain was telling him that something wasn’t right.

The teacher watched him for a few more moments, suspicious of how the boy kept glancing around as if someone were going to catch him with his hand in the cookie jar. Making up his mind when he saw the kid walk briskly into the dark alleyway by the store, Aizawa slid down the drainage pipe and followed slowly with muted footsteps. Arriving at the mouth of a narrow alley, the hero felt his skepticism double but was slightly relieved at not having to drug bust a teenager - yet.

Shouta saw a flash of gray fuzz in the cardboard box that Shinsou was kneeling by, and he seemed to be talking to it. He couldn’t quite make out what the student was saying, but he seemed frustrated as he dumped something into the box and reached in slowly. Aizawa decided he should step in right about now. 9 o’clock was approaching quickly, and Shouta really didn’t feel like dealing with any irate parents tonight. He definitely wasn’t concerned for the kid’s safety or anything, though. That would be ridiculous. It had absolutely nothing to do with feeling a personal connection with Hitoshi because of the drawbacks of their quirks and the constant struggle to be taken seriously. That’s what Aizawa tried to tell himself, at least.

He legitimately didn’t think that anyone should be out alone in this district after dark, - never mind a kid - but that’s just his opinion.

“It’s getting late, kid. This isn’t a good area.” He hoped that it had come across as unconcerned, but he was starting to get a little worried with how jumpy this boy was being. He decided that he would have to keep an eye on this student. Aizawa wasn’t an idiot; he knew something wasn’t right with this picture.

“I-uh, I don’t have to be home for an hour,” Shinsou stammered, and Shouta just barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. The only thing that gave him pause was the implication of that statement. Are parents really this lenient these days? It’s a school night, for Christ’s sake!

Hitoshi could be lying to make sure the teacher doesn’t say anything to his guardians, but Aizawa is an expert at reading people. If this were a mendacious kid, he would have been able to sniff him out a mile away. He seemed more… nervous than anything. Just to be positive that this boy wasn’t trying to pull one over on him, Aizawa decided to walk him back to his house. Besides, if he walks the kid home, he can guarantee his safety. It would be less of a hassle than him getting hurt, obviously.

He opened his mouth, prepared to inform Shinsou of his decision, but the teen continued speaking before Aizawa had the chance to utter a word.

“and I take care of the stray kitten here. I don’t know what happened to her mother, but I found her a few weeks ago and have been coming since then.”

Shouta tried really hard not to change his facial expression too much, but he knew that his trademark frown has been wiped off his face. He should have known. Usually, he’s much more perceptive than this. Shinsou reached behind him and pulled a very young looking cat out of the box, still keeping his eyes on the hero.

The kitten eyed Eraserhead distrustfully, squirming in Hitoshi’s hold. She looked to be about five weeks old with her fuzzy - and grimy - fur and bright blue eyes.

Overcome by temptation, Aizawa reached out and stroked the kitten’s fur when she was held up. Her short gray hair is coated in dirt and it looked like a patch on her stomach is shaved off, but other than that she seemed healthy. He watched Hitoshi’s eyes widen at the revelation, and he tried not to smile, burying his face into his scarf and withdrawing his hand.

“Come on, kid,” he muttered. “It’s not safe to be on the streets this late.” Shouta watched as the kid’s eyes become wild and frantic for a split second. Is he afraid of getting in trouble? Was he lying? Is something going on at home? Now his curiosity (and concern) is peaked. Aizawa turned towards the road, assuming that Hitoshi would follow obediently like the 1-A students.

“Do you remember me?” The question was sudden and took the teacher by surprise as the teen’s voice cracked with anxiousness. Of course, he had already identified this boy as Hitoshi Shinsou. He had been thinking about this kid more than he would like to admit ever since he almost beat Midoriya during the festival.

Indeed, it had only been a couple of days since then, but Hitoshi had made quite the impression on the teacher. His quirk was powerful, but you can’t be a hero with only one trick. This boy needed some sort of guidance.

“From the Sports Festival, I mean,” he continued. Aizawa took in the teen’s tense and defensive posture, looking him up and down slowly. It was amusing to watch him try not to squirm under his intense gaze.

“Yes,” he settled on answering - simple and straight to the point. Shouta watched Hitoshi carefully, taking note of the subtle twitch in his fingers and the way his eyes would dart back and forth. He’s scared, his mind supplied helpfully. Aizawa is terribly used to kids being intimidated in his presence. It’s not that he’s particularly big; he’s actually fairly wiry. It’s more that he could expel any of his students with what they believe to be just a snap of his fingers. That’s not true, though; he actually thinks over a lot of his decisions very thoroughly, trying to come to the most rational conclusion. He doesn’t especially enjoy ridding the school of any of his pupils; Shouta just doesn’t want students with no chance of fulfilling hero work to be crushed by reality after so much effort. It’s his job to make it easier on them by ending it before the real hard work begins.

“Y-you commented on my fight. You said that the entrance exam is unfair and biased.” Aizawa just carried on looking at him. I just said that I remember him, so why is he telling me this? Startling Shouta once more, the kid set the cat down next to his feet and stood up, looking the teacher dead in the eyes. Shinsou straightens his posture and takes a deep, steady breath. Kid’s got guts, Aizawa thinks mildly. Not many people can measure up to the intensity of his stare.

“I want you to train me,” he stated after a moment of hesitation. The kid seemed to really want to give off an aura of confidence, but Shouta could see right through his false bravado. If this was going to work, that’s one of the first things the teacher needed to fix. Hitoshi can’t go through life just pretending to believe in himself; that will only work for so long. It’s not healthy.

Aizawa thinks it over. He thinks about the hours of grueling training that he went through after school every day. He thinks of running until he vomited and how he did his body more harm than good. He thinks of Hizashi - Present Mic - offering to help him catch up so he had a fighting chance to get onto the hero course. But most of all, he thinks of this kid in front of him - this lanky, purple haired, noodle armed, confidence lacking kid, that Aizawa suddenly realized he is wholeheartedly willing to help. Deep down, he knew that Shinsou deserved to be on the hero course. Just like he said during the Sports Festival, the entrance exam is biased towards those with physical quirks. He knew that it was unfair for Hitoshi to be stuck in General Studies.

But he also knew that life wasn’t fair. If Aizawa was going to commit to this, this kid needed to be fully devoted. Making a split second decision after several moments of contemplation, Shouta got into a loose fighting stance and aimed a jab at the boy’s abdomen. He might as well see what his reaction time was.

Shinsou’s reaction was… unanticipated.

The teen flinched when the teacher got into a simple rookie fighting position. Good instincts, Aizawa thought as he wrapped his thumb around his fingers and shifted his body into the punch. That wasn’t really what threw Aizawa off, however. Hitoshi’s entire body - stiffened, almost. He didn’t even move out of the way . Shouta knows that he saw the punch coming, but he just wouldn’t move.

Does he freeze up when he’s scared? Does he think that I don’t want him to move? What is it?

Aizawa stopped short of punching him, not wanting to actually injure the boy. Honestly, he wasn’t even expecting Shinsou to see the punch coming, never mind dodge it. Shouta could see potential here -

But he couldn’t let Hitoshi know that, yet.

If this kid really means it when he says that he wants to be trained - that he wants to be a hero - then he’s going to have to work his ass off to do it. This isn’t the type of thing that someone can go into half-cocked and unsure. If Shinsou wants to be instructed so desperately, he’s going to have to do more than just bring it up one time in a dark alleyway after buttering Aizawa up with a kitten.

He pulled his eye drops out of his pocket and trickled one in each eye as he said, “You’ve got quick reflexes, kid.” He means it, too. For someone stuck in the General Studies department with minimal physical education, he was fast in responding to Aizawa’s movements, even if he didn’t attempt to avoid the blow. “But not quick enough.” That’s true, too. If Hitoshi is going to be in the Hero Course someday, his body will need to be one of the fastest and strongest in the class to make up for his lack of a physical quirk. He’ll need to learn that when his brain tells him to move, his muscles need to work with it and get out of the way.

Aizawa turned on his heel and made his way towards the drainage pipe, ears open and hopeful that the boy will defend himself in some way. Trying to get some sort of response, Shouta decided to be extra harsh.

“Shinsou,” he muttered lowly, looking over his shoulder at the student and keeping his expression neutral. “You will never be a hero.” He immediately turned back around, not wanting to see the kid’s crestfallen appearance.

Come on, kid, he mentally coaxed in desperation as he latched onto the fire escape and clenched his teeth. Show me what you’re made of. Tell me off. Make me know what I’m giving up. Hitoshi never replied, and as Shouta swung his legs up and over the edge of the building, he tried to reason with himself so he wouldn’t feel quite as bad. Something was making his stomach twist uncomfortably and his chest felt painfully tight. This couldn’t possibly be guilt, could it? What did he have to feel guilty for? If the kid really does lose hope in becoming a hero, then he never should have wanted to be one in the first place. Villains and the media bring heroes down all the time; if a little pessimism from a high school teacher is enough for him to give up on his dreams, then he wouldn’t have achieved them either way. This test was only rational.

With that thought in mind, Aizawa began making his way home - leaping across the rooftops and trying to ignore the pool of regret in his chest when he realized he didn’t even assure the boy’s safety by escorting him to his house.

Hitoshi was perched precariously on the end of a bench in front of the market, a recently borrowed library book dangling loosely from his left hand. He had found it extraordinarily difficult to focus all day, the words “you will never be a hero” haunting his thoughts and senses. Now, as the clear skies and setting sun mocked Hitoshi’s bitter mood, he found it even harder to process any words on the publication in front of him.

It’s nothing new, he told himself, trying to see reason. They’ll always try to bring you down.

The real problem was that Shinsou had always viewed Eraserhead as a sort of symbol - if Eraserhead could do it, then so could Hitoshi. To have his childhood hero - his idol - look him in the eyes and tell him that same thing he has been hearing for years is… devastating.

He shook his head, trying to focus on the words in front of him. Reality is so demanding; he just needed to escape for a little while. He wanted to get lost in the ink and travel to an alternate universe - a world that wasn’t his.

“Hey, it’s that brainwashing freak from middle school!”

Tensing minutely, Shinsou kept his eyes stubbornly fixed on his book. He shifted his weight forward, prepared to bolt if necessary.

A familiar face cut into Hitoshi’s vision, followed by Akihiro’s gang of morons. Why today? Shinsou thought resignedly. Of all the times to run into my childhood tormentor, did it have to be the day after my hopes and dreams were crushed by my favorite hero?

Lost in his musings, Hitoshi failed to notice the hand coming towards him until his book was snatched away and slammed shut without the page being saved.

“Hey!” Hitoshi bit out before he could think. Aki isn’t exactly known for being gentle with other people’s possessions. Shinsou had already been fined twice because of his foster siblings being clumsy or getting mad at him, but a third offense would be the last straw. He could lose his membership card, no matter how much the librarian liked him.

Akihiro waved the book tauntingly in front of him, but Shinsou didn’t reach out to grab it. He knew from experience that if he couldn’t lunge for it in time, it would be more embarrassing in the long run. “Oh? Do you want this?” He smirked as he turned the book over in his hands slowly as if he found it interesting. Hitoshi clenched his teeth and curled his hands into fists, trying his best not to take the bait. He really wasn’t in the mood for this right now.

“It’s been a long time, Brainy,” Aki stated as he stands in front of Shinsou. Something in his tone was just… wrong. It made Hitoshi think that running away right about now is necessary, but Akihiro had his knees up against Shinsou’s, preventing him from doing so even if he tried. The group had surrounded him on all sides of the bench; he felt like a bug that they could squash as the assembly towered over his seated form.

“I watched you in the Sports Festival,” he sneered as he glared down at Shinsou. Hitoshi felt that same sense of humiliation wash over him, making his face heat up. Aki didn’t sound like he was going to use this information to ridicule him, though - he sounded angry. His entire demeanor had changed in an instant.

Unexpectedly, Akihiro seized a fistful of Hitoshi’s sweatshirt and wrenched him off the bench, pulling him far too close to his face to be comfortable. Shinsou could smell Aki’s foul breath as he leaned in so they were nose to nose. “Do you want to make me look bad?” His teeth were gritted as he shook Hitoshi slightly, probably trying to get an answer. “I wanted to go to UA, but they let you in.” Aki looked him up and down in disgust, making their slight difference in height seem impossibly greater. He started shaking him harder, pieces of spit flying into Shinsou’s face as Aki yells. “You’re weak. You’ve always been a worthless piece of shit! Why did you get into UA, huh? Answer me!”

This escalated quickly.

Hitoshi glanced around frantically, trying and failing to find someone to end this peacefully as panic gripped his chest. The sun had nearly gone down, the graying sky casting long shadows across the empty street. By this time, they were the only people still out - other than a drunk couple staggering down the street and giggling into each others’ ears. They wouldn’t be much help. It’s five against one; if Aki really wants to pick a fight with him, then Shinsou is screwed.

Trying not to think of future repercussions, Hitoshi kneed Akihiro in the groin with all his strength. In one fluid movement, he shoved Aki out of his way while the boy was weak and grabbed his backpack off the ground, ditching his novel and darting down the sidewalk.

He heard a hissed, “Get him, you idiots!” Trying to pick up his pace, Shinsou made a sharp right, not even knowing where he was going at this point, just knowing that he had to get away.

An extended, tentacle-like limb from one of the other guys of the group latched onto his left ankle, causing Hitoshi to lose his footing before he could fully turn the corner. His chin smacked against the pavement - hard. He felt his teeth vibrate as his ears ring. Freezing for a moment, Shinsou’s sluggish brain tried to catch up with what just happened. He definitely wasn’t concussed, - he knows how that feels - but his mind was a little foggy from the unpredicted and sudden impact.

Yanked up once again, this time by the hood, Hitoshi was shoved roughly into the brick wall of the convenience store. Akihiro was in front of him now, his forearm holding Shinsou back by the chest as he bared his teeth like a caged animal. “You son of a bitch,” he growled menacingly, but Hitoshi couldn’t help the sick sense of pride he felt when he noticed that his face was still twisted up with slight pain. “You’re gonna pay for kicking me, you fucking twerp.”

Aki’s hand came towards his face, and Shinsou screwed his eyes shut, mentally preparing himself for the boy’s taser quirk. He knew from experience that it wouldn’t leave any lasting damage, but it always stung. Cold fingers covered Hitoshi’s face, and after a moment an enraged yell reverberated off the streets. “What the hell did you do to my quirk, ass face?”

Hitoshi’s eyes snapped open, meeting Aki’s accusatory glare. His quirk is gone? Wait…

A horribly distinct band of gray material shot out and wrapped around Aki’s wrist, pulling it away from Hitoshi’s face. “You know, this would qualify as illegal quirk use. Lucky for you, I’m not really in the mood to ruin a kid’s future over what I would like to assume is a misunderstanding. Correct?” Aki spun around to face the intruder, keeping Hitoshi pinned against the wall.

Shinsou was really wishing that the ground would just open up and swallow him whole. Akihiro’s lips turned down to form an angry scowl, the hero easily matching it. “Who the hell are you, ass hat?”

Shinsou shifted in Aki’s hold, the elbow digging into his chest and the brick against his back starting to become painful.

“You have a rather limited vocabulary,” Eraserhead told him dryly. Shinsou tried to keep himself from laughing outright, which wasn’t much of a challenge with the way his chest ached as he inhaled. Aizawa locked eyes with him, his irises a glowing red and black hair floating above him, goggles hanging around his neck. He must have seen something in the teen’s gaze because Aki was suddenly being propelled forward while the other side of Aizawa’s scarf wrapped around his torso. The teacher’s words were quiet and sharp, but Hitoshi could hear them as if they were shouted from the rooftops.

“You don’t want to be on my bad side,” he said once Aki was inches away from him, looking up at Aizawa’s narrowed orbs. The statement itself sounded threatening, but the tone he used made it sound like the teacher was scolding a rebellious child. Akihiro seemed much more vulnerable like this: without his torturous quirk or any of his “friends” to back him up. They were all frozen in place, glancing between each other and Eraserhead.

“If I were you,” he continued, his tone becoming more neutral, “I would get out of here before I decide to just turn you in. It wouldn’t take long. Better yet, I could go talk to your parents about how you enjoy outnumbering and beating on kids in front of corner stores. Would you prefer that?” He spoke so casually it was almost amusing.

Shinsou took pleasure in the way Aki’s eyes widened before he began struggling in his bindings. After several seconds, he shouted out, “Yeah... fine. Whatever! Just let me go, fuckface!”

Aizawa studied him for a moment, Akihiro faltering slightly under the scrutiny. Eventually, Eraserhead released him with a grunted, “I’m never allowing you and Bakugou in the same room together,” that Shinsou just barely caught.

Watching Aki spin on his heel and begin storming away, Hitoshi felt shame and mortification stir in his stomach. He couldn’t even save himself from a few high school boys; at this rate, he’ll just prove Aizawa right - he could never be a hero.

“Wait,” a voice grumbled to Aki’s retreating form. “Give the kid his book.” Hitoshi had completely forgotten that his library card was in peril. How much has Eraserhead seen? Aki glowered at Shinsou so ferociously, he feared for a moment that holes might burn through his face. “Fine,” he snapped, stalking towards Hitoshi and thrusting the book into his gut. Aki kept his right hand on the book and his left hand on the wall near his head as he leaned close to Shinsou’s ear.

“This isn’t over, you purple haired freak .” The words were quiet and hissed, making chills run down Hitoshi’s spine as he carefully kept his expression blank. Glancing to the side, Shinsou met Aizawa’s dark eyes, the man’s quirk off. He wondered idly what was going through the hero’s brain.

This is so embarrassing.

Looking back towards Akihiro, Shinsou nodded his head slightly in reluctant acceptance, eyes cast to the side. Aki forcefully pushed the book further into his middle, nearly knocking the wind out of him.

Stomping away, Akihiro shouted, “Let’s go!” The rest of the boys - not counting Shinsou - trailed behind him like dogs with their tails between their legs. His tormentor looked over his shoulder, eyes boring into Shinsou’s. “He’s not worth our time.”

Voices and memories bombarded Hitoshi’s mind as Aki kept their eyes locked for several tense seconds.

“You’re weak. You’ve always been a worthless piece of shit!”

“How dare you try to use your quirk on me, you worthless bastard!”

“You’re not worth anyone’s love, you villain ingrate. Even your own parents saw that!”

Hitoshi ducked his head, staying that way until he heard their retreating footsteps and mocking laughter. Lifting his head up, Shinsou found Aizawa still standing there, dark gaze fixed on where the division had just turned the corner - the sounds of their sniggering still bouncing off the city buildings.

Hitoshi felt even more uneasy now that it was just him and Aizawa. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say to the man who had just crushed his hopes and dreams the night before. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back against the wall in an attempt to calm his racing heart.

“What a prick,” Eraserhead mumbled flatly as he turned back to Shinsou, a small bit of contempt seeping into the last word. Tension draining out of him, Hitoshi let out a demeaning snort. “You’re telling me,” he muttered. Aizawa rotated his whole body to survey him for several seconds. Despite his tall stature, the action made Shinsou feel small and self-conscious. His apprehension returned full force, the memory of the previous evening resulting in Hitoshi diverting his eyes and coughing awkwardly to the side.

“Thanks for- uh, that,” Shinsou said with his eyes downcast, feeling obligated to fill the uncomfortable silence, “but you didn’t have to.” Aizawa continued to stare at him for a long, suspenseful moment until he let out a long, mildly annoyed sigh. “Kid, no one has to do anything.”

Shinsou looked up at the strange reply. It wasn’t a very heroic response, but Eraserhead wasn’t a typical hero, either. “Still, though - thanks. I’m sorry you had to deal with that. I should have been able to at least defend myself.” Hitoshi could feel self-loathing begin to gnaw at his insides. He couldn’t even save himself. Why did he still believe in this stupid pipe dream?

“You will never be a hero.”

The man in front of him sighed. “Whatever, kid. You don’t have to be sorry; you did nothing wrong. It was five against one. From what I saw, they approached you. Get it?” Dumbfounded, Hitoshi nodded his head with his mouth hanging partially open.

Something… wasn’t Shinsou’s fault?

The thought was foreign to him. In all of his foster homes and past schools, everything was blamed on Hitoshi. He did have the occasional parent or teacher who would remain unbiased, but that was usually temporary. Once the other kids would catch wind of his brainwashing quirk, it was his word against everyone else’s. In all honesty, he probably would have done the same thing in their shoes. It’s so easy to take the weight off of your own shoulders and put it on another person, and that hapless person was almost always Hitoshi. His mile-long file chock full of complaints and exaggerated information certainly didn’t help matters.

Eraserhead started walking away without any additional conversation, Shinsou feeling an inexplicable urge to stop him. He wanted to scream and kick his feet and yell at Aizawa that he was wrong to say those things yesterday. Hitoshi is going to be a hero, dammit, and nothing is going to stop him.

Before he could fully consider voicing his frustrations, Aizawa was stopping and letting out something between a sigh and a groan. “Come here, kid,” he grumbled, turning to face Shinsou. “Your chin looks nasty.” Hitoshi stayed frozen in place, heart thudding in his chest as he watched Aizawa pull a small first aid kit from his utility belt.

Shinsou had completely forgotten about his injury, in all honesty. Once he had realized he wasn’t concussed, it had been deemed “unimportant” in his mind. As long as it couldn’t hurt his chances at becoming a hero or give him permanent brain damage, it didn’t matter.

After several seconds passed and he still hadn’t moved, the hero raised an eyebrow. Shinsou mentally face-palmed. He already thinks you aren’t cut out to be a hero. Do you want him to think you’re an idiot, too?

Stepping forward, Hitoshi watched Aizawa pull various medical supplies from the pocket-sized kit. “You don’t have t- I mean I can just fix myself up at home.” Shinsou caught himself before he could make the same mistake twice. His statement was kind of a half-truth. He would probably be able to wash the cut out with water - maybe a bit of soap, if he had enough time in the bathroom -, but that was probably the extent of the first aid materials he had access to.

Eraserhead grasped his jaw in a surprisingly gentle hold when the teen walked closely enough, Shinsou flinching back slightly from the unforeseen movement. He tried not to drown in the surfacing memories, keeping himself grounded by sinking his teeth into his tongue.

“Look at those pretty lips of yours; you don’t know what you do to me, child. See? It’s so much better when you don’t talk."

Aizawa gave him a strange look but didn’t say anything for a moment, wiping dry blood and dirt from Shinsou’s chin with an alcohol swab. “Kid,” he sighed. “There’s more to being a hero than running around and punching out bad guys.” He paused, giving Hitoshi a sidelong glance. “Or in your case, brainwashing them.” Shinsou winced slightly, hoping that the man would pass it off as the antiseptic sting.

Throughout Hitoshi’s childhood and adolescence, brainwashing anyone was considered a heinous crime. Even in self-defense or by accident, his quirk slip-ups always resulted in major consequences. Depending on the home or school, the word “brainwash” was either used as an insult or treated as some horrible curse to never be spoken of. The best foster parents he had simply avoided that part of him like the plague. On some level, he understood their fear. He could make anyone do whatever he wanted. People just don’t like being out of control; Shinsou couldn’t blame them for that.

“If you want to save people, you have to go beyond just battling villains. Making the victim feel safe and assuring their good health is just as important.” Hitoshi wanted to ask Aizawa why he was telling him this if he didn’t think Shinsou could be a hero, but the teen decided against it. The rejection was still too fresh and painful to bring up. Besides, he didn’t want to make this more awkward than it already was.

“I thought you said no one has to do anything,” Shinsou ended up saying before he could stop himself. He knew that he could be quite witty when he wanted to - and borderline disrespectful -, but he always tried to keep it under control. Overall, he was a pretty well-mannered kid; his quick tongue was just always getting him in trouble.

Averting his gaze, Hitoshi opened his mouth to begin apologizing profusely for his impertinence. Before he could say anything, Aizawa let out a sharp exhale through his nose in some semblance of a laugh. “Smartass,” he mumbled as he pulled out a swab of gauze and stuffed his face into the capture weapon around his neck. He sounded almost… affectionate .

Shinsou let his shoulders relax, having not even noticed them going rigid. Eraserhead pushed the bandage on Hitoshi’s wound down firmly as the teen sucked in a breath through clench teeth. “Here, hold it. Keep up with the pressure. It’ll stop the bleeding.” Aizawa let go as Shinsou’s fingers grazed the gauze, hunching back over to dig through the first aid kit again.

Does he do all this for every person that he helps? Shinsou wondered absentmindedly. Of course he does, he hissed to himself. You’re nothing special. You’re just another “victim” that he saved. He’s doing his job.

A small roll of medical tape emerged from the bag, Eraserhead making quick work of attaching the gauze to his face with two long strips. “How long have these kids been bothering you for?” Aizawa grunted as he leaned back to tuck the pack into his belt.

“Uh…” Shinsou replied dumbly. The question came out of nowhere. Is he always this blunt? Hitoshi mulled over his answer for a minute, eventually just settling on telling the truth. “They used to pick on me in middle school, but this is the first time I’ve seen any of them since I started going to UA.” And since I changed foster homes, he thought silently.

“Right...,” Aizawa drawled out slowly. Does he not believe me? “Well, watch yourself. Good luck, kid.” He turned to walk away, and Shinsou felt anger and betrayal well up in him, poisoning his insides and jumbling his mind. For whatever reason, he had been hoping for… something else.

“Wait,” he called, the sound of his own voice surprising him. It was deep and determined and loud . He spoke with confidence, his voice echoing through the streets. He faltered slightly, not even knowing when he had decided to confront Eraserhead. The man turned around, a skeptical brow signaling for him to continue.

Shinsou took a deep breath, steeling himself for more rejection as he let the words pour out of his mouth. “What you did to me wasn’t right. What you said to me wasn’t right. You can’t just perform one stupid test on me and say that it decides my entire future! If you don’t want to train me, then that’s fine. You can cast me out and call me a villain. You can tell me what you think I can and can’t be, but you’re just fooling yourself.” Hitoshi spat out his words, walking closer to the teacher. Aizawa’s eyes were narrowed into slits, his mouth turned down at the corners.

“I’m going to be a hero. I would like your help to do it, but it won’t matter either way. No one is going to stop me. If you can’t accept that, then screw you ! You can’t just take one look at someone and decide that they aren’t worth taking a chance on. It’s not- It wouldn’t be…” Shinsou was running out of words now as his burst of courage faded. “It wouldn’t be logical!” He blurted after several seconds of stuttering. Hitoshi grimaced at his own choice of words, ducking his head and feeling his ears burn at the outburst.

When he dared to raise his eyes, Eraserhead’s lips were stretching across the man’s face, white teeth on full display. His grin was wide, manic, and downright terrifying , but Shinsou felt a small spark of hope flicker in his chest amidst the heavy ball of constant shame.

“This kid,” he muttered, mouth still upturned and moderately horrifying. “I’ll take a chance on you, Shinsou. Don’t waste my time.” With that said, he took off in the opposite direction of Hitoshi’s foster home.

“Eraserhead-san,” Shinsou called to the man’s back. “Thanks,” he said with a small bow when they were facing each other. Hitoshi wasn’t exactly sure which favor he was showing gratitude for, but it didn’t seem to matter.

Aizawa smiled a little in the light of the street lamps. It was something smaller and felt more personal than his wild, crazed smirk.

“Call me Aizawa-sensei, kid.”

Chapter Text

Shinsou stared up at his cracked, flaking ceiling, tracing the many imperfections with his finger. He thought of his earlier conversation with Aizawa, his own words dancing across the forefront of his mind and making him cringe.

“What you did to me wasn’t right. What you said to me wasn’t right.”

Shit.

“You can cast me out and call me a villain. You can tell me what you think I can and can’t be, but you’re just fooling yourself.”

Shit. He had sounded like such an idiot. He is such an idiot.

Flipping onto his stomach to bury his face into a pillow, Shinsou let out a daringly loud groan of misery. How could he have said those things to a teacher - to a hero ?

It’s not that he wanted to give up on training with Eraserhead. It would be such a great opportunity, not to mention it would offer him a nice excuse to get out of this hellhole for a little longer each day. It would just be so humiliating to face him again, and he didn’t know if he had the guts to do it.

For his whole life, it has always been best to just fade into the background. Putting himself out there would only make him a bigger target. If he wanted to last in the system and stay in school until he was eighteen, he needed to just bite his tongue and lay low. That’s what he’s used to, and it’s really fucking hard to train yourself out of the habits you’ve been raised with.

Dragging himself up with a sigh, Hitoshi slung his backpack over his shoulder and slipped out through the back. The screen door screeched loudly on its hinges, slamming shut on its own.

“Jesus Christ, don’t slam the fucking door!” Shinsou winced at the voice of his foster sister, walking slightly faster. “I swear to God, I’m gonna murder one of you brats someday,” she muttered. Shinsou decided not to wait around long enough for the threat to be carried out.

It’s not that he thought she’d do it. He didn’t hate her or think she was a bad person or anything. In a way, Shinsou empathized with her. The other kids here were like him: delinquents and problem children in their own right. Sure, most of the offenses that got Shinsou to this house were... exaggerated, to say the least, but some of these kids were like that too.

At least half of the children in these types of homes - the group homes that were one step up from juvie - had dangerous quirks and some sort of record. It’s not like he’s gotten close to any of the others, though. It’s just not worth it to get to know his foster siblings when he’s aiming to get into the hero course and move to the dorms anyway. At this point, the little hope he had of getting into the hero course has been just about squashed, but there’s still no use getting attached to this group of misfits. He’s moving out in three years no matter what happens with his potential transfer.

Until then, he just has to lay low.

Trying to avoid confrontation, he hopped over the gate, not finding it any easier than normal, even with his new training regimen. He was definitely more used to it, though, and he almost felt proud of himself for a second before remembering the reason for his quick exit: he was scared. 

He was pathetically scared of what would happen if he got into another fight, another stray mark on his file. He felt his heart racing and the jumping muscles in his legs told him that he wasn’t getting away fast enough. He’d never get away.

Staring resolutely ahead as his panicked getaway shifted to a morning jog, Hitoshi felt a familiar burn in his chest - that familiar doubt of if he would turn out to be someone worthwhile. That burn shifted to something like a desperate ache, and he was suddenly hit by just how badly he wanted to be a hero - how much he wanted to help. He was filled with a steely determination and picked up his pace, bookbag slamming against his back each time his foot hit the ground.

He wasn’t going to fail out of UA. He wasn’t going to become a prostitute or burglar or kill himself like the rest of the kids he lived with. He was going to be somebody. He just… didn’t know who, yet.

I promise, Ma, he thought, desperately hoping she could somehow hear him. I’m going to do it. I’ll leave this place. I’ll be better than him.

Humiliation be damned, he was going to train with Aizawa. He was going to get out.

Hitoshi laid his head on his desk, willing the time to tick by faster.

It’s not that he found this lesson particularly boring or anything. Mic-sensei has always had a way of making things seem more exciting than they actually are, not to mention that Hitoshi has always genuinely enjoyed English.

He just didn’t know when it got so long.

It’s been a few days since he spoke with and mortified himself in front of Aizawa-sensei. Since then, Hitoshi has been trying to work up the nerve to approach him.

It’s stupid, really. He probably shouldn’t keep pushing for something that the teacher so bluntly and harshly declined, but he needed this if he wanted any sort of shot at getting into the hero course.

He was well aware that all odds were against him. When he had entered the sports festival, no one knew what his quirk was. There’s no way he would’ve gotten as far as he did if they had. Now, all of Japan knew his name, quirk, and embarrassing lack of physical ability.

He wasn’t like the other students; he knew that. The effects of his quirk could easily be avoided with a small amount of self-control and a bit of knowledge. Next sports festival, everyone will already know not to talk to him. The only way he’ll make it to the hero course now is by sheer strength and force of will or by the off-chance a teacher gives him a recommendation.

Someone tapped lightly on his knee and Shinsou startled violently as a tingly feeling shot down his leg, whipping his head around and coming face-to-face with his wide-eyed classmate.

“Sorry!” she squeaked, looking like a deer in headlights. “It’s just time for lunch and you seemed zoned out and I wanted to make sure you were okay and I’m sorry I shouldn’t have touched you without asking first.” She paused to take a breath, undoubtedly about to keep rambling.

“It’s fine,” Shinsou interjected quickly. “You just startled me. I should’ve been paying more attention.” The instinct to flinch when someone touches his leg seemed ingrained into him and he hated it. He wanted to avoid her gaze out of shame, but he couldn’t do that to her.

Amari had some evolved version of an empathy quirk. Whenever she made eye contact with someone, she could sense their current emotion. People probably viewed it as an invasion of privacy, and Shinsou knew from experience that they would go to extreme lengths to avoid being exposed and out of control like that.

A part of him wondered if her past peers refused to look her in the eye. He wondered if her past teachers would avoid looking at her while engaging every other student in the class. What about her parents? Did she have siblings? Did they ever refuse to acknowledge her existence because of something she can’t control?

Shinsou kept his eyes locked on hers.

She gazed at him sadly, though, and Shinsou distantly wondered what emotions he was feeling that made her look like that. She must have felt his fear when they first made eye contact. The thought made his stomach turn.

Amari opened her mouth and Shinsou felt his shoulders tense defensively, a part of him terrified that she’d call him out on whatever he was feeling.

“Hey, little listeners!”

It took a second for Shinsou to register that Mic-sensei was talking to them. Glancing around the classroom, he realized that they were the last ones.

In all honesty, he’s usually much more aware of his surroundings. He can typically sense movement even when he isn’t looking. He resented the fact that his mind kept straying, the stress of home and school and work and hero training constantly weighing down on him and keeping him distracted from what’s right in front of him.

Right now, he didn’t mind so much. At least now he didn’t have to risk getting called out for acting like a scared child. He felt a bit bad for Mic-sensei, though. The teacher had probably been standing there, waiting for them to leave with the rest of the class.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Shinsou apologized stiffly and bowed his head before booking it towards the door. But Mic-sensei only laughed, Shinsou turning his head to look at him, a bit surprised.

“It’s cool, kiddo!” he announced far too cheerfully. “Most of the teachers aren’t even in the lounge yet. I usually eat with Eraser, anyway.” Mic winked at him and leaned closer, and Shinsou got the distinct feeling that this guy knew more than he was letting on. “He always stays in his classroom for a few extra minutes in case any students need to talk to him.” Standing back up again, Mic grabbed his lunch and walked toward the door, yanking it open with a flourish. “That man loves keeping me waiting!” he exclaimed in his typical hero persona. “See ya, kiddos! Make good choices!” he called with a flutter of his fingers before the door swung shut.

Shinsou stared after him, mouth agape and nerves swirling in his stomach. He felt Amari come up behind him.

“What was that about?” she asked curiously. All Shinsou could do was shake his head. This was beyond humiliating.

“N-nothing. I don’t know. I’m sorry, I have to go.” Ignoring Amari’s calls, Shinsou headed straight for the 1-A classroom.

The halls were almost completely empty by now, only the occasional janitor or straggling student dotting the lonely hallway. Despite his slow and even walking speed, Shinsou’s heart felt like it was trying to jump out of his chest. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to remind himself that he was real and this was the present. This was really happening.

He’s always been more assertive than his peers - he’s always had to be. If he wanted something to happen, it’s not like anyone else would fight for him.

But that doesn’t mean he wanted to approach Aizawa. He’s learned through the years that if someone tells him no, he needs to drop the subject immediately or risk the situation getting worse. Nothing so far has been worth that risk.

He’s never wanted anything this much, though.

Approaching the classroom door, Shinsou took a deep breath and pulled it open quietly. He would have liked to take more time to mentally prepare himself, but he knew he’d chicken out again if he waited any longer. He's already gotten cold feet on multiple occasions in the past few days. There have been times where he's waited around after school, just staring at the door handle for several minutes and willing his hand to move. He hated that this intrusion made him feel like a bother - hated the fact that he was that messed up. It wasn't that he couldn't recognize his issues, but he just couldn't control the rapid beating of his heart or the whispers of you'll never be good enough floating around in his head.

Aizawa’s dark eyes landed on him almost instantly, narrowed and unreadable. Shinsou’s heart jumped to his throat and he swallowed, trying to think of something to say. I should have planned this out better. He suddenly felt really stupid standing there, probably looking like some star-struck little kid that’s chasing a fantasy. Maybe that’s all he was.

But he had to try.

Before he could say anything, though, Aizawa-sensei was sighing quietly from where he was hunched over his desk, grading papers. The man was still watching Shinsou, studying him, and the words got caught in Shinsou’s throat. He twitched his fingers under the heavy gaze but kept eye contact, feeling like this was becoming some sort of test.

Aizawa looked away first, shuffling his papers around. “Change into your athletic uniform and meet me on the training grounds after school.”

Shinsou felt a spark of hope ignite in his chest, and he was nodding before even thinking about it. “Yes, sir,” he breathed, praying that his voice didn’t come out as desperately hopeful as he thought it did.

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if Aizawa was just saying this to get Shinsou out of his hair. Would he just leave him out there, waiting around for hours and looking like a complete idiot for falling for it? It’s not that he really thought Aizawa-sensei would do that, but he didn’t really know the guy. He’s infamous for his tough-love approach to teaching. Maybe he was just trying to get Shinsou to let go of his dream.

Aizawa glanced up at him again with a raised eyebrow, and Shinsou realized he must have been standing there, saying nothing, for way longer than he meant to. Bowing deeply, he scrambled for some control over the situation, stuttering out apologies and trying to express his gratitude without making him look even more stupid.

“R-right, well I’ll see you then, I guess. Thank you, sir.” Aizawa waved a dismissive hand at him, and Shinsou booked it out the door, not looking back in time to see the man’s amused smirk.

As promised, Shinsou was outside on the training grounds and in his athletic uniform within a few minutes of the last bell. He still felt anxiety stir up his stomach, but he tried not to let any lingering doubt get the best of him. The Class 1-A students claim that he’s harsh but usually not unnecessarily cruel.

It didn’t stop him from kicking a rock and tugging at his uniform, though. The nerves were still there, bubbling just under his skin and waiting to boil over.

He wondered if he was supposed to be stretching now or something. Aizawa-sensei hadn’t given him specific instructions, but what if he expected it anyway? Was this one of those things he was just supposed to know?

Before he could think about it too long, he spotted the hero trudging his way towards him. He definitely wasn’t walking fast and didn’t look like he had anything important to do, but he somehow managed to have this faint air of authority that Shinsou could sense from where he was standing. “You’re not late,” the teacher muttered. “That’s good. I don’t like wasting my time.”

Shinsou nodded along, not exactly sure what he was supposed to say to that. Aizawa-sensei shed his capture scarf and goggles, tossing them to the ground beside them and tying his hair up in a surprisingly neat ponytail.

“Do you know how to fight?” the man questioned lowly when he finished, arms crossed in front of him.

And oh boy wasn’t that an interesting question? In a way, he knew how to fight. He’s had to fight before to make a name for himself or to make it out of a situation semi-unscathed. He’s just never been formally trained, which is probably what Aizawa meant. One of his first foster sisters had once taught him how to disarm someone who has a blade or bottle. An old foster brother taught him how to punch and block with his arms. Shinsou definitely knew how to take a hit, didn’t that count for something?

He considered his options, ultimately deciding that no matter what he says, he’ll either seem like a weakling or a criminal. He tried to think over his words carefully, but an expectant look from Aizawa made him blurt out, “I’ve been in fights.”

He immediately cringed, cheeks becoming dusted in pink as his brain caught up with what he just said. God, that made him sound like such a delinquent. “I-I mean, I know how to throw punches and I can take a hit. If that’s what you mean. I guess I fight kinda dirty - not really like a hero or anything. Uh, sorry.” Not exactly sure why he was apologizing, Shinsou looked down at his shoes and felt his face burn.

“You’re planning to be an underground hero, correct?” Shinsou nodded his head, knowing that there wasn’t really another option for him. “Good. At least you’re not delusional.”

Aizawa grabbed his scarf and goggles, tossing them to the side. “When you’re in a life or death situation, it doesn’t matter how you fight. If you have to risk severe injuries being inflicted on the villain to save your own ass, you do it.” Shinsou raised a brow and tried not to grin. He was liking this man more and more.

“However, there are some techniques that will make it easier to take down more villains and not die. You also need rescue training and to learn how to deal with victims of trauma.” Well, at least Shinsou knew how to comfort traumatized little kids. That had to be a plus, right?

Other than that, he wasn’t really sure how to respond. He just nodded his head, trying to look impassive as Aizawa studied him.

It was definitely quiet for longer than socially acceptable, but Shinsou just didn’t know what to say. Every time he’s opened his mouth so far, he’s only made things worse. He tried to breathe through the tension, forcing his shoulders to relax and face to soften.

“I read your file.” Aizawa’s voice sliced through the fog that had fallen over Shinsou’s mind, eyes snapping up in unbridled shock and horror.

His file wasn’t something to be proud of, essentially being a digital collection of nearly every personal part of his life. It detailed the “maltreatment” that brought him into foster care. It listed the impressive number of homes he’s been in since he was seven. It holds biased information on every single wrongdoing he’s committed and gotten caught for. He’s already been slapped with “violent tendencies” and “flight risk” and “disrespectful” - God knows what else was on there.

And Aizawa read all of it.

Shinsou didn’t know what to do. He briefly considered turning on his heel and just walking away, because there was no way Aizawa would train him now. It’s always been that way - people would reach out to him, try to “help” him, only to realize he’s no good. They read the words “manipulative” and “aggressive” and realize he’s a lost cause.

Maybe that is all he was.

“From reading it, I can imagine that some of the information is overstated and some of your behavior may have been provoked.” Shinsou stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. “In all honesty, kid, you’ve been given a really shitty hand in life, and no one has ever lent you their cards.” Aizawa stared at him seriously for a moment, seeming to ponder something. “I’ll agree to train you, but you need to work for it. I want you to meet me here every day after school, and I will instruct you if I want you to do otherwise. I’ve reviewed your grades; I know you’re a smart kid. If they start to drop, you’re out. Got it?”

Shinsou dug his blunt nails into his thigh, trying to figure out what was happening. Was this some sort of joke? Is that why Mic-sensei indirectly told him to come here? Was he out here with the students, hiding in the bushes with a camera or something?

Aizawa-sensei looked so serious, though. His eyes were dark and boring holes into Shinsou’s forehead, and the teen found himself nodding before he could stop himself. “Yes, sir. I understand.” It was said in a breathless whisper, and Shinou coughed slightly to the side, trying to pass it off as mucus caught in his throat.

“However,” Aizawa continued, “if you ever begin to needlessly exhibit any sort of the behavior with me that is outlined in your file, I will not hesitate to stop all training with you immediately. While heroes do need power, it can come in many forms. What a hero truly needs to make it are wits, determination, and solid morals. If you don’t have all three, you’re going to fail one way or another. Understood?”

Shinsou nodded quickly, glancing to the side. “Yes, sir,” he muttered. Then, more quietly, “If Katsuki Bakugou has enough morals, I’m sure anyone would be fine.” He snapped his mouth shut as soon as he realized what he’d said, frantically praying that he hadn’t somehow offended the teacher.

Aizawa’s lips twitched briefly, and if Shinsou didn’t know better, he’d say the man was almost amused.

“Alright, brat,” he muttered, turning towards the open training grounds. “I’ll run you through some stretches. You’ll do them every day when you get here and every day before you go home. Got it?” Shinsou nodded dumbly, trying to keep up with how quickly Aizawa could just look past everything.

The hero started walking briskly toward the center of the field, talking through long strides. “We can take water breaks every hour. If you need more, let me know. I don’t want you passing out.” Shinsou tried to catch everything he was saying, stumbling over his own feet awkwardly as he followed at Aizawa-sensei’s heels.

“I’ll give you a workout regimen to complete on your own time, as well. I want you to do it daily, regardless of what else you may have going on. Try to eat plenty of meats and protein. You won’t build muscle mass otherwise, and your body will only get weaker.” He stopped suddenly, Shinsou just barely keeping himself from slapping into the teacher’s back.

Aizawa turned to look at him, eyes hard and calculating. Shinsou swallowed but met the dark orbs, trying to appear unphased. “If anything happens that could be detrimental to your health, you must tell me immediately. I’ve had past students ignore their injuries and wind up with permanent damage. This is non-negotiable. Understood?”

Shinsou barely even heard him over the blood pounding in his ears and the fire burning in his chest. “I understand, Sensei.”

Smirking to himself, Aizawa stepped back and put his hands in his pockets. “Alright, kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Chapter Text

When Aizawa had agreed to train Shinsou, it was a bit of an on-the-spot decision. He’d been thinking about the kid for a long time - since the sports festival, if he was honest with himself, and even more after being confronted - but he hadn’t made a clear-cut choice until the words were out of his mouth.

Basically, Aizawa had no clue what he was doing.

He already has enough on his plate. Between villain attacks and struggling students and his on-the-side detective work, he really doesn’t have time to give every snot-nosed brat his special attention. Sure, Shinsou seemed like a pretty good kid with definite promise, but Aizawa shouldn’t be committing to something if he can’t one-hundred percent follow through, especially this soon after meeting him. If his file was anything to go by, this definitely wouldn’t be an easy task. More than anyone, Aizawa knew that he couldn’t judge someone based on what other people thought, but he couldn’t just disregard facts. He hardly knew the kid.

Standing back, Aizawa put his hands in his pockets and looked Shinsou up and down. The kid was like a twig, all pale skin stretched over wiry muscles and lanky limbs. In addition to his crappy track-record, he would definitely be difficult to train.

Aizawa’s gaze slid up to Shinsou’s face. He looked weary and a bit hesitant, but there was a fire burning in his eyes and his jaw was set, brows drawn in determination. Aizawa thought back to Midoriya, thought of the look of crushed spirits morphing into sheer will-power and stubbornness when the teacher had nearly guaranteed his expulsion. He thought of Uraraka, and the way her eyes were hard and glinting like steel when she had to face off against Bakugou during the Sports Festival. He thought of Shinsou, glaring up at the sky with a clenched fist after his defeat at the festival, biting out a promise that he would be a hero.

And maybe he thought of himself, bitter and resentful of the system after being placed in Gen Ed because of a faulty quirk he was born with. Maybe he thought of himself, glaring at Hizashi and telling him he “will be a hero, just you wait, I’ll prove you all wrong-”

But this wasn’t about him.

And maybe, just maybe, he could help kindle that fire burning behind Shinsou’s eyes. Just a bit.

“Alright, kid,” he muttered. He couldn’t help the twitch of his lips as he watched Shinsou automatically stand at attention, eyes on Aizawa and posture straight. Not bad. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He had to consider his next move for a moment. He’d already briefly measured Shinsou’s instincts and reaction time, which were both pretty good for someone without any professional combat experience, but he had yet to learn anything about Shinsou’s style and thought process.

“I fight kinda dirty, not really like a hero or anything.”

Aizawa’s mind flashed to the sports festival, when Shinsou tried to bash Midoriya’s already-broken fingers in a desperate attempt to win the fight, automatically going for his weakest point.

Well, Aizawa could work with that.

“I want you to get one of these on me,” he decided, tossing him a pair of handcuffs from his utility belt. Shinsou caught them easily enough, raising a brow in a wordless question. Aizawa crossed his arms. “I’ll give you,” he paused, pulling up his sleeve and glancing at his watch, “five minutes to try. You can go to whatever lengths you need, as long as you get one on me within the time frame. The hero course kids did something similar, but we’ll just spar hand-to-hand. If you can do it, good for you, you won’t be the first. If you can’t, learn some technique and get back to me. Got it?”

Shinsou nodded, eyes wide and hands clutching the cuffs until his knuckles whitened. He looked determined and terrified and horribly unprepared, biting his lip and gritting his teeth and hardening his eyes.

He looked like a hero student.

Aizawa grinned, watching Shinsou drop into a fighting position. Frankly, it was sloppy and made him look like a bit like a hoodlum, but it was better than he expected. His hands were up in loose fists, ready to strike at any moment, and his foot was slid back so he stayed low to the ground. His eyes were hard as he stared expectantly at Aizawa, obviously waiting for some sort of starting cue.

Breathing out, Aizawa slouched his shoulders lazily and put one hand in his pocket, using the other to curl a finger at him in a ‘ come-at-me’ gesture.

Shinsou hesitated for a moment but ultimately obeyed, running at him surprisingly quickly. Aizawa subconsciously noted that his legs seemed stronger than his arms, meaning he would be more well-versed in attacks that utilized his leg-power.

Shinsou obviously knew it, too, because his first attack was a carefully aimed knee to Aizawa’s stomach, similarly to what he did to that boy who was bothering him the other day. For some reason, Aizawa hadn’t expected Shinsou to be so bold with his first move.

Slightly surprised, Aizawa let his training take over, sweeping the teen’s leg out of the way and side-stepping the attack.

Shinsou wasn’t going for his stomach, though.

He pivoted on the balls of his feet while Aizawa was distracted, getting behind the teacher and throwing out an elbow to the back of his neck. Aizawa sensed the movement before the strike landed and turned sharply, seizing the teen’s arm and throwing him over his shoulder, much like how Midoriya tossed him out of bounds.

It all happened in the span of a few seconds. Time didn’t slow down, Aizawa didn’t consciously analyze any of Shinsou’s movements, and there was no great moment where he thought Shinsou had him fooled. He went through the motions by instinct, and that was that. Distantly, he was disappointed. He thought the kid had more strategy.

Landing on his back with a painful-sounding thud, followed by a wheeze, Shinsou looked a little dazed, staring up blearily and coughing to the side. Aizawa breathed through his nose slowly, standing back a few feet and watching him through narrowed eyes. Come on, kid, he mentally chided, I thought you said you could take a hit. Get up and fight.

Shinsou didn’t get up, though, only moving to sit up and bring his knees to his chest, resting his elbows on them. He hung his head, purple hair falling into his eyes and blocking them from view. Despite himself, Aizawa was becoming mildly concerned. “Hey,” he called, but Shinsou gave no indication of hearing him. “Shinsou. You’ve still got four minutes left. Remember our deal.”

It was the closest thing to encouragement that he was willing to give. He hoped that bringing up their agreement would help rekindle the fire in his eyes, but instead of getting up, Shinsou made a horrible keening noise and leaned forward, followed by something that sounded far too much like a sob for Aizawa to deal with.

Every muscle in his body froze up, and the teacher briefly considered how unprofessional it would be for him to turn around and walk the other direction.

In all types of hero work, even underground, dealing with crying victims of trauma was a given, and it was a fairly simple task. If their tears were out of physical pain, he’d provide basic first aid and blabber meaningless things like “keep your eyes open. Just hang on, you’re safe now,” and “don’t worry, help is coming. I’m a certified hero-” until a medical team arrived. If they were crying out of shock or just emotional overload, it was easy to wrap a blanket around their shoulders and mutter a few white-lies like “it’s all going to be okay.”

Here, though, he doesn’t usually comfort crying kids outside of his class, and even that was a stretch. He wasn’t usually in the presence of crying children for very long. If one of them was upset - Midoriya, namely - another one always stepped up. This was a hero school, where kids were supposed to be tough and stronger than the people they’ll grow to rescue. If the students here ever cry in front of Aizawa and need him to comfort them, it’s only because he glared a bit too hard and they couldn’t take it. He could deal with that, but he’d really rather not deal with this.

...whatever this was. Was he upset and embarrassed that Aizawa took him out so easily? Was this just shock from the wind being knocked out of him? Did he have a previous injury that was acting up? If he was hurt and didn’t tell him, Aizawa was ending this right here, right now. He had given him fair warning.

Shinsou was still curled into a pathetic little ball when Aizawa fully approached him, scooting back a little when he squatted down. There was mumbling, like the teen was trying to say something but didn’t want to take his face out of his knees.

“What?” Aizawa snapped, a little bit of anxious impatience seeping into his voice.

Shinsou flinched and lifted his head slightly, not enough for Aizawa to see his face, but just enough that he could be heard.

“I said you’re right,” he hiccuped on the last word and, seeming embarrassed, ducked his face further down to talk to his knees. “You- even you said I couldn’t be a hero. The-the great Eraserhead, who fights practically quirkless, could even see how w- worthless I am. If I can’t get a fucking handcuff on you while you’re not even trying, how am I supposed to-”

His voice broke off at a high pitch and he sniffled from his throat, taking in a shuddering breath and wrapping his arms around his knees again. He looked so small, right then, hair sticking up wildly and falling over his face, arms and legs tucked into his body and gym uniform a rumpled mess.

“My quirk is just- I’m just useless. I can’t do anything,” the boy whispered after a long moment of silence. There were so many things wrong with that statement. It was like twisting the knife in his chest. Maybe I pushed him too hard.

Aizawa sighed, blowing loose bangs from his face. “Listen, kid-”

He froze, a dim fog settling over his mind. 

There was but a split second of panic before he realized what was happening, and if he could, Aizawa would have laughed. So this was the kid’s quirk.

Did he plan this the whole time?

Shinsou stood up and approached him slowly, locking the cuffs on both hands. Aizawa barely felt the cool metal against his skin through the gray haze of his mind and the numbness of his limbs. The kid looked smug, maybe a little nervous, standing back and rubbing his neck sheepishly.

How the hell did Midoriya break out of this?

“Um, okay. Don’t freak out when I let you go. I didn’t tell you to forget anything, so, uh- yeah. I didn’t tell you to do anything that you won’t remember.” Shinsou took a deep breath, clenched his eyes shut, and the fog cleared.

Aizawa blinked under the sudden tingling in his body and the bright colors that surrounded him. His eyes met Shinsou’s, finding the boy smirking slightly and staring back at the teacher with ill-hidden anxiety. In spite of himself, Aizawa felt the corners of his lips twitch upwards.

“Well,” he muttered, looking away and fighting off a grin, “I did say you could go to whatever lengths needed.” Quirk usage wasn’t exactly what he’d meant, but it was a decent strategy nonetheless, albeit a bit basic. They could work on that.

Pulling out the key, Aizawa managed to unlock the cuffs, even with his hands restrained.

The steel clinked when he dropped it to the side, and Aizawa rubbed at his wrists. They didn’t particularly hurt, but the reaction was automatic, and he found himself eyeing the boy in front of him with renewed interest.

Shinsou was watching him blankly, but the way he stuck a trembling hand in his pocket and rubbed his neck betrayed his nerves.

“That was a decent tactic,” Aizawa said half-heartedly, “but there’s also a decent chance that you won’t be able to use your quirk in many cases. Always have a back-up plan for when that happens, or you might not be the only one getting killed. Understand?”

Somehow, his small lecture seemed to make the boy relax, and he nodded seriously, tension bleeding out of his limbs.

“Now,” Aizawa said, grinning in a way that he knew would send chills down the teen’s spine, “let’s start with a few warm-up sprints, shall we?”

Surprisingly enough, training with Aizawa-sensei wasn’t exactly terrible.

Don’t get him wrong, he was still sore and aching after every lesson, especially that first one. He was barely even learning any real combat techniques yet - “you need to train your body before that, Shinsou. Compared to the hero kids, you’re a limp and undercooked noodle. It would be irrational to teach you everything now.” - but Shinsou didn’t mind. 

Aizawa didn’t go easy on him by any means, but it was obvious that he held back, spending more of his time correcting Shinsou’s form and pushing him harder than actually trying to leave a mark on him. The man was practically a wall of pure muscle, making it painfully obvious how easy it would be for him to snap Shinsou like a twig. He hadn’t actually hurt him yet, though. He’d tossed him around and given him a knee to the stomach or an occasional cuff to the head pretty regularly during training, but he’d always stop right before he landed a real hit - if Shinsou ever failed to block, that is.

As of now, their primary focus was on building Shinsou’s muscle mass and increasing his speed and agility. It sucked, and it sucked ass, leaving him feeling drained and somehow light and heavy at the same time after every session.

They’ve only been training for a few weeks, but it feels natural - like it’s always been this way.

So, yes. Training was tough and left him exhausted and aching to the bone, but it was a good kind of ache. It was that type of pain that made him feel like he accomplished something, like he deserved to shower and sleep peacefully when night fell.

However, a few issues were starting to arise.

“Again,” Aizawa called from the opposite side of the pool. Shinsou groaned through his wheezing, daring to glare up at him through wild purple hair and soaked bangs.

Today was “endurance training” as Aizawa had put it when he’d tossed a swim shirt and trunks at Shinsou and told him to meet him at the pool in five minutes. The pool was nice, cool in a refreshing sort of way, and Shinsou genuinely enjoyed swimming. It was easier on his joints and it wasn’t so hot once he’d been exercising for a while.

But they’ve been at it for so long.

At least two hours must have passed by now of swimming lap after lap of every different stroke with hardly any breaks in between. It was tedious and Shinsou’s entire body felt like jelly that was run over by a car and then eaten and regurgitated by a platypus.

Needless to say, he wasn’t sure if he could take another set. His lungs were aching terribly and just the thought of swimming another ten laps made him feel like he’d go into cardiac arrest.

After seeing the face Shinsou must have been making, Aizawa glanced at his watch and sighed, walking toward him. “Alright, kid,” he muttered tiredly, crouching down near the water. “I guess you should be heading home now anyway. Do a three-lap cooldown and meet me on the other end.” Trying not to make his sigh of relief too obvious, Shinsou took a deep breath and pushed into a streamline.

He finished his last three laps more sluggish than he should have, relishing in the slowing of his heart rate and the relaxed tiredness seeping into his bones. Aizawa was waiting for him in the deep end with a water bottle and towel once he’d finished.

“Hop on out. I want you to drink all of this before you go home.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he grabbed onto the wall and fought down the strange twitch in his lips.

Aizawa set the bottle on the side of the pool and stood back, arms crossed. Shinsou pushed himself up and attempted to put a leg up on the deck, trying to ignore the trembling in his arms. He could barely hold himself for more than two seconds before falling back into the water. God, he must think I’m pathetic.

Hanging his head in humiliation, he swam over to the ladder and pulled himself out shakily, cheeks burning hot and avoiding Aizawa’s gaze like the plague.

He half-stood on the pavement for a moment before the world went dark, and he was surrounded by a warm, fuzzy feeling. It was like he was engulfed in a huge blanket or something, but pins and needles were all over his body and the ground suddenly came rushing up toward his face.

He could barely feel the strong hands that grabbed him by the upper arms and settled him onto a bench. Oh, Shinsou realized belatedly. I almost passed out. Did I pass out?

He felt hollow and sleepy. It was like he was surrounded by something heavy and fluffy, but the only things really there were Aizawa’s hands on either side of his face, holding his jaw and letting him know he was still alive. His mentor was talking, but the only thing Shinsou could hear was a high-pitched ringing, loud and invasive.

“Shinsou.” Oh. He heard that. That was Aizawa-sensei. “You with me, kid?” It took him a moment to process the words. He heard them, he knew Aizawa was speaking, but they weren’t registering or connecting with actual coherent thoughts.

Feeling completely drained, Shinsou nodded his head slowly. His mouth felt full and his tongue like cotton, preventing him from forming real words. He didn’t know if he’d be able to form real words if he could physically talk, anyway.

“Alright,” he heard Aizawa mutter. He couldn’t figure out if he was talking to Shinsou or himself. “You’re fine. Maybe we overdid it a bit today.” Shinsou shook his head blearily in response, not really knowing what he was trying to say, just that Aizawa was wrong. He could handle it. He wasn’t weak.

He heard a sigh but didn’t move, too busy trying to shake the haze out of his brain. It felt like he was dreaming, his body heavy and weightless and hot and cold all at the same time. 

There was shifting beside him, and Shinsou could feel something get placed in his hand, cool plastic brushing against his fingers pleasantly through the numbness that had settled into his limbs.

“Drink it. Your blood sugar could be low.” Aizawa’s voice cut through the fog in his brain, tone strong and authoritative and always so sure. It made Shinsou tear open the lid and suck down the jelly packet without hesitation, even though he fumbled with it a bit. 

Ironically enough, following orders was always easy for him.

His hands were still shaking and he felt a bit unsteady, like the world was spinning around and around and all he could do was trust that the bench would stay on the ground.

After a few more minutes, a bottle of water, and two more jelly packets, his thoughts were clearer and there was a light throbbing behind his eyes. The humiliation set in slowly, and Shinsou buried his face in his hands, groaning quietly in pain and embarrassment. “Sorry,” he breathed, fighting the urge to curl in on himself further.

Aizawa must have somehow known what he was thinking because he quietly said, “I didn’t expect you to keep up as well as you’ve been. You don’t have to apologize for this.”

Not answering, Shinsou looked down at the ground and rested his elbows on his knees, feeling bitter frustration well up inside of him. He breathed slowly through his nose and out his mouth, trying to force away the tightness in his throat and the dampness in his eyes.

When Shinsou was seven, completely new to foster care and still terrified of his own shadow, he’d been required to see a counselor for a few months. It had been scary, as a kid, going into a brightly-colored room full of funny-smelling toys and fake smiles and being told to talk about his feelings to a complete stranger.

He was vulnerable then, blissfully unaware that the whole thing was a test, making sure he was stable enough to be placed with “normal” kids. He didn’t understand that there were people waiting on the other side of that big mirror behind the chest of plushies, searching for the slightest indication that he might get violent or use his quirk or “have you heard what he can do - what this child is capable of?”

A few years later, when he was given even more mandatory counseling after a quirk-related incident and some overly-sensitive foster parents, he realized that the eyes he’d felt on him were really there, staring at him through biased eyes and a one-way mirror like those detective shows they sometimes played at the group homes. He had remembered all the whispers of “well, the evaluation said he’s mostly stable, unlikely to lash out without a justified reason...” and “poor kid, the doc says he’s alright, but he’s gotta be pretty fucked up in the head. I mean, just look at his parents-”

He hadn’t really felt betrayed, but he’d never felt more alone.

The therapist lady who did his first evaluation was nice enough, if he remembered correctly, dark skin smooth and warm when she shook his hand and her curled black hair smelling of strawberries. She’d asked Shinsou private questions about his life and how being taken away from his mom made him feel, keeping that pearly white smile on display and making everything she said feel more impersonal than it should have. 

She asked if he ever got angry, if he ever wanted to hurt people or make them do bad things. Shinsou never understood those questions, not quite grasping the fact that some people wanted to see others hurt and make them feel their pain. At that time, it didn’t make sense to him, and he’d told her as much. She’d just smiled and nodded, jotting something down and hiding it from view, like Shinsou’s thoughts weren’t his own anymore. Like they were someone else’s to piece apart and psychoanalyze, and he’d never understand what they really meant.

He didn’t know any of that then, though.

Next time he had to be evaluated, he was rougher around the edges, jaggedly pieced back together with superglue and made stronger than before. Old wounds weren’t open and bleeding and painful anymore, they were callused and tough after being rubbed at and beaten over for too long. It was a good thing. It made him strong.

During that second evaluation, there was no nice strawberry lady or colorful room. There had been a scrawny-looking bald man in a small room with fluorescent lights, staring hard through rectangular reading glasses as he scanned through his file. He’d twisted Shinsou’s words around and confused his preteen mind, forcing him to question the very foundation of his being. It had shaken him to his core, and he still remembers breaking down in the office and then choosing not to sit in the front of his social worker’s car as he left the facility in shambles, breathing steadily and silently through the tears streaming down his cheeks.

After that, labels had morphed from “poor kid” and “brainwashing freak, going to cause so much trouble when he’s older,” to “at-risk teen” and “delinquent, gonna end up dead or in jail before he reaches eighteen.” It stung, if only slightly, and Shinsou never saw the nice lady again.

He still can’t stand the smell of strawberries.

If that experience taught him anything, though, it was how to handle his emotions. He couldn’t lose control like that again if he didn’t want to end up in a closed psych ward before he was eighteen.

He needed to prove them all wrong.

So, taking those slow and steady breaths, Shinsou kept his demeanor as calm as possible while trying not to spiral in his frustration. Aizawa was still there, sitting beside him and saying nothing. It felt awkward, at least to Shinsou, and he sat up immediately when he knew for sure that his eyes weren’t red and his nose wasn’t running.

“Right,” he said quietly, desperately trying to dig up something to say. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened, I felt fine in the pool.” It was true. His limbs were tired and he had felt the lactic acid building up, but he hadn’t felt dizzy or faint.

“It’s fine. Drink your water.” Aizawa answered instantly. He didn’t hand it to him this time, so Shinsou bent down to pick up the bottle, ignoring the wave of dizziness that washed over him. The water was room-temperature and not particularly refreshing, but Shinsou choked the whole thing down regardless, not wanting Aizawa to think he was weak and whiny.

Aizawa looked at him approvingly, and Shinsou tried to relax his shoulders when he realized how tense they’d been.

“Let me know when you’re ready to stand up,” the teacher said. Shinsou got to his feet immediately, not even making the conscious decision before he was moving. The ground moved a bit and Shinsou felt himself sway, but Aizawa put firm hands on his shoulders before he could actually go anywhere. 

“I said,” he hissed, somehow sounding both concerned and irritated, “‘when you’re ready,’ not ‘right now.’” Shinsou nodded stiffly, flush creeping up his neck.

He knew his automatic reaction was from years of conditioning in the system. That fact drove him up the wall nearly every day. He was used to reading people and going with whatever he thought they wanted. Even though he wasn’t thinking about it, somewhere in the back of his mind, he must have known that Aizawa doesn’t like wasting time, and he acted on that. He didn’t mean to - he hated being this fucked in the head that his body moved before the words were fully processed.

It’s not like he could help it, though. He’s (sort of) had therapy and he’s had those rougher foster parents that were supposed to knock the old habits out of him. Those parents probably only fueled the fire, but still. There was no fixing him anymore.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, vision spinning. It cleared after a moment and Shinsou sighed, relief flooding him.

He let go of Aizawa’s shirt, entire face heating up when he realized that he’d grabbed it to steady himself like a needy child. Oh God, he thought, aching to bury his face in his hands. I’m such a baby. I just got a little dizzy, I need to get over myself.

Aizawa was still watching him, though, probably just making sure he wasn’t about to drop dead, but it made Shinsou hyper-award of the tightness of his own swimsuit and the eyes on him. He shifted uncomfortably, skin crawling and heart throbbing in his chest.

After a few awkward moments of studying him, he looked away, and Shinsou released a breath. “It’s alright,” Aizawa said quietly. He stood back slightly, hands in his pockets and squinted eyes sweeping over Shinsou’s hunched form. They lingered on the purpling bruise wrapped around Shinsou's wrist, but thankfully, he didn’t comment. “When did you last eat?” Shinsou tensed up without meaning to, eyes darting guiltily to the side.

It’s not that his current home didn’t feed him well or anything. He’s been in worse places where the parents didn’t feed the kids or were on crazy diets or took away food as punishment, but it wasn’t exactly like that here. The fosters took turns getting or ordering take-out, and the parents even provided the money for it most of the time.

Sure, breakfast was a bit of a problem, but schools issued free lunches to most foster kids that applied. It was one of the few benefits of the system. Two meals a day was much better than some of the other homes allowed, at least for people like Shinsou.

It was just that for dinner, there wasn’t always enough, or he got in trouble and didn’t want to face his foster parents, or the sight of kids digging their sweaty fingers into take-out containers and licking them clean made him lose his appetite.

Last night, though, he had other responsibilities to take care of.

In these types of homes, it’s a pretty universal rule that there will be chores. It’s supposed to teach the fosters responsibility and is definitely not a bad thing, but it got to be a bit much when he was also physically and mentally training for the hero course. Just doing laundry or dishes wouldn’t be a problem, but he had worse (or scarier) offenses in his file than the others. He was the “at-risk youth” of the house. They needed to tire him out before he acted out.

It was annoying for sure, but it hadn’t really bothered him before he started training. He typically went directly home after school to clean the grosser areas of the house, then went back out again to wander in the safer areas of the city.

Now, however, he trained with Aizawa immediately after school. There was no time to squeeze in chores if he wanted to stay on top of schoolwork, so he chose to skip meals instead. Not having to push through kids and grab some sustenance without getting an elbow to the face or drawing too much attention to himself was a major time-saver, so he’s been fine just eating a big lunch and maybe a snack here and there. For the past couple of weeks, it’s worked well, but the lack of protein and nutrients must be catching up to him.

“Uh,” he said dumbly, scrambling for something more to say. “How would I maintain my lovely albino complexion if I ate like a normal person?” Shinsou mentally face-palmed even as he felt himself smirking, desperately wanting to dive into the water and just stay there forever so he wouldn’t have to see Aizawa’s expression. He didn't even know why the question slipped out of his mouth; he knows better. He was taught better.

“It’s called a coping mechanism, sweetie,” strawberry lady’s sickeningly sweet voice echoed through his mind, “You can’t always fade away when things are hard. You’ve got to face them.” Well, he was facing them now, just not very effectively.

He can only imagine what she’d say about him now.

Aizawa glared at him, eyes turning red and hair lifting in his ponytail. For a split second, Shinsou thought Aizawa was doing it because he had asked a question, but he shook it off, trying to think rationally. He just uses it as an intimidation tactic, he told himself.

“Answer the question,” the man growled lowly.

Shinsou gulped. Oh, damn. He was serious. Rubbing the back of his neck, he forced an uncomfortable smile. “I, uh - I just forgot to eat this morning, rushed out of the house. That’s all.”

If the look on Aizawa’s face was any indication, he wasn’t buying it.

Taking slow, measured breaths, the teacher turned on his heel, waving a hand vaguely in a “follow me” gesture and taking long strides toward the doors. Shinsou scrambled after him immediately, bare feet scraping against the pavement as he tried to find his footing.

“Shower and meet me at the front gates in ten minutes,” Aizawa-sensei said when they approached the locker rooms. “I need to show you something.”

Shinsou nodded tightly, staring at the man’s back as he stalked away. His arm throbbed.

Chapter Text

Aizawa was waiting by the gates when Shinsou was clean and dressed, leaning up against the wall and scrolling through his phone. The sight of him made Shinsou’s heart rate skyrocket instantly and he took in a stuttering breath, mind a whirlwind of potential ultimatums.

“If anything happens that could be detrimental to your health, you must tell me immediately,” he’d said. What did that mean? Did this count as ‘detrimental’? Was Aizawa taking him somewhere to let him down easy?

Call him a pessimist, but it was easy to look at the bad side of things when things always turned out badly.

He looked up as Shinsou approached, dark eyes unreadable and indubitably intimidating. The teen kept his face impassive as he stiffened under the scrutiny, stomach turning and a strange sense of guilt flooding him. He looked away quickly, unable to meet the unequivocally disappointed gaze of his teacher.

Aizawa turned on his heel and began walking without a word, trekking down the clear streets. Shinsou scrambled after him automatically, catching up and following a half-step behind.

It was strange, how easy it was to fall back into old habits. Shinsou felt himself drifting, mind going numb through the anxiety thrumming in his chest. Aizawa’s lack of acknowledgment was strangely irritating, and he found himself stuck in a flurry of emotions and lack thereof, ultimately laying somewhere between angry, frustrated, regretful and absolutely terrified.

In front of him was the man who could reconstruct his entire future, secure his path to heroism, the only man to ever really go out on a limb on behalf of Shinsou and no one else. There were no detectable ulterior motives in Aizawa training him, so it was hard to understand why he would take time out of his day to upskill a scrappy kid with nothing going for him other than the ability to piss people off. Shinsou had already considered the possibility of Aizawa only training him to be a sidekick, or maybe just an underpaid secretary, but even that would be better than he ever could have envisioned before meeting Eraserhead.

Growing up, the notion of Shinsou being a hero was either brushed aside or treated as a derogatory joke. It hurt, sometimes, and it still did, but it only drove him to work harder. A few people were supportive of his endeavors, believe it or not, and one woman at a temporary home even went as far as to research the U.A. entrance exam with him.

He moved after two weeks.

However, generally speaking, becoming a hero has always been an unachievable pipe-dream in the eyes of others, so Shinsou approached any topics related to school or heroics with careful prudence. A few of his past foster parents would be so vexed by his “arm-twisting, insolent” persistence on being a hero that they would lash out, and he couldn’t risk that, especially not when he had a good thing going with Aizawa-sensei.

So, as far as training went, his foster parents remained uninformed.

Honestly, he was surprised Aizawa-sensei didn’t give him a mandatory parental-consent form or something. It’s not like he was legally emancipated, and his teacher knew that he wasn’t the most honest of people based on the information from his file. For all he knew, Shinsou could be lying to his parents or worrying them by meeting him after school.

Trying to read the situation, Shinsou stared at the side of Aizawa’s face and the back of his head, analyzing the creases in his forehead and clench of his jaw. He looks angry, Shinsou realized, swallowing apprehensively and turning his head straight to watch the ground in front of him, not the best time to mention any domestic problems.

If his chores weren’t done by the time Matsuo-san got back from work, there would definitely be trouble in paradise. The good thing about this house was no one particularly cared where he went or what he did, so long as he stopped by and took care of his responsibilities each day. It was mostly so they didn’t get in trouble or lose their licenses if Shinsou did something illegal or ran away, but it was kind of nice to pretend they might actually care about his location and future, maybe like they’re trying to “raise him right” to be well-adjusted and reliable.

He almost laughed at the thought.

Aizawa-sensei remained dead-silent through their long walk, and Shinsou belatedly noticed that they were drawing near a strip-mall. He glanced up at the glowing red sign above the doors, trying not to wince through the growing throb behind his eyes. Rin’s Bar and Diner, 24-Hour Service!

“Uh, Sensei-” he muttered stupidly as Aizawa opened the door for him. He didn’t make any move toward the entryway, only watching the man in shock while he stared back expectantly. This is so humiliating.

He cleared his throat, trying again. “Sir, this is really unnecessary, I can just eat at home. Seriously, it’s fine. I told you, I just forgot to-”

“If you just forgot to eat, what’s the harm in doing it now?”

Shinsou nearly jumped at the sound of Aizawa’s voice, breath catching in his throat as he met his eyes. He almost forgot that he wasn’t talking to an immovable brick wall, but now he was hyper-aware of the fact that Aizawa was here, offering to- to feed him like a stray cat or something. The hero was so blunt in his questions, there was no way to reasonably reject his offer now. It was so embarrassing, it’s not like he was homeless or something. He had a place to go back to, and this was just degrading and humiliating and… 

Shinsou could feel the warmth of the restaurant in the cool evening air, could smell the wafting aromas of meat and fish from the kitchens inside. There was loud chatter amongst the crowded occupants waiting to be seated, a woman howling in laughter near the bar, a man yelling at one of the television screens. 

He considered going home, thought of his broken window and the cold air that seeps through to his bed, thought of the smell of mildew and urine in the bathroom and the constant rancidity that surrounded the kitchen, thought of all the screaming and the fights and the horrible silences and...

...there really wasn’t any harm in eating now, was there? The worst that would happen was Matsuo-san getting mad, but so what? Fuck him. If he doesn’t do this, the man will find something else to be pissed about. It made no difference.

“Fine,” Shinsou said shortly, ducking his head and shouldering past Aizawa. For some reason, he wasn’t nervous about turning his back to him.

Aizawa followed after him, not even mentioning Shinsou’s rudely curt reply. Shinsou felt hollow, butterflies swirling in his stomach as he tried to shake the lingering chill out of his limbs.

“I ordered online during the walk over here,” Aizawa said quietly over his ear, shuffling behind him and settling a warm hand on his back to guide them through the packed entrance. “I got pretty much all the basics from the menu, so there should be something you like.”

Shinsou blanched. Wait, what? “All the- what do you mean, all the ba-”

“Ah, Aizawa-san!” A tall, burly man greeted them when they arrived at the counter, cutting Shinsou off in his frantic inquiry. “I have your order right here. It’s quite the bundle, you need an extra hand?”

Aizawa shook his head, taking two of the bags. “No thanks, Rin. I have help.” He nodded toward Shinsou, who straightened under the attention.

“Oh, I remember you from the sports festival!” Rin announced jovially. “You sure made an impression, didn’t you, champ?”

Shinsou looked to Aizawa desperately, feeling his face redden. “Um,” he muttered, laughing awkwardly to the side, “yeah, I guess. I’m Shinsou. Hitoshi Shinsou.” He swallowed down the fear of rejection or mockery, looking up to make eye contact with the tall man.

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Shinsou!” Rin crouched down to be eye-to-eye with him, grabbing Shinsou’s hand and shaking it enthusiastically. “My daughter has a brainy little quirk, too - she’s a budding little hero if I do say so myself, only seven years old. Do you wanna see a picture? I’m sure I’ve got one here somewhere-” Rin stuck his hands into the large pocket on his apron, digging through god-knows-what and muttering to himself.

Shinsou always got this weird feeling in his chest when parents would proudly show off their kids. It bothered him more as a child, but that burning suddenly came back with a vengeance.

After a few moments, Aizawa-Sensei held up a hand. “That’s alright, Rin. We better get going now, anyway, it’s getting dark out.”

Standing straight, Rin scratched the back of his head and handed the teen the last two bags. “Ah, I understand,” he said, glancing at Shinsou and giving a small smile. “Feeding strays again, are we?”

What the fuck? Shinsou bristled, defensiveness bright and bold in his chest. “Hey-”

“Hush,” Aizawa-sensei interjected before Shinsou could get too riled up, settling a hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly. The motion stopped the teen in his tracks, but he didn’t flinch. He found himself oddly reassured and frustrated by the action, but he forced his shoulders to slacken and face to relax into something more neutral, even as he breathed out sharply in annoyance. It was embarrassing, being treated like he was just... some kid. “Yes, Rin. We really need to get going, but it was good to see you.”

“Yes, Rin”? Is that really what he thinks? He’s “feeding strays” now?

“Oh, no problem! It was great to see you too, Aizawa! Stop by again soon!” Rin waved cheerily as they squeezed their way through the crowd and back out the doors, Aizawa’s hand still resting firmly on his shoulder.

Shinsou whirled around to face his teacher as soon as they hit the cold air, shrugging out of Aizawa’s hold and gesturing wildly towards the restaurant once he put both bags on one arm. “What the hell was that?” he nearly snarled, voice cracking in indignation. Shinsou walked backward to face the man while Aizawa ignored him, ambling on as if he’d done nothing wrong. This was such bullshit.

He was breathing heavily from the exertion of his anger and the age-old anxiety that accompanied asking a question. “Yeah, sure,” he scoffed when Aizawa gave him no heed. “Just ignore me then. Be like everybody else. I don’t care.” He didn’t know why he said that, but he couldn’t take the words back once they were out. For some reason, he didn’t really want to. Aizawa was being a dick.

He huffed bitterly and faced forward, shuffling his feet beside Aizawa to be annoying, if nothing else. He didn’t even know why he was still mad. It’s not like he wasn’t used to being rejected or looked down upon. It’s not like Aizawa meant anything by saying that, anyway. Fuck, he must be tired. He didn’t know the last time he got a full night’s sleep.

The sun was completely down by the time Aizawa-sensei stopped walking, pausing in front of what seemed to be an abandoned apartment building. Shinsou paused, too, crossing his arms against the chill seeping into his bones and breathing through the hot coil of anger that still burned heavily in his gut.

Shinsou looked around where they stopped, taking in the run-down fire escape and boarded windows. He glanced at Aizawa, wondering what he had planned. Was this for some sort of training? Is he going to punish him for how he’s been acting? Did he bring him here to tell him he’s been “needlessly displaying the behavior outlined in his file,” so he has to let him go?

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“What, did we come here so you could feed me with all your other strays?” Hearing the disrespect in his voice, Shinsou drew back a little. He didn’t dare voice any of his real questions, too nervous about giving him ideas.

Aizawa still said nothing and Shinsou scoffed out a bitter laugh, politeness forgotten, following behind him and violently kicking a pebble across the sidewalk. Why were there so many rocks, anyway? All they did was get in his shoes and make everyone miserable. They were all the same. It was so stupid. This was all so stupid.

Shinsou accidentally let out a growl of frustration, but he couldn’t even bring himself to care. Aizawa was ignoring him and he obviously didn’t care, so why should Shinsou? It didn’t matter if he cared or not. It’s never mattered.

“If you’ve got something to say, say it,” he heard Aizawa mutter. Shinsou almost laughed again. Of course he only started paying attention once Shinsou was downright insolent. He shouldn’t have expected anything less. It’s always the same.

“Oh, now you decide to speak to me.” It came out slightly harsher than he had intended, but so what? If Aizawa didn’t care, Shinsou didn’t care either.

The teacher said nothing in response, only sparing him a glance before approaching the bottom fire escape.

Shinsou wanted to scream.

“What is your problem?” He snapped loudly, the anxiety of asking a question and being rude to an adult making his voice crack at an embarrassing pitch. That’s probably why his throat felt so tight, too. 

Aizawa stopped walking but didn’t turn to face him. “You’ve been mad at me since this afternoon. Just tell me why.” Shinsou hated how thick his voice was getting, but he wanted to know - needed to know, at least so he could predict how bad the fall-out will be. 

“I said I’m sorry, what else do you want ?” God, this was so fucking stupid. Why did Shinsou have to fuck everything up? What was he doing wrong? Has he been asking too many questions? It was so easy to blame everything on his quirk, but there was no real way to draw that connection here. This was his fault. He couldn’t even blame Sensei for being mad at him.

Aizawa turned towards him, and Shinsou suddenly felt embarrassed by how pathetic he must look to warrant the softening expression on the man’s face.

“I’m not mad at you kid,” Aizawa sighed out, not even looking him in the eye. He paused for a long moment and Shinsou waited with bated breath, hanging onto every word. “I’m… frustrated with the situation, that’s all.”

Shinsou clicked his tongue and breathed out sharply in a spiteful laugh, tucking his hands into his pockets. Typical. “I told you that you didn’t have to buy me anything. It’s not my fault that you-”

“Kid,” Aizawa cut him off, dragging a hand over his face. “I’m not saying- I already said I’m not mad at you. Stop jumping to conclusions.” Pushing down the sharp spike of newfound anger in his chest, Shinsou followed Aizawa’s lead as he climbed the ladder to the fire escape, somehow managing to juggle two bags of food.

“Is it Rin you’re mad at?” Shinsou pressed, speaking to the bottoms of Aizawa’s shoes as they moved upward. Aizawa let out a sigh, leaving Shinsou to wonder if the man was just thinking over his words or choosing not to answer again.

Standing up on the platform and setting his bags down, Shinsou crossed his arms over his chest, feeling all of two-years-old. “Because I’m kinda mad at him, too, but it’s not like you have any reason to be angry with him.” The teen couldn’t stop the biting tone of his voice.

He half-expected Aizawa-sensei to reprimand him for speaking so presumptuously about one of his friends, maybe slap him or something, but all he did was make clicking noises with his tongue and crinkle the plastic bag under his fingers, disregarding him completely. Shinsou was confused for a few moments before realization dawned on him, face and neck turning a deep shade of red under the awakening.

Aizawa didn’t even look at him as several cats came out of the shadows, some running down the steps from higher levels. Opening up all but two of the containers, Aizawa let the cats devour mounds of meat and fish. 

Shinsou followed him numbly as he climbed to the second platform. The railing was broken clean off, leaving a large gap for Aizawa-sensei to swing his feet over the edge and set the food on his legs. Once he’d copied the motion, watching his feet dangle uselessly, Shinsou felt Aizawa slide one of the containers into his lap.

The air felt tense around them, cold and harsh and bitter. Shinsou shivered minutely, trying to ignore his teacher’s dark gaze. The chill was creeping into his threadbare sweatshirt, seeping under the frayed sleeves and hovering over his skin. The warmth of the food in his lap and Aizawa-sensei’s body heat at his side somehow made him feel colder, like a galling reminder that the rest of him was freezing.

The feeling loomed over him, leaving him empty and resentful. He’d never be warm.

Aizawa-sensei’s stare still bore into him, and Shinsou shifted and squirmed in a nervous tick, eyeing the teacher from the side. He felt like such an idiot.

“Oh,” he said after a beat. Aizawa breathed out sharply.

“Yeah, oh.” It would have sounded mocking or irate from anyone else, but Aizawa somehow managed to come off as… almost fond. He definitely sounded frustrated, but he didn’t seem particularly annoyed or angry with him. The tone was indulgent, but it was kind of nice. Being spoken to like that made him feel less like he needed to be on guard, less like he needed to be the more mature.

It didn’t stop the guilty nerves churning in Shinsou’s stomach.

Throat suddenly dry and heart in his throat, he coughed to the side and diverted his eyes. “I thought he was-” he paused, swallowed, started again. “I guess you know what I thought.” It was lame, he knew, but there wasn’t much more to say.

Aizawa stared at him. “No, tell me,” he finally said. The hairs on the back of Shinsou’s neck stood on end. “I want to know what you thought. Was anything Rin said untrue?”

Eyebrows furrowing, Shinsou felt his mouth twitch downward. “What do you mean? He wasn’t lying, you were feeding strays. I just didn’t know-”

“Stop,” Aizawa cut him off, putting his hand up. “You know what I meant.” Shinsou didn’t know what he meant, but he said nothing, pushing down the sharp spike of anger in his chest. “Was anything that you interpreted Rin to say untrue?”

Shinsou felt his lip curl, eyes narrowing dangerously. What’s he playing at? “I interpreted,” Shinsou tried not to spit the word, but it came out harshly anyway, “that he was talking about me. He looked right at me when he said- when he said it, so what was I supposed to-” 

Cutting himself off, Shinsou breathed deeply and closed his eyes, the smell of food and the lingering odor of secondhand smoke filling his lungs. The cool air in his chest calmed the hot animosity alighting in his stomach, and he started again, smoothing out his expression and mollifying his voice, determined not to stutter. “You were there. I assumed he was talking about me, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry, but if you’re going to yell at me or punish me or something, can you just do it already?”

Glaring at his dirty shoes, Shinsou pointedly ignored the stinging sensation behind his eyes and the betrayal burning in his throat. What was Aizawa trying to get him to say? Is that all he was to him? Some lowly stray? A liability? A paycheck?

Shinsou didn’t even know where his mind was going. This wasn’t Aizawa-sensei’s fault, Shinsou was just being oversensitive. There was no reason to get so worked up over something so trivial. It didn’t matter that Aizawa had read his file and knew he was in foster care, even if that’s what he was implying, because it would have made no difference anyway.

They were all the same.

“Why would I yell at you or punish you? As far as I know, you haven’t done anything to warrant either of those things.” Aizawa-sensei’s voice was flat and to-the-point, just like always. Shinsou clenched and unclenched his fists on top of his take-out box, keeping his head low to avoid eye contact. “Besides, you didn’t answer my question.” 

The teacher sighed out through his nose, leaning back on his hands. Shinsou could sense the movement but didn’t turn to look at him, irritation and embarrassment running hotly through his veins. “What do you think a stray is, Shinsou?”

Shinsou was quiet, not responding for long enough that Aizawa sat up, finally cracking open his to-go box and digging into the rice and vegetables as he waited for the teen’s response.

Is this some sort of power play? Shinsou’s eye twitched in ire. He took deep breaths, following Aizawa’s example and shoving a piece of chicken into his mouth.

“Don’t you understand, child? You owe me. I took you in and fed you and clothed you, and you can’t even do me a favor? They don’t pay me enough to really care for you, did you know that? You waste more than you’re worth. You’ve got nowhere to go.” Shinsou could still feel the foul breath against his ear.

His body burned and the skin on his face suddenly felt too tight. He swallowed the chicken alongside the bile rising in his throat, relaxing his hands to stop their trembling. Aizawa isn’t like that, he told himself. That’s not how he meant it. But he couldn’t stop the age-old feelings that were being stirred up in his chest, dark and intrusive memories flooding his senses.

“A stray,” the teen muttered after forcing a few more bites, eyes downcast, “is someone-” He stopped, choking on the words as his throat closed up. He hated this, hated how fucked up this all was. Taking in a breath, he ducked his head and clenched his eyes shut, hardly aware of the way he was hunching in on himself. “A stray is someone with nowhere to go.”

Hearing his voice crack on the last word, Shinsou ducked his head further, shoveling more food into his mouth and avoiding Aizawa’s gaze like the plague. He could imagine what it held - maybe amusement or pity or some sort of sick satisfaction that Shinsou finally gave in.

Aizawa isn’t like that, though.

Shinsou could feel the warmth radiating from under the man’s leather jacket and subconsciously shifted closer, ears burning in the cold as the action registered in his mind. There was a horrible ache in his chest, like an old weight getting just a bit heavier. His eyes burned with the pain, shame and anger swirling in his gut and swelling into a stormy, monstrous ball of emotions.

Breathing slowly, he risked a glance at Aizawa, but he was leaning over and staring down at the cats below them, elbows resting on his knees and food abandoned at his side. “That’s a vague answer,” the teacher muttered. He peered over his shoulder to look at Shinsou, blindly gesturing toward the cats. “Would you call them strays?”

Shinsou relaxed slightly at Aizawa’s expression. It was the same face he used when he was trying to teach Shinsou something new or critique his athletic performance. It was familiar.

“Well, yeah,” he said as politely as he could, but wasn’t that obvious? “I mean, it’s not like they have a home or anything. They don’t have anywhere to go.”

Aizawa-sensei hummed, leaning back on his hands and rolling his head to look at him. “So, you’re saying they’re strays because they don’t have a home, correct?” Shinsou stared at him incredulously.

“I… guess,” he said slowly, unsure. What was his point?

“Then what would you define as a home?” Shinsou’s eyes widened as he caught on to Aizawa-sensei’s plan, and he turned his head to the side as his frustration returned with a vengeance.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a teacher or something?” he snarked. “Figure it out yourself.”

His body tensed on its own accord as the words left his mouth, and he flinched violently when a hand came near his face, nearly dropping his food as he squeezed his eyes shut. This was it, Aizawa-sensei was finally going to snap, finally going to hit him and yell at him and he’s not going to train him anymore and Shinsou is never going to be a hero he’s never going to get out and Aizawa-sensei probably hates him what was he thinking he’s not supposed to ask questions why can’t he just keep his mouth shut -

Aizawa flicked him squarely on the forehead.

Shinsou opened his eyes and stared at Aizawa-sensei, heart racing and mouth slightly agape. “There’s no reason to be a brat, I was just asking a question,” he said tiredly, withdrawing his hand and looking at the brick wall across from them. “I’m not asking you for my benefit, I want to know if you know.”

Well, he couldn’t argue with that. Shinsou carefully relaxed his clenched fists, trying to keep the action subtle. Aizawa-sensei had the decency not to comment on how long it took him to speak. “It’s shelter - you know, like four walls and a roof and stuff.”

“Wouldn’t you say these cats have a home, then?” Aizawa-sensei questioned. He pointed halfway down the alley at the dumpsters and old boxes scattered around. “They’ve got ‘four walls and a roof,’ as you put it. They have shelter and even food in that trash bin. How is that any different from people living in an actual house?”

Shinsou was quickly becoming annoyed with this conversation. He already knew all of this, so why was Aizawa dragging him around in circles? “Because,” he got out as he glared at his teacher, searching for the right words and hoping Aizawa would take the hint and drop it already, “it- it’s just not the same.” God, this was so annoying. “Dumpsters are gross, and the lid is broken so it probably doesn’t even protect them from the rain. There are probably maggots and rats and-”

“So you’re saying someone is a stray if they live in an unsanitary environment?” Aizawa cut in. “If someone has bedbugs or their ceiling leaks, does that mean they don’t have a home?”

Shinsou growled over his words as he spat back, “That’s not the same thing.”

“Oh?” Aizawa asked lightly, so fucking unbothered by this whole thing. “Then what makes them any different, Shinsou? What makes a dumpster different than a broken-down house, or a homeless shelter, or-”

“Because they’re not safe!”

Shinsou could hear his voice echo down the alley, slowly fading out into silence and leaving his ears ringing. Even the cats were quiet below them. Aizawa-sensei immediately stopped talking to look at him, but Shinsou didn’t want him to. He knew his eyes were damp, knew if Aizawa said one more thing in that uncharacteristically soft tone, he wouldn’t be able to keep himself together anymore.

His breath shuddered as he inhaled, words coming out much more quiet and shaky than they had a moment ago. “Nothing- there’s nothing there to protect them from the rain,” he said softly, feeling childish and unable to meet Aizawa’s eyes. “Any predator could come and… hurt them. Someone could call animal control and they could get taken anywhere, maybe somewhere worse than this. They could get put down and… and they’d have no choice.”

He felt a tear slip down his face, thankfully on the side that Aizawa wasn’t on. He let it trail down his cheek and to his chin, dripping onto his jeans soundlessly.

Aizawa-sensei stayed quiet next to him, and Shinsou barely even made the decision to speak before he was continuing. “They’re strays because they don’t have anywhere safe to go back to.”

He could feel Aizawa-sensei’s eyes on him as he went back to his food, and Shinsou found that he didn’t mind the quiet so much if it gave him the chance to eat and pretend his eyes were only stinging from the cold.

“Shinsou,” the man said slowly, quietly, like the teen really was just a spooked, helpless animal. Shinsou looked up at him when he paused for too long for it to be anything other than intentional, meeting his dark eyes. “Are you ready to tell me why you haven’t been eating?”

For some reason, the burning in Shinsou’s eyes worsened with the tightness in his throat. “I already told you,” he said weakly, clearing his throat and steeling his resolve. He almost wanted to laugh. “I was busy. I just forgot.”

He wasn’t exactly lying, so why did his chest ache with the words?

Aizawa-sensei hummed again and eyed the teen’s bruised wrist. Without thinking about it, Shinsou shifted an arm to cover it. Looking like he wanted to say something, Aizawa-sensei’s eyes met his, but he shook his head a bit and turned back to his food. Shinsou let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, tipping his container back and shoveling the rest of the rice into his mouth. It was cold and a little soggy from the vegetables, but he didn’t feel quite so nauseous and empty anymore.

Distantly, Shinsou wondered how long they’d been there for. There were only a few cats still eating, the others having long-since retreated back to their shelter, and the few that remained were licking their boxes clean. Aizawa-Sensei was just about finished with his food, too, but didn’t make any move to get up.

Shinsou felt lighter, somehow, as they sat there in silence, the teen leaning slightly against Aizawa-sensei’s arm. He should have felt embarrassed; Aizawa was a teacher, an authority figure - it’s not like they were friends or anything.

Listening to the soft sirens wailing in the distance, Shinsou nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone vibrated persistently in his pocket. Aizawa-sensei must have felt the movement and glanced at him, eyebrow raised questioningly in the light of the street lamps.

There wasn’t a moment that Shinsou didn’t know who it was, and he pulled it out of his pocket gingerly, trying to pretend his hands weren’t trembling.

“Do you want me to answer it?” Aizawa-sensei offered, uncharacteristically gentle. Shinsou waved it off, unable to speak, and somewhere under the growing ball of panic in his chest, he pondered why he’d even ask.

At the moment, however, he was more pressed with how long he must have been staring blankly at his phone for Aizawa-sensei to propose that. Turning the volume down as far as it could go and flipping open the phone, Shinsou held it a couple of inches from his ear, prepared for the yelling.

“-on’t call anyone, woman. I’m in the middle of-”

“Mr. Matsuo,” he cut off as politely as possible, not wanting to be accused of eavesdropping. He glanced at Aizawa, but the man was just staring straight back at him, eyes squinted and studying him. Swallowing hard, Shinsou tried to angle himself away from the teacher, but could only turn his head and shift his upper body slightly.

There was a long, uncomfortable pause filled with nothing but heavy breathing on the other line, and Shinsou felt his heart leap to his throat. The silence was probably a good sign, honestly: Matsuo was at least trying to control his anger - well, Shinsou hoped that’s what it meant.

“I-I’m sorry, I know I haven’t been to the house yet. It won’t happen again-” Shinsou recited his usual speech, praying for some sort of mercy by using a respectful tone.

“Shut the fuck up, retard.”

Obediently, Shinsou’s mouth snapped closed as he flinched, pulling the phone a little further away from his ear. Matsuo could be loud when he wanted to - Shinsou knew from extensive personal experience - but that didn’t make him flinch so much as the pure disgust in the man’s tone. He looked over at Aizawa-sensei again, and he looked back, brows furrowed and eye twitching in a way that would have been comical in any other circumstance. Shinsou didn’t know why he seemed upset, but he found himself desperately hoping Aizawa couldn’t hear what was being said on the other line.

“I’ve been working all day to feed your fat ass, and this is how you repay me? Do you know how hard I work? Do you know what it’s like to work all day and have to go home to a fucking dump because a teenage delinquent is too stupid to do the one job he has?”

Shinsou probably knew what that was like better than Matsuo ever would, but he didn’t dare voice it. “No, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t lie to me, you ungrateful brat. How selfish can you be? You can’t even take care of the one fucking job you have here. It’s pathetic.”

Shinsou’s chest burned. “I know, sir. I’m really sorry.”

“‘I’m really sorry,’” he mocked, voice high-pitched and whiny. Shinsou clenched his fist on his lap. “Yeah right. Get the fuck back here right now before I give you something to be sorry about.”

“Yes, sir,” Shinsou said quietly, but Matsuo had already hung up.

He lowered the phone slowly and slipped it into his pocket, numbness gradually settling in a fog over his mind. “That was my foster father,” he said quietly. From the look on Aizawa-sensei’s face, he was unimpressed.

Of course he already knew that. It was obvious. Stupid.

“Thanks for the food,” he muttered, gathering up his backpack and setting his empty carton to the side as the urgency of the situation set in. It felt plastic and insincere, but there wasn’t really a way for Shinsou to properly express his gratitude. “You didn’t have to. Sorry for, uh, all this.”

“Sorry for what?”

Fuck, Shinsou didn’t have time for this. He swung his legs over the broken railing and stood up, scrambling to get his backpack on. “I don’t know- I’m sorry, I really have to-”

“You never answered my question,” Aizawa interrupted sharply, and Shinsou froze in place, back turned. Aizawa softened his tone. 

“Was anything Rin said untrue?”

Shinsou was glad Aizawa couldn’t see his face, because it would be impossible not to notice his watery eyes.

“I guess not, Sensei,” he supplied quietly, pretending his voice didn’t sound choked. He grinned slightly, turning his face a little toward Aizawa. “We were feeding strays, right?”

Shinsou didn’t look back to see Aizawa-sensei’s expression, but he knew that it wouldn’t matter. There was still unease stirring in his stomach, but thinking of training with Aizawa-sensei and hanging out with Amari and going to UA…

Maybe he finally did have a safe place to go back to.

Chapter Text

By the time Aizawa finally picked himself and trudged home, it was a little after eleven at night, and Aizawa knew he’d made a mistake as soon as he saw the look on Hizashi’s face.

The man glanced up from his laptop as Aizawa shut the door, brows creased and lips sealed tightly. Aizawa felt the earlier traces of guilt burn in his stomach, and he looked away, slipping off his shoes and tossing his jacket over an armchair.

“You could’ve called, you know,” Hizashi said, voice harsh and uncharacteristically low. Aizawa rubbed the back of his neck and took a seat at the table, casting his eyes to the side. “I like to be informed when you go on a last-minute patrol, but why should I care?” He scoffed, a suspiciously damp sound, and turned back to his computer. “It’s not like we’re supposed to be partners or anything, right?”

Aizawa sighed. 

Hizashi had always been the emotional one, always quick and passionate and smart, smart in ways Aizawa could never even imagine, but he was also quick to jump to conclusions. Even when they were kids, Hizashi would butt in and speak out when he felt it was needed - a strong tongue with an even stronger moral compass. It used to annoy Aizawa more than he’d like to admit, probably because it tied to his own meager self-esteem and undeveloped confidence.

That was why they were together, though. Hizashi was supposed to fill in the gaps that Aizawa couldn’t, be what Aizawa could never be. It’s how they’ve stayed together for twelve years.

Hurting each other just... came with the territory, sometimes.

“I wasn’t on patrol,” Aizawa muttered. In some ways, he wished he had been. Then he wouldn’t have had to see the blood drain from Shinsou’s face when his foster father called.

Aizawa had known that Shinsou’s foster family didn’t treat him well. It was to be expected when he indefinitely resided in a “strict” home that was meant to be temporary, and his suspicions were only confirmed by getting to know the kid. He also knew for a fact that many of the infringements in Shinsou’s file were either unfairly instigated or completely untrue, which didn’t have very promising implications about his past, either.

He’d originally hoped that Shinsou’s jumpiness was due to past traumas and linked to the old pictures from the kid’s personal file that Aizawa still couldn’t unsee, but doubts have been creeping into his mind since the first time they met. There are times that the kid moves too stiffly, possibly sore from physical exertion or in another kind of pain, and Aizawa didn’t like either indication.

Like Hizashi, Shinsou was a smart kid, smart enough that he knew exactly how to dance around Aizawa’s questions and play it off casually. It was almost enough to convince the man, but Aizawa has been teaching for a long time. While it wasn’t uncommon for kids to fall and hurt themselves, Shinsou had yet another bruise today, wrapped around his wrist far-too dubiously to have appeared by accident.

He wondered idly if he was being hurt by the kids that were bugging him before, but he brushed it off. Aizawa had been making a point to patrol that area more often since his route changed, just in case he needed to make any… interventions. The area was notorious for its crime, after all, and he could never be too careful. Shinsou didn’t seem to be out much since they’d started training, either, but that was a whole other area for concern.

There was always a chance that Shinsou was doing it to himself, too. Aizawa has seen plenty of cases where kids cause damage to themselves during psychotic breakdowns or intentionally bruise themselves as a form of self-harm. It seemed unlikely for Shinsou, though, even with his bleak past. The kid definitely had some baggage and an unhealthy lack of self-preservation, but all the hero students did. It came with the job, and Shinsou has yet to show any of the usual signs for any sort of self-harm.

No teachers have made any mention of bullying, either, so that left either his foster parents or siblings as the potential culprits. It was entirely possible that his siblings pushed him around a bit. As Shinsou had vaguely explained, the home was unofficially meant to take on “difficult cases,” so most of the kids he lived with were probably juvenile delinquents in one way or another. It was difficult to make that judgment, considering Shinsou himself isn’t at all dangerous and he lived there, but Aizawa couldn’t ignore the facts.

There were other possibilities, too, but Aizawa didn’t want to think about that, especially not with how the angry voice of Shinsou’s foster father still echoed through his head.

“Shouta?” Aizawa snapped out of his trance, squeezing Hizashi’s hand tightly when he twined their fingers together. As always, Hizashi’s emotional intelligence kept him in the loop, and Aizawa must have made the mistake of letting his thoughts show on his face. He almost rolled his eyes at the way Hizashi’s voice had softened, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be that petty. It wasn’t Hizashi’s fault that he’d had a shitty day, but Aizawa didn’t want his pity. Aizawa wasn’t the one who needed pity right now. “Did something happen?”

Breathing slowly and deeply, Aizawa ran a hand through his hair and tugged on his ponytail, leaning back in his chair and letting out another sigh. Hizashi knew him well enough to give him time to think over his words. There were days Aizawa wouldn’t even respond at all, but he couldn’t do that now.

This wasn’t about Aizawa.

“You know Shinsou, the kid I’ve been training?” He crossed his arms over his chest, watching Hizashi’s eyes narrow in concern. Normally, he’d probably laugh it off - “Of course not, you’ve only talked about him a hundred times!” - but Hizashi undoubtedly understood the gravity of the situation by his tone, nodding his head tightly.

“He’s in foster care, as I probably already mentioned. I was given access to his personal file since he wants to transfer to the hero course, and I needed that jurisdiction to approve him.”

Hizashi nodded again, more surely this time. “Yeah, you mentioned that. There’s a mile-long list of complaints, right? Been in the system since he was six? Trust me, I remember. It’s so fucked up.”

Hizashi’s tone had more of an edge to it than usual, and Aizawa knew it was because of his beef with the system. Hizashi had been put up for adoption shortly after deafening his parents at birth, and after the five years he spent trying to find a home that would accept him and his quirk, he was understandably bitter. Aizawa also knew that he related to Shinsou in that way, which is probably why he was so protective of him in class.

It was also why Aizawa was having trouble talking to him about this.

“He hasn’t been eating,” Aizawa said quietly, “and he needs to eat if he wants to gain any muscle mass or hope to transfer. It doesn’t seem horrible, but he shows up to training with bruises, too - often enough that I doubt they’re just accidents.”

Aizawa’s brows furrowed, and he felt his eye twitch. “There’s not much I can do unless he talks to me. I’ve been giving him food on breaks during training and took him to Rin’s today. I think I got through to him a little bit, but he just won’t cooperate. It isn’t rational.”

Hizashi laughed a little and Aizawa looked up to glare at him, leaning forward defensively. Grinning, Hizashi held his hands up. “Whoa, okay! No need to go mama-bear on me, love. He just…” Hizashi sighed, eyes softening as he reached out and put a hand on Aizawa’s face, rubbing the pad of his thumb softly across his cheekbone. “He just reminds me of you, Shouta.”

Aizawa scoffed, shooing Hizashi’s hand away and crossing his arms. He was always so dramatic. “I may have seen myself in him at the sports festival, but that doesn’t mean he’s just like me. I’d see this rationally and accept help when I need it. If anything, he’s like you - loud and unreasonably stubborn.”

Hizashi didn’t look convinced.

“That might be what you’d do now, yes,” Hizashi replied, gracefully ignoring the slight jab. Aizawa hated how he knew where this was going. “But don’t you remember being his age? Young and prideful, thought you could take on the world?”

Aizawa sighed, blowing a couple of loose bangs out of his face. “It’s not that he’s prideful,” he murmured quietly. He wished that was all it was. “I assume he’s scared, even if he won’t admit it.” That was probably what bothered him the most. Aizawa had no idea if Shinsou was actually safe right now, whether it be physically or mentally - maybe neither. Maybe he could have done more to get his point across, and he wouldn’t need to be worrying about Shinsou’s wellbeing right now.

Groaning, Aizawa thunked his head against the table and blindly reached out for Hizashi’s hand, accidentally smacking him in the shoulder a few times. Hizashi grabbed it and smoothed a hand down his arm as Aizawa sucked in a breath, trying to think objectively.

“You should have heard the way his foster father was yelling at him when he called,” he said eventually. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the kid look so terrified.” He huffed a laugh, guilt gnawing at his insides. “You would’ve ripped it out of his hand and told the guy off. He sounded like an asshole.”

Hizashi hummed contemplatively, leading Aizawa out of the room and toward the sofa with a tug on his hand. “What was he saying? You could make a claim of verbal abuse, and if he really is banged up before he trains, that would probably seal the deal. It’s more strict in foster care; you could get him out of there.” Hizashi’s voice was sharper than it should be, too accusing to be neutral.

“I couldn’t make out what he was saying,” Aizawa said softly, sprawling on the couch and pulling Hizashi closer. He knew he was hurting Hizashi by telling him all this, but he knew it would hurt him more if he didn’t. “Shinsou has a really old phone so the sound didn't come through well. He just sounded pissed. From what Shinsou was saying, it seemed like he didn’t tell them where he was, and he was late coming home. He might have missed some sort of curfew, I’m not sure.” That didn’t exactly make sense, considering Shinsou had told Aizawa that he had to be home much later the first night they met, but he might have just wanted to get out of the house that time.

Hizashi sagged against him, something akin to relief in his voice. “That sounds okay. That’s pretty normal, right? He worried them, and he’ll probably get grounded or something. It makes sense that his foster father was mad.”

Aizawa groaned again, tightening his grip on Hizashi, trying to get him to understand. “No, it wasn’t like that. I know that they don’t treat him right, I just don’t know how bad it is.” This was hard to piece apart, and even harder to explain out loud. “The way Shinsou was addressing him was odd, too. He called him ‘Mr. Matsuo.’ What kind of kid talks to their parents, foster or otherwise, so formally? He just kept saying ‘yes, sir,’ ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ ‘I know, sir,’; the guy hardly even let him talk.”

He didn’t mention how the kid shrunk in on himself the more he was yelled at. He didn’t talk about how expressionless he became and how frantic and scared he was when leaving.

“Right,” Hizashi said, and Aizawa watched him bite the inside of his cheek. “So if you know he’s being hurt, why haven’t you reported his parents? It’s pretty easy to get a kid taken out of a foster home, you know. It’s not like they’re biologically related, and you’ve got a pretty good amount leverage since you’re a pro.”

Aizawa tried not to get too defensive; it wasn’t logical. But did Hizashi really believe he hadn’t thought of that?

“Do you really think I don’t know that, Hizashi? I’d do anything for that kid.” He’d never admitted that to himself, nevermind said it aloud before, but Aizawa realized it was true. The kid was special. Aizawa softened his tone, leaning back against the couch. “He’s been all over the map, Zashi. At this point, he’ll be sent to a correctional facility or left to age out in some group home. He might even have to leave UA. That can’t be any better than where he is now.”

Hizashi knew how it worked, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it. Aizawa heard him huff, shifting from where he was half-lying on top of him. He was quiet for a long moment, long enough that Aizawa closed his eyes and breathed deeply, running a hand over Hizashi’s hair and trying not to think of what could be happening to Shinsou right now.

“What if we took him in?”

Hizashi’s voice was so quiet and tense, Aizawa almost thought he heard wrong. Before he could say anything, Hizashi sat up, eyes wide as he gripped Aizawa’s shirt.

“We have our foster licenses, and the apartment is still up-to-date from the last emergency placement. He’s a teenager, so it wouldn’t be too hard with our schedules - ”

“Hizashi.” This was Aizawa’s job. He was the one who was supposed to think rationally, supposed to keep a cool head when Hizashi acted on emotion. Besides, this wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed Aizawa’s mind. “You know we can’t do that. It just wouldn’t be fair to him. We’re hardly even old enough to be his parents.”

Fuck, Hizashi was tearing up already. “Not fair?” Aizawa suppressed a wince at the bite in his tone. “Didn’t you just say you’d do anything for that kid? Do you really think he’s better off where he is?” For some reason, Aizawa felt his anger rise at the question.

Hizashi wasn’t the one who’d spent weeks with this kid. He wasn’t the one who watched him cry today, or caught him when he almost passed out from low blood sugar. Hizashi didn’t have to save him from bullies or watch him flinch away from friendly touches. Hizashi hasn’t had first-hand encounters and one-on-one experience with Shinsou’s low self-esteem and negative self-image. Even if Hizashi was his English teacher, he didn’t have the moral high ground here.

“Don’t pin this on me,” Aizawa growled lowly, pulling away from him. “He’s not a fucking cat that we can just take home and feed once or twice a day. He’s a kid, Hizashi, and we’ve already talked about why we can’t have a kid. We’d be putting him in danger, not to mention we can’t watch him all the time. You have three jobs, and I have two. We won’t be able to be there for him like we should. Not to mention, us being his teachers could be considered a conflict of interest. We might not be allowed to foster him.” Hizashi pulled away, too, until they were facing each other.

“Are you kidding me right now?” he hissed. “You get to come home and tell me about this kid stuck in a shitty situation, and you go on about it until you’ve convinced me he’s being abused, and now you say there’s nothing we can do?”

Hizashi’s eyes were wide and accusing and full of tears, and Aizawa felt his anger fizzle out at the vulnerable look he gave him. He sighed, leaning his head against Hizashi’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he breathed, closing his eyes. He was never good at these emotional talks. “I’ve been trying to get him to talk to me so I can have some ground to stand on in getting him removed. I’m just... worried I’ll make it worse.”

Hizashi’s stormy expression lessened, and he rested a hand on Aizawa’s thigh with a drawn-out exhale. “I’m sorry, too,” he said quietly. “I know it’s more complicated than I’m making it out to be. It’s just - he’s a teenager and a future hero course student. He’s not as helpless as you think he is. But I know where you’re coming from, this whole thing is just - he’s in foster care and the quirk discrimination is just - ”

“Personal,” Aizawa finished for him, releasing a long breath. He understood. It was personal for him, too, just for different reasons. “The home he’s currently in isn’t meant to be a transition, though. We’d need a reason to remove him and probably a statement, especially with his past... infractions.” Hizashi laughed bitterly at that, and Aizawa reflected the sentiment.

They were both quiet for a long time after that, and Aizawa knew Hizashi was just as lost in his thoughts as he was.

“What if we invite him over for lunch tomorrow?” Hizashi asked suddenly. “It would get him out of the house, and he could get more used to being around us.”

Aizawa narrowed his eyes. “Hizashi-”

“Not so we can foster him!” Hizashi interrupted, holding up his hands placatingly. “Even though I think we could make it work, that’s not what I mean. If this foster home is damaging his mental health or not feeding him much, the least we can do is give him some relief on the weekends. Besides, you’re his mentor. Don’t you think he should get to know his mentor’s husband a little better?”

Aizawa rolled his eyes at Hizashi’s cheeky grin, crossing his arms over his chest and settling back against the cushions. “No, not really, but that’s not a bad idea.” He dragged a hand over his face, glancing at the clock on the corner table. “I’ll text him in the morning.”

Aizawa looked to the side, bracing himself with a small breath.

“And if you’re sure you’re willing, I have been… looking into a potential custody transfer.”

Shinsou took a deep breath as he stood on the front steps of the house, glancing around as he worked up the nerve to knock, observing the gentle glow of a news channel through the window.

The townhouses weren’t conjoined, and Shinsou’s foster home was at the very end of the street, far away from anyone who could intervene if things got too rough. It was nerve-wracking and generally inconvenient, especially considering the lack of noise coming from inside. 

Shinsou never knew how many kids were here at one time, but he never really stuck around the house for long enough to. They didn’t have the same punishments or number of chores and responsibilities that he did since they weren’t cleared for adoption. Most of them had parents to go back to. They lived here short-term because of their own choices, while Shinsou was stuck here until he aged out.

The silence could mean anything, but hopefully, it meant there wouldn’t be spectators for whatever was about to go down.

The street lamp flickered, and Shinsou turned to look at it, watching it become light and dim, over and over, on and off. He wondered idly if he could do the same, if he could turn on and off after being used for too long.

He tried to take his mind somewhere else, tried thinking of Aizawa-sensei ruffling his hair, or the kids in his class congratulating him, or the far-off sweetness that his mother’s voice used to carry. Shinsou shook away the thoughts as soon as they came. This wasn’t a good time to be vulnerable, and he needed to be able to read the situation when he stepped inside.

The chill was biting, and without the heat of Aizawa-sensei’s body next to him, it was getting harder to ignore. Nerves danced in his stomach and made him shudder, and he tried to imagine what would happen when he knocked. The thought of facing Matsuo was almost too unbearable to even consider doing, but the teen was aiming to be in the hero course. He couldn’t rely on anyone else to save him.

Swallowing his anxiety and ignoring the slight shaking of his hand, Shinsou rapped firmly on the door three times, pushing down the twang of resentment at not being given his own key.

Shinsou leaned closer to the door and listened to Matsuo approach it, tensing at the heaviness of his footfalls and the undertone of something dark in his loud huffing.

He’s still angry.

Shinsou scrambled back from the entryway as the lock clicked, standing straight and making the conscious effort to keep his hands lax at his sides, trying to appear unaffected, but still properly chastised.

Shinsou could play those games - he’d been playing them most of his life.

The door opened and Shinsou held his breath, not daring to move or show any emotion as his whole body froze up. A small part of him wanted to lash out and get the jump on Matsuo before he could try, maybe fight and kick and scream, maybe just run down the street and never stop. He could keep going and leave it all behind and be free for once. He wouldn’t need to worry about consequences or living up to impossible dreams or psychoanalyzing everyone around him so he could have something to fall back on. He could leave it all behind.

He’d dreamed of it before, just as he fantasized now.

But there were also things that he didn’t want to leave behind. It was cowardly, it was pathetic - and it would always tie him down.

Gulping down any self-sustaining qualities he had left, Shinsou looked up.

Matsuo was a tall man - a bit taller than Aizawa, though Shinsou didn’t know how that was relevant; it wasn’t like Aizawa-sensei would ever be his father - with larger-than-average bulk. His hair hung around his face in a messy mop, and Shinsou could feel the sharpness of his eyes, even though he couldn’t meet them. He found himself staring at Matsuo’s clenched fist, instead, watching the tightness of his fingers and the white around his knuckles. 

Matsuo was intimidating, to say the least, which was probably why social services had decided that he and his wife were good candidates for housing teenage delinquents.

“Is there a reason,” the man said loudly, snappishly, Shinsou feeling his heart jump and shoulders shudder as the deep voice rang in his ears, “that you’re banging on my fucking door, retard? My wife was sleeping.”

Shinsou knew for a fact that his foster mother wasn’t sleeping, but he didn’t dare say anything. The last nights of the week were her designated crying nights - the ones where she would sit in the bathtub and watch romantic dramas on her laptop and scream at anyone making noise. She probably wouldn’t be going to sleep until well after midnight, not that it really mattered.

Biting his tongue, Shinsou continued staring at Matsuo’s fist, watching the veins in his arm flex and pulse as the seconds ticked by.

“Well? You too stupid to answer?” Shinsou pushed down the sharp retort clawing up his throat, vaguely surprised that Matsuo wanted him to respond. He usually liked to talk over him and waste his breath insulting him, not taking his input into account on any given occasion, never mind when he was in trouble.

Besides, not many people liked it when Shinsou talked at all, anyway.

“I-I don’t have a key,” Shinsou stuttered over his words, hating himself for it - hating Matsuo for it. He’d knocked the habit a long time ago, and Matsuo knew he didn’t have a key. He just wanted Shinsou to sound stupid by stating the obvious.

The man scoffed, almost like Shinsou said something funny, before he snagged the scruff of Shinsou’s sweatshirt and dragged him through the doorway. Shinsou almost jumped out of his skin and grunted, his shoulder knocking heavily against the doorframe as he was yanked inside.

Matsuo slammed the door shut behind them and Shinsou started, eyes unintentionally darting towards it. His hand had just been right there; if he’d moved a second later-

“You think you’re smart, huh? Trying to make me the bad guy?” Shinsou’s gaze skittered back to him, chest so tight he felt like it would explode. “Are you forgetting why you don’t have a key?”

Shinsou barely refrained himself from rolling his eyes, too preoccupied with the man crowding him against the wall, so close he could feel the breath on the top of his face from where he leaned in. He dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands to stop himself from panicking, the mere feeling of a man’s breath so close to him almost enough for him to slip away, even after all this time. He replayed Matsuo’s words over again in his head, and the panic made way for the growing ball of anger and bitterness in his chest. Of course he didn’t forget why he wasn’t allowed to have a key. It’s not like they’d ever let him.

It’s not like he wasn’t used to it.

Matsuo laughed, sharp and patronizing, and Shinsou felt himself bristle. He hated being belittled and looked down upon, especially when people insulted his intelligence, and especially by someone like him, someone with no sense of right and wrong and no real purpose outside of being a jackass. There were no morals or justice or anything good when it came to someone like Matsuo - someone who only wanted power and control over everything.

Is that how people see me?

Matsuo was getting more agitated, more riled up and angry at his lack of response and Shinsou could sense it in the air, in Matuso’s body language and his breathing and he hated it. Matsuo shoved him a little harder into the wall. Shinsou had to calm him down, needed to diffuse the situation or find a way to show submission, to swallow his pride and satisfy the man...

“Maybe if you weren’t a fucking retard that likes to pick fights with the big kids, you wouldn’t be here, and we wouldn’t need to worry about giving you a key in the first place, huh?”

 … but Shinsou had always been stubborn. He’d always had trouble swallowing his pride.

“Maybe if you weren’t broke, the government wouldn’t be paying your bills, and you wouldn’t have needed to worry about fostering me in the first place, huh?”

For a second, there was almost a sick sense of satisfaction as Matsuo’s face drew a blank. Shinsou felt his lips twitch in mirth, finally feeling like he won something over this man. Try to talk your way out of that one, Shinsou thought, feeling powerful and almost gleeful before Matsuo’s expression turned stormy, and his eyes became dark, almost unhinged.

It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on his head.

Shinsou’s heart skipped a beat and his breathing stuttered, coming out raggedly as his eyes blew wide and he felt the blood drain from his face. For a moment, he thought he was going to pass out again as the world swayed in front of him. He knew that was a mistake. He saw it in Matsuo’s expression, he heard it as his heart pounded in his ears.

He’d talked back - not only that, he’d asked a question. He’d made a mistake. He’d gotten too used to speaking loosely in school and training. He’d gotten too comfortable with adults.

He’d gotten too comfortable with Aizawa-sensei.

Shinsou knew that Matsuo liked control, and as soon as Shinsou outsmarted him enough that he couldn’t spit a comeback of his own, the only way for him to gain the upper hand was by resorting to physical violence - by lashing out.

There was no reeling him back in anymore. Matsuo didn’t like losing.

Matsuo let out something akin to a growl and Shinsou stumbled back away from the wall, shaking, trying to get his mouth to form apologies, anything to calm him down. “I-I d-didn’t-”

The stinging slap from the hand that collided with his face was expected, and Shinsou let it snap his head to the side, ears ringing. He could have dodged it, maybe used it to toss him over his shoulder and onto his back like Aizawa-sensei showed him. He could have done to Matsuo what Midoriya had done to him, and maybe he could have run out the door and let the man lay in his own pile of self-pity.

“You’ve got quick reflexes, kid, but not quick enough.”

Matsuo grabbed him by the hair and pulled up sharply until Shinsou was standing on the tips of his toes, praying that the man would stop there - hoping that his skull could take it if he didn't. It was usually so easy to read Matsuo - he was like a child in the body of a bull.

But when he threw his tantrums, he could be unpredictable.

“You think that was funny, huh?” His breath was hot and rancid on Shinsou’s face, and the teen wanted to do nothing more than sob and kick him in the balls and watch him cower on the floor and run and run and run and never stop.

He tugged a little harder, Shinsou hissing through his teeth, not daring to close his eyes.

“Huh?! You think you’re smarter than me or something, retard?!” Matsuo dug his blunt nails into Shinsou’s head before releasing him, pulling out a few strands with it. Shinsou sagged against the wall, gasping in a few breaths once he realized he’d been holding it.

Shinsou didn't know what to do. Matsuo didn't usually act like this - he was more the type to bring others down so he could stand taller. He was a bully, childish and needy, but he wasn't really scared of Shinsou like most of his foster parents had been. He wasn't hitting him or shoving him away out of desperation or fear.

He just wanted Shinsou to fear him.

Shinsou heard the sound of metal clanking together and his eyes widened, heart leaping to his throat, stomach dropping to his feet, eyes snapping to the belt that Matsuo was yanking from its loops.

He scrambled away from the wall, desperately clawing at anything around him to find some sort of purchase or to hold in front of him as a shield, anything to get space between them, anything to buy him some time. His heart was jumping in his chest like he was being dropped on a roller coaster and couldn’t reach the ground, the concrete at the bottom was rushing toward him, he couldn’t breathe -

“I-I’m sorry, I d-didn’t m-mean to-”

Matsuo didn’t laugh this time, glaring at him with a murderous expression, something dark under the surface that Shinsou could feel in his chest. “‘I-I-I’m s-s-sorry,’” Matsuo said, voice high and mocking and pathetic as he stomped toward the teen. Shinsou circled back around the couch, trembling hard enough that he thought he might fall over.

Shinsou had thought he had a read on Matsuo. He thought he’d understood his psychology and exactly how far he’d go in his rage, but in moments like these, he didn’t seem like the same man that Shinsou could get away from with a little manipulation on his part. His movements were too uncoordinated, too dangerous, too unhinged -

Shinsou glanced at the door in a brief moment of desperation, something nasty and bitter and terrified sitting in a heavy ball in his stomach.

“Don’t even think about it, retard!” Matsuo shut him down quickly with his yell, and Shinsou just barely suppressed a flinch. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “I’ll call your caseworker right now, you little shit. Get your ass over here.” Shinsou liked to think that he was weighing his options rather than putting off the inevitable, but Matsuo didn’t seem to take it that way.

Losing all sense of composure during Shinsou’s moment of hesitation, Matsuo swung the belt wildly, the heavy buckle snapping hard against the top of the teen’s shoulder and sending waves of pain radiating down his arm to the tips of his fingers. Shinsou held back a curse and let out a strangled noise in the back of his throat, something similar to a wounded puppy. He wanted to smack himself for it, wanted to smack Matsuo for it, but all he could do was stumble further back with his hands up, cornering himself against the wall, wondering if the blow was enough to draw blood.

Matsuo approached with a vengeance in his eyes, and while barely suppressing the shudder that ran through him, Shinsou allowed the man to turn him around and roughly slam him against the wall. He heard a seam rip as his sweatshirt was violently stripped from him, suppressing a wince.

The buckle jingled again and Shinsou took in a stuttering breath, hating with every fiber of his being that his back was turned to him. Matsuo scoffed again, sounding almost amused as he doubled it over, and Shinsou wondered vaguely if he liked this, like maybe this was some sort of messed up coping mechanism for him.

He wondered if maybe it wasn’t Shinsou’s fault.

“Not so tough now, are you?” The leather cracked down between his shoulder blades, and Shinsou sucked in a harsh breath between his teeth when the pain came a moment later, like a rubber band made of a two-by-four being snapped across his back, nerves jumping and making his arms twitch.

It landed, again and again, Matsuo letting the buckle loose on occasion. Shinsou’s back burned more than anything, but when it was finally over, he couldn’t let himself fall, too afraid that any movement could bring Matsuo’s attention back to him or seem too disrespectful or presumptuous.

Dragging himself out of the haze that had fallen over his mind, Shinsou panted against the wall, trying to tune into the argument that had erupted between his foster parents through the static buzzing in his ears.

“-school on Monday, they’ll be able to tell if he-”

“Shut up, he’s fine.”

Shinsou straightened slightly when the attention turned to him, still facing the wall with his hands braced against it, trying to ignore how the skin on his back pulled with the movement. “Well? What are you standing there for? I’m done with you. Get out.”

Frozen, Shinsou stayed against the wall, the mere thought of moving causing pain to pulse through his body.

Feeling Matsuo shift behind him, Shinsou turned, realizing the man was likely to mistake his hesitance for disobedience. He knew he should be more panicked, but the adrenaline was flowing out of him as quickly as it had come, leaving him drained and in pain.

With a nasty shove to his back, Shinsou stumbled toward the boys’ room, ignoring whatever Matsuo’s snide comment had been. As he passed the girls’ room, he spotted his older foster sister on her bed, talking to someone on the phone.

She looked up as he stared, twiddling her fingers toward him in some semblance of a wave, a knowing smirk plastered on her face.

She’d been here. She’d been here the whole time.

Shinsou turned on his heel and left without a second thought, glad to find no one else in his room as he collapsed face-first onto his mattress.

He wondered idly how many other boys were living here right now. If he remembered correctly, they’d had an emergency placement that stayed a week, but Shinsou was pretty sure he had at least two younger foster brothers that were supposed to be here.

They were probably allowed to stay out this late. No one bothered them about it, because they weren’t the problem child.

In a house full of problem children, of course Shinsou was still the outlier - still the most untrustworthy.

In that moment, for the first time in a long time, Shinsou hated his foster siblings, even if they were temporary - even if he could relate to them. He hated his foster sister and her stupid smartphone and his foster brothers and how they could get away with anything and how none of them got hit as much as Shinsou when they’re the ones who should actually have strict handling. He hated his foster mother and her drinking and that she even wanted kids in the first place and he hated his foster father and how much he twisted his words and his anger and…

God. Shinsou hated them.

Not bothering to change, Shinsou tried to ignore how painful his shirt was as it rubbed against his raw back. He closed his eyes, sinking his face into the pillow and wondering if it might suffocate him.

As he laid there, restless and jumping a little at every noise, Shinsou vaguely wondered what Aizawa-sensei would think of him now.

Chapter Text

Shinsou woke up slowly the next morning, wincing as the ache rushed back into his limbs the second he took a breath.

It wasn’t like he'd slept much, anyway - he was too on-edge for that, and his back ached too much for him to really get comfortable. Two of the other boys coming into their shared bedroom at three in the morning didn’t help much, either. He glanced over at them now, distantly wondering when they would get to leave this hellhole and who would be next. Most of them had parents to go back to, and while some of them didn’t, very few would stay in the system for long. They would eventually move in with a relative or something, maybe end up in juvie or on the streets, but they were here because of their own choices. They got to leave.

“You’ve been given a really shitty hand in life, and no one’s ever lent you their cards.”

Well, at least Aizawa had that right.

Shinsou couldn’t help the twinge of resentment he felt toward the man now, nothing but a small flare of anger that he tried to push down. Sure, his teacher was probably just trying to help, but he didn’t understand. He could preach all he wanted about hero ethics and needing a “safe place” to stay, but he didn’t know shit. Shinsou wasn’t like other kids - he didn’t need the help that other kids did. Teachers hardly ever looked into his home life, and he’d been far worse places than this. It was his case worker’s job, anyway.

He was doing fine on his own.

There was no reason for Shinsou to get out now - to be “rescued,” as Aizawa probably saw it. Yes, he definitely wanted to leave, but the damage had already been done a long time ago; it was too late for anything to make a difference. Besides, he didn’t really have anywhere else to go other than a group home, a detention center, or the streets.

Maybe he was at a low point the day before, but he was fine.

At least that’s what he told himself as he moved slowly, careful not to jostle himself too much, and took his phone out from under his pillow. The skin on his back pulled with it, and he rolled onto his side, wincing at the sharp and stretchy feeling of blood pooling under his skin. The hard mattress squeaked beneath him, tugging on his skin in a way that made him afraid of splitting it. He knew he must have been badly bruised for that to happen, but he’d already decided not to look.

It always looked worse than it really was, anyway.

Stiff and sore, it felt almost like he was sick, but he knew that was just part of the healing process. His head was throbbing with migraine and his chest ached a little, kind of like it was congested. Shinsou rotated his body to the other side, careful to stay mostly on his stomach. It didn’t stop his shoulder blades from moving as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, and he fell back onto the pillow with a pathetic, muffled cry, shoulder twinging and arm twitching where the buckle had landed.

He froze as soon as the sound left his lips, heart pounding in his chest as he painstakingly turned his aching head to observe his roommates. The younger of the boys stirred, eyes half-lidded and droopy before they slid shut and he snored softly, and the other kid didn’t so much as flinch. Shinsou kept his ears peeled anyway, though it was hard to hear over the roaring of static in his head, listening for any angry footsteps down the hall. He probably wasn’t that loud, but it didn’t hurt to be careful.

It wasn’t like he was scared or anything, though. That would be ridiculous. There was no reason for a cold spike of fear to shoot up his spine whenever the floorboards creaked.

He was fine.

Letting out a breath, Shinsou carefully maneuvered himself to sit up and ignored the pain it incited, allowing himself a moment for the dizziness to pass. He felt the blood drain from his face and his stomach turn with the change in position, and his feet felt achy and swollen when he stood up carefully, keeping a cautious eye on the other occupants in the room.

When everything seemed clear, Shinsou grabbed his backpack from under the bed, slipped out of their room and closed the door softly, inching along the wall to avoid the awful groaning in the floorboards. His back ached horribly with every step, but he forced himself to keep going, creeping toward the back exit, heart racing in his chest, rubbing his clammy hands against the jeans he was still wearing from the previous day. He glanced behind himself anxiously, eyes drawn to his foster parents’ closed door as he reached for the handle, hoping and praying it wouldn’t squeak too loudly-

“Mom?”

Shinsou froze up, eyes going wide as his hand rested lifelessly on the door.

Logically, he knew that the plea hadn’t been for him. He knew that this house wasn’t full of little children that either ran away from him or relied on him for comfort, but the voice was small, timid, inherently feminine, and scared. Shinsou knew that kind of fear, and he knew it intimately, like an old pain that he didn’t even notice until it was jostled.

Shinsou was halfway across the hall now, having not even realized his feet were moving.

This was a bad idea. Going into the girls’ room was a huge no-no, especially with Shinsou’s quirk. He could easily be accused of something, or Matsuo could wake up at any second and Shinsou knew his anger would flare and burst, or the girl could wake up and get the wrong idea, or he could be considered a fucking sex offender for this.

And wouldn’t that be fucking ironic?

Maybe he’d be kicked out of UA. Maybe Aizawa and his friends and teachers would finally realize that his file was right, and he really was no good.

They wouldn’t be the first, right?

Shinsou stood in the doorway, taking a deep breath to help quell his anxiety, watching his foster sister shudder in her sleep. He thought of her waving at him innocently after he got his ass beat, and he thought of her threats and snide comments and how she liked to twist the skin on his arm in opposite directions and blame him for things that he didn’t do. He thought of how she’d only gotten here a couple of months ago, and she still got to leave within the next few weeks. 

He thought of the broken way she was sniffling, and he thought of the way she was wrapping her arms around herself, trying to find comfort in her own body when there was no one else to hold her together.

Even if he would never admit it, he looked at her and thought a bit about himself, too.

He never thought about crossing the threshold, though, and he most certainly didn’t think about approaching her bed until he was covering her up with the blanket that had been pooled around her feet.

She didn’t stir, thankfully, and Shinsou finished pulling the blanket up and settling it around her shoulders gently, hands trembling. There was a small noise down the hall, and Shinsou whipped his head around to stare out the open door with wide eyes, listening for footsteps resulting from his moments of carelessness. Shit, he could get in so much trouble for this. He glanced back down at his foster sister and froze right as her hand grabbed his wrist.

Her eyes were open, half-lidded and confused, but she saw him.

He opened his mouth desperately, starting to tug loosely against her weak grip, ready to pour out explanations, apologies, anything to stop her from screaming or telling the parents, anything to get out of this-

“I miss her.”

It was said so softly, so earnestly and almost childishly as she stared up at him through tear-filled eyes, he almost thought he heard her wrong. 

“I know,” he whispered after a moment, running a hand over her head. That was all it took for her to smile, just a little, and fall back asleep, a tear track drying on her cheek.

He didn’t know, really. Shinsou knew that he didn’t know, just like she didn’t know about him, and no one could really know about anyone. But he knew what it was like to long for something he couldn’t have.

And maybe she knew what that felt like, too, and that was enough.

Shinsou finally checked his phone when he was safely seated on the steps of the library, trying not to look too out-of-place as he waited for it to open.

It was still surprising to open his phone and see multiple notifications, hardly even used to having a phone in the first place, nevermind having people that actually wanted to stay in touch with him. He still didn’t have many friends, and he hardly hung out with them outside of school, but they still texted him during the day and on the weekends, always so freaking pure-hearted and friendly.

It was unsettling, and a small part of Shinsou wondered if they pitied him, or maybe if they thought he was an easy route to get to the hero students, but he always tried to ignore those flashes of self-doubt. Aizawa-sensei told him that he was wrong, anyway, and not everyone was out to get him all the time.

He didn’t know when he started seeking solace in Aizawa’s advice, but he found himself not as put-off by it as he should have been.

The few messages he had were relatively normal. Kaito’s rabbit finally gave birth, Amari wanted to know if he could come over (and her mom bought mochi), Riku didn’t know what the homework was, Aizawa-sensei was asking if he could meet up at his place for-

Wait.

That was new. That was definitely new. Shinsou had to do a double-take, eyes scanning the address over and over, having never really been to Aizawa’s apartment before. The man sometimes talked about his private life, though it was a rare thing, and even then it seemed like there was little to say. He knew that he and Mic-sensei lived together, which was really weird to wrap his head around at first, considering their clashing personalities. It was still hard for Shinsou to even picture Aizawa-sensei somewhere so informal, that he was an actual person outside of U.A. and hero work.

The idea of seeing where Sensei lived - of being where Sensei lived made a weird feeling stir in Shinsou’s stomach, something like nervousness and excitement and warmth all at once, but he resisted the smile that was tugging at his lips. 

He wasn’t that desperate for attention. That would just be pathetic.

Shinsou shook his head, a futile attempt to clear away his thoughts. Aizawa-sensei was probably just doing this out of pity, anyway. Maybe he was going to try to make him talk again - maybe he just wanted to be able to say “hey, at least I tried,” when Shinsou inevitably went off the deep end.

They were all the same, right?

Sighing to himself, Shinsou ignored the message and flipped his phone shut, leaning back on his elbows against the cold stone of the stairs. He winced with the movement, but the pain was a little more bearable when he was sitting in this position, feeling more like raw sunburn than the throbbing bruises that were really there. The rough texture of the stairs rubbed into his elbows, making it easier to focus on that than the steady pounding in his tailbone that was slowly traveling up his spine.

It was barely eight in the morning, so the library wouldn’t open for another two hours at least, but Shinsou was content to sit under the cool comfort of the clouds, listening to the early-Saturday chatter of the city.

“It was her fucking fault, Kai, so hop off my dick before you really piss me off!”

Well. Shinsou had been content.

He didn’t even need to look up to recognize Aki’s voice, the bratty undertone forever ingrained into his mind since middle school. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see him and a group of people congregating around the base of the steps, laughing along with Aki’s proclamation like a bunch of desperate puppies wanting to please their owner.

"This isn't over, you purple-haired freak ."

Trying not to draw too much attention to himself, Shinsou tugged on the beanie from his backpack and crossed to the other side of the library entrance as nonchalantly as he could. It was hard to hide the slight shaking in his legs as he stumbled his way down the stairs, his tired body aching with every step. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with any confrontations this early, and definitely not in this state.

He walked quickly down the other side of the street, keeping his head down and one hand buried deep in the pocket of his jeans, the other holding the handle of his backpack in a vise-grip. The feeling of his long-sleeved shirt rubbing against his back was painful, and Shinsou winced, twisting and bending his body as he walked to avoid the worn fabric.

Shinsou almost laughed when he saw a lady pull her child closer out of the corner of his eye, undoubtedly concerned with the teen’s strange behavior. Shinsou knew what he looked like - bags under his eyes, pale skin, ratty clothes, wiggling around like he was a fucking schizophrenic - and it didn’t paint a pretty picture. It made sense that she was worried about his behavior and not him.

People didn’t usually worry about him, anyway.

Shinsou picked up his pace until he approached a nice-looking apartment building, pointedly ignoring the accusing looks from bystanders. He could just hear their thoughts, wondering what a “kid like him” was doing in such a nice place. They probably thought he was there to steal something or maybe worse, despite it being broad daylight outside. Maybe they saw him in the Sports Festival and knew about his quirk - knew what he could do to them.

Shinsou shook his head, glancing at the address on his phone again. He’d hardly made the conscious choice to come here, too caught up in his own head and focused on not going home and not being near Aki. There weren’t many other places he could go without getting in trouble for loitering, anyway, so his scrambled mind had just taken him here.

Well, maybe he could technically go to Amari’s house, but that was just stupid. Aizawa-sensei had offered, right? Even if it was out of pity, it wouldn’t be too bad to eat with him and talk a little… just to appease him. That was all.

Nodding to himself, Shinsou texted Aizawa in affirmation and boarded the elevator once he was inside, knowing he couldn’t keep going up the stairs and remain functioning. 

From looking around the inside of the elevator, the place had to be at least middle-upper class, with glowing blue buttons that left no fingerprints and a nice, sturdy floor that hardly made any noise. The air smelled fresh and clean, like maybe the building had regular janitors or the people who lived there actually cared about their surroundings.

Shinsou thought back to his foster home and almost laughed.

When he reached the right floor, he slowly began making his way toward what he hoped was the correct door, peaking over his shoulder cautiously. There was no one else in the hallway, but he couldn’t help the nerves that came with being in a place like this.

He glanced down at his tattered sneakers and the untainted pattern on the carpet, swallowing anxiously. There didn't seem to be anything breakable around him, but just being there made it feel like he was infecting the place, like he was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be.

But Aizawa-sensei said it was fine, so it was fine, right?

Letting out a slow breath, Shinsou slid down in front of Aizawa-sensei’s door and tugged off his shoes, just to be safe. He glanced down at the time on his phone, staring at the 8:30 AM that flashed back at him mockingly. Aizawa-sensei had said noon for lunch, which was still hours away, leaving him with nothing to do but hope that the door didn’t open while he worked on schoolwork.

With a heavy sigh, Shinsou tugged his beanie down further and sat cross-legged, careful not to let his back touch the door as he pulled out his English homework. It was fairly easy since Shinsou was pretty good with languages, but it was made more difficult by the nerves dancing in his stomach and into his fingers, making his hands tremble slightly. 

He knew that Aizawa-sensei could open the door at any moment, or someone could come down the hallway and catch him, but he didn’t know where else to go at this point. Waiting in the lobby downstairs was definitely a no-go, since he could easily be accused of loitering and get thrown out, and there weren’t many other options outside of just napping in the elevator.

And while that did sound nice, he had a feeling that Aizawa-sensei wouldn’t be pleased with him if he’d find out.

Shinsou shook his head, mad at himself for letting his thoughts wander. His body was aching from sitting in a strange position for so long, but he tried to focus on his work rather than the way his anxiety was building with the throbbing of his back. He stared blankly at his English book, trying to make sense of the foreign words.

“Excuse me!”

Shinsou flinched harshly at the sudden nasal voice, banging his head against the door with the movement. He winced as his migraine pulsed with a vengeance and his back smarted, glaring up at the lady through the bangs pulled over his face.

“Just what do you think you’re doing out here, young man?” Her tone was loud and intruding and obnoxious, nearly making him shudder as it knocked the anger out of him and sent a chill down his spine. She turned her nose up at him expectantly, eyes sharp and judgemental, and Shinsou looked down in a moment of self-consciousness.

She was tall and thin, almost painfully so, with baggy skin hanging around her face and a white bun sitting on top of her head. Her floral blouse matched her earrings and bracelet, and the khakis she sported were obviously newly pressed and crisp.

Well, at least the holes in the big toes of Shinsou’s socks matched.

He swallowed and grinned up at her, not moving from his seat on the floor. “I’m just waiting for my teacher, ma’am. He’s- He’s tutoring me right now.” The small lie tasted sour on his tongue, but he made his eyes a little wider anyway, trying to appear more earnest and innocent.

“Really, now?” She squinted at him, looking him up and down. Shinsou straightened unconsciously, smile straining on his face. “You look homeless,” she decided, sniffing and turning her head to the side.

His smile slipped. Huh?

Shinsou gaped up at her, his wide-eyes no longer filled with false innocence, making way for numb shock. Sure, he didn’t look the greatest right now, but was she serious? There was no way he could have heard that right. “Um, sorry, what did you say?”

She didn’t repeat herself, only tutting and rolling her eyes like he was the slow one. “I don’t appreciate your attitude, young man.”

Shinsou just stared at her.

“Let’s verify your little meeting with your teacher then, shall we? Maybe if you’d bothered to knock like any decent member of society, you’d have known that he’s home.”

That got Shinsou’s full attention, and he scrambled to shove all of his things into his backpack and stand up, movements pained and stunted as he tried not to pull the skin of his back too much. “W-wait, ma’am, with all due respect-” which wasn’t very much “-you don’t understand. I-I’m not supposed to be here yet-”

She knocked briskly on the door three times, interrupting him mid-excuse, face set and fully decisive. “Mr. Aizawa!”

Shinsou’s chest shook as he breathed in sharply, staring at the door handle in dejection. It was too late now. The lady was saying something, and Shinsou could vaguely recognize the belittling tone she was using, but he couldn’t make out what the words were over the roaring in his ears. His gaze was singled in on the door handle, heart in his throat as he waited anxiously for it to turn.

He tried to focus on the noise coming from inside, listening to Aizawa-sensei’s soft grumbling, and he flinched at the sound of a lock unlatching.

Shinsou held his breath as his teacher opened the door, tilting his head down a little and fixing his gaze to the side in a lame attempt to avoid Aizawa's. He could still feel the man's dark eyes boring into his head, and he stiffened further, wondering what the hero thought of him, waiting for the yelling and the demands of an explanation.

The old lady wasn't helping much, either.

She wagged a finger toward him, lips firmly set into a permanent frown. “I found this one camping outside your door. He says you’re tutoring him.” She spat the word like it was something unimaginable, like the very notion of getting extra help from a teacher was completely preposterous.

Shinsou hesitantly peeked up at his mentor through his lashes, nodding subtly in a meager attempt to get his message across.

Just go with it. Please.

“Yeah,” Aizawa said plainly after a moment, looking back at the woman. Shinsou let out a breath. “I’m usually working now. He probably didn’t realize I was home.”

The lady pursed her lips, suspicious. “And what exactly is he doing at your home, Mr. Aizawa? This is highly inappropriate behavior for a teacher and student.” Shinsou bristled, the mere implication of Aizawa-sensei doing anything less than seemly with his students making his temper flare.

Before he could say anything, though, his mentor settled a hand on top of his beanie, sliding it out of place as he ruffled his hair. Shinsou felt his cheeks redden and rolled his eyes without thinking, taking off the hat and fixing his hair, shooting the man a glare.

“He’s also a family friend. I’m looking after him for now.”

Shinsou narrowed his eyes, but that at least seemed to appease the lady. “Fine,” she huffed, turning back to the teen. “And I better not catch you out here again, young man. I don’t appreciate little boys spying on me.”

What’s there to spy on?, Shinsou wanted to say, just to piss her off, but he bit his tongue and nodded tightly. She sniffed again and walked to the next-door apartment across the hall, posture straight and orthopedic shoes muted by the rug beneath them.

Aizawa settled his hand at the base of Shinsou’s neck, warm and solid and real, and for whatever reason, the teen felt his lip trembling, even as he tensed up and his temper flared. “Have a nice day, Mrs. Jackson,” the man muttered as he guided Shinsou back into the apartment, shutting the door softly behind them.

Leaning back against the door, Aizawa crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. Shinsou had to turn his head away quickly, knowing that there would be something heavy and accusing in that gaze, there had to be. The teen looked anywhere but his teacher and stumbled back a step, even as Aizawa-sensei remained unmoving. “I-I wasn’t actually spying on her or anything,” he blurted out defensively, spitting his words and ignoring how thick his voice was. He had to make Aizawa understand.

This was so fucking stupid. He didn’t do anything.

Shinsou glanced up at him after a few moments, pulse throbbing a steady rhythm in his head as his hands trembled at his sides. The man said nothing, raking his eyes over Shinsou’s hunched form in a way that made him feel small and scrutinized, and the teen clenched his fist and cast his eyes to the side. “She shouldn’t have thought that in the first place,” he asserted, scrubbing a hand over his face, anger burning hotter. “Maybe if she got her head out of her ass, Boomer Bitch would’ve noticed that I didn’t even know she was there until she started yelling at me.”

“I know, kid.”

Shinsou barely even registered Aizawa-sensei’s voice, words bubbling out of him in a steadily boiling pot of rage. “It wasn’t even my fucking fault. All I did was sit there, and if she’s going point fingers, they should be going right up her own ass, because she’s the one who at the very least gave me a concussion and probably a goddamn heart attack from suddenly crawling out of whatever rat hole of dead carcasses she came from just to pick on-”

Aizawa finally pushed away from his position against the door and Shinsou‘s mouth snapped shut, body tensing on its own accord as he stared up at him with wide eyes, adrenaline humming under his skin and legs ready to bolt. The man took a step closer, reached out a hand and Shinsou clenched his eyes shut, forced himself to keep still- 

“Not so tough now, are you, retard?”

Shinsou jolted when the hands were suddenly smoothing down his hair and cupping around his jaw and the base of his head, just holding him there. The touch was so much gentler than he had been expecting, than what his body had prepared itself for, and Shinsou breathed in shakily as his misty eyes snapped open, heart leaping to his throat.

“I know, kid. I know. I believe you.”

Aizawa-sensei was crouching down a little, looking him in the eyes with that same sureness that he always did, and Shinsou found himself nodding before he could stop himself, anger cooling down to a simmer and making his eyes water.

Aizawa believed him. Aizawa trusted him.

His teacher nodded back, more firmly, and stood up again to run a hand through Shinsou’s hair. The teen’s eyes drooped a little on instinct, and he tried not to noticeably lean into the soft touch. He'd gotten more used to friendly and casual touches since he came to UA, but it still came as a shock, his body shaking from the stupid tears that he was holding back. He forced himself to close his eyes, exhaling softly.

He could have this. For a little while, he could just pretend.

After several long moments, Aizawa-sensei pulled back, raising his brows pointedly and lightly smacking the teen upside the head. Shinsou found himself vaguely surprised, teeth pulling back in a sort of grimace as his brows drew together in confusion. “And you really need to watch your mouth, Shinsou. Mrs. Jackson would pop a blood vessel if she heard you.”

Letting his shoulders sag, the teen followed his teacher into a decently-sized kitchen, sliding into the chair that was offered to him. Shinsou scoffed and slouched in his seat, trying to keep his back off the chair and shake off any lingering feelings. “I don’t think I’d mind if she popped a few, actually,” he muttered lowly.

Aizawa didn’t dignify that with a response, but if the barely-there smirk was anything to go by, he’d heard him loud and clear.

“So do you make a habit of running around without shoes or a jacket?” he asked instead, and the Scolding Teacher Voice was back again. Shinsou glanced down sheepishly, tucking his socked feet beneath his chair and crossing his arms over his stomach self-consciously.

“M-my shoes are just in my backpack,” he said quietly, and he bit into his cheek hard for the stutter, peeking up at Aizawa from where he’d ducked his head. His jacket was probably still laying in a sad heap from where it had been forcefully taken off of him the day before, but he didn’t want to think about that now, and he definitely didn't want his mentor to think about that. Aizawa raised a wordless eyebrow at him, the question in his gaze glaringly obvious.

“I’m really sorry for intruding, Sensei,” he answered instead. The eyebrows were being too nosy, anyway. “I wasn’t planning to be here this early.” He shifted a little uncomfortably, hoping Aizawa-sensei wouldn’t demand an explanation. The movement made him wince, but he tried to pass it off with an apologetic grin.

From the look Aizawa sent him, he didn’t cover it up fast enough.

“What happened to your face, anyway?” the man asked bluntly, turning around and rummaging through the freezer. The change of subject gave Shinsou whiplash, and his face scrunched up in confusion, staring at Aizawa’s back.

“Uh,” he said dumbly, wracking his brain. Something had happened to his face? “I-I don’t know what you mean, Sensei.” Aizawa pulled out a pack of frozen peas and tossed it to him by way of response. Shinsou caught it reflexively and tried to hide his grimace as his skin pulled, lifting it up to examine and quirking a brow at his teacher.

“You’ve got a pretty nice shiner,” the man told him flatly.

Shinsou’s eyes widened and he dropped the ice pack into his lap, hands flying to his face in surprise. He pressed his fingertips into his jaw and around his cheekbones, the practiced movements easily finding a tender spot, just a few centimeters beneath his left eye. Huh.

It was right where Matsuo had slapped him.

“Oh,” Shinsou muttered absentmindedly, poking at his own face to try and figure out the size of the mark. “I didn’t think it would bruise.” 

Being slapped was usually mild enough that it wasn’t even noticeable, nevermind something that needed ice or any sort of medical attention. Even now, it didn’t seem like anything to kick up a fuss about. It was annoying, for sure, and now that he knew it was there, the soreness was more pronounced and it was easier to figure out why people had been giving him looks. It usually just amounted to slight discoloration or blotchiness on his skin, something that could easily be passed off as hormones.

Of course Aizawa had noticed it.

“What didn’t you think would bruise?”

Shinsou ripped his hand away from his face, clutching the frozen peas tightly. Jesus, he needed to stop letting his guard down around Aizawa so much. He was getting spooked too easily, becoming too exposed in unfamiliar territory.

It made him vulnerable. It made him weak.

“Not so tough now, are you, retard?”

The anger flashed again and Shinsou clenched his fists, lip curling.

“You’re the one who said I’ve got a shiner, Sensei,” Shinsou quipped, not caring that he was openly scowling. “Why don’t you use those keen powers of observation of yours and figure it out?”

Aizawa-sensei breathed out sharply, but he wasn’t laughing this time.

“Don’t give me lip, kid,” he said crisply, crouching in front of the teen and jabbing a finger toward his chest. “I’m trying to help you. You know that I’m not asking where the bruise is, I’m asking how you got it.”

And that was just the million-dollar question, wasn’t it?

Shinsou felt his chest tighten and tried to breathe normally. He stared down at his lap and crossed his arms tightly, feeling small and cornered and angry, even as guilt churned his stomach like a disease, clawing up his throat and creating a tightness behind his eyes. 

Gulping down a deep, shuddering breath, he desperately tried to control his burning eyes and running nose, sniffling quietly and wiping his face against his shoulder as discreetly as he could.

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally muttered, pretending that his voice wasn’t a small, broken thing. “It doesn’t even hurt.”

The lie was obvious. It always hurt. It stung and ached, just probably not in the way Aizawa thought it did.

His teacher was still crouched in front of him, letting out a long, patient sigh and settling a hand on the teen’s hair. The action was still so soft, so gentle, even when Shinsou was being a brat, and the words that accompanied it made it so much worse.

“It does matter, Hitoshi,” he said firmly, adjusting his hands to cup around the back of his neck and tilt his head up. 

Shinsou felt his lip trembling again at the use of his first name, sudden and unbidden, but he didn't want to point it out. No one called him that, not even his foster parents or siblings or newfound friends. It was always “Shinsou” or “boy” or “retard” or “freak”, but never his given name.

He wanted to pull back, to look away as the burning in his eyes worsened until everything was blurry and he couldn’t stop the way his breaths were coming in short gasps, but Aizawa was relentless now, staring into his soul and just holding him there.

Holding him when there was no one else to keep him together.

“You matter, kid.”

Aizawa’s voice was so firm and sure yet gentle and it was all just too much. His back hurt and his body ached and now his hands were cold from this fucking ice pack and he was just an idiot and Aizawa was still just holding him, and he wasn’t leaving. There were words lodged in his throat again, but he couldn't tell if they were boiling or ice or if they were even there at all. Maybe Matsuo was right, maybe they were all right, he was worthless, he needed to keep his mouth shut and his head down, but Aizawa-sensei was still there, and it just wasn't fair.

The dam broke.

Shinsou shoved Aizawa back with all the strength his aching body could muster, which wasn’t very much, but it was enough that it swayed the man to stand. Tears spilled down the boy's cheeks, and even that stung as they ran over the bruise that he didn’t even know he had until Aizawa told him. It was like he didn't know anything until Aizawa-sensei told him.

It was pathetic.

The teen trembled as he stood, stumbling back a step and Aizawa didn’t even look mad. He should have been mad, he should have been yelling and hitting him and kicking him out and not just standing there, pretending that he actually understood.

“Why do you even care?!” he snapped loudly, gesturing wildly and desperately pretending that his voice didn’t crack and his face wasn’t slick with tears. “Don’t you get it?! I don’t have anywhere else to go. You and your shitty hero complex can just fuck off because you don’t know shit. You may think you do, but I haven't told you anything.”

Aizawa was still watching him, standing a few steps away from the teen’s enraged form, still so fucking calm.

“Then tell me what I don’t know, Hitoshi. Make me understand.”

He was still using his first name, still so fucking sure of himself and putting his full, misplaced trust into Shinsou of all people - the people-user, the manipulator. He was nothing. He was worthless, a retard, someone so fucked up and broken that his own mother couldn't even love him, and Aizawa knew that. He had to know that, it was in his file, so why didn't he get it? What did he want him to say?

This was all so stupid. It was too much.

“It was my foster father, okay?!” he yelled, stepping daringly closer to Aizawa on shaking legs until he was glaring up at him, louder than he could ever remember being, not even caring if Mrs. Jackson or everyone in the entire world could hear him.

It didn’t matter.

“Is that what you wanna hear? That he smacked me around a bit for being mouthy? That he hates my guts because I'm a threat to him? Is that what you want me to say?!” His chest was heaving, his head felt full, and he was still fucking crying like a little bitch, voice cracking and sending sharp pains through his back as he inhaled. “I’ve had worse. There’s nothing you can do and it’s not even your fucking job to fix it! It’s fine, so why can't you just leave it alone?!”

His voice broke off, and he took in a shuddering breath, scrubbing the tears away with his wrist even as they kept coming.

“I don’t even know what your job is anymore,” Shinsou choked out his words, trying and failing to keep his breathing steady. “I… I don’t know what you are to me anymore,” he finally forced the words out, hot anger flooding out of him in a rush, leaving him empty and cold in more ways than one. 

His legs trembled pathetically beneath him and he buried his face into his hands, stepping back and shaking his head side to side. “I-I’m sorry,” he said quickly, knowing full-well he looked like a crazy person, violently brushing away his tears and roughly pushing his hair back to tug on it. “I’m just being s-stupid-”

“You think you’re smarter than me or something, retard?”

“It was my fault,” he assured, pretending that his voice wasn't shaking, dropping his hand and keeping his eyes low. “I-I shouldn’t have gotten home late. A-and then I asked a question, and I know I’m not supposed to do that, and I was being a b-brat.” The tears were gathering again, slowly creating an unmistakable heaviness in his eyes and tightness in his throat. “I-I’m just a r-retarded-”

Suddenly there were hands gripping his biceps firmly, and Aizawa was there, leaning down and forcing him to keep eye contact. Shinsou flinched back, wide-eyed, but this time, Aizawa held strong, squeezing him lightly.

“This was not your fault,” he said resolutely, and Shinsou sniffed as he bit his lip again, looking away and shaking his head a little. Aizawa didn’t get it. He could have prevented it, he could have snuck into the window or kept his mouth shut for once -

 “No, kid, you don’t get to do that this time. Look at me.”

Shinsou didn’t want to - he knew what Aizawa would see if he did - but he just barely met Aizawa’s gaze anyway, ignoring his racing heart and shaking fingers.

Aizawa believed him.

“You are one of the smartest and most driven kids I’ve ever met. You’re hard-working and strong, and you’ve got a good heart. You deserve to be cared for and safe.” He raised his eyebrows a little, and Shinsou’s chest ached horribly, eyes watering. He wanted to look away, but Aizawa-sensei’s dark orbs were staring into his own, searching for something.

For some reason, Shinsou wanted him to find it.

“And I never want to hear you say otherwise, got it? I don't like people insulting my kids.”

My kids.

The teen shuddered and bit his cheek hard enough to draw blood, but he nodded anyway, almost frantically.

Aizawa-sensei sighed a long, drawn-out breath, loosening his grip on his arms. Shinsou shifted his weight restlessly, chest so tight he thought it would burst and breath stuttering, and Aizawa seemed to take that as discomfort, letting him go completely.

Shinsou found himself missing the contact, aching for the comfort that it had given him, and he let out a small, embarrassingly high sound in the back of his throat, blinking back the heavy tears that were trying to fall.

He wanted to hide, he didn't want Aizawa-sensei to look at him, and without thinking, the teen surged forward, wrapping his arms tightly around his teacher’s torso and pulling himself to his chest. He choked on a pathetic sob, fully prepared to be pushed away and yelled at, but the man just adjusted himself so he was cradling Shinsou’s head, like it was something he'd expected - like it was something he welcomed. He wasn't particularly gentle about it but he was warm and there, and in the moment, that was all that mattered.

“I’m going to get you out of there, kid,” the man said surely, and Shinsou couldn’t help but believe him. Just a little. “No matter what happens, you’ve always got a place with me.”

He didn't know what that meant, but the teen shoved his face further into his mentor’s chest, breathing in the smell of cats and coffee and safe. For just a moment, the world stopped spinning, and for just a moment, he could pretend that everything would be okay.

Aizawa-sensei trusted him.

“I-I’m sorry,” Shinsou sniffed quietly, clutching desperately at the man’s shirt. “I’m being such a fucking baby - I’m probably getting your shirt all wet-”

Shinsou cut himself off when Aizawa moved the hand from his back and flicked him on the ear. “Knock it off,” he scolded quietly, immediately putting his hand back as if nothing had happened. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been covered in a kid’s bodily fluids, and between you and Midoriya, it definitely won’t be the last.”

Laughing wetly, Shinsou leaned back into Aizawa’s embrace, not caring that they’d been standing like this for far longer than Mrs. Jackson would approve of. He almost bristled at the implication that he cried a lot, but when he was around Aizawa, that seemed fitting. He didn't think he'd ever cried this much in his life.

“You really don’t have to do all this, Sensei,” the teen said quietly, finally letting his eyes fall shut.

He felt his teacher shift and sigh, running a hand over his hair. Shinsou nearly melted at the touch, trying to release the lingering doubt in the back of his mind, a certain awkward apprehension that kept him glued to Aizawa’s chest with coiled tension, half of him terrified that he’d be shoved away.

“I already told you, kid,” Aizawa said softly, and Shinsou could just hear the amusement in his voice.

“No one has to do anything.”