Chapter Text
Aizawa does not approve of him and Kirishima's midnight conversations.
If anyone dared suggest otherwise, he might as well revoke his teaching license and say goodbye to heroism as he knows it. For there was nothing more humiliating than being caught with a student in the dead of night, mulling over warm coffee in silence. Because for one, it was an obvious disregard for the curfew and seemed almost unfair of him to allow his sturdy pupil to be up so late when he had sent everyone else off to bed. Secondly, their arrangement seemed odd to say the least, considering both parties knew that without sleep, neither of them could perform at their best the next day.
And though all these thoughts simultaneously crossed Shouta's mind, it didn't stop him from uttering the question:
"Hazelnut Cream or... Irish Cream?"
Kirishima gives him an incredulous look as if the older man should have known the answer and knew it was stupid to even question it. Aizawa gave him a blank stare back before sighing, placing the bag of Irish Cream coffee grounds back into the cabinet and preparing the coffee maker. It was nearly two in the morning, but neither party bothered to acknowledge it just yet. It wasn't until four or five in the dawn that both of them decided on heading back to bed for a whopping two hours of sleep. Sometimes none at all.
Aizawa liked to blame himself for the deep, darkening bags under his student's eyes, but Kirishima claims it wasn't his fault. He hadn't been sleeping far before his late-night expeditions with his sensei. Still, the exhausted man nearly considered calling the arrangement off, had it not been for Kirishima's puppy-dog eyes. Usually, he wouldn't be susceptible to such expressions, but the sad underlying tone in his sparkling eyes made him re-think his decision.
Contrary to popular belief, these midnight conversations didn't solve Kirishima's sleep problem.
They didn't even begin to scratch the surface.
Kirishima was an oddly private boy, despite how eccentric and obnoxious he was. Though, looking back, Aizawa supposed that maybe Kirishima just hadn't had the chance to bring it up. After all, most people didn't out-right ask another person's life story, unless they were Midoriya, who was just as nosy as Kirishima was private. Still, it was odd to think that such an extroverted boy was really shy when he didn't have to keep up appearances, or when he was too tired too. Like now, in the darkness of the common area, the red-head looked nearly despondent against the low hue of the overhead lights. The small frown somehow looked more comfortable on his face than his usual shark-toothed smile did, and with that thought, Aizawa sighed to himself.
He knew people wore masks to hide their true selves, but something about Kirishima's was putting him on edge.
Perhaps it was cracking at the edges.
Aizawa sits across from his student at the small table, clasping his hands together on the surface as he gazed upon the boy, who's eye-lids were lidded and hazy. He hoped that when they were done here, despite the caffeine, and that the boy would finally get the sleep he needed. After all, his grades were taking a hit from his sudden inability to rest and Aizawa didn't want to see him fail yet another assignment. It was getting real old, real fast.
Usually, they didn't speak while they sat with each other, sipping coffee from their respective mugs as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Kirishima never made it awkward. In fact, he made it far more comfortable by merely feinting indifference. And though sometimes his hands shook with nerves, or his throat clamped up suddenly between words, he generally never showed any true anxiety to being alone with an adult (at night, not to mention). If the older man didn't know any better, he'd assume lack of care was due to his acute social skills; however, after getting to know the kid, he knew it was simply because he didn't really care, and genuinely enjoyed the company too much to be put off by it. Aizawa couldn't lie, he too was fond of their little ritual, despite how odd (or even concerning) it seemed.
The silence while waiting for the coffee maker to sound was the same as it was every night. A resolute, warm quiet resounded across the room. So quiet, in fact, it was loud. It was their favorite part of the night, perhaps, besides the actual drinking of the beverage.
Aizawa's dark eyes laid heavily on the slouched form in front of him.
Tonight was different.
Kirishima's hair was down, as it always had been as of late, and shielded his eyes from his teacher's deepening stare. He rests his head on top of his crossed arms, which sat on the table's surface. His nose was scrunched up in thought, and Aizawa had to hold back a smile at the expression. He may be cold, but he wasn't completely heartless. The boy seemed more lethargic tonight, and though the man hoped it was because of fatigue, he could tell there was something far deeper than mere exhaustion that plagued his student. It hurt to see such a bubbly boy reduced to nothing but a sniveling, down-cast mess.
"You know," Aizawa broke the silence. Eijirou's head perked up, for his older counterpart had never broken the quiet as they waited for coffee. The teacher ignored the shake in the boy's limbs. "Talking about it always helps."
"It?" The boy parroted, lips quirking in question.
Aizawa rolled his eyes. "Whatever's bothering you. I know I'm not the most... comforting person, but I won't judge."
Kirishima smiled sheepishly, but it didn't reach his eyes. Thinking back, Aizawa can't quite remember a time when it ever did. The hero wonders if the boy's friends noticed it, or if they ever talk about him when he wasn't there. Were they as worried about him as he was? Or were they too nonobservant to notice anything was wrong? Surely at least someone in their class had been keeping their eyes peeled on their red-head, especially throughout the last few weeks. He hadn't been bothered with much of anything as of late; his hair laid flat on his head, he turned in assignments late or not at all, he couldn't even hold his hardened skin for more than a few seconds, when he had grown past that stage already. He was regressing, slowly but surely.
Aizawa can't remember a time he had been so soft. It felt odd to allow himself to slip from his usual grumpy exterior and turn gentle around the edges. But, if it meant his student got out of his funk, he didn't really care.
If this were last year, I'd probably have expelled him by now, Aizawa thought grimly. Not his best moment, not that he cared to acknowledge that fact.
Kirishima had hidden back into his little shell of curled up arms, except now, his knees had nuzzled their way up to his chest, essentially cocooning him into a little ball. The hero sighed and shook his head, wondering why the coffee was taking so long to brew. Perhaps it would have been easier to use the press or the kettle (which he would later learn no longer existed after an incident with Todoroki, and Bakugou essentially obliterating the innocent object a few days later) rather than the machine. Those weren't as loud either.
"It's really nothing."
Aizawa nodded, though he didn't believe a word. "If you say so, kid," Change the topic, he tells himself. You won't get anything out of him now that he's on edge. A minute passes in resolute silence. "Got any big plans for the weekend?"
His poor attempt at small talk was not lost on Kirishima, but the younger male merely shook his head 'no' and downcast his eyes, hands trembling even more feverishly. Shouta thought for a moment, wondering what he had said to cause such a reaction, before letting out another sigh. It was just one of those nights, he supposed. Sometimes the boy wouldn't talk at all; he'd just sit there with his head down until the coffee was ready, and even then he'd take bird-like sips until it was nothing more than an empty mug. By then, his sensei was already on his third cup.
"Guess not," He muttered into his knees. "Probably try to sleep."
Aizawa hummed. "Good idea, Kirishima. You look like you need it," He smiled at the slight joke as if the past few weeks of late-night chats meant nothing. "I'm sure your bed back home is way more comfortable than the one here. All of the others are going home this weekend, I think. Even Bakugou."
The red-head just shrugs.
He knows what depression looks like. He can see it in the way Kirishima hides behind a smile, wide and bright as if there was nothing else to fear in the world. Some days, it's a genuine smile, and on those days, Aizawa feels hope bloom in his chest; warm and invading. Other days, it's different. Along with that smile came the darkened bags under his eyes, the blank stare in those crimson orbs, and the irregular appetite as he struggled between eating too much to eating far too little. It was the choice to stay in his dorm all day rather than hanging out in the commons with the rest of them. It was the way he ignored their text messages or turned down their invitations to hang out with them. It was simply looking at him and somehow feeling the heaviness of his body as it weighed him down, exhausting him. Aizawa knows what depression looks like- feels like- and when he looks at Kirishima, he's sent back to a time he never wanted to relive. He wishes he could take his pain for him; make the burden lighter.
And so, he chalks up Kirishima's lack of plans to his illness, which he knows exists, if the boy's health records are anything to go by.
"Oh," Kirishima mutters, his mouth forming a small, wonky circle as he glared at the table. "I'm not going home. I think I'll just stay here and maybe train a bit by myself. It's no biggie."
The way he says it makes it feel like it isn't a big deal either, but when Aizawa meets his gaze, he can't help but beg to differ. There was something so dim and hollow about the way his eyes stared back at him, looking through his body as if he were invisible. The older male had half the mind to feel bad for Hagekure, seeing as though she truly was see-through. Perhaps she felt the same way.
Shaking his head from one student and back to the one currently wallowing, Shouta frowned. "Why not? I'm sure your parents would want to see you, especially after what happened at Kamino Ward."
Kirishima smiled then, but kept his gaze down, fiddling with the end of his sleeves. Aizawa looked down at the boy's shaking fingers, eyes narrowing in slight confusion at the glimpse of white lines littering his wrist and parts of his hand. How had he not noticed that before? Was he too caught up with corralling Midoriya and Bakugou to notice something like that on one of his students? The observation was bitter-sweet, however, as he noticed the faint lines were old and there didn't appear to be any fresh ones, though that didn't mean the possibility was completely out of the question. Aizawa made a mental note that perhaps bringing it up may help get to the root of the redhead's problem.
Maybe not tonight, however, as it seemed he had bigger fish to fry, so to speak. The topic of parents wasn't one that Kirishima often contributed to, and the teacher was beginning to think there was a reason. Even Todoroki had no qualms about stating his disdain for his father, and he was far quieter than the passionate redhead. Something was amiss. Aizawa had his suspicions, but one encounter with his father weeks ago wasn't enough evidence.
"Nah, probably not. I mean, you guys called them and told them what happened, didn't you? And you met my father when you needed their permission to live in dorms. They don't need to worry anymore," Kirishima nodded as if confirming to himself that what he said was true, and offered a small smile. Aizawa, for whatever reason, sensed an unspoken 'not like they ever did' that the boy was holding back. "You don't need to worry either. They punished me real good, hah! Yeah, no, I'll never be doing anything that stupid again, even though I don't regret going to save Bakugou. I'd rather your punishment over dad's."
Aizawa smiled as Kirishima laughed, content in seeing the somber mood beginning to lighten up.
"What'd he do? Take away your gym privileges? Ground you to your room only? Take away your arcade money?"
Kirishima blinked away his smile, and suddenly the air felt cold. Neither party acknowledged the beeping of the coffee maker as the smell of the freshly brewed substance laced the air, invading their nostrils and sending their stomachs tumbling. The trickle of liquid into the glass pitcher was ignored, as well as the steam that began to fill the room. They met eyes, locking gazes so furiously, Aizawa had to take a deep breath to keep himself from drowning in the boy's widened pupils.
The boy's head quirked, like a confused puppy-dog, and his lip jutted out slightly as if he didn't understand what the older man was implying.
Eijirou had never been the smartest student, that much was true from his English essays to his Math exams. He was painfully average. That's not to say he didn't have his moments when he was the only person in the room with the right answer, but those were few and far between. Though, when it did happen, the teacher found a warmth settling in his gut as the boy grinned brightly upon realizing he was correct. It was as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders the moment he got confirmation that he wasn't utterly wrong. So, while he wasn't excelling, he hadn't been failing until as of late.
But the boy tried. He tried harder than anyone else in the entire class, including Midoriya, who was notorious for his effort. It was merely the fact that Kirishima was further in the background than the green-haired boy was, so small traits such as that were looked passed. Those who didn't know him well assume he was nothing more than a sack of muscles; thoughts simple and with a big heart. But, there was more to him than what met the eye, and though he wanted to ignore it, Shouta knew he was part of the problem.
Kirishima had been talking this whole time, much to Aizawa's dismay, as he had not been listening. Assuming the boy had said something along the lines of what he had suggested as a suitable punishment, the man shrugged and said rather dismissed:
"Well, that's not too bad."
Kirishima's mouth fell open, if only slightly, and he stuttered. "It isn't?"
Aizawa really wished he had been paying better attention, but the man just shrugged again and nodded noncommittally. He tried to remain emotionless. "Not at all. Now, you want coffee?"
The smaller male smiled softly and nodded his head, though the moment the older man turned away, he was back to his emotionless facade, eyelids half shut and breathing almost nonexistent. Aizawa ignored this and instead prepared the coffees. Black for him, with a spoonful of sweetener, while Kirishima took at least a quarter cup of creamer and two spoonfuls (Aizawa has to resist the urge to gag when he mixes the brown substance into off white). But, in the end, it's still coffee, and as long as Kirishima enjoyed it, he didn't really care how. It's raining outside, the gentle rain pitter-pattering against the large windows as the moon shown through in small bursts of white light. The drops cascading down the glass and settled heavily in the pane before overflowing and finally falling to their demise on the grass outside.
The window was cold, the outside air awfully chilly for such a warm season.
Vaguely, Aizawa could hear the sound of chirping crickets and buzzing cicadas outside, though he wondered briefly how they were surviving such rain.
Placing Kirishima's mug in front of the boy in question, he once again sat across from him and sipped his own concoction. Kirishima smiled at him in thanks, burying himself into his hoodie as he gripped the mug close to his body, enveloping himself in the warmth. The smell of hazelnut was still prominent in the air as he buried his nose as close as he could to the full cup without accidentally touching his nose into it. Shouta watched with mild interest as the boy took a tentative sip, smiling as the warmth trickled down his throat and settled heavily in his stomach. He always liked the way it felt in his gut, still hot despite having made its way through his esophagus. Coffee was strange, like that.
"Are you going to be late to class tomorrow?" The man asked, half-jokingly, though both males knew that if he had to, he'd excuse the tardy. With that thought, Aizawa frowned. This arrangement felt something more akin to something he and Midoriya would share rather than him and Kirishima, the boy with a much mellower quirk. For whatever reason, it felt like Izuku was more importing than the others and more prone to hanging out around the pros more often. He knows this isn't true, each student is important, but he can't shake the thought; however, he's glad that out of everyone, it was Eijirou he shared coffee with at three in the morning.
Kirishima shrugged and tapped on the mug with bitten fingernails, which were starting to peel from the abuse. "Nah, I don't think so. I'll just skip doing my hair."
Aizawa snorted. "You haven't been doing your hair recently anyway. The others will start to think Bakugou's nickname is getting to you," The man ignored the way the child's smile wobbled. Sometimes, ignorance (even if it was fake) was bliss. "You know, I don't think anyone will care if you were late. I have unlimited tardy passes, kid. Sleep-in, why don't you."
"Because I probably wouldn't be sleeping."
Amen, Shouta thinks uncharacteristically as he nods in understanding. Even his version of sleeping-in consisted of merely laying in bed, wide awake, for a few measly extra minutes.
"Are you still having nightmares?" He asks carefully. It's a conversation they've had before.
Kirishima just shakes his head, puts his legs down to the point where the older man can see that his hoodie used to fit him but is now hanging off of him like a dress, and downs the rest of the coffee. Burning hot, and all. Aizawa glances at the time, it's just now veering on three in the morning, and blinks harshly. The boy ignores the question for a moment before shaking his head yet again.
"No. They went away awhile ago."
If Kirishima was lying, Aizawa couldn't tell. But then again, if he was able to hide behind a feeble smile for most of his high school career (which hadn't started that long ago, might he add) then he supposed the boy may as well be some master fibber. If not for the nightmares, then why couldn't he fall asleep?
He wonders if it has to do with those little white lines on his wrists. Aizawa wants to ask. "Do you want more?" He asks, instead, standing with his now empty coffee mug which he, too, had chugged upon thinking the boy was going to call it off early. However, it seemed as though he was mistaken when he smaller nodded gratefully and rest his forehead on the surface as if merely holding his head was too tiring. Shouta repeated the routine of coffee, sweetener, and creamer, before returning to the table, relishing in the small sound the glass made as it made contact with the table. "Do you want anything to eat?"
The boy doesn't acknowledge the question at first, and it seemed as though his mind hadn't even begun to work around the man's words. Though, a moment later, he lifted his head and muttered softly, "No, thank you."
Aizawa shook his head. "You need to eat more if you want to be a good hero. You're going to lose all that muscle you worked so hard to gain."
The man doubted the line would work, but he had hope that Kirishima may suddenly flip and switch and agree. He should have known that things like this aren't fixed in a day or even a month. Sometimes, they took years, and Aizawa wished he had longer to spend with the boy before sending him off into the world. It wasn't that he didn't trust the teen, but with his past, it seemed as though big occasions like graduation could possibly trigger something within him.
Luckily, they still had over two years before he had to release him into hero society.
"'M not hungry. Not really," And so Aizawa nods to himself; he wasn't that hungry either. "Can we... buy more of that, uh, other flavor? I like it better than this one."
"Me too, kid. I'll go shopping tomorrow."
Kirishima just smiled, a real, healthy grin, and Aizawa couldn't help but return the sentiment, no matter how forced it was. It was the least he could do. The darkened room, lit only by the dimmest of lights, failed to hide the barren, bored look in his eyes. As if the world was nothing but nugatory and unsubstantial. Aizawa could tell tonight was going to last until the sun peeled over the edge of the horizon.
"Thank you, Aizawa-Sensei."
His words were loaded.
"Of course, Kirishima,"
"You're a real good person, Aizawa-Sensei. One of the best heroes I've ever seen. Maybe not as cool as Crimson Riot but... pretty close. Mm, maybe just as awesome," Kirishima huffed into the table, pressing his forehead into it painfully.
The man glanced towards the coffee maker, frowning at the empty pitcher. He ignored Eijirou's words, the way the boy's form trembled with poorly concealed sobs, and how his quirk began rippling painfully across his thighs. Aizawa adverted his gaze. And among the warbled sounds of choked sobs, he opened his mouth and said in the softest voice he could muster:
"I'll put the coffee on."