Chapter Text
Aizawa stares ahead and sees the man whose kindness and courage shine brighter than the sun.
At first, Shōta feels at a loss and doesn’t know how to react. He doesn’t know what to expect from the sea wave of feelings overwhelming him, keeping him underwater. He isn’t used to having just one unsuspecting person on his mind. Well, close enough.
Toshinori is flipping the pages of the teacher’s guide with a quiet rustle. He never ruins a much needed peace whenever it sets in the teachers‘ lounge: between Mic’s deafening screams and the hum of other teacher‘s voices, the silence gets so ephemeral that it is blasphemous to disturb it. Aizawa cannot thank him enough for this – in thought only. What he displays is just a rare glimpse at the man guilty of the sudden rapid changes in his mindset. He curls up tight in his sleeping bag, zips it almost fully up. The zip slider presses down the bridge of his nose and Aizawa doesn’t care. He’s at ease. He’s fine. A little unclear and slightly scared, but next to Toshinori is a calmer space where even his own feelings confuse him much less.
He doesn’t like All Might. His pomposity is annoying. His persistent glee makes him sick. The horrible beam lightening up the hero’s face in the toughest battles gets on his nerves.
Yet Aizawa couldn’t help falling in love with Toshinori Yagi.
With each passing day since they started working together, he has been seeing all the more, has been realizing fuller who Toshinori really is. The conclusions he came to as a hero have definitely reflected his character, but the difference between is huge enough. Toshinori is much quieter, his vibes don‘t seem to tear the space and time apart accompanied by the ecstatic crowd. Sharing the room with him, Aizawa feels like home.
This Toshinori radiates the tranquility of a May day when the sun hasn‘t grown violent yet. Warmth swells around the man like tender velvet, draws him, lulls him, gives him hope entirely different from the one offered by All Might. The hero is akin to a scorching afternoon in July, the wild herbs giving up, bending to the ground, sweltering without water. Yagi, however, never shines with joy, he’s never too much: brows always furrow with pensiveness as if he‘s spiraling endlessly in his somber viscous thoughts, and he tends to stare straight ahead for a long time. It makes the moments when Toshinori smiles so much more precious and meaningful. The corners of his mouth going up, however slightly, change the way his face looks. Finally, he lets himself relax, sometimes even leaning back on his chair, and exhale – huffing out a laugh or just feeling the oppressive heartache fading away.
In moments like these, Aizawa can’t take his eyes off the man whose presence affects him more than coffee or a good night’s sleep.
These days, he doesn’t ever seem to cease his sunbathing, goes back again and again to noticing the smallest details. He traces the face with his eyes, drinking in the beauty, memorizing it; he catches greedily a slight movement of a hand as Toshinori is tucking a stray blond strand behind his ear. It is amazing how even the palette of his finally fitting suit proves that the Earth has gained its second Sun. And when Toshinori sees his curious gaze at last, he only casts a shy smile, sincere and heartfelt, and waves his hand a little. The bond sewing their souls with invisible threads has Aizawa so smitten, so wonderstruck; how could he meet a person so incredible that his eyes can’t resist the tears welling up. As if he raised his head to look up into the cloudless clear sky.
What Aizawa realizes is he’s looking at the man who has been sacrificing all he has ever had to save the humanity. His entire body is now broken, tortured, covered in scars, organs missing. Toshinori has been hiding his real feelings behind the mask of the forever resilient hero, which could not but compel him the insignificance of his own emotions. This makes Aizawa want to scream in frustration. What was it all for? Why are people like him forced to suffer even after it’s ended? He isn‘t used to being so angry that the knuckles on his fists turn white.
What Aizawa realizes is: he is willing to walk hand in hand with him. To catch him when he falls; to find the words of support he needs, albeit Aizawa’s awkwardness with words; to sit together in silence while watching the city lights if the words are not needed. To show him that it’s not over yet: there is still so much to do, so many sunrises to see. That he can and should find joy. That he can and should live.
Since the heaviest rain will end for the sun to peek out from behind the clouds.