Chapter Text
Aizawa named Midoriya the “Problem Child” for a reason. Multiple reasons, actually. The biggest one being that the boy seemed to always attract trouble while his morals and unyielding sense of responsibility made sure he never backed down, whether from a fight with some villain or writing double the number of pages necessary for the paper required in class about whatever heroics topic was covered.
Although he ended up in more conflicts than anyone else, it was easy to see how hard he worked. He constantly trained both his mind and body, learning new techniques from teachers and students alike.
Aizawa wouldn’t say it to the boy’s face yet, but Midoriya was bound to quite the future in the hero world. Quite the natural.
That being said, Midoriya caused Aizawa many problems while in his class, ranging from slight headaches to near panic attacks.
It was late in the afternoon when Midoriya returned from his nightly training -- after classes had ended, after dinner was eaten, and after Aizawa had settled into grading papers at the table. The sun set just as he stumbled in the dorms, greeted cheerily by his friends huddled in different places around the common area.
Aizawa lazily lifted his eyes from the red marks he scribbled along Kaminari’s paper and sipped his tea, trailing the Problem Child’s movements as he slipped off his shoes.
He paused, frowning while watching Midoriya’s hands shake as the boy gave a gentle smile to his friends as he responded and wandered upstairs. His friends returned to their phones, but Aizawa’s mind remained on the boy.
There were plenty of reasons for his hands to shake, Aizawa reasoned. After all, he destroyed his bones on a weekly basis for a while, and he was a walking anxiety sign.
A loud crash interrupted his thoughts. Aizawa tsked , throwing a glare toward a rowdy Mina and Kirishima , who sent him a sheepish grin after nearly breaking the couch. God, why was it his class.
He sighed, debating going to his room for the night so his headache wouldn’t get worse. He sighed again as he realized if he left, his students would get more troublesome and anything they broke would lead to a bigger headache.
Aizawa grabbed his pen again.
Adjusting another sentence with an incorrect fact, he forced his mind to focus on the paper in front of him.
Focus , he told himself as his mind played back Midoriya’s hands shaking.
He gripped his pen tighter. Plenty of reasons, he reminded himself. The kid can take care of himself.
Aizawa dropped the pen with a clunk, eyes zipping to the stairs. That Problem Child has the survival instincts of a gnat.
And just like that, all the pieces fell together. Training in the afternoon, shaking hands, and – most importantly – not getting back to the dorms until after dinner.
Aizawa let out a long breath from his nose, closing his eyes. One minute of peace, he told himself, opening his eyes.
He pressed his shoulders back, stretching, and tucked the papers under his arm. Why is it always my class?
Walking into the kitche n , he opened a cabinet and snatched a handful of protein bars and made his way to the stairs.
Aizawa trudged up to the second floor, turning and standing outside his Problem Child’s door.
His hand came up, hitting the wood twice.
A muffled thump followed before several footfalls got louder as the boy opened the door, glazed eyes widening as he saw his teacher.
“Aizawa-sensei! Uh-”
Before the boy could stumble over his words, Aizawa shoved his hand full of protein bars to Midoriya’s chest, the boy scrambling to catch them.
“Keep a stash in your room,” Aizawa stated. “When you get back late and don’t want to make yourself something, eat a couple of those so you don’t pass out.”
Midoriya stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the bars before looking up at his teacher. “Th-Thank you, Aizawa -sensei. I will!”
Aizawa simply grunted. Far too enthusiastic.
After another moment of silence, Aizawa realized he should respond. “I’ll know if you don’t,” he says, eyes straying to his slightly shaking hands.
“R-Right.”
Satisfied that the boy would take care of himself – at least for the moment, he thought sourly – Aizawa turned on his heel and made his way toward his dorm, throwing a “Make sure you get to sleep soon” over his shoulder.
Ugh, Aizawa thought, my headache’s worse.
After that, Aizawa took note of when Midoriya returned from training and was pleased to notice he always made it back for dinner. Well, at least for a week and a half.
Aizawa again sat at the table, waiting for his food to finish so he could leave the teenagers and retreat to his room. His eyes wandered over Bakugo’s paper, glad to see the boy improving.
The front door opened, shouted greetings mixing in the air and ruining Aizawa’s concentration. He glanced up to see the back of Midoriya as he fiddled with his bag. His frown deepened, eyes lingering on the shaky hands.
He let out a long sigh. Apparently, the kid needed a lecture to accompany those protein bars.
Just as Aizawa moved to stand, Midoriya turned, a single hand coming up to rip a protein bar from his mouth to chew off a chunk.
Aizawa froze, then hummed to himself. He plated his food quickly and left.
Three days later, Aizawa returned to the dorms after parole a couple hours before he had to get up again to teach.
He groaned, forcing his sore body to move into the main common room. He stood in the kitchen doorway, hungry but too tired to make anything. And I ate the last of my protein bars last night. He cursed, already turning to go to bed when his eyes landed on the table.
In the center of the table laid a protein bar, a scrap of paper below.
Aizawa lifted the bar, revealing a note scribbled in Midoriya’s familiar handwriting.
Noticed you were out.
A small smile stretched across his lips.
Midoriya must have told everyone about his late night returns and lack of motivation to cook because on his next return from patrol, the table overflowed with small goodies from everyone in the class.
It ranged from soba, no doubt made by Bakugo , that he simply needed to reheat to a bowl of candies from Ashido .
Completely unnecessary, Aizawa wanted to protest, eyes darting along the food. And then he saw it. In the center of it all laid a single protein bar.
Maybe just this once, he thought, hands reaching out.