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Most people assume nighttime is quiet, and in a way, they would be right. But in other ways, they are so incredibly, laughably wrong; Aizawa knows this firsthand. The nature of his job means he operates chiefly at night because crime is, apparently, nocturnal.
Nights aren’t quiet. On the contrary, they have a unique soundtrack: the revving of cars that race down the streets because there is no one else around to slow them down, glass shattering as another drunkard drops their liquor, and raucous laughter from delinquents stumbling down the sidewalks in crews. Aizawa knows them all by heart, can tune them each out or hone in on them as needed, because it’s just part of the job.
Tonight, as he makes his usual rounds on patrol, he filters out the muffled music coming from a bar up the street. He thinks he had heard voices in this direction, and while that in itself isn’t a problem, people out and about at four am usually aren’t up to any good. He approaches swiftly, but cautiously, keeping an ear out for anything unusual.
“Hey, man, what’s the big id-- yo, watch where you’re swinging that thing!”
A loud voice - fairly masculine, relatively young, and most importantly, absolutely panicked - rings out in the night. Aizawa rushes to the scene.
He finds a blond man being crowded against the front of a record shop by someone in a navy hoodie. Something glints in the latter’s hand; Aizawa sends his capture weapon flying out before he can think. It wraps around the man’s wrist and with a single, easy jerk, he drops the knife.
“What the fuck?” The man snaps, trying to free his arm. Another tug sends him lurching backwards, away from his victim and close enough that Aizawa can land a solid punch before pinning him to the ground.
Aizawa remains on high alert, but it seems that whatever the man’s quirk is, it isn’t useful in this scenario because he simply continues to struggle weakly against his hold.
“Hey, do you wanna press charges?” Aizawa asks the civilian briskly, exerting just enough pressure to keep his wriggling captive in place. “I’ll be taking him in anyway, but I need to know if you intend to give a statement to the police.”
“No thanks, man. If it’s okay with you, I’d rather get home and try to catch a few hours of sleep than spend the rest of the night talking to the cops.”
Aizawa snorts, sparing a glance for the blond. “Can you get home on your own?”
He waves a hand dismissively. “Yeah, of course, yo! I don’t live very far, so it should be no sweat.”
“Very well.”
Aizawa redirects his attention to the criminal. He pulls out a roll of capture tape from one of the utility pouches hanging on his belt and uses it to bind the man’s arms behind his back. Satisfied with the security of his wrappings, he steps back and pulls out his phone to call the station.
When all that is said and done, he realizes that the blond still hasn’t left. He’s just standing there, frowning down at the criminal.
Aizawa raises an eyebrow. “Did you change your mind about pressing charges?” he asks, unsure of why else the man would choose to hang around.
He jumps. “Ah, no, I just, uh-” He pauses, huffs out a quick sigh, and tries again, “Listen, can I talk to him real quick? I’m not gonna get close or anything, I just wanna ask why he did it.”
For a moment Aizawa simply stares. For all of his talk about not having his time wasted, the civilian really is still standing here, staring down at his would-be mugger with eyes that should look more exhausted given the late hour. Instead he looks bright and alert, green irises shining strangely against the glow of the streetlamps.
People turn to crime for all sorts of reasons; did the why really matter in this case? If anything, the crook is probably out of a job and looking to mug an easy target. But the blond looks determined, thin lips pressed into an even thinner line.
Aizawa sighs. “Well, you heard him,” he says at long last, hoisting the criminal up to his feet. He keeps a tight grip on the man’s arms. “Why did you do it?”
The man in the hoodie shoots a weak glare over his shoulder before turning to spit on the ground. The blond doesn’t flinch, but his lip does curl a little in disgust.
“What gives? I didn’t do anything do you. Just give it to me straight - what were you trying to do before the hero showed up?”
The criminal mutters something inaudible. Even though he has no vested interest in the answer, Aizawa finds himself tightening his grip anyway, putting physical and metaphorical pressure on him. “We can’t hear you.”
“Okay, okay, jeez!” he complains. “I heard you were selling autographed copies of Lyrica’s latest album, so I was going to steal some and resell ‘em.”
“...You were going to mug him over a few CDs?” Aizawa asks, squinting down at the criminal skeptically.
“Hey, do you know how much those things sell for online?” he argues, stomping a foot indignantly. “I coulda made bank!”
“So you’re a scalper? That’s even worse than just being a mugger,” the blond says with a roll of his eyes.
Aizawa disagrees, but he’s still too hung up on the fact that this man was willing to risk arrest over a handful of CDs. When he says as much out loud, the two strangers stare at him as if he’s the ridiculous one in this situation.
“Do you know how insanely popular she is?” the blond exclaims, throwing his hands up. “She’s only the biggest rising hero on TV right now.”
The name sounds vaguely familiar, but Aizawa is admittedly not familiar with any of the big names that are more celebrity than hero at this point. When his face doesn’t change, the blond takes it as a sign to continue, waving his hands around as he explains.
“You seriously don’t know her?” His voice deepens suddenly, affecting the tone of an announcer. “Lyrica, the Idol Girl hero! Quirk: Rave. She can influence large groups of people with her voice. The bigger the group, the more powerful the mob influence is. She is currently sitting at number 16 on the hero rankings!” The blond’s voice drops back to a normal pitch and he shrugs, grinning. “She’s also just a great performer, yo. People go nuts for her stuff.”
“Huh,” Aizawa says for lack of a better response. He doesn’t particularly care, but the stranger’s manner of explanation had been… engaging, to say the least.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt nobody,” the man in the hoodie says with a scowl. “You weren’t supposed to be here. I was just trying to break in and take the CDs before the release tomorrow night.”
The blond smacks a hand to his forehead, startling them both. “Seriously?” He says, giving the petty criminal such an intense glare that Aizawa feels him shrink back in his hold.
“The midnight release was tonight, you idiot!” he squawks. Aizawa takes a step back to avoid being hit by the man’s long limbs; he really seems to enjoy talking with his hands. “That’s why I was closing up shop at four in the morning. So even if Mr. Mysterious Hero over here hadn’t shown up, you still wouldn’t have gotten jack from me, yo. By the way, what’s your name, Mr. Hero?”
Aizawa blinks, caught off guard. He’s so surprised, in fact, that he nearly answers too. He’s opening his mouth to speak when someone beats him to the punch.
“Eraserhead! Sorry to keep you waiting, but we’ll take it from here.”
Officer Ichimura waves as she approaches, a pair of police officers falling in-step right behind her as they step out of their vehicle.
“Good work. How are the streets looking tonight?” Ichimura asks pleasantly while her co-workers take the criminal into custody.
“Fine,” Aizawa grunts. He glances over at the strange blond civilian who, for some reason, still hasn’t left. Ichimura follows his line of sight before finally taking notice of the stranger.
She acknowledges him with a polite nod. “Hello, I’m Officer Ichimura. Did you want to press charges against the villain? Or did you perhaps need a police escort to walk you home?”
“Yamada,” he introduces, smiling at her in return. “And nah, I’m good. I don’t live very far. I should be heading off now though if I want to catch some shut eye tonight.”
“If you insist.” Ichimura turns, nodding at them both before clapping Eraserhead on the shoulder. He grimaces at the gesture, but endures it because really, she’s already gone, climbing into the driver’s side of the police car and heading off into the night.
Yamada and Aizawa watch the car go, waiting until the street settles back into its usual track of faraway voices and the hum of the streetlamp just overhead.
“You said you live nearby, right?” Aizawa says after a few moments’ quiet contemplation.
“Yep. Just a few blocks over that way.”
Aizawa looks at him, sees him pointing east. It’s the opposite direction of the rest of his route. He nods stiffly, squashing the strange disappointment in his chest before it can fully unfurl, and starts to bid the man farewell.
“Alright, be sure to get home sa-”
“Care to walk me home, hero?”
Yamada is smiling at him, warm and inviting, shining brighter than the wan lamplight in which he stands. For the first time that evening, Aizawa takes the time to really look at him, from the long hair coiled messily into a bun at the back of his head to the neatly trimmed little moustache above his upper lip. He’s dressed casually in some jeans and a T-shirt for an artist Aizawa doesn’t recognize, but he’s dressed it up with his leather jacket and jewelry in the form of colorful bracelets on his wrist.
Aizawa’s assessment tells him nothing he didn’t already know, except that maybe this strange man is cuter than he had initially thought on first glance.
“I thought you didn’t need an escort,” he says slowly, cautiously, because really this fluttering in his stomach is annoying and probably his gut instinct warning him of something.
“I don’t,” Yamada says easily, shoving his hands into his pockets. “But I sure could use the company.”
The strange fluttering in his stomach grows warm now, fuzzy and excited in a way that Aizawa doesn’t have the time to pick apart. His lips quirk up until a smile before he can help it, and he finds himself huffing, “Sure. Let’s go.”
They fall into step as they make their way down the street, Yamada making idle chatter as they go, and Aizawa finds that the sound of his voice is quickly becoming his new favorite song on the soundtrack of Musutafu nights.