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1: Cocoa and Conversation
There was nothing Eraserhead wanted more than to go home and sleep. It was the holiday, why was he out patrolling? Snow swirled from seven foot banks, the sky was clearer than it had ever been, and the sheer chill in the air was enough to irritate the hero student’s growing dry-eye to numbness.
He wanted to go home.
But, alas, he had asked for this schedule for a reason.
The teen lands on the roof of a business building, the surrounding walls waist high and the entrance shed housing a few vending machines and benches for breaks. And, as Eraserhead checked and rechecked his mental map, it was in the middle of the other person’s route, the only place where their path crossed Eraserhead’s.
Meaning a perfect meeting place.
So, settling on the edge of the roof with a sigh and tucked in arms, Eraserhead settled to wait.
And wait.
And wait.
And even though he got to the roof 15 minutes before his usual half hour break, he was still running low on time.
Just as a heavy scuff sounds behind him.
Slowly, Eraserhead turned to look over his shoulder, barely making out a dark clothed figure standing a few yards behind him.
Out of range.
“Hello.” The figure remains silent, body tense and wary and ready.
Eraserhead turns around, telegraphing his movements, until he’s facing the newest vigilante of the Red Lights.
Then, he does something illogical.
“What’s your name?” even he cringed at the question. There’s no way in hell they’d just—
“Wasn’t there a release of my name?”
Wait…
Really?
The voice is ageless, genderless, but the tone wasn’t… hostile. Just wary. And was answering him. Masking his shock with a bored expression, he nods slowly as if excitement weren’t bubbling up inside, “Yes, but this is a conversation. It’s only logical to ask that question first.”
The figure tilts their head, examining him as one would an interesting shop display. Eraserhead refused to squirm under the scrutiny, keeping his façade up even as his heart beat erratically. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, they straightened back up. “What’s your name?”
“Eraserhead.” The teen didn’t even hesitate to give the title away, the name flowing from his tongue effortlessly after dozens of missions and patrols of using it. And surprisingly, his admission was unexpected for the vigilante. Their shoulders tense for a moment, before all of it drains away just as quickly, loosening their posture even more where they stand. So, Eraserhead mused, honesty is the policy with this one. Taking a breath, keeping his voice even, he continues, “There’s nothing I’m able to do to you, by the way. You’ve not done anything necessarily wrong.”
And it was true.
There was never any reported quirk usage from this vigilante. Nothing but agility prowess and a proficiency with a baseball bat. It also helped all of their fights started in defense of oneself or another. And they phoned the police personally for pick up, always cordial with emergency services even when approached for arrest.
There was nothing in their actions currently that broke any surface laws, so the hero legally couldn’t arrest them without a warrant.
And admitting to that knowledge seemed enough, as the vigilante walked over to the edge Eraserhead was sitting, and sat down as well (albeit still a few yards away).
“Blue Jumpsuit.”
Eraserhead hums, leaning back on his hands as he looks up to the stars. “Nice name.”
There’s a crackle from Jumpsuit, which the teen automatically translated to a snort through the voice modulator. Jumpsuit hunches forward, fingers curling on the edge as they swing their legs, “I hate it.”
Eraserhead huffed, “That so? So do I.”
“Why did you keep it?”
“Reputation.”
Jumpsuit hummed, sitting up and looking over at him curiously. Eraserhead was perfectly fine with the silence. This was more than the vigilante ever gave him in way of conversation, and this was the longest they’ve ever lingered anywhere near him. So, he waited. And was rewarded with another tinny hum. “I wanted it to just be Blue. Jumpsuit sounds lazy.”
“Lazy you say…” Eraserhead eye’s the vigilante critically, not sure if he should react to the quip or not, when a flash of light catches his eye. He looks over at the machines blinking innocently in their corners, before lifting a brow to the vigilante, “Thirsty?”
“I ain’t accepting shit from you.” The shift is sudden, a snap of tension in the shoulders and a burning in the air that has Eraserhead stiffening as well. But he takes a calming breath, a steadying himself, before tilting his head towards the vending machines behind them.
“Even if I buy it in front of you?” that makes Jumpsuit pause, enough for Eraserhead to move his feet from over the building to solid roof. He telegraphs his movements carefully as he stands, always aware of his silent companion as he makes his way to the machines and feeds in some quarters. Two hot cocoas roll out of the bin. He walks leisurely back to Jumpsuit, tossing the can at them, “These are nice because they’re warmed up in the winter.”
The vigilante eyes the can, their spray painted hockey mask going from him to the can and back.
Then they turn, popping the seal on the drink, and lift their mask for a sip.
Eraserhead counts it as a win and stays put as he takes a drink from his own can.
They remain like that for a while, enjoying the hot beverages in the cold air.
Then the vigilante pipes up after draining most of their cider.
“How’d you even get that name, anyways?”
Eraserhead smirks over the lip of his drink, “A cockatoo gave it to me.”
“… huh?”
___
2: The Wondermaker
“Have you ever thought about Santa Clause?”
Eraser blinks, turning slowly from where he’s perched in the rafters of their warehouse, and gives Jump a look. “What?”
The blue vigilante doesn’t turn their visor away from the shadowed maze below, “Have you ever thought about Santa Clause?”
Finding that he was not, in fact, hallucinating the question, Eraser turns back to his own watch, “No, not really.”
There’s a creak beside him, accompanied by a dim flash of blue that told Eraser Jump was looking at him now, “Really?” Eraser lifted a brow at the scandalized tone, “Not even as a kid?”
“I didn’t exactly get the chance to.” And no, he’s not bitter about it. It’s illogical to think anything good comes out of breaking and entering, no matter how the person gets in. Also, this may be a time for quirks and the notion of ‘anything is possible’, but the concept of magical reindeer flying a toy sled around the world in a night is… well, illogical.
Still feeling Jump’s attention on him, the Erasure Hero sighs before giving his companion a side-eye, “Why are you asking?”
Jump hums, turning away to look at the warehouse quietly. The world outside rustled as another gust of snow blew by, and Eraser involuntarily shivered at it. The vigilante takes long enough to answer, the hero jumps when they speak up, “He was originally Saint Nicholas, the patron saint of sailors, merchants, archers, repentant thieves, prostitutes, children, brewers, pawnbrokers, unmarried people, students… everyone kinda? And he liked giving presents secretly inside shoes to people he thought deserved them, and performed so many miracles that he was called The Wondermaker.” They stop, and Eraser has to wonder what Jump even does outside of their patrol. They have enough random trivia facts to fill a book, and a talent to bring them up in the most inopportune time.
Like now.
The hero is dragged from their thoughts when Jump starts up again, “Then soda got a hold of him and now he’s a fat man in a red suit in a sleigh pulled by flying deer.” The 180 on that… Jump shrugs, “It makes you think about what’ll happen to your own image once the corporations get a hold of it after you kick the bucket.”
Well, now he’s thinking about it.
Eraser sighs as he tries to rub away a growing headache, “Why the do I listen to you?”
“Because you have no choice?”
“Don’t remind me.”
“At least I’m not Em.”
“Don’t jinx it.” Jump snickers, their voice warbling in the dark. Eraser couldn’t help the smile that twitches to his lips as he focuses back in on the warehouse floor.
But he couldn’t get it out of his head.
“What was your point to this conversation?”
Jump looks over at him, body language surprised, but then goes back to contemplative as they hum, “I don’t know.” They shrug as Eraser growls, irritation starting to bloom. But then they spoke again, and Eraser went still, “I guess just the fascination of the world taking something spectral, holy, sainted, and just… commercializing it.” they hunched their shoulders, derision coating their void voice as they mutter “Human’s have no regard for sacrifice.”
Eraser hums at that, unable to argue the point on behalf of humanity. But he could his own. “I do.”
Or at least try to, as Jump looks over at him with a tilt to their head that suggested a raised brow as they chirp, “You don’t count. You’re not human.” Then they reach over and pet Eraser’s head once, “You’re a kitty.”
___
3: Snow Brawl
There just had to be a gang brawl on Christmas, didn’t there.
Eraser works on nullifying the most volatile quirks he can find of the group of 20, while Punch work on the mutants and low class brawlers themselves. They’re making headway, the snow more filled with unconscious bodies than not, and Eraserhead is just getting into a rhythm with the fight.
Until a yelp breaks his concentration.
“Ack!” Eraserhead whips around, quirk flaring, prepared to leap in to save his companion if need be, to see Punch jumping around the snow with their hand down the back of their jacket. “Snow in my suit!”
A snarl builds at the back of Eraser’s throat, but he’s interrupted by a heel swinging for his head. He ducks, throwing a punch to the inside of the thug’s leg, shouting out “Punch pay attention!”
To which he received a whined “But snow!”
“Punch!” Eraser is distracted momentarily, feet slipping on the now packed snow, and he watches the approach of a fist to his face. He braces.
Only for the thug to be backhanded by a heavy metal gauntlet.
“How was that ‘punch’?”
Eraser has a retort building it’s more of a slap than a punch when a third voice rings out, “Down!”
The vigilante and hero drop immediately.
Just in time to avoid a metal braced kick to the mutant thug approaching their backs.
Eraser jumps to his feet in time to spy Jump landing with a wide stance, their spiked boots finding easy purchase on the slick ground. They dive into punching the gut of a towering thug, conversationally shouting “Why are you two stalling?”
“We ain’t stallin’ Blue,” Punch calls back, just as casual as they judo flip another thug, “jus’ waitin’ for you!”
“Oh, you’re in a cheeky mood tonight, aren’t you?”
What sounds like a grin echoes in Punch’s voice as they respond “Only for you, boo.” As they make a heart with their hands.
“Will you two focus?”Eraser leaps up, capture weapon flaring, as he smacks two thugs together to knock them out. He lands easily, barely catching Jump’s salute and cheery “Sure thing Cat-san!” before all three are moving again as one.
___
4: Human Decency
It’s cold.
It’s wet.
It’s dark.
Punch is bored.
Oh, how they want to just go home and curl up with Blue and drink hot cider and just be.
But nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo~
They just had to take the case that just had to include a winter storm stake out in the middle of the night.
Punch sighs for the umpteenth time, mentally counting each villain crony that passes the window.
‘Oh look a sleazebag.’ There’s another.
‘Oh look, another sleazebag.’ And another.
‘Oh loo— what’s that?’ Punch turns from his post at a sound behind them. Well, not really a sound. But… the feeling of something that should make a sound but can’t, so your mind fills in the blank space for you. What does Jump call it? Sixth sense?
Ignoring their own musings, Punch wanders to the snow bank they’d gotten the ‘sense’ from and moved a few handfuls of snow to find a canvas bag.
Red flag one.
They open the bag.
‘Oh look a crime against decency.’
Punch pulls the little frozen kitten from the bag, their body barely filling the vigilante’s palm, and starts booking it to where they last saw Eraserhead. All the while, muttering sweet nothings to the maybe not dead body held close to their chest, “Hang on, little one. I know someone who’s a real hero. He’ll save ya.”
‘Kami help him if he doesn’t.’
___
5: Window Shopping
“Hey Em?”
Punch looked over at their partner, currently lounging on a metal beam in a construction site, “Yes Blue?”
“We never get Eraser anything for Christmas.”
Punch looks up to the growing snow clouds, “We don’t, do we?” they glance over at Jump again, “Got any ideas?”
Without a word, Jump points down to the streets.
Or more, to an outdoor gear storefront window.
A window with…
Punch perks up, a manic grin in their voice as they purr, “Perfect.”
___
6: Merry Christmas?
Eraser lands on his usual meeting roof with a sigh. He needed this break, and had some foil wrapped sandwiches to spend it wisely. It looks like the other two vigilante’s are already here, Jump sitting by the roof edge, and Punch on the break tables.
However, neither moves from their places, and Eraser feels a bit off-balance without Jump pouncing on him the instant they see him.
He approaches Punch cautiously, keeping one eye on Jump as he pulls out his sandwiches.
“What’s wrong with them?” but when Punch doesn’t answer, Eraser looks down at them. And grimaces, “What’s wrong with you?”
Punch huffs, shifting slightly where they sit to reach for a sandwich. They start unwrapping it as they answer reluctantly, “We don’t have enough money for presents this year.”
“Forget presents!” Jump hunches in on themselves, arms wrapped around their chest, “We barely have enough for food, Punch!”
“I know that, Jump!” Punch takes a shaky breath, grip tightening on their food, “But we can scrape together some savings for that, and the food bank is usually open around the holidays anyways…”
They go silent again, and Eraser can barely breath at the heaviness lingering in the air. After it sits a while, Eraser moves to hand Jump their own sandwich, “I thought you two had like, twenty jobs?”
Jump hops back off the edge, spinning to stride to the break tables.
But it’s Punch that answers, “We do.” Their voice is bitter, “Still doesn’t make ends meet.”
And Jump bristles immediately in response, “Especially around this time of year when pay is cut because of drop in supply but increase in demand meaning rising prices and not as much money going to workers and also layoffs and the quirkist bastards…!”
Jump’s cut off as Punch pulls them close, one hand cradling the back of their hood and the other rubbing soothing circles on their back. Jump trembles, not from the cold, and Eraser sees red.
He takes a breath.
Then makes a decision.
“Wait here.”
~o~
Half an hour later, Eraser lands on the roof again. The vigilante’s are still there, empty cider cans on the table before them, and he can’t help but feel grateful for that. He strides right up to them and tosses a thin leather sheath at Punch. “Here.”
The vigilante looks at the hero a moment, before opening the sheath up to reveal a thin piece of plastic, “It’s a debit card.”
Eraser nods as he settles on the other side of the table, “It’s linked to my Agency allowance, and doesn’t need a pin or recognition.” He holds his hand up to stop the tirade he can see snap into Jump’s posture, “It’s separated from my actual pay on job and only includes overtime and royalties from the Police and half my bounty captures.” He takes a sip from a fresh can of cider, and sighs a warm cloud, “It’s enough to get you by until you get more stable.”
Jump and Punch stare at him.
His watch beeps, signaling his break was over. He stands to go back on patrol, throwing his trash out on the roof dumpster.
He’s stopped by a thin, choked voice behind him.
“Why?”
Eraserhead sends out a loop of his scarf and lets himself smile at the duo behind him.
“Merry Christmas?”
And then he’s streaking away before he can be tackled by an over-thankful Jumpsuit and Sucker Punch.
___
7: A Good Kiddo
Eraserhead is vaulting rooftops another late winter night, fingers numb and cheeks burning, when he hears a loud commotion in one of the alleys passing below.
He barely has time to glance down, register three aggressors and a small figure dressed in gray fatigues, before he’s streaking down with glowing eyes and lashing scarf.
“KID!” his boot connects with a face, his elbow to a chest, then a loop of capture scarf throwing the last aggressor into a dumpster. He’s still crouched, prepared for more, but when no one approaches, he straightens to look at the scrawny too short too young figure behind him, “Fuck kid, what are you doing out here alone?”
Ash lingers a moment, shifting on their feet like a child caught lying to their parent.
And… well… Eraser might not be the kids parent, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t accept the role of honorary uncle.
So, after a bit of silent waiting where the hero zip ties the thugs to light posts and radios for a cruiser pick up, the kid finally signs a reply.
>Christmas shopping<
And Eraser has to bite his tongue from cursing, “Don’t get smart with me, brat. I have your parents on speed dial.”
But that gets the opposite reaction he wanted. Seeming panicked, the kid hastily signed to him while taking shuddered steps forward, >Please don’t call them!<
Eraser lifts a brow, curiosity and dread starting to swirl in his gut as he leans against the wall, “Then tell me why I’m finding you wandering the streets at midnight, and alone.”
Ash’s shoulders slump, and they lift limp hands to sign a reply meekly, >Punch got really hurt in a patrol the other night, and Jump is taking care of them. They wanted to come out, but couldn’t leave Punch’s side. We can’t afford medical.<
The dread in the hero’s gut turns to stone, and Eraser has to take a calming breath to make sure his voice is even when he continues. It takes a minute, but he gets to it eventually with minimal growl, “Are they at their warehouse, or at your home?”
Ash eyes him hesitantly, fingers fiddling before signing >Home. Why?<
Eraser’s phone is in his hand before he registers, his voice clouding out into the air as he speaks, “If you can convince them to get to the warehouse, if it’s safe, I can get Recovery Girl to them for a healing.”
>It’s Christmas…?<
“So?” the stillness of Ash conveyed their deadpan expression even under the heavy motorcycle helmet they always sported. Aizawa huffs a laugh as he brings his phone to his ear, turning as blue and red lights catch his attention, “She’s usually at the shelters for the holidays anyways, taking care of winter illnesses and frostbite.” He turns back to the kid with a raised brow, seeing their contemplative stance.
“Well?”
In lieu of answering, though, Ash wall jumps to the nearest fire escape, and parkours away from the scene with only a thumbs up thrown over their shoulder.
Aizawa huffs again, turning his full attention back to his current tasks ahead.
“Merry Christmas, kiddo.”
___
8: Remember the Small
Aizawa’s arms were sore from carrying boxes, his legs numb from so many stairs, and his back was killing him from standing all day.
But it was for a good cause.
And every time he unloaded another food truck at a rundown little shelter packed with mangy human bodies and the occasional overworked healthcare official, he’d remind himself of that.
Every.
Single.
Time.
Yamada’s grin never faded, even as his facial muscles twitched from strain. His voice never lost its cheer, even as it rasped with use. He never lost his energy, even when the moments in the truck, forehead pressed to the steering wheel just to breathe became longer.
Aizawa loved his husband.
But he was burning out.
So, he resolved to make this their last stop, their last truckload for the day, then they’d go home for a nap, for a snack, for something, just to sit and recover from… this.
Because there’s only so much human suffering one can endure before breaking.
However, he’s jumping out of the cab for that one last time, when he sees a flash of blue. A blur of green. Maybe some grey.
And he’s spinning around, eyes roving the crowds, latching to faces and colors and seeking what he thought was…
But they aren’t there.
No, they’re in Hōsu, and Aizawa is in Akita, thousands of miles away.
But the memory lingers…
Hunched shoulders and desperate words and a single plastic card that was handled like gold…
“Shou?” Aizawa shivers as a gentle hand is placed between his shoulder blades.
And he makes an irrational decision.
“How many more trucks are there?”
“At least ten, Shou.”
“… then we better get moving.”
___
9: Little Bird
“Should we look in the snow banks?”
Punch’s helmet popped up over the roof of the car they’re currently examining, “Why? They’ve been there for weeks. The kid’s been gone for only a few days.”
But Jump looks at Eraser thoughtfully. “Snow fort?”
The hero lifts a brow, his thinking more along the lines of shelter, but snow fort works as well. Either way, it gets Punch nodding along, and they start trotting down the street along the snow banks.
“Might as well. I’ll search the alleys along the streets if you start running the banks.”
Jump calls an affirmative and Eraser follows the figure along their path, the hero from the roof tops while the vigilante runs the street.
It’s another hour before they meet up at the end of their search radius.
Eraser crouches on a low wall, checking his phone map as he asks, “Anything yet?”
Jump hops up beside him, voice low and tense, “No.”
Eraser’s grip tightens, “Any word from Ash?”
“No.”
“Fuck.” The hero can’t help the curse, and from the slight buzz from Jump signifying their mute system activating, he knows the vigilante is probably saying far worse into his mask.
Eraser’s about to suggest another round when his phone pings, and he has to bite back another growl.
“No word from Cloud, and Midnight says there’s another snow storm heading our way. We need to hurry up if we want to beat it.”
Jump tenses, gloves creaking from the strain of their grip, when a shout comes from a nearby alley. The hero and vigilante are racing towards it immediately, hearts in their throats and hope in their blood.
They round the corner to find Punch standing by an alley dumpster, holding the lid open as they peer inside. They tilt their visor to look at the approaching duo.
“Found them.”
And there they were. The first thing Eraser notes is they’re so small, curled up into a ball of scrawny pale limbs and ratty black shirt and jeans. They’re barefoot, their toes a worrying shade of blue grey that has Eraser’s heart quickening as he reaches into the bin to carefully take them out. Their head, shaped like some sort of avian, is missing patches of dark feathers, and their beak is cracked on the side.
The only reason the hero doesn’t hand the kid off to the vigilantes to hunt the bastards down who thought themselves parents, was the slight tremble he could feel running through the emaciated body.
He looks up at the duo, seeing that for once they’re paying full attention to him as he starts moving out of the alley.
“Let’s get them to the hospital, and file a report to keep the parents out.”
“Yeah.” Jump’s voice is strained, and Eraser has a feeling the tremble in their gloves isn’t from the cold, “Good call.”
They reach the street, Eraserhead looking around briefly to get his bearings before starting to make his way to the nearest hospital when he notices a missing body, “Where’s Punch?”
“Getting the bike.” Jump is keeping pace with Eraser’s stride despite their shorter stature, arms held stiffly at their sides, “They need medical attention three days ago. This cold wouldn’t have helped any.”
And there’s something in the tone, the words, that has Eraser remembering that Jump… well, they have a kid too.
Slowing slightly, hearing the nearing rev of a motor, Eraser looks down at the blue and black vigilante gently.
“You good, Blue?”
And Jump twitches at the name, not used to hearing it from the hero unless in dire straits, but then relaxes. No, not relaxes, slumps, because their hands are still in tensed fists and their feet still leave loud steps behind them as they move. “Yeah, I’m fine.” They look over at the kid curled up in Eraser’s arms, a sad and weary tone in their voice, “I hate it when it’s kids.”
And ain’t that the rub.
Careful not to jostle the kiddo too much, well aware of the ever closer sound of Punch’s motorcycle, the Erasure hero puts a gentle hand on top of Jumpsuits head, keeping it there as a ground weight as he grumbles, “I know, Jump.” and as they keep moving past the snow, past the dark, with a half frozen kid in his arms and hate for humanity that never seems to shrink, Eraserhead lets himself grieve.
“I know.”
___
10: Struggle
“I regret ever letting Mic go to America.”
Jump pauses, hot cider poised over their mouth, as Punch chuckles from their seat at the table, “What he do this time?”
Eraser groans, putting his head onto his arms as he mutters out, “He wants us to have a Christmas tree.” He sits up suddenly, startling Jump into splashing cider down their front. But the hero ignores it as he continues, “A literal tree. In our apartment. For a one day holiday.”
The duo exchange a glance, before Jump turns to face him, “Wouldn’t a one day holiday only be called a holly day?”
Eraser hisses…
But the frustration only amplifies his migraine so he puts his head back down onto the cold table top.
“I tried to convince him otherwise, but he’s so… so…”
“Obnoxious?” Punch gets out around a mouthful of sandwich.
“Loud?” Jump supplies as he takes a sip of cider.
“Sunshiny?” there’s a click, and Eraser swears it’s Jump snapping his fingers.
“Blonde!”
And yep, Eraser is surrounded by idiots.
He groans as he tilts his head to glare up at the two from his place on the concrete, “Why do I tell you two anything?”
Punch shrugs, balling the trash foil up before tossing it towards the can, “Don’t know Eraser, you’ve asked that of us every time you’re reminded of our stupidity.”
Jump nods sagely as they swing their feet, “Guess the world will never know.”
Eraser grumbles a bit, sitting up to properly glare eat the two nuisances, “Are you going to help me or not?”
Punch propped their chin on a fist, examining him languidly from under their helmet visor, “Considerin’ we don’t even know what ya want us to help ya with, sure.”
Eraser rolled his eyes, “What I want, is your two’s help convincing ‘Zashi we don’t need a tree in a two bedroom apartment, filled with cats.”
Jump and Punch exchange another glance. Then, with all the grace of a descending angel, Jump hops from their place on the table top and puts a hand on the hero’s shoulder.
“Eraser,” the hero tenses at the tone, “I know we said we’d help you, but…” a gentle pat, “You’re on your own for this one.”
Fuck whoever says that friends are there through thick and thin.
They are lying liars who lie.
___
11: Cocoa and Convo’s
“You know it still baffles me that you accepted your name on a lazy whim.” Aizawa pauses, fork raised halfway to his mouth as he turns to glare at the blue vigilante. Undeterred, Jump just leans further back into Punch’s chest, “Isn’t that, like, the height of irrationality?”
Aizawa growls as he hears chuckling circle the Agency rooftop. But then, he remembers something, and a wicked grin stretches his features, “No. The height of irrationality is continuing to poke a cat when it’s already scratched you.”
Punch snorts at that, jostling Jump a bit but only tightening their hold around the littler vigilante’s torso as they nod sagely, “Touché Erasercat. Touché.”
Aizawa’s grin dropped to a grimace, “Stop calling me that.”
“Do you prefer Cat-san?”
“I prefer Kitty-pillar,” a wild Hizashi has appeared, “if you’re curious.”
Horror crawled down Aizawa’s spine as he glared at his husband, “We’re not.”
“You’re not, kitty-pillar,” and fuck, Punch is already using it, “But I’m dying to know just who gave ya that delightful little moniker.”
Nemuri snorts from where she’s sitting next to Oboro at one of the rooftop tables, swirling her mug of hot cocoa with a knowing look, “One of his problem children about his third year of teaching.” She smirks as Aizawa sends her a withering glare, “They never said it to his face, and it didn’t start circulating the halls until they graduated, so he couldn’t expel them.”
“Oho?” Punch chuckles as Jump puts a hand over their chest, “A chaos agent after my own heart.”
“They can’t have it.” Punch leans down, helmet knocking Jump’s head askew as they press into the crook of their partners neck, “It’s mine.”
And Jump’s deadpanned “Debatable” is barely heard over the cooing from Nemuri and Hizashi at oh look how cute you two are o my Kami Shou, why were you hiding such cuties away from us… and Aizawa took another bite of his takeout to avoid any and all conversation on the matter.
But it was true.
The duo was madly in love, and it showed even 11 years later.
The man is jolted from his growing nostalgia as Jump hopped in Punch’s lap, jostling the other to release them slightly as they held up a hand, “Oh yeah!” the hand lowered, pointing to Nemuri and Oboro accusingly, “How was America?”
“Stressful.”
“Annoying.”
The two shrugged, “We need a vacation from our vacation.”
Jump cackled as Punch huffed. Their arms were still settled around Jump’s waist, and Aizawa was mentally timing how long it would take for them to be removed. His bet was on until they were forced to leave.
But then that green visor is turning to him, and the man can hear the shit eating grin in Punch’s voice when they croon, “Well, at least these two didn’t burn anything down while you were away.”
Hizashi looks sheepishly to the side, “It was a close thing for a good few week though.”
“Oh?” the blonde twitches where he’s seated, refusing to face the growing glare from the R-Rated Heroine, “Something you want to say, Hizashi-san?”
}Nope~{
Needless to say, the Christmas visit was disrupted by screaming and chasing, interspersed with maniac cackles and good will shouts as Aizawa slowly finished his takeout and watched from the sidelines.
And he’d deny it to his very grave but…
He wouldn’t have the holidays any other way.