Chapter Text
It had been an uneventful patrol. He was almost sure that he'd spend the night staked out on the roof in the wind with nothing to show for his trouble. Shouta had always had mixed feelings about nights like this. On one hand, it was a good thing. No one was getting bothered by some 2-bit villains or worse. On the other, it always felt like a waste to stay out in the cold when he could have stayed in and gotten grading done or even caught a few hours of extra sleep. However, "had" was the operative word.
Moments after he'd straightened to his feet to stretch his stiff body he picked up on the sound of an alarm a few blocks down. Sighing heavily, he turned in the direction of the high-pitched repetitive tone feeling a headache brewing already. So much for a quiet night. With a whisper of fabric he was on the move, pulling himself reflexively along the roof tops and over gaps with his capture weapon. Absently, Shouta is able to admire the way that frost cliugs to the surface of darkened windows and parked cars as he closed the distance in a matter of minutes. It was definitely getting closer to winter.
The area was a familiar part of his patrol route with small shops bordering a residential neighborhood. Not a normal place for a break in for anyone more dangerous than a standard thug. Still caution guided him as he scoped out the scene from the roof of the building across the street. He'd gotten enough cuts and bruises from thinking he knew better when he was younger. After this many years on the job he wasn’t normally one for chances.
Glass sparkled under the bright pools beneath the streetlamps making him pause. Most break-ins would leave glass on the inside of the building... unless something spooked his mark and they broke through the window. It was possible. The alarm wailed loudly in the pre-dawn morning sounding sharper in the cold night air. Everything seemed quiet, but the scene still sat wrong with him.Why would they break out of the building so dramatically? He tried to write it off as belligerence from an overconfident till robber, but even as he thinks it he doesn’t buy it. As he turned to survey the alleys nearby movement from within the little store caught his eye. Instinctively, he dropped lower to survey the scene from a better angle..
Someone was moving between rows of the small local jewelry store. There they are. They kept stopping every few steps and seemed to be checking around them. His brows knit together in confusion. The thief stayed with the alarm on like that? As he watched them move between the cabinets, stooping to snag different pieces on the way, the glass made more sense. They must have tripped the alarm and hoped to buy some time for themselves by making it look like they left. An amateur for sure then.
Confident that he’d seen enough, Shouta leapt lightly from his perch. As he approached, he made sure to keep his target in view and activated his Quirk. The familiar burning in his eyes starts almost immediately thanks to the dry cold of the winter night. Without a word, he quickly lashes his capture weapon at the thug as the thief turns just in time to realize he has company. The kid threw up a hand and paused seeming confused as the capture weapon secured him.
Must need his hands for his Quirk. He couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed that it had been so easy and, once Shouta is satisfied that the messy hoodlum is restrained, he blinks gratefully. Sighing, he runs a hand through his mussed hair before looking at the kid to ask something sarcastic when a light brighter than anything Shouta had ever seen flared from the dark haired thug's eyes. His eyes burn and even trying to shield his face doesn’t seem to help. Shit.
Acting on adrenaline and years of training, he worked to put distance between himself and the criminal on the floor. A sharp pain in his side as he stumbled back informed him of the corner of the counter behind him. It definitely felt like it would bruise. Reaching behind him, he vaulted over the counter feeling his way over bits of broken glass from the showcases. He waited for his vision to clear. Except, it didn't. Spots dance in his eyes for far longer than they had any right to before his vision settled into blackness. He can't hear movement coming his way or the sound of any threat which only puts him on higher alert. At least at the USJ he'd been able to see what was trying to kill him. He’d been blindfolded before, but this was something new. Panic settled into him heavily as he waited for someone to strike out at him, but the attack never came.
He opted to wait where he was arguing with himself about whether the kid was still where he left him or not. He wasn’t familiar enough with the store’s interior to do more than sit tight and be ready to fight if someone came at him. By the time the police arrived on the scene he was so tightly wound that he actually jumped when an officer addressed him. Going by touch, he got to his feet and steadied himself against the showcase he had been leaning against.
"Eraserhead, is everything okay?" Her voice sounded concerned and, after a moment of thought, he recognized the voice as belonging to one of the officers he frequently spoke to on his patrols. He does his best to keep the anxiety out of his voice and be matter-of-fact.
"I can't see. The guy has a light-based Quirk requiring his eyes. Be careful," he says as though he is talking to one of his students. His throat tightens at the thought. How was he going to teach? It would be hard to observe their training like this.
"Yes sir. The individual is still restrained thanks to you. Come with me and we'll get you checked in for follow-up. We’ll handle the paperwork later. In the meantime I’ll take a statement on the ride," she says crisply. He moves automatically toward the sound of her voice only to run hard into another corner of the damned cabinets. He hissed in pain and ran his hands along the top of the offending object until he finds the edge. Rounding the corner, he jumped as the officer placed a gentle but firm hand around his upper arm.
"Sorry. I tho-"
He raised his other hand to wave off the apology.
"I’m fi-No, it's...Thanks," he replied despite internally shirking off the help. For a moment, he was glad that he couldn't see the expression on her face. Worry or pity would both be unacceptable. Now that he couldn't actually see her, he realized that he barely knew what she looked like in the first place, despite knowing that her name was Satoko. It was bizarre to feel himself blinking, and for there to be no change. Satoko guided him into the cruiser to sit while she radioed that she would be bringing him to the hospital. He was grateful that he wouldn't have to ride in an ambulance at least. He wasn't sure he could take that on top of everything else that he knew was coming.
During the ride he pulled his phone out of his pocket five times out of habit to text Hizashi about his situation only to remember that he couldn't see the screen and shove it roughly back into his pocket with growing frustration.
-----------
After the hours of tests and procedures the thing that had him the most concerned was how taciturn Hizashi was being. He was used to loud teasing or scolding whenever he had an incident, but the silence only indicated a level of worry that he was loathe to be on the receiving end of. The only marker he’d had for time in all of it was Hizashi's quiet grumble about them missing lunch.
By the time they finally returned to his apartment he was exhausted. For a while the pair had been concerned that the damage might be permanent. The end result? His sight would return in time, but that the nature of the Quirk was to blind for a period of time that varied depending on the person affected. It was also influenced by the user’s mental state. Aizawa would have been impressed with the potential of the ability if not for the fact that he was actively dealing with the effects himself.
The best estimate he got was that, since it hadn't worn off already, he was probably in for at least a few days of dealing with it the best he could. “Headlights,” as Hizashi had none too affectionately referred to the small time villain, was himself unsure of the limits of his Quirk, but admitted that it was stronger if he was scared or caught off guard. That left Shouta with nothing to work with other than informing UA about the situation and ensuring his classes were covered thanks to Mic dialing for him. Untying his boots was less of an issue than anticipated. Making coffee on the other hand...
When did I fill this cupboard with so much crap? Aizawa couldn't help but wonder as he patted around the space that was, frankly, much bigger than he remembered it being. He shoved a paper-wrapped package further to the back that he suspected was sugar.
"Sho, you want a hand with that o-"
"I can manage. You should head back to school," he cut in easily as his fingers finally closed around the plastic container of instant coffee. He noted the tell-tale lack of sound indicating that Hizashi was still somewhere in his apartment and took a guess on the voice hero’s whereabouts turning to face the living room.
"I don't need to be looked after in my own apartment," he grunted tersely. He loved his friend, really, but he just wanted to be left to sulk. Was that so much to ask? The seconds of silence ticked on before he heard movement behind him in the kitchenette and whirled. When in fuck did he get there? He could have sworn that Hizashi was still in the living room. The worry being directed at him was palpable and he could see that look that he hated in his mind's eye. No doubt Hizashi was standing with his thumbs hooked in his belt loops trying to look anywhere but at him.
"Listen man," Mic began softly, "I know you don't like people in your space, but you can't just stay here alone."
He opened his mouth to argue, but flinched back instinctively when Hizashi tapped a finger lightly on his nose.
"Nope, no arguments Eraser," he said. His voice was building close to his regular too-loud volume and Aizawa grimaced at the fact that his "best friend" had already no doubt cooked up a plan that he would have little to no say in. "I'm crashing here tonight, and I’ll shake up the cavalry for tomorrow." Nemuri no doubt. She was possibly worse than the loud blonde when it came to trying to mollycoddle him.
Shouta did his best to keep up with his friend’s haphazard language switches, but between his exhaustion with the situation and the sudden realization that getting distracted had made him lose place of exactly where in his kitchen he was he let it go. He hated it when Yamada used obscure English when he knew damn well that he'd only barely passed his fundamentals. He turned to grab his kettle, accidentally swatted a travel mug he'd set down earlier clattering to the floor, and promptly sat down in the middle of his small kitchen and tried to ignore Hizashi's poorly smothered giggles.
"Whatever you just recorded...delete it," he sighed in defeat knowing damn well it was going to go right into the "blackmail gallery" that had been steadily growing since high school.
Yamada snorted and the slight squeak of leather was his only indication that the voice hero was moving until his coffee tin was plucked from his hand.
"Go sit in the living room. I'll make you some before I go to get my stuff," Hizashi cooed, indulgently laying on the fake domestic sweetness.
"When this is over, remind me to give your DJ equipment a bath," he said flatly as he got to his feet. He bumped his hip hard against the counter- Seriously?- on his way out of the kitchen and, hopefully, managed to play it off that he didn't trip and fall into the couch. The guffaw in the other room wasn't promising for that particular wish. He snagged the blanket he normally kept on the back of the couch and promptly bundled himself into a proper ball of shame. Now that he was trying to picture it, he wasn't sure if the blanket was the pink cat print one he'd been gifted or the grey one. Before his coffee was even done he was asleep.
------------
The rest of the evening passed with surprising normalcy. Mic was loud and teasing as they drank cheap beer and ate greasy takeout. He'd known Yamada long enough to have all of his mannerisms memorized. It was comforting in the visual nothingness the day had been. Despite his initial thoughts on the matter, as it got closer to evening he'd been able to feel the change in light strength from day to night. Not that it did any good to him since he still couldn't actually see anything. The worst of it came when he realized he needed to pee. Every time he'd tried to get up Hizashi had insisted on knowing what he was doing so he could shadow him.
On one hand, he wasn't embarrassed by the fact that he needed to go to the bathroom. On the other, he was unhappy about the prospect of needing someone to guide him to the toilet itself. Maybe beer wasn't the best idea. He shook his head. It was too late now. He set the half-full beer down on the floor next to the couch after checking to make sure that there wasn't anything uneven that could topple his drink.
"Be right back," he offered as he pushed himself up from the couch. His legs felt stiff from sitting so much, and he could tell that even with the alcohol in his system he was going to be too restless to get much sleep that night.
"Sho, where ya going?" He could hear Mic shifting to stand.
"Just need to take a piss. I'll be back." He padded to the wall that he knew would guide him into the hallway to his bathroom before he caught the sound of clinking zippers. Shouta wished he could sigh out all of his irritation and closed his eyes in a bid for patience. "There's a reason you don't do stealth missions. Why are you still in your coat anyway?"
"Thanks for calling in with your question!" He could hear the shuffle of feet that indicated Mic dancing lightly from side to side as he was prone to do when he was drunk and caught. There was a moment of dramatic pause before Mic said, "The reason is because you keep your apartment way too stinkin' cold and I want to make sure you don't fall in!" On a different day, Aizawa might have missed the muttered, "or film it when you do," but today was not that day.
Throwing his hands up in defeat he continued on his way trailing his fingers lightly against the smooth surface of the wall. He couldn't help but notice that his carpet felt gritty underfoot. He wrote it off to all of the mornings he passed out in his room without bothering to take off his boots, but made a mental note to vacuum more often once he could see again.
They reached the bathroom without incident, as expected, and Shouta slid inside before promptly slamming the door in his friend's face and locking it. He felt a wisp of anxiety curl in his stomach at the sudden thought that the doctors could be wrong. Was it possible that this might be permanent? What if- No. Worrying isn't going to solve anything. Use this as a chance to learn. Shouta was acutely aware that most of his fighting style and life revolved around him using a lot of visual information to quickly gauge a situation. He patted around the small bathroom and overshot the sink slightly before using it as a marker to get around to the toilet.
Undoing his pants, he decided that the best thing he could do tonight is just let himself pretend that it was like when he was a kid and would close his eyes and see how well he could get around. He sat to handle his business rather than risk it and was relieved that he'd put the seat down, a habit from when he still lived with Hizashi and Nemuri, and didn't fall in.
Washing his hands was only marred by his knocking the soap back into the sink when he tried to put it in the dish and must have misjudged.
By the time he called it for the night after a few more beers and some light conversation he was sick of needing to keep the layout of the room in the fore of his thoughts. He should be doing lesson plans or looking into things with the league. He had plenty of digging still to do on that front. Plus, it didn’t help that his class was still hellbent on putting themselves into dangerous situations. His mind took the chance to latch onto this information and put the screws to him.
What if something happens at the school and you’re not there? You're useless right now. Look at how you're taking up another hero's time when they could be doing something else.
Anxiety wasn't new to him. He'd dealt with it through most of his adolescence and it had definitely increased as the year progressed with the disaster magnet that was 1-A. The thought that, for all intents and purposes, he was essentially Quirkless right now, he and Hizashi had tested it, sat uncomfortably in his gut.
"I'm going to bed," he heard himself announce. There it was. He was trying to avoid the issue and he knew it.
"Whoa! You sure Sho? It's pretty early for you to be callin' it in," Hizashi slurred. It was a mix of drunkenness and sleep deprivation. Aizawa knew the sound well enough to feel guilty for not thinking about the fact that the whole thing had no doubt woken Hizashi up much earlier than his friend had likely planned on. Between patrols, the radio show, and classes he knew his friend didn't clock much more sleep than he did himself and that he was normally in bed by the time Shouta came back from patrols.
"Yeah, long day," he managed. It wasn't a total lie. "Get some sleep. I can get to bed." To prove his point, he snagged the blanket off the couch with only a second of worry that he'd miss it and tossed it onto the voice hero with a flick of his wrist. He could manage that much at least.
"Okay, let me know if you need anything okay? You know Nem and I care about you," Hizashi relented with a drawn-out yawn that Aizawa imagined was paired with an equally long stretch.
"Yeah, I appreciate it. Night 'Zashi." Waving a hand in that general direction to bid goodnight, he retreated down the hall. The wall was cool beneath his finger tips, and as he got undressed for bed Shouta decided on two things. The first was that he was glad that he didn't have a cluttered apartment. That would certainly have made today much more difficult. The second, he simply could not be bothered to try to rummage around his dresser for sweatpants he would more than likely only put on backwards anyway.
"Boxers it is," he mumbled to no one in particular before making himself comfortable. Through the window, he could hear the soft whoosh of cars passing occasionally on the road below. He tried everything he could think of to sleep. Deep breaths, counting, visualizing boring things, relaxation techniques, but the only thing firmly on his mind was the worry that he would not be there if something happened to his class again.
He gingerly ran a finger along the scar that ran below his eye. How bad would it have been if something like this had happened then? Would the teacher picking up his homeroom have been better equipped for the villains there? What if one of them had died? Breathing became a conscious effort as thought after thought swirled to the surface.
Normally, this is when he would reach for his phone to work on lesson plans or try to get his mind off it completely by watching cat videos or something, but before he could even bring himself to snake his arm out for the device he knew that it would be a fruitless endeavor. It was going to be a long night.