Work Text:
Its lunch in the middle of the school year, teachers strewn about the lounge in various forms of rest and work, typing away at keyboards with onigiri in their mouths or grading last minute essays while munching on bento lunches. Hizashi is one of the latter, sitting on the couch with a highlighter pen in one hand and a rolled omelet in the other as he skims English essays for the third years. His husband, however, is neither, and is simply rolled up in his signature yellow sleeping bag on the same couch, head resting lightly on the voice hero’s thigh as he doses.
Its fifteen minutes into the lunch hour, the ambiance of the lounge is familiar and light. The general warmth that radiates from the room is in contrast to the heavy sleet that pummels the world outside, an onset to the blizzards only weeks away now that winter has finally set in. But no one comments on it. It’s a common feeling, anyways.
Or at least, for those who’ve been in the staff for a few years.
“Ya know, Eraser,” a tired grey eye cracks open to peer over at the hero who spoke. The man has a cowboy hat on over a gasmask, and Aizawa remembers him as the recent transfer from America. The man was cordial enough, so the tired man grunts to show he’s listening. Snipe, if he remembers his name correctly, clears his throat a bit before continuing. “For as long as I’ve known ya, ya’ve always seemed to be more on the… what’s-Imma-call-it… pension, for the unnoticed colors. All ‘cept that there sleeping bag…” it’s quiet in the lounge now, and Snipe shifts a bit uncomfortably before clearing his throat, “Where’d ya get it?”
There’s a pause in the atmosphere. Almost all of the teachers are familiar with Jumpsuit and Sucker Punch, some of them even going on patrols with them and having cases together in the six or so years they’ve been active. And, likewise, they know of the… special circumstance that was their relationship to Aizawa. But, well, if the newbie doesn’t know yet, Aizawa wasn’t one to miss out on a bit of chaos.
So, after a fairly long pause where he just stares down the American with dead eyes until he starts to squirm, Aizawa blinks and rolls over with a huffed, “Trade secret” and hid his grin as chaos ensued.
After the shouts and complaints from the other staff died down, mainly with the help of Hizashi who was making the most noise with his laughter, Aizawa felt thin, nimble fingers weave into his hair gently along with a fond chuckle.
“Oh come on, Shou, let the new guy in on the story!”
“Not a chance.”
But Hizashi just laughs again, and turns to the thoroughly confused Snipe, and tells the story that Aizawa himself will deny ever being fond of…
~o~
A regular winter patrol, one that has Eraser’s nose turning red and his eyes drying out faster as he leaps over alleys and streets. No one, from villains to common thugs, would be out tonight. Not in this cold, or the threat of the ice storm that’s moving in from the coast. But, never one to tempt fate, here Eraserhead is, along with other Undergrounds, patrolling the streets just to be positive everyone is safe.
At least Eraser has an upside to his patrols.
As soon as he lands on the designated meet-up roof, a thermos of what he knows is spicy hot chocolate is thrown at him. Without missing a beat, he snatches the metal cylinder from the air, uncaps it, and downs the steaming liquid eagerly. There’s chuckling from further across the roof, but he pays it no mind as his body heats back up and his fingers stop creaking from the cold. He’s on his third draft of the life potion when a familiar high-pitched warble comes from his companions.
“Lookit Eraser! It matches your goggles!”
Blinking, the hero lowers the thermos to look over at Jumpsuit, and then blinks again at the brilliant yellow sleeping bag the heathen brandishes like a first-place prize.
“And why the hell would I want a monstrosity like that?”
“Cat naps!”
“No.”
Immediately Jump drops their arms, body curving in a way that Eraser knows is a pout under that frost covered mask, especially when he whines next “Awwwwww come ooooooonnnn.”
“No, Jump.” He’d never hear the end of it if he came to work with such a bright… thing in his possession. Never.
“Well,” Eraser turns to the despondent voice of Punch, seeing them shrug off the wall they’re loitering on with a ‘what-are-you-gonna-do’ gesture of their hands, “If Cat-san ain’t gonna take our gracious holiday gift, guess we’ll give it back.”
Eraserhead blanks.
There’s static in his ears.
No…
Surely he heard that wrong…?
“Holiday Gift?”
The vigilante’s turn to look at him, Punch’s visor going up and down as if scanning the hero for judgment. “Yeh…” the vigilante’s look at each other, then look back at the frozen Eraserhead, “You know it’s Christmas tomorrow right?” any warmth the hero had accumulated with the hot cocoa is lost in an instant. He dropped into a crouch, hands rising to his face as he let out a groan that made both vigilante’s wince in sympathy.
“Oof, Eraser you good?”
“Fuck!”
Punch chuckles warily as they elbow their partner, “I wouldn’t say he’s good, Blue.”
“Fuck!” Both vigilante’s jump as Eraserhead straightens suddenly, already moving to the edge of the roof with the thermos forgotten behind him, “I’m sorry I totally forgot I need to go I’ll talk to you two later stay out of trouble!”
And with that, he’s gone…
~o~
“Next morning,” Aizawa snaps out of his memories, realizing they were in tangent with Hizashi as he tells the staff, who’ve clustered together around the couch at this point, about the Christmas where everyone got random convenience store plushies as presents, “there was a ratty duffle-bag on our balcony. Inside, ta-da!” he waves a hand at his husbands’ prone figure, still wrapped in his dingy yellow bag, “Caterpillar suit!”
“Not a caterpillar suit, Zashi.”
“Accept your caterpillar fate, Shou.”
“No.”
So the rest of the lunch hour falls into teasing and lighthearted bickering amongst staff, regaling each other with other tales of strange Christmases and nearly forgotten plans as the atmosphere warms up again. At one point, Aizawa looks out the window, seeing the sleet had stopped for the barest moment, letting the light of a noon-day sun stream through purpled clouds to create a world of violet and lavender.
This year is already looking to be a complicated, yet very merry, holiday year.