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The door slid open and Yamada lifted his gaze from his computer screen just long enough to acknowledge Yagi's cheerful entrance into the staff room. He had to finish these questions for tonight's guest interview as soon as possible and get them approved or his producer would probably murder him this time. He could still hear the crisp sound of Yagi's loafers enter the room and stop. He ventured another glance to see his fellow teacher hesitate, eyes darting back and forth around the room. Yagi’s mouth had fallen into an unsure frown.
"He's not here today," Yamada called to him. "Shouta called in."
"He's sick?" Yagi's voice was so quiet that Yamada doubted he would have heard it over his typing—if he actually had been typing at the moment because he had to choose his wording for these questions very carefully and as far as he was concerned, tact was someone else’s problem.
He nodded in response. "Sounds like the flu. He usually catches it when the season starts. It's probably pretty bad if he’s actually skipping classes. You know how stubborn he is." There was no convincing Aizawa that vitamins were not a substitute for proper meals and sleep. Frowning, he waved Yagi over. "Hey, get over here. I need help phrasing this question.” All Might was diplomatic, he thought, and Yaiba had been one of his contemporaries.
Yagi came closer and stood over the back of Yamada’s chair. Yamada sniffed. Aizawa once drunkenly confided that he really liked the smell of Yagi’s aftershave, though it was too woody for Yamada’s own tastes. But if he could somehow find a way to use this to tease his best friend later, then he wasn’t about to let it go.
“Which question, this one?” Yagi hm-ed for a moment. “Instead of calling it an affair, perhaps refer to their relationship as a romance? Yaiba is pretty traditional, so insinuating he was anything other than virtuous will put him in a bad mood.”
“Uptight is the word you’re looking for.” Yamada had plenty of things he’d say to people who cheated on their spouses, but he had to remain professional. This guy had a history of refusing to continue interviews if he felt insulted, and something told Yamada that the higher-ups at the station wouldn’t appreciate a guest walking out mid-session. Never mind that the people loved a good meltdown.
Yagi made a disapproving noise but didn’t disagree. He noticed the clock. “Already? I’m sorry, Mic, I’ve got class.” He strode towards the door.
“Give Shouta my regards.” Yamada poked his head above his computer screen. “Tell him to text me if he needs anything.”
The flush that colored Yagi’s pallid face almost made Yamada laugh. He couldn’t suppress the grin, however, as Yagi stumbled. “Y-yeah.” Yagi stood up straight. “I will, thank you.”
Yamada sat back down and finally let himself chuckle as the door closed behind his back. “Good luck, All Might.”
Yagi paced up and down the hallway, index finger curled against his lips. Plastic bags shifted against his thigh with each movement, contents warm even through the fabric of his pants. He had texted Aizawa during class to inquire about his health, but Aizawa’s only reply was a simple “I’m fine”.
He should have taken the text at face value. Aizawa was an adult who could take care of himself. Yamada hadn’t seemed particularly worried, and they had been friends for well over a decade. Plus, Aizawa was an intensely private person who probably wouldn’t appreciate anyone sticking their nose into his business uninvited.
But still.
He couldn’t really turn back now, not since he specifically asked Lunch-Rush for okayu to-go. The hot chicken and rice porridge smelled delicious and it’d be a shame for it to go to waste just because he, All Might, formerly the world’s number one hero and symbol of peace, was too afraid to visit a sick coworker. A coworker with whom he had developed an awkward friendship and the sort of bond created when both are simultaneously faced with death and somehow come out alive, if not unscathed. And if his feelings went deeper, if the painful thudding of his heart was meant for anything other than a dread of being scolded by an acquaintance, then, well, it was better not to read too much into these things.
He found himself outside of Aizawa’s dorm room, and yet still he hesitated. He clenched the bags a little harder; when had his palms gotten so sweaty? Why was it so warm in the hallway? He’d have to inquire with maintenance about that later.
The door opened and Yagi jumped back, heart and stomach racing to see which could jump out of his throat first. Aizawa, face ruddy in places and far too pale in others, peeked through the crack in the doorway.
“A-Aizawa. How did you know I was there?” Yagi straightened his clothes and absently ran a hand through his hair.
“You aren’t exactly quiet,” he muttered, his words muddled with congestion. “You pace a lot.” His shoulders shook in an abrupt but violent cough. “Come in before you attract more attention.”
Yagi followed Aizawa into the dim room. The air smelled of sweat—Aizawa was probably running a fever. “How are you feeling?” he asked over the sound of the door clicking shut.
Aizawa regarded him with a flat expression.
“Ah.” Yagi gave a short laugh. “I guess that should be obvious.” They stood silently for a few moments, looking at each other but neither letting their gaze wander so far as the other’s face. “I, uh.” He cleared his throat. “I brought okayu. And some water. And medication.” He held out the bags as a form of peace offering.
The movement set Aizawa into motion. He plodded past Yagi, taking the bags with him without so much of a glance. Their hands brushed and Yagi felt like his skin was on fire with the brief contact. It must have been the fever.
Aizawa opened the small refrigerator in the corner and loaded the bottles of water in before taking a cold one out. He opened the cap and took a long drink. Yagi was acutely, painfully aware of his micromovements: how his throat moved as he swallowed, of the shiver that seemed to roll down his body. He took controlled, shallow breaths, but Yagi was all too familiar with the sound of someone trying and failing to make their lungs work properly.
“Are you okay?” Yagi ventured again.
Aizawa scoffed and then coughed again. “Of course, All Might would care,” he continued with a rasp. Despite the weakness in his voice, he still managed to dose it with a healthy amount of sarcasm.
“I do care.”
Aizawa finally gifted him with the briefest of eye contact. “I told you I was fine. Last thing we need is you getting sick, too.”
Not that Aizawa would ever admit to worrying about Yagi’s health. Yagi grinned. “You remember what I say about heroes and meddling.”
“I remember.” There, hidden beneath bedraggled black hair, Yagi thought he saw the most fleeting of smiles. “I am fine. Just tired. The fever should be gone soon. I’m just going to sleep it off.”
He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do so, but Yagi found himself approaching Aizawa and laying the back of his hand on his forehead. It was something he vaguely remembered his own mother doing when he was young and, just once, Nana.
“What are you doing? I’m not a child.” Despite his words, his eyes slid lazily shut. His skin was still hot and clammy, and Yagi worried about the darker tinge that washed over his cheeks.
“You’re not,” Yagi agreed. He paused, looking for words but not finding any suitable. He took his hand away and it felt so much colder for the lack of contact. Aizawa’s eyes opened and he stared at Yagi quietly, as if waiting. He was probably dazed from illness, Yagi reasoned. Still, he couldn’t find the words he wanted. “You should eat, and then get some rest,” he settled for.
“I will.” As if a spell was broken or time restarted, Aizawa moved away to unpack the forgotten take-away food. A waft of steam billowed upwards as he opened the container. “Thank Lunch-Rush for me.”
Yagi nodded. “Mic says to text him if you need anything.”
Aizawa snorted in a way that could almost have been a laugh.
“I guess-” he paused. “I guess I’ll be off. Please rest.” He dismissed himself.
“All M—Yagi.” Aizawa’s roughened voice made him stop and turn. Those black eyes had settled on him again, somehow softer it seemed. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Yagi’s heart stuttered and warmed, like it did whenever he happened to catch those rare expressions. A heavy happiness settled in his belly. “You know, I could stay and nurse you back to health.” He was half-joking, because his surly coworker/almost-friend would never allow that, but if in the wildest of possibilities Aizawa said yes, he’d hardly be able to say no.
Aizawa’s mouth quirked into a frown. “Don’t push your luck.”
Yagi’s face beamed. “Sleep, and feel free to call if you need help. I’m just down the hall.” He tilted his head and watched his companion for a moment. “Goodnight, Aizawa. I’ll see you tomorrow. Get well.”
“Goodnight.”
Yagi’s own dorm room was at the other end of the hallway. It had been an adjustment for him, going from his own spacious apartment to the school’s smaller housing, but he cherished the sense of community he got from being surrounded by his fellow teachers and students. He had a sense of belonging that he’d missed while standing atop his pedestal.
His phone buzzed as he settled into his couch. He pulled it out of his pocket to check the screen and raised his eyebrows when he saw Aizawa’s name on the message notification.
Aizawa: I’ll treat you to a meal this weekend.
There was that heart-stutter again. At this rate, he was likely to keel over before they got to… wherever they ended up. Not “where” as in a physical place, so much as in a relationship. A they, whatever they were. Whenever he became brave enough to admit aloud that he wanted a “they”.
Me: Looking forward to it.