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Toshinori shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat and quickened his step. The evening air was chilly and damp, the gathering fog painting soft halos around the streetlights he was passing at a pace that would require most people to jog. Thank heaven the bar Midnight told him to visit was right around the corner; the day called for a drink, nevermind what his doctor said about alcohol.
Rounding the corner, he saw the bar’s illuminated sign up ahead. The Man Cave. So that was what Kayama-kun’s wink had been all about when she’d called it a great place to retreat to for a cosy evening. He huffed and shook his head; only someone dubbed the R-Rated Hero. For a brief moment he considered turning back or finding someplace else, but she’d made him promise to tell her how he found it and he valued their budding friendship too much to not follow through.
He approached the heavy iron door and pulled it open, expecting to be greeted with raucous conversation and laughter. Instead, he stepped into a club-like place with warm lighting and pleasant jazzy music just loud enough to drown out the sound of conversation without overtaking it completely. The air carried an inviting smell of expensive cigarettes, with hints of old wine barrels and leather. A rack near the door had just enough space to hold his coat.
He let his eyes roam around the room once, noting the layout of the tables and the people scattered around them mostly in pairs or the occasional group of three. Some of the patrons seemed to be alone, nursing a drink and either engrossed in their phone or just staring into space. Good, he wouldn’t be the only one then.
Completing his sweep of the room, Toshinori’s gaze landed on the long wooden bar lined with comfortable looking stools. A few long strides and he reached it, his goal being a free stool at the nearest end. As he sat down, he glanced towards his neighbour sitting two seats away, holding his drink in both hands and leaning forward so his face was partially obscured by the somewhat messy long hair that had fallen from a half-bun at the back of his head. The man lifted his drink, and now Toshinori could see more of his face—oh.
“Aizawa-kun, hello!” Toshinori exclaimed, raising his voice a little to be heard. His mouth stretched into his signature big grin.
Aizawa swivelled towards him, eyes narrowed and pinning him with a glower, and Toshinori barely held on to his grin. Somehow, Aizawa always managed to unnerve him and turn him into an awkward, stuttering mess. Remembering that they were not currently on academy grounds, Toshinori forced himself to relax.
“Yagi-san.” Aizawa inclined his head just a bit. “Didn’t know you were joining us tonight.”
Toshinori glanced around the room, then at the bar; nothing indicated that Aizawa had company.
“Us?” He raised his eyebrows, then realised he was prying and backtracked. “No, no, sorry, I just came for a quiet drink by myself,” he said and immediately began babbling to cover his embarrassment, “You know, it’s not really fun to drink alone and I wanted to get away from the dorms for a bit—not that there’s anything wrong with the dorms, they're lovely, it’s been great living there and I suppose I could have company for a drink, too…”
Seeing one corner of Aizawa’s mouth do a weird little twitch made Toshinori click his mouth shut. Smooth . “Uh, you’re meeting someone and I wouldn’t want to intrude, I’ll just go sit at a table—" He turned towards the room, eyes roving over the tables searching for an empty one. He was about to stand up when Aizawa interrupted him with a sigh.
“No, stay. I’m meeting Hizashi. Like you said, it’s not fun to drink alone.” At that, Aizawa raised his glass in a mock salute and downed it. Despite the dim light, Toshinori could see traces of fatigue in his face. The way he carried himself, hunched in but vigilant, reminded Toshinori of a stray.
“Well, if you really don’t mind, thank you,” Toshinori replied with a smile and settled onto his stool, grabbing a menu and perusing it.
What an expressive face , Shouta found himself thinking, not for the first time. Yagi seemed oblivious as Shouta continued to observe him, his eyes trailing the curve of Yagi’s smile, the way it etched laugh lines into Yagi’s thin, almost skeletal face. He kept watching Yagi as the latter waved over the bartender, ordered a whiskey for himself and another scotch for Shouta. Then he fidgeted with his cuffs and his drink, looking forlorn in a way that Shouta found vaguely disturbing.
“Care to join me,” Shouta indicated the stool next to his, “or are you going to make me shout all night, Yagi-san ?”
Predictably, Yagi blushed, barely visible but there regardless, and Shouta’s heart did a funny little jump.
“Of course not. Pardon me,” Yagi said, and Shouta watched him unfurl, step down from the stool, and envelop his glass with his large, bony hand.
Yagi’s thin stature and the way he slouched down easily made people forget how tall he really was. Less imposing than his All Might form, of course—All Might had taken up so much room with his presence alone, whereas Yagi sometimes seemed to barely be there. And yet Shouta found Yagi fascinating in a way All Might never had been; it was a little like seeing a firefly shining its pale but lively light, close enough to touch, after having spent a lifetime glancing occasionally at a bright but distant star.
Shouta’s musings were interrupted by Yagi’s knee bumping into him as the latter swivelled his stool too far to the left.
“Sorry!” the man mumbled and laughed self-deprecatingly. “My limbs are too long.”
Shouta rolled his eyes. “Are you sure it’s that and not the fact that you’re clumsy?” he quipped.
Yagi’s rich, vibrant laugh made Aizawa’s mouth quirk up in an almost-smile before he stopped himself.
“How’s Midoriya doing?” he asked.
Yagi lit up like he always did when talking about what was essentially his protege, a mystery Shouta was determined to solve someday. “He’s fine! He’s mastering his quirk very well.” Yagi laughed. “I know we shouldn’t have our favourites as teachers, but it’s hard not to when you see so much of yourself in someone.” He shook his drink so that the ice cubes clattered against the glass, then downed the contents. Shouta gestured at the bartender for another.
“I bet you don’t have favourites,” Yagi continued.
Shouta was silent while the bartender brought their drinks, then spoke: “Shinsou.”
“Pardon?”
“Shinsou is my favourite.”
“Ah, the boy from the general class.” Yagi paused. “He reminds me a bit of you.”
“Not sure that’s a good thing,” Shouta grumbled.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
Shouta frowned and stared at the illuminated bottles lined up on shelves behind the bar, unsure what to say.
“Hmm. Do you come here often? I’ve never seen you here before,” he deflected.
If Yagi was thrown off by the sudden change in topic, he didn't show it. “No, it’s my first time.”
“Oh? How do you like it then?”
“It’s nice. Warm.” Yagi laughed again, the reverberations travelling through Shouta’s body; Shouta stomped them down. “I admit I was a little wary, given the name. Sounded like something that would be filled with testosterone and manliness.”
Shouta snorted. “It is filled with only men,” he drawled.
“Yeah... uh...“ Yagi stumbled and laughed. “I wasn’t implying—”
“But like in any gay bar, of course you’ll find plenty of men of a more ‘feminine’ persuasion, too.”
This seemed to stun Yagi into wide-eyed silence. “Gay bar?”
“Didn’t you know?” Shouta frowned.
Yagi shook his head, looking down at the bar counter, and trailed a finger along the wet mark left by his glass.
“Feel free to leave if it bothers you,” Shouta said, shrugging, pretending not to care, even though his stomach dropped at the thought of Yagi disapproving, or worse.
“It doesn’t,” came the reply, quiet but immediate, “Not at all.” Then Yagi inexplicably started chuckling and muttered something under his breath. His posture seemed to relax, becoming languid, making him look like a large cat—a lion, Shouta decided, with that mane of his.
“What’s so funny?” he couldn’t help asking.
“Kayama-kun sent me here,” Yagi replied, “I didn’t think anyone knew.” At this, he looked straight at Shouta.
Shouta found himself unable to maintain eye contact. Dragging a hand through his hair, he dislodged the half-bun he’d forgotten about. He unravelled it, shaking out his hair and combing through it with both hands, before redoing the bun, feeling a slight breeze where his shirt had ridden up to reveal a sliver of skin. The sound of a choked cough drew his eyes back to Yagi.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. Yes. My drink went down the wrong way, is all,” was Yagi’s red-faced reply.
Something in Shouta purred; the thought of being noticed by Yagi—the man who was All Might —in that way was heady.
“Nemuri’s quite perceptive,” he said. “I take it you don’t go to gay bars often?”
“I don’t often go to bars in general. I couldn’t really go out before—before the injury, I mean. Afterwards, it just never occurred to me.” Yagi snorted, “I’m still getting used to being retired.”
“How’s that going for you?” Shouta asked.
“Fine… good, I guess?” Yagi paused, then sighed, “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like… like I don’t know how to be me anymore. Being a mentor is the only thing I have left. I just wish I were half as good as my mentor was…” He blinked. “Sorry. I talk too much when I drink.”
“You always talk too much,” Shouta teased.
He regretted it even before Yagi replied with “I suppose I do, at that,” in a tone that made Shouta wince and wish Hizashi was there to steer the conversation back to something more pleasant. What was keeping Hizashi so long, anyway? Racking his brain and coming up empty, he finally blurted out, “I like hearing you talk.”
He immediately felt like thumping his head hard against the counter, except Yagi smiled, almost a little coyly, and Shouta couldn’t help smiling back. Time seemed to stand still for a moment, until a large, warm hand settled onto Shouta’s wrist, half-circling it with a brief squeeze, thumb stretching across the back of it in a light caress. Yagi was saying something that didn’t immediately register over the tingling warmth Shouta felt, all sound further drowned out by the blood rushing to his head.
“Hmm?” he blinked at Yagi, who was watching him closely.
“Thank you, Aizawa-kun,” Yagi said, “I really like talking to you, too.” He removed his hand from Shouta’s but kept it close, casually laid on the counter top. Shouta almost reached out for it, chasing after that intoxicating sensation; instead, he reached into his pocket for the phone. The tiny, blinking blue light indicated that he had received a message.
Sorry, man, can’t make it tonight, something came up. I'll make it up to you!
Damn right you will , Aizawa thought. He sighed. “Seems I have been stood up. Hizashi’s not coming.”
“Stood up...? Are you... Were you and Yamada-kun...?” Yagi stammered.
Aizawa frowned, before it dawned on him. “No! No, nothing like that! Not since high-school—” He bit his tongue; he hadn’t meant to let that slip.
“Ah,” was all Yagi said, but his eyes were sparkling and his long bony fingers twitched.
“Out with it,” Shouta grumbled, rolling his eyes for good measure, “before you fall off your seat.”
That made Yagi laugh. “It’s just, the thought of you two... You’re very different from each other.” The laugh softened into a smile. “Still, I can see it. You complement each other. I’m sure you were good together.”
“Yeah, well, we’re better as friends,” Shouta said. “Hizashi’s been my best friend ever since—” His voice broke and he cleared his throat before continuing, “Ever since it’s been just the two of us.”
“Kayama-kun told me about your friend. I’m sorry,” Yagi offered.
“Yeah.” What was there to say, really? Oboro was gone, or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was still trapped in that shell somewhere, and Shouta wondered which would be worse.
For a while, they were both silent, then Yagi said, “I should have stopped that bastard a long time ago.”
“Could haves, should haves, would haves are for those who give up. Have you given up then, All Might-san?” Shouta challenged.
“I’ll die before I give up,” Yagi replied quietly. Then his expression cleared and he chuckled. “But first, I need to use the restroom.” He got up and swayed a little. “Well, this is embarrassing; I used to be able to hold my drink.”
The light in the restroom was harsh compared to the bar; catching a glance of himself in the mirror sobered Toshinori up more than the cold water he’d splashed on his face. He really had to get a grip; Aizawa was kind enough to accept his company, the least he could do was try to make it fun. No more alcohol for you, he silently told his reflection. Maybe some wine, he amended a moment later. Better enjoy this while it lasts.
Just as he was about to exit the bathroom, the door opened and a man entered. After pausing for a brief moment, the man quickly zoned in on Toshinori, preventing him from taking another step.
“All Might-san!” the man exclaimed, “Sir, it’s such an honour to meet you!” The man extended a hand, which Toshinori reluctantly shook, and babbled on, crowding him and eyeing him up and down with an appraising eye, until Toshinori finally managed to mumble an excuse and flee the bathroom.
He found a basket filled with bread waiting for him at the bar, along with a tall glass of water, and he gratefully slid onto his stool, turning away from the room.
“Looks like you got accosted,” Aizawa greeted him, “Not your type? I’d expect after a quickie, you’d be looking more relaxed.” He pretend-leered at Toshinori and Toshinori burst out laughing.
“Definitely not my type,” he replied, helping himself to some bread.
“What is your type, then?” Aizawa asked casually. Too casually, or was Toshinori imagining it?
Feeling strangely elated and not quite himself, he replied, “Tall, dark, handsome, with a fierce personality, someone who gives as good as he gets,”—he knew he should shut up, but apparently his mouth had other ideas—“someone who takes me as I am and makes me lose control and…”—finally, he managed to wrestle back control from whatever had possessed him—“... apparently, I’ve had too much to drink. I really should have eaten dinner before coming here, but, oh, this bread is lovely, I love garlic, even though it’s not really good for the breath," he somehow managed to babble out before stuffing a large piece of said bread into his mouth, thus preventing further embarrassment.
Aizawa’s face had undergone several expressions during Toshinori’s speech, finally settling on something both familiar and novel, something that reminded Toshinori of a cat that had just snacked on cream and was about to wipe its mouth with its paws and lick them clean.
“Worried about garlic breath, huh? Planning on kissing someone tonight?” Aizawa smirked. Toshinori wanted to capture that smirk with his lips, to nibble and suck on it until it melted into a sigh, or a moan, and he realised he had been wanting that for a long time.
Deciding to throw caution to the wind, Toshinori smirked back. “Now there’s an idea,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and doing his best lecherous old man impression.
Toshinori found watching Aizawa guffaw, then roar in full-belly laughter incredibly satisfying. He ordered another round, this time wine for himself. He sipped it leisurely, enjoying its earthy, tannic aroma while he entertained Aizawa with saucy anecdotes from his past, making sure to elicit information about Aizawa himself. He made special note of each thing he learned: Aizawa secretly loved cats, not so secretly hated people who made a fuss, and easily got bored before life as an underground hero threw too much excitement at him, making him appreciate peace and quiet.
The bartender calling for the last round came as a surprise to them both. They ordered, then looked at each other.
“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Toshinori smiled. “Thank you, Aizawa-kun, I had a lovely evening.”
“Me, too,” Aizawa agreed, turning somehow solemn, like he was closing himself off again, and Toshinori couldn’t stand to see it.
“Alas, no more time for a quickie.” He sighed dramatically, eliciting a small laugh from Aizawa, “I really should learn to take the opportunity when it presents itself, no?” He made as if to turn towards the room. “Though maybe the gentleman is still here—”
He was stopped by Aizawa’s hand gripping his thigh, preventing him from turning away. He looked at the hand, then up into Aizawa’s magnetic eyes, finding himself helplessly drawn into them. He hardly dared to breathe for fear of breaking the moment—their souls reaching out to each other, silently communicating an eternity’s worth of meaning, until all the threads of the evening snapped into place and they we both smiling as Toshinori gently took hold of Aizawa’s neck, thumb caressing Aizawa’s jaw, his other hand clasping Aizawa’s arm, and their mouths met in a fiercely soft kiss.
They broke apart breathless and giddy, filled to the brim with a joie de vivre they scarcely remembered from former, happier times. Toshinori didn’t notice the tears that had trickled out of the corners of his eyes until Aizawa reached out to wipe them away, trailing his fingertips along Toshinori’s cheeks as if he couldn’t stop touching him.
The bartender’s less than subtle cough jolted them back to the present, and Toshinori was mildly horrified by the realisation that they were now the only guests left in the bar. With a sheepish grin, he asked for the bill and settled it while Aizawa excused himself to the restroom.
When Aizawa returned, Toshinori was already dressed and waiting at the door. A hilarious pantomime ensued when he held out Aizawa’s coat, waiting for Aizawa to turn around and insert his arms so Toshinori could help him with it, while at the same time Aizawa tried to take the coat from him to put it on himself. Finally, amidst mutual blushing and the bartender’s barely concealed snickers, Aizawa rolled his eyes, turned, and allowed himself to be helped into his coat.
Once outside, Aizawa got his revenge by grabbing Toshinori and planting him against the wall, then mercilessly kissing him senseless, this time passionately and sloppily, all tongues and teeth and hands roaming everywhere they could reach.
Ending the kiss with a nip on Toshinori’s bottom lip, Aizawa leaned against Toshinori’s chest and sighed, “As good as I’ve always imagined it.”
“Oh? You’ve imagined kissing me like this?” Toshinori couldn’t help grinning.
“Shut up,” Aizawa groused, but his body betrayed him by nestling even closer into Toshinori’s, and Toshinori felt like he was flying again; except flying had never felt this good and, this time, the only possible fall had already happened.