Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Aizawa has a certain level of expectation about things. It doesn’t really matter what the things are, but if there’s rationality, logic, meaning—whatever word one wants to use—he can roll with the punches and find his way through.

Class 1-A has exceeded many of his expectations in both the best and worst ways. Academically and morally, the kids are mostly good, but…odd. Odder than kids usually are. It’s not concerning to him, not in the slightest, but he’s learned to walk on the balls of his feet around them waiting for some nonsensical thing to happen that refuses to follow the natural course of reason.

Recently, it has come in the form of Uraraka Ochako.

Since the student’s (and his) move to the dorms after the villain incidents, Aizawa has learned more than he cares to admit about almost all the students, such as: Bakugo fussing over everything, including his bedtime, like some grandmother, Kirishima smacking himself in the head whenever he gets overexcited about something, Todoroki’s concerning quietness, Sato’s anime obsession, Momo’s inability to cook anything, except tea, without scorching it to high heaven, Denki’s…. everything.

More than these odd little tidbits about their personalities are their likes and dislikes, especially when it comes to music. While something soft is almost always playing in the common room, passing by the student’s doors has raised Aizawa’s eyebrows on more than one occasion. He’s heard Iida switch between classical pieces and dubstep while studying. Koda sticks to acoustic coffee shop covers and folk music. Sero and Mina listen to a little bit of everything that’s currently popular but aggressively dance to it all, feeding into each other’s movements with ridiculous grins on their faces. Tsu prefers pretty background sounds akin to falling rain or thunder.

Of his students, Aizawa has a collection of them that listen to what he deems “noise.” Mic loves it like he loves most music, but this “noise” in particular can and will drive him crazy.

Between Jirou, Tokoyami, and Midoriya, one of their constant music selections is heavy metal. Jirou and Tokoyami he can understand—they look like metalheads, as Mic called them—but Midoriya surprised him the first time Aizawa happened to hear a bit of it blaring out of his headphones. The more he thought about it, the more he rationalized it away with Midoriya’s dedication to training and near-ridiculous levels of analysis. He could use the noise to focus, to shut everything else out and pump himself up. Aizawa himself doesn’t like it, but it makes sense.

What doesn’t make sense is walking into the dorms one day to Tokoyami, Jirou, Midoriya, and Uraraka of all people swallowed up within a heavy metal song.

Tokoyami is perched on the couch, wrapped in his cloak and bobbing his head with his eyes closed. Dark Shadow swirls around him, beeping along with some of the lyrics. Jirou does much the same, one earphone jack plugged into the Bluetooth speaker on the coffee table. Her fingers drum on her thighs, mouthing the lyrics. Midoriya is scribbling away in his notebook, not even looking up at Aizawa’s entrance.

Uraraka is staring blankly ahead, her hands twisted into fists in her lap. Aizawa’s frown deepens. He’s sure she doesn’t want to be there listening to that. He doesn’t know anyone that would besides this little group, Mic, and truly delusional people.

Present Mic’s voice rises in his mind, chastising and predictably loud even in his consciousness. Aizawa shakes his head and steps forward, drawing Dark Shadow’s attention to him.

Tokoyami stirs and looks towards him. Without a word, Dark Shadow slithers over to turn down the volume until it’s just background noise.

“Mr. Aizawa,” Tokoyami says, nodding his head.

Aizawa nods. “What are you guys doing?”

Jirou blinks. “Just listening to music while we work. I’m trying to think of a topic for Mic’s paper that’s due next week.”

“As am I,” Tokoyami chimes in.

Midoriya is wholly involved in his analysis. Aizawa looks to Uraraka.

Cheeks pink, Uraraka’s head dips until she’s looking at her lap. “Uh…I’m doing the same, I guess.”

Aizawa’s lip twitches. “With this music? How can you even focus?”

Uraraka stays quiet. Jirou leans forward. “C’mon, Mr. Aizawa. Don’t be lame, I promise this music has meaning.”

He rolls his eyes. “Sure, kid. Whatever you say. I can’t understand a word the guy is saying but if it works for you. I doubt it works for Uraraka, though. You should be more considerate of your classmates.”

Jirou’s earphone jacks cross and tighten beneath her chin like they always do when she’s upset. “First of all, it’s a girl singing. Second of all, the song is about the brutality of men towards women in the way women are viewed. Third of all, what do you know? Maybe Uraraka likes heavy metal. You shouldn’t judge people based on music, Mr. Aizawa. It’s tasteless.”

Jirou turns her head dismissively like he’s supposed to be moved by her impassioned speech. If anything, he’s simply tired and a little amused. He doesn’t have the mental energy to deal with all of that. Instead, he grunts and goes on his way. He’ll have to keep an eye on Uraraka, make sure she’s not being forced to listen to it. She can’t be like the others with her music taste. That, he knows, would be absolutely ridiculous.

***

Two days later, he walks into the kitchen for a cup of coffee to take with him to his office for some grading. Before he gets within ten steps of the entrance, he can hear the heavy metal music blaring. Teeth gritted, he walks in.

Uraraka is perched on the counter, laughing at something Midoriya and Jirou are doing with what looks to be a big bowl of cookie dough. Her laughter petters off when she sees Aizawa glaring in the doorway.

Midoriya turns down the music using his phone. “Mr. Aizawa!” he says, a happy smile on his face and a bit of flour in his green curls, “Look! We’re making sugar cookies for the class with one of Sato’s recipes.”

Aizawa suspiciously peers into the bowl like the dough is going to grow arms and legs and attack him. With some of the things the students have made trying to cook or bake, it’s not the most irrational idea he has.

Instead, the dough looks fine. Smooth and even. It smells nice, too.

He grunts. “You’re baking sugar cookies while listening to this?” Aizawa questions.

Midoriya laughs and scratches at the side of his face. “Well, yeah. See, Uraraka—”

“Why don’t you let her choose the music for once?” Aizawa interrupts. There’s no way she chose whatever is still trickling from the speakers. He hears a line about a knife and a throat and suppresses a shudder.

“Uh, what?” Midoriya asks.

“You heard me. Let Uraraka choose. I’m sure she has better taste than this.”

The girl in question has her head down, chestnut hair falling over her face. Aizawa catches sight of her furiously blushing cheeks once again, like earlier in the week.

Jirou laughs at something but doesn’t deign to inform him of the reason. Midoriya just looks confused, eyes daring between all three of them.

Not bothering any longer, Aizawa fills his thermos with coffee and shuffles on his way. He really needs to do something about that. He knows some kids don’t realize they’re making others uncomfortable, but he for sure thought both Midoriya and Jirou would realize it. Tokoyami, too. They’re all pretty sensitive to the emotions of others.

Shaking his head, Aizawa writes himself a sticky note to remember to figure out a resolution when he reaches is office.

***

The third and final time Aizawa is foolish happens late one night about a week and a half after the visit in the kitchen. He gets a call about his students (of course) making a ruckus (of course) and walks the short distance from the teacher’s dormitory to the student’s side. Thankfully, Aizawa was awake already trying to catch up on grading, but irritation still quickens his pace and furrows his brow.

Most of the students are in their rooms, but a few are awake at this late hour pouring over textbooks or messing around. One glare from Aizawa has them all retreating to their rooms. He heads to the stairs, taking two at a time when he feels the vibrations through the floor from above.

On the second floor, the door to his immediate left raddles on its hinges with the force of the music absolutely blasting from inside. Aizawa doesn’t hesitate to hammer his fist on Tokoyami’s door.

The music is too loud for his student to hear him. Aizawa tries to shout for attention—he really doesn’t want to go barging into his student’s dorm rooms, the kids need the privacy to help feel safe after all the bullshit they’ve gone through—but again, Tokoyami must not hear him.

Sighing and ignoring to looks of the other boys on the same floor, Aizawa tries the doorknob. Surprisingly, it’s unlocked.

Aizawa stalks in, words primed and ready to fall like chastising blades to ensure such a disturbance never happened again, but he stops short at the sight before him.

Tokoyami is perched on top of his dresser, cloak pooled around him, eyes closed and singing along to the song. Candles burn low in the eye sockets of skulls around the room, offering minimal light. Purple and black tapestries are draped over the walls, darkening the ambiance. What really snags his attention are the two people dancing on the open floor between the bed and dresser.

Uraraka holds onto Dark Shadow’s hands—claws?—and sings along to the song at the top of her lungs, head thrown back, her hair floating and flying as she dances nonsensically to the music. The words coming out of her mouth don't match his image of her. They're so...aggressive. She’s in her pajama’s, the fabric twisting with her movements. Even though he can’t hear it, Aizawa can see Dark Shadow’s beak opening and closing with their happy noises. The being pulls and pushes Uraraka around easily.

Floored by the irrational idea of Uraraka—one of his sweetest, most earnest students he has next to Tsu—enjoying this kind of music, Aizawa stalls out for a solid five seconds before the reason for his visit crashes back into him.

However, Dark Shadow has noticed him. The being releases Uraraka mid jump, leaving her a floating, giggling mess, and zips over to Aizawa, attempting to pull him into the little heavy metal party as well.

Aizawa carefully extracts himself from Dark Shadow’s grip, both to keep his bones from being broken—the sentient shadow can’t control their strength sometimes—and to get the attention of Tokoyami.

Feathered head swiveling, his eyes widen at the sight of Aizawa standing in his open doorway. He hastily turns down the music, slipping off the dresser to step a bit closer.

Uraraka is still floating. Aizawa activates his Quirk to make her drop to the ground. She lands hard on her hip with a little yelp. He should feel bad as she lurches to her feet with a tiny grimace on her face.

He doesn’t.

“What is going on?” he demands.

“Mr. Aizawa,” Tokoyami says with his usual bow. “We’re just…exercising a bit.”

“’Exercising’,” Aizawa repeats. “Why don’t I believe that?”

“We were,” Tokoyami says. “Music is an emotional exercise, especially when dealing with intense emotion. It is cathartic and healthy.”

“Uraraka?” Aizawa asks. “Was that what happened?”

Uraraka has her usual blush on her face. He’s unfazed by it at this point. Has been for a while. Still, his mind tries to find a reason, a justification for someone like Uraraka to be part of the “noisy” music group he has in his head.

She nods.

He studies her, but his head remains empty of reasons. “And you…enjoy this type of music.”

Again, she nods.

“Why?” It’s out of his mouth before he can think to stop it.

Her head tips in confusion. “You want to know why?”

Aizawa sighs. He sees no reason not to be transparent with her. “It doesn’t make sense. Tokoyami I can see, but you? I find it hard to believe. I thought you were being bullied or manipulated into listening to it.”

Uraraka’s face drops into something horrified. “Oh my god, no! I’ve been listening to music like this for a long time.”

“The reason?” Aizawa prompts. He needs this and then he can move on with the rest of his night. At this point, he’s not going to do any more than warn them to be quieter during regular bedtime hours, but he would like to satisfy his own curiosity.

“Uh…hmm…” Uraraka fidgets with the sleeves of her night shirt. Tokoyami watches her, the edges of his beak canted into what Aizawa knows is his version of a smirk.

He’s about to say something when she finally speaks up.

“I guess you could say…I’m kind of…angry?”

Aizawa frowns. “’Angry,’” he repeats.

She nods, scratching at the back of her head in a look of embarrassment. “Yeah. Angry. The music…helps.”

“Angry,” he says again. “About what?”

Tokoyami steps in. “This miserable existence, Mr. Aizawa. The trial of life. Finding hope only to have it snatched up by the blackness of this forsaken world.”

Uraraka nods like that statement made any sense whatsoever. Sure, Aizawa has his share of anger issues, but nothing that required such…noise.

“Whatever. I’ll let it be. Just be quieter about it. Especially late at night. Be considerate of the people around you, alright? Now get to bed. You have class tomorrow morning.”

Uraraka hesitates, and Dark Shadow curls around her shoulders forlornly, staring at Aizawa with the being’s equivalent of puppy-dog eyes.

He smiles a bit. “It’s not going to work. To bed, Uraraka. Now.”

She obediently goes, though she does pause once to wave goodbye to Tokoyami and Dark Shadow. Aizawa follows her out, shutting Tokoyami’s door behind him. Aizawa then sees her to the staircase, watching her retreating form for only a moment before turning to leave.

“Mr. Aizawa,” a voice hisses.

He turns, catching sight of Aoyama peering from behind a corner.

“Yes, Aoyama?”

“Merci beaucoup, Mr. Aizawa. I needed to get my beauty sleep. This skin doesn’t make itself flawless, you know.” He pats one cheek for emphasis.

Aizawa’s lip twitches. So Aoyama was the one who called to complain. “No problem. Now go to bed. You all are too young to be up this late over some rowdy music.”

With that, Aizawa heads back to his own dorm.

***

He reports the incident to Present Mic the next morning between classes. Mic nearly blows Aizawa’s ears out from laughing so hard.

“You know, I’m going to recommend her so much angry music,” Mic says when he finally catches his breath.

“Don’t you dare enable her. She’s—she’s—” he breaks off with a groan. Like the rest of his students, Uraraka is not who he thought she was. She’s not an angry person, there’s no way.

Friday night of the same week, Mic shouts Uraraka out on his radio show and plays some horrible, horrible noise dedicated to her. Aizawa knows without really knowing that she will be entirely too pleased by it.

Sure enough, the next morning, Aizawa’s phone pings with a screenshot from Mic of an email from Uraraka exclaiming with excitement over his actions.

Putting his head in his hands, Aizawa mourns the little bit of normalcy she afforded his life as a teacher. Perhaps he’ll put her with Bakugo for a training exercise—get a little more of that anger out in a way that isn’t so…grating on his poor, poor nerves.

Chapter Text

Uraraka Ochako is authentic in her personal expression except in one area: she’s really fucking angry. All the time.

It’s a familiar feeling that burns in her gut and steadily rises until it’s in her throat, waiting to come spewing out. It’s both welcome and unwelcome, depending on the situation. When she hears her parents worry and fret over finances in the hushed hours of the night, she could scream and scream for hours and still not feel relieved. It’s not fair. She knows that’s stupid to think. She knows it’s naïve, but for the life of her, she cannot let it go.

So she gets angry.

She channels it as much as she can, training her Quirk and body with a ferocity that surprised her parents when they would find her sweaty and red-faced while working out. She would go for walks or runs, complete her chores, read, listen to music—anything to get the feeling to subside. However, no matter what she did, it wasn’t enough. Her skin would still itch with the anger, making her restless and frustrated to the point of snapping over nothing. She’s had to plaster holes in her wall more times than she would care to admit after getting overwhelmingly angry and throwing her weights with broken yells.

Seeing the holes in the wall made her angrier. It turned inward, stabbing into her sense of self like a knife. What was wrong with her? She has a loving family. She’s a good person—that she knows without a doubt because she strives to be one whenever she can. She’s kind and considerate, a little goofy and perhaps a touch shy around new people. She doesn’t express her anger except in the privacy of her room. No one knows, not even her parents, really. Why can’t she just control it? Other people do. Her parents do. Both of them will get angry and yell and curse and stomp around the house when it all becomes too much, but then they talk. They calm down and move on.

Uraraka can’t move on.

It hurts to stay angry. It hurts to watch her classmates in middle school go on vacations or get private hero tutors in preparation for high school applications. It hurts to watch heroes on television remain cool and controlled in the face of potential death. It hurts when her parents refuse to let her start working with them to help them. It hurts to walk around with her friends in the shopping district feeling so full of rage that she begs off so she doesn’t snap at them. She knows it’s no one’s fault. She knows that’s the way the world is.

Being at UA was a dream come true. It was supposed to set her up for success in both a financial and heroic sense. It was supposed to help her find a way to stop being so angry all the time. Uraraka is good person, but seeing other people excel over her makes her feel all the more inadequate. All that feeling does, when she identifies it, is make her more angry.

It’s when she’s at Gunhead’s agency that she discovers a new outlet for her anger.

Not only does it feel amazing to use her body and the body of her opponent to take them down without her Quirk, but the music. After her first session practicing with Gunhead to a cacophony of beautiful, blessed noise that centers her like nothing has before, Uraraka asks him about it.

“What is that playing through the speakers?” She wipes at the sweat on her forehead and sips from her water bottle.

Gunhead cocks his head to the side—so cute!—and looks at her. “What? This?” He points up at the ceiling. Uraraka nods. “It’s heavy metal. You ever listened to it before?”

Uraraka shakes her head. “The lyrics are kind of amazing, though.” It took her a couple songs to pick up on the articulation within the screams, but they get it. She’s never listened to music like this, music that understands that aspect of her.

She can’t see Gunhead’s face, but she senses his frown all the same. “’Kind of amazing’ how?”

Uraraka blushes a bit, but thankfully it’s not too noticeable with her already flushed face from the practice session. She can’t tell him about the anger. She’s sure he’ll laugh at her and tell her how cute she looks when she’s angry or brush her off like everyone else does when she hints at it. “Uh…well, I guess…I don’t know. It just helped me focus, I guess?”

Gunhead is quiet for a moment. “Uravity,” he says seriously. “Are you an angry person?”

Uraraka holds her hands up in a show of innocence. “No, not at all! I mean, really. Me? Angry? Psshaw.”

Gunhead hums but doesn’t press her further, instead turning off the music and diving into a mini debrief about the training session.

Unsurprisingly, her anger surges in the space of that moment, sweeping away the bit of joy she found in favor of a mental barrage of loathing.

***

The next day is much the same. Gunhead continues to play heavy metal during their training. It’s wonderfully loud, and the screaming helps so much in directing her body and mind to obey Gunhead’s instructions.

At the end of the session, Gunhead looks at her strangely when Uraraka grins victoriously but doesn’t make a comment.

The third day, a couple of sidekicks are in the training room and have already taken the speakers over with some vaguely familiar pop music.

Uraraka isn’t able to focus at all. She struggles to complete even the basics that Gunhead taught and drilled into her the two days prior and, frankly, it’s irritating beyond belief.

When she ends up flat on her back with the wind knocked out of her and Gunhead hovering with a foot ready to descend if she were really a villain, Uraraka loses it.

She slams her arms on the mat below her hard, sending pain zinging through her bones. Teeth gritted, her anger swarms up from her gut to her chest to her throat and out, breaking her barrier of silent anger with a curdling, frustrated shout.

Gunhead lowers his foot but watches in silence. Uraraka’s mouth twists, her eyes tear up. She knows she’s red in the face and neck, and it’s embarrassing beyond belief, but she can’t stop it. Uraraka throws her forearms over her face, trying to preserve what little dignity she has left. She gasps for breath from more than the training exercise. She’s a fraud, someone who is not good enough to be a hero and she always has been, and now she’s been found out. After all, who would entrust their life to her when she’s so angry all. The damn. Time?

The music cuts off and she hears shuffling feet. Gunhead must be kicking the sidekicks out to yell at her. Berate her. Tell her off and boot her from her internship like she deserves.

Something rustles to her right. She peeks between her arms to see Gunhead’s crossed legs beside her. “Uraraka,” he says.

“Before you yell at me,” Uraraka says in a flurry, “just know that I’m sorry, okay? I’m trying to do what you’re telling me and I know I’m a failure but I promise I can do it! I need to train a little harder. Please don’t kick me out. I don’t think I could handle that from you.”

“Uraraka,” he says again. “Are you okay?”

That’s not what she was expecting. She opens her arms a bit further to catch sight of his masked face. The line of his neck and the soft, openness of his hands in his lap make her think that, perhaps, he’s not going to kick her out after all.

“What?” she asks.

“I asked, are you okay? Truly?”

His voice is so gentle. Tears fill her eyes again. No one’s really asked her that before.

“I don’t know,” she answers.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m so—so—” She can’t get it out. What if he laughs at her? What if he tells her to get over?

“Angry,” Gunhead finishes. “You’re angry.”

Her hands slap down to the mat, revealing her mess of a face. “All the time. I don’t know what to do with it! It makes my skin crawl.”

Gunhead nods sagely. “It’s okay,” he says.

That’s not what she was expecting. She turns her head to look up at him. “What? You’re not…going to laugh at me? Tell me I’m cute?”

Gunhead laughs. “I do that enough! You know I like to tease you, but anger is perfectly normal. I can tell it’s bothering you, though, so I don’t think it’s appropriate to laugh at you. Have people done that before?”

Uraraka nods. “Everyone. Even my parents don’t take me seriously.”

“That makes you more angry,” he finishes.

“Yeah.”

“What are you angry at?”

Instead of answering, Uraraka points to herself and then gestures to encompass everything.

“Ah. This next question is a little strange, but bear with me, okay?” He waits for her to nod her head before asking. “Did the music help?”

“What?”

“The metal music. Did it help?”

“I guess so. I felt really good when it was playing. The…itchiness went away.”

“You felt settled. And understood.”

She nods.

“And today?” he prompts.

She shakes her head, flexing her hands to press down into the mat.

“When you get angry,” Gunhead begins, one finger tapping the chin of his mask in thought, “what do you do with it?”

“It just…sits there. I don’t do anything with it. It won’t go away.”

“I want you to use it,” he says.

She’s thought of that before, but… “It’s so heavy, though. I don’t want to let it out. What if I can’t turn it off? Who’s going to trust a hero that can’t control their anger? I wouldn’t.”

Gunhead cocks his head. “You don’t trust me?”

“What?”

“What?” Gunhead repeats. She hears the smile in his voice. “I’ve been struggling with anger my entire life. It wasn’t until my own internship that I was able to figure out how to use it to make me a better hero. I still can’t control it. I still get angry over the simplest things, but I turn it into a tool to use, not some enemy that’s standing over me. See?”

“But you…” She’s seen him in action on patrols, seen his calmness, his fierce determination and independence that keeps him moving and thinking through even the stickiest of situations.

“I’ll ask you again. Do you trust me?”

Uraraka nods. When Gunhead stands and offers her his own hand to pull her up, she doesn’t hesitate to grab it. “Let me help then. But first…” he trails off and clicks something on his phone.

The speakers veritably explode with heavy growls and blast beats and crunching guitars. “We need some tunes!” Gunhead happily yells over the sound.

Uraraka can’t help a grin. He really is adorable. She’s so glad she chose his agency.

“Now,” he says. “Let’s get you pissed off.”

***

Metal becomes a catharsis when she’s training and living her life. She shares a bit of her reasons for being angry with Gunhead when he asks, and in response, Gunhead teaches her visualization techniques to help with channeling the anger no matter the situation. He also focuses on relaxation techniques and diaphragmatic breathing for when it becomes overwhelming because the struggle with this emotion can last a long, long time. He shares some personal experiences with her that helps her remember that she can’t change how she feels, but she can change how she acts and uses it.

Her parents are surprised when they hear it blasting from her room one night while she’s studying. She lies through her teeth when they ask why she listens to it, citing familiarity and focus from her time with Gunhead.

Her classmates are even more surprised, but she finds camaraderie with Deku, Tokoyami, and Jirou, as they all listen to it as well. Some of them aren’t as angry like her, but exploring the genre and talking about it with them helps just as much as Gunhead’s lessons.

When Aizawa discovers it one night while she screamed out her hopeless and defiance with Dark Shadow, it’s one of the funniest things that’s ever happened to her. Not in the moment, because Aizawa dropped her to the floor with his Quirk and sent her to bed with her head down in shame, but she doesn’t think she’ll ever forget the look on his face. Shock, confusion, a bit of horror, and then grim acceptance.

She bonds with Present Mic soon after, and he gets her into even heavier stuff. They’re both so excited to share with each other, they start meeting in the teacher’s lounge to discuss on a near-weekly basis. It drives the other teachers up the wall or out of the lounge completely if they’re loud enough, but the gifts she’s been afforded because of a music genre and an instructor that cared about, and validated, her anger is something she will cherish.

She’s also going to kick ass with it, but that’s going to be her little secret.