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“You need to keep your guard up.” Aizawa punctuates this sentence with a hard kick to Hitoshi’s chest, sending him flying back. Hitoshi gets up, coughing hard into his fist before rushing forward. He throws punch after punch, but Aizawa dodges each one easily before dropping and sweeping his leg. Hitoshi lands on the ground and doesn’t get back up. His chest heaves and he’s close to puking at this point. The tightness around his upper body is crushing him and he can’t breathe, it hurts and he can’t breathe -
“Get up. Come on, I know you can do better than that.” Aizawa’s face twists in concern. Shit, I can’t have him worrying about me. Hitoshi aims a blow at Aizawa’s face, letting out a pathetic wheeze as he does so.
“Sorry. I’ll- ahn - try harder-” He coughs one more time before dragging himself to his feet, every muscle in his body straining in protest.
“Hey hey hey, you don’t look too good. Let’s break for now.” Aizawa’s brow furrows as he stands back up and walks over to the edge of the training ground.
“I’m fine, I can do it,” Hitoshi protests, but follows him nonetheless. He’s learned better than to argue with Aizawa at this point.
“No, you can’t. You’re clearly hurting a lot, kid. Pushing yourself is admirable, but when you start to overexert yourself it’s time to stop.” The teacher tosses him a water bottle and Hitoshi catches it, sitting down next to him on the bench. He instinctively hunches over, letting his sweat-drenched shirt fall straight down instead of sticking to his ( misshapen, wrong ) body. “We’ll work on flexibility after this and do some lower-effort exercises.”
“I’ll be fine, Aizawa, really.” Hitoshi looks at his teacher, trying to convey determination in his eyes. He can feel his binder getting tighter as he gulps down a few more sips of water, and knows he won’t be able to keep this up for much longer, but that was what Plus Ultra meant, right? Push yourself to your limits and beyond.
Aizawa doesn’t seem to buy it, though. He snorts and looks Hitoshi over. “No, you won’t. You’ve been slowing down consistently, and you’re clearly having trouble breathing…” Something seems to occur to him and he squints at the younger boy. “What’s that under your shirt?”
Shit. Hitoshi freezes, trying frantically to think of an excuse. “It’s a, uh, tank top. For exercise.”
“Stop bullshitting me, kid. I know what a binder is.” Aizawa seems tired, and Hitoshi automatically tenses up, preparing for the inevitable anger. Things had been going well for too long, and it had been foolish of him not to expect this until now. Of course it wouldn’t last forever.
“Aizawa-sensei, it’s fine, just please don’t be mad at me-” The words start rushing out of his mouth before he can stop them, gritting his teeth in preparation for what’s definitely coming. At best, Aizawa will make him take it off and say it isn’t safe, and he can’t do that, can’t face the ugly reality of his own body. And at worst… Endangering your own body for some foolish sense of self is totally irrational. I expected better from you, but clearly this has been a waste of time.
“Hey, Hitoshi? Hitoshi?” Aizawa waves a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of the spiral he’d begun to go down. “I’m not mad at you, okay? I understand.”
“You- what?” Hitoshi blinks a few times, confused. Aizawa lets out a short breath, standing up before taking his shirt off. He’s disoriented for a few seconds until he sees the curved scars stretching across the underside of each of his teacher’s pecs. “Are those- You’re…” You’re like me, his brain supplies, eyes widening in spite of himself.
Years of self-hatred flash through his mind, being ostracized not only for his villainous Quirk but because he was a freak and a she and of course there was nobody like him out in the public eye, why would there ever be-
And now Aizawa, Eraserhead , the person he’d idolized from the moment he’d learned about underground heroes, is standing in front of him, living proof that he’d be okay.
“Yeah, I’m trans. I got chest surgery as soon as I graduated UA to make it easier to fight, binding while training was totally illogical.” Aizawa puts his shirt back on, stretching his arms above his head. “There were a few things I did back during my days as a student to help ease dysphoria without actually binding. You should’ve told me earlier, kid, I could’ve helped out more.”
Hitoshi feels tears welling up in his eyes against his will and wipes them away furiously, but they just keep coming. “I- thank you so much. I- I can’t even tell you how much this means-”
“It’s okay, kid.” Aizawa awkwardly lurches forwards, wrapping Hitoshi in a hug. “I always wished I’d had someone to look up to as a kid. The least I can do is be that someone for you now.”