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Of course, Toshi introduced you to his acquaintances.
You’d waver to actually call them "friends”. It seemed that the most popular hero in Japan didn’t have many.
He’d explained this to you in a ruefully stoic manner. You were left with no urge to pry further.
So - his fellow teachers. Most of them seemed nice, if a bit eccentric.
They would be, you’d remind yourself. They were living the high-octane life of crimefighting and wrangling moody teenagers (you couldn’t decide which job scares you more.) Nether the less, these colourful folks accepted you into the fold.
They seemed glad that All Might is (“finally!” as Present Mic shouted into your ear) living his best life post-retirement.
You liked this Mic. He was a loud, excitable fellow with a penchant for spikes and silly hair. He doused you with infectious enthusiasm, providing an instant sense of camaraderie.
You could tell that Toshi is fond of him, too; no matter how much of a wilted violet he appeared to be when standing next to the motormouth.
Then there was Midnight. A bold, self-assured woman who refused to feel bad for making men horny. The world was her lingerie catwalk, while the bystanders’ stiffies were entirely on them. You couldn’t help but endorse such spunk.
Midnight took you under her well-manicured wing and requested to know All The Juicy Details.
Fending this woman off seemed like art you’ll have to master, for when it came to her, basic tact was something that happened to other people.
There was Cementoss, a quiet, unassuming man who seemed to respect Toshi a great deal.
And then there was Aizawa. Damn Aizawa.
You couldn’t tell who All Might was to him, exactly. He’d treat your man with the same scathing deadpan he served to anyone else.
Except you. You, as it seemed, were not worth his barbs.
He was wary around Toshinori’s sweetheart.
He’d keep his distance. He’d ignore any of your awkward attempts at making small talk. This dude has perfected flat, dismissive silence to a fine edge.
Someone mentioned once that Aizawa-kun doesn’t make friends easily. You couldn’t help but wonder how did he make any at all.
This man would avoid socializing with you like an alley tomcat that doesn’t want your treats.
All the same, wherever you’re turned your back at him…you’d feel his bloodshot eyes watching you. Boring into the back of your skull.
His dark stare had an almost gravitational pull to it. It was exasperating. Yet the moment you spun on your heels, ready to pounce, ready to ask “what’s your problem, dude?” - Aizawa would just shrug and walk away.
It started to creep you out.
The whole man was creeping you out. He always looked scruffy and exhausted, with black unkempt hair falling over a face that held an eternal expression you’d best describe as “out of fucks to give.” This raggedy weirdo clearly gave some fucks about you. They were just not…positive fucks.
One day you decided to do something about it. That stupid tension was bad for your nerves, and you were sure Toshi’s gonna notice it sooner or later.
You didn’t want to worry your beloved beanpole of a man. Less even - to cause him grief. And that’s what would happen if he was to know that one of his coworkers indirectly gives you shit.
An occasion presented itself a week later. The teachers were getting out together after hours. Naturally, Toshi proposed that you join them.
He was ears deep in amorous high, having an actual girlfriend to parade around for the first time in who-knows-how-long (you certainly didn’t.)
No one wanted to snag this pink cloud of bliss from under him. Not by suggesting that you and Class 1A homeroom teacher don’t go along.
You certainly didn’t.
A few hours later the empty soba dishes layered the table at the small, cosy joint, while collars got looser and moods got way lighter.
You watched Toshi grinning, flushed from the minuscule amount of drink that he probably shouldn’t have, deep in some conversation with his friends.
There was a lot of commotion going on; there had to be wherever Mic was, ahem, present. Laughter rang in the air.
You’ve had the rest of this sake that Toshi wetted his lips in (“Indirect kiss…oh my!” he’d observe with innocent glee, and you giggled), so the idea that flashed in your brain seemed perfect.
Right now he wouldn’t mind if you disappeared for a while…right?
“I’ll be right back, love”, you murmured into the pointy ear, which emerged from that ruffled flaxen hair.
Oh, how you loved that bush. Had to mentally restrain oneself from submerging your face in it now, when the others were watching.
Your man gave you a tipsy smile and went back to what he was saying. You stood up and made a beeline for the restroom.
Passing Aizawa on the way, you whispered sharply: “You. Asshole. Follow me.”
It was not a very cordial invitation. To your deepest astonishment - it worked.
Damn, that guy could walk like a cat, too. The utter absence of sound from his footsteps made the little hairs on your nape stand straight.
You two went outside, where the summer Japanese night was in full bloom; the huge moon, the flower petals bristling in the wind, the cicadas doing their thing.
It didn’t sweeten your mood one bit.
You faced the guy - a dark, motionless silhouette with arms folded on his chest - and shot away what was coiling on the back on your tongue:
“Wow, so you do react to words.”
“Whenever it feels necessary.” That was not even a jab. It was a bare statement of a fact. You felt dismissed, and that made you angry.
“What is your deal, Aizawa-san?” you asked, trying to penetrate the dark, to peer into those dispassionate eyes.
“You’ll have to be more precise than that.”
“I mean it!” He wasn’t much taller, but you felt a sudden, desperate urge to stand on your toes so that he would finally take you seriously. Approached you like an adult.
“You’ve made a huge deal of avoiding me all this time. I don’t want Toshi to feel bad about this, but he’s bound to notice.
What’s your problem with me? Do I stink?”
A normal person would probably chuckle. Aizawa remained silent - and as immobile as if his feet were planted in the ground.
The silence lingered. Thank fuck for the enthusiastic cicadas.
“Well then?…”
That was one step - just one move, impossibly fluid and frightfully fast. Suddenly Aizawa Shota was all up in your grill. Your throat got dry.
“You ask what is my problem with you?” The words felt like bullets, each one fast and precise, no room for any sugar to coat their lead at all. Deadly.
“My problem is that I don’t trust you. Who are you? Where did you come from? He's lived this heroic celibate existence for years now, and suddenly there’s a much younger woman, attached to him at the hip. A quirkless one, from what I gather. Non-Japanese. A complete outsider. So I’m gonna ask you: what do you want from All Might? What is your deal?”
Your lips probably formed a perfect O. You took two long, staggering breaths, one after another. Then you tried your damnedest to compose oneself.
This was preposterous…and very, very rude. But this guy obviously couldn’t care less, and his offhand approach had some foundation in common sense.
For All Might was a national treasure, a worldwide-known celebrity, and you were nothing.
The jerkass had a point. So you spoke.
“Who am I, indeed? Perfectly no one. I could tell you how Toshi and I met, but it was not one bit the romantic affair he makes it to be.”
Aizawa unfolded his arms and stuck his hands into his pockets.
“Try me.”
You inhaled slowly. Truth or dare.
“I used to be a sugar baby. That’s a fancy millenial name for a sex worker. I bet such a down-to-earth man as yourself is familiar with the term.”
Aizawa nodded.
“Toshi…I mean, All Might saved my life. Literally. It was just before that…thing which happened in Kamino. I was getting home after a gig, my purse bursting with banknotes, and some small-time punk decided I’m his next meal ticket. I kicked him in the groin and cried for help. And boy, did the help came.”
You could not smile at that distant memory.
“All Might made sure that I got home safely. He was such a sweetheart. I thought: hey, what the hell, it’s not like I’m gonna meet a man like this ever again, not within this shitty existence I’m living. So I gave him my number. Told him who I was - or rather, what I was. He didn’t care. One thing led to another…and here we are months later. I love him.”
You tried to keep your voice firm and level.
You really tried.
Aizawa listened intently. You could almost feel the cogs under that ratty hair turning.
“It was the logical thing to do”, he said finally. His voice was calm.
“Excuse me?”
“Giving him your number. You found yourself at the end of that particular line, saw a light in the tunnel, and decided to grasp that light.”
You stared into his pale, unshaven face, looking for any trace of mockery. Was this socially challenged bastard judging you?
“You think it's a bad thing that I did?” Your voice got a little wet. Scratchy.
Aizawa shook his dark head.
“Not in the slightest. Judging from the outcome, I’d say it was for the best for both parties involved.”
Your eyes went wide. You sure as hell didn’t expect this.
“Well then? Are we good?”
“Just one thing.” He lifted a finger. “Do you know how gullible this man is? How desperately starved for affection?”
You felt your pulse rush. “Now then, that’s completely uncalled for -”
Aizawa seemed undeterred with your discomfort. Those dark eyes remained glued to your face. “Do you?”
You gulped.
“Well, he goes out of his way to see the best in everyone…” you ventured.
He clicked his tongue.
“Exactly. And that’s what makes him vulnerable. I’ve never seen All Might this happy, and apparently, no one else has. If you break his heart, I will break your bones.”
“Like hell I would!” you snapped, furious.
You stood there, glaring at this impossible bastard, and he glared back. You must’ve looked like two samurai from an old movie. But who has just dealt the victorious blow?
“Oh, I see,” you grinned finally. “This is your way of caring for him. How very sweet.”
Aizawa hissed under his breath like a miffed feline.
“I don’t care for him.”
“Yes, you do. Yes you do! You’re a good friend to have, Aizawa-san, even if a little unorthodox in your approach.”
He emitted a sound that could only be described as a “tch”, shrugged and spun on his heel, showing you that this conversation is over.
“Yeah, let’s get back inside”, you cooed. “Toshi’s probably looking for me right now.”
“…don’t tell him what I just told you.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t for the world. It’s gonna be our dirty little secret.”
“Tch.”