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Later, he wouldn’t be able to recall what made him go up there. Shouta supposed it didn’t really matter. He opened the roof door with a soft click, blinking in surprise at the small silhouette at the edge of the unlit roof. Wild curls gave away which of his children students sat too close.
He approached slowly, footsteps purposely shifting noisingly against the stone.
“Midoriya.”
The kid turned towards him, relaxed, like a cat unbothered by how high its perch is.
“Hello, Mr. Aizawa.” He gestured tiredly at the empty ledge next to him. Shouta took the invitation and moved to sit, legs swung over to match. They looked out beyond the dorms, to the small wooded pathways, and the distant glow of the city.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, breathing the warm night air.
“Can I ask you something?” Midoriya finally said, voice low and more serious than Shouta had ever heard him.
“Of course, anything” He resisted the urge to look over, to interrupt whatever was happening.
“Do you ever get a little bit tired of life?”
Only of the endless worry, of the wondering why, why these kids, why his kids. Of the pain, the skull splitting headaches as his eyes beg him to be done.
“Like you're not really happy but you don't wanna die.”
The nightmares, of crumbling dust faces and smoke covered forests. He doesn’t want to die, to leave people behind but he would stand in front of the world to keep them safe.
“Like you're hanging by a thread but you gotta survive.”
He looked over at the end of the kids' practiced speech, trying desperately to ignore the way his mess of curls flickered to light wavy clouds, the sound of falling rubble roaring in his ears. He blinked, and the kid was watching him, expectant and concerned.
“Yea, Midoriya, I understand.” He said, and they turned back to watch the beginnings of the sun lighten the trees below. He distantly realized they both would need help, but that could wait for the daylight.
For now, they had understanding, and that was enough.