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“So, you were dealing with this the entire time, and you didn’t feel the need to ever let me know?” Aizawa asks, searching through the cabinets. They may not be the most effective, but there’s a certain brand of painkillers he takes whenever he needs them—screw chronic pain—and he hopes it’ll help Midoriya, even if it’s only slightly.
The teen shifts around awkwardly behind him, watching as he sifts through the multitude of items he has stashed. “I’m sorry, sensei,” he says, quietly.
Aizawa closes his eyes, sighing deeply. He opens them again, and turns around to look at his student. “You have nothing to be sorry for. This—this was my fault, wasn’t it?”
Midoriya’s eyes widen, and he’s quick to counter his statement. “No—it wasn’t. What?” he squeaks, nervously. “You didn’t do anything wrong; this was my fault entirely. I did this to myself, and you’re not responsible for the trouble I manage to land myself into.”
And, god, when had Aizawa’s student become so defensive about things like these? When had he gotten so defensive about things in general?
Aizawa’s the adult figure in this situation. He should be the one helping, not idling around, unable to do anything useful. But in the end, this is the reality of the situation, and he’s going to have to figure Midoriya out first, before trying to figure out how to solve this issue.
The kid looks tense, and he glances down at the floor instead of meeting Aizawa’s eyes. He has one hand clasped around his other wrist. Aizawa can see the faint scars on the back of his hands—the result of overexerting himself multiple times. They’re permanent marks that’ll remind him of the ways in which he has messed up in the past.
Aizawa also knows that the scars don’t end there. They go up along Midoriya’s arm, hidden under the sleeve of his school blazer. It’s something Aizawa had tried to prevent, from day one, during the quirk assessments at the beginning of the school year.
He never wanted Midoriya to go down the same erroneous path that he did, himself. But the boy is self-sacrificial to a fault; he’d much rather carry all the weight himself than allow someone else to do so for him. He’d break himself if it means that he’ll be a hero.
Aizawa has the same exact mindset once. At around the same age, too. It lasted for quite a while, until he faced the full extent of the repercussions.
(The countless amount of nights he spent laying awake at night, trying to sleep despite the pain coursing through his body. The injuries might be healed, but the scars will stay, and the ache will linger. The damage is irreversible, if he takes it too far. There are things that not even the strongest healing quirk can fix completely, and he had to learn that lesson for himself the hard way.)
He didn’t want this to happen. He wishes, so hard, that it didn’t.
But it did, and Midoriya never brought it up. Aizawa knows from experience how it feels, so why?
Why did he think he could handle it himself, and not ask for help when he needed it?
Because he was afraid of you being disappointed in him, a voice in Aizawa’s head tells him, unprovoked. He didn’t want to be judged.
Aizawa exhales shakily, finding what he needs from the cabinet, and retrieving it. He looks down at the bottle in his hands, grasping the cap and opening it. He pauses for a moment.
“It is my fault,” he states, correcting Midoriya’s previous claim. “It’s my fault that I made you feel like you couldn’t trust me.”
Midoriya bites his lip. “I do trust you,” he says, but Aizawa’s not so sure he can hear the certainty in his voice. “You’re my teacher, and I trust you with many things.”
“But not this,” Aizawa says. “Problem chi—Midoriya. I know I’ve said things to you in the past about being more careful, but I didn’t mean for you to conceal this from me. I wanted you to be safe. I was frustrated from all the injuries you were getting, but I wasn’t mad at you.”
“You weren’t?” Midoriya asks, his voice barely above a whisper, but his tone sounding hopeful.
A pang of guilt hits Aizawa square in the face.
“I’m not,” he states. Present tense. “I can’t be angry at you for this.”
I’d be a hypocrite to do so, he thinks.
“Why…?” Midoriya questions, softly.
“Because,” Aizawa responds. “You’re my student; you’re still a hero-in-training. You’re just a kid, Midoriya, and perfection isn’t what I’m looking for. I’m supposed to be here for you when you need it the most, and I failed to provide even that. This is my responsibility, not yours.”
(I failed to guide you in the right direction.)
“So please, just… I’m sorry, Midoriya,” Aizawa says, resolutely. “Please come to me when you need something, regardless of what it is. If it’s important enough for you to ask, it’s important enough for me to help.”
“T-thank you, sensei,” Midoriya says, and Aizawa feels the tension within himself lessen.
He feels like he can breathe easier, but... Midoriya shouldn’t need to be thanking him, if he had done his job right. This should be the standard, not something he’s doing out of generosity. He’s undoubtedly messed up, and this is the direct result of his actions.
But it’s not the worst it could’ve been. Aizawa’s very, very late to address this issue, but he caught it nonetheless, and he’ll do whatever it takes to start mending things between him and his student. They’ve both got a long way to go, but it’s not an impossibility. He has a chance, and he’ll take it.
“I’m sorry for not realizing this sooner,” Aizawa tells him, “but I’ll start doing better. That’s a promise, kiddo.”
And for the first time throughout this whole conversation, Midoriya doesn’t look high-strung. He looks more relaxed, even if it’s marginal, and he offers Aizawa a hint of a small smile.
Aizawa doesn’t deserve it, but he can’t help but feel his heart soften at the gesture.