Archive of Our Own

Nemuri is sitting behind Hizashi when he gets the call. 

If the “Hey Shou,” doesn’t clue her in, then the way Hizashi automatically sweeps his papers aside to answer is enough for her to guess the caller’s identity. When Hizashi gets into the grading zone, there are only two things that can take him out of it with minimal grumbling: Life threatening emergencies and Shouta. 

Nemuri leans back expectantly-- she had a wine and grading night with Sushi on Friday, so she has nothing to do now except snoop. As much as they complain about it, both her friends are quite aware of how nosy Nemuri is, so when she grins and kicks the leg of Hizashi’s chair, he just rolls his eyes and puts the phone on speaker.  

“You’re on speaker Shou!” Hizashi informs him, “Nem’s here too.” 

Nemuri leans in closer. It’s currently ten minutes into homeroom, and whatever’s going on must be wild if Shouta is calling during class. Maybe he’s finally snapped and expelled everyone in 1-A except for Yaoyorozu. She hopes not, she’s become rather fond of those kids.    

“Hey, you there?” Hizashi holds the phone up and two of them hear the shuddering breath Shouta draws on the other end.  

“Hizashi,” he starts, and wow, he doesn’t sound good. His voice is as unexpressive as ever, but Nemuri has known him long enough to pick up on how weary he sounds. Just from that one word, she can tell he’s struggling to keep himself in check. It’s almost impressive. 

Whatever’s going on, it's got to be intense to have Shouta reacting like this. She starts scooting her chair back to her desk to give the two of them privacy. 

“Hey,” Hizashi softens his voice, “you want me to take this off speaker so we can talk.” 

“’S fine,” Shouta’s voice crackles, like he’s adjusting his grip on the phone, “I needed to tell her anyway.” 

“Tell me what?” 

Another sigh, “Nemuri can you come over to the 1-A dorms? I need you to sit with the kids while I get this sorted out.” 

“Sure?” she agrees, it’s not like she has anything to do right now, her first class isn’t until third period. She wonders what Shouta’s little class of terrors have done to warrant an onsite babysitter this time.  

“Hizashi,” Shouta says again. It sounds even worse the second time. 

“Hizashi is Yagi in the room with you?”  

“No,” Hizashi’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, “Why? Did you need to talk to him too?” 

“No, I just didn’t want him to overhear.” Nemuri chuckles. At this point, Shouta has mostly come to terms with his initial grievances about Yagi. He just keeps up the hostile act for shits and giggles. Yagi doesn’t seem to mind either, it’s funny to watch the two of them quip at each other lightheartedly back and forth.  

“Hizashi,” he repeats, “can you go open the gate. The smaller one behind the 1-A dorms?” 

“Like right now?” Hizashi leans back to glance at the clock on the wall, “Shou I’ve got class in fifteen.” 

“1-A isn’t going to be coming to classes today. Can the two of you hurry up.”  

“Is everything all right?” Nemuri’s surprised it’s taken Hizashi this long to ask, it’s usually the first question that comes out of his mouth. 

“Hizashi please, I need someone to be there when the paramedics arrive.” 

Hizashi freezes halfway through grabbing his jacket, “Shou? Shou why are there paramedics coming?” 

Shouta goes quiet. On the other end, there’s a staticky sound like he’s started to tuck his phone back into his scarf. This is the point where he’s either going to force himself to answer the question, or just hang up and wait for them to get there and see for themselves.  

“Midoriya’s dead. The paramedics are coming to take the body. Nezu already knows so-” 

“Shou. Shou! Wait! What happened?!” Hizashi cuts him off before he can finish the sentence. He knows Shouta is going to hang up right after.  

They haven't gotten an alert about any villain attacks on campus, and Shouta would never sound so calm if there was still an active threat in the area. Nemuri had been on check in duty over the weekend, so she knows all the kids are in their dorm building already. And Midoriya... 

She hates herself for guessing it before Shouta answers. 

“It was suicide. Someone,” Shouta’s voice cracks, “Just- Someone tell Yagi.”  

He hangs up.  

Hizashi stumbles into action. They’re both heroes and teachers, their duty comes first, no matter what the personal connection. Except Hizashi doesn't grab his signature Present Mic leather jacket, just his coat and scarf.  

Here’s the awful truth: there is nothing Present Mic can do here. Though he hasn’t said it in so many words, Hizashi is the one Shouta wants by his side.   

“Nemuri-” he starts. 

“Go,” she glances at the clock. It’s ten minutes before the time Yagi usually shows up in the teacher’s lounge “I’ll tell him.” 

“Okay, okay. God Nemuri,” Hizashi hugs her, tight and brief before rushing out.   

Now there are only eight minutes left, Nemuri settles back in her chair and sets her phone timer for five and a half minutes. Once she gets into action, she’s not going to have time to think. 

About Midoriya, who she’s never going to see in class again. Who’s no longer going to greet her every morning like clockwork and go over the page limit on all his assignments.  

About Shouta, who has lived in fear of losing a student even before he possessed a teaching license. Who she knows is going to retreat into himself, just like he had after Oboro.  

About Yagi, who’s always reminding Midoriya to eat well. Who practically glows every time the kid hits a milestone in training. 

About Midoriya’s parents, who are going to get a phone call from a veritable stranger telling them that their son is dead. 

For five minutes, Nemuri puts her head down on her desk and cries.  

 ------- 

Shouta has no idea where All Might is.  

The last time he’d seen him was right before the ambulance left. When he’d rushed down from the building, face red, breathing heavily, and asked the paramedics in an uncharacteristically quiet voice if he might be allowed to see his boy one last time before they left.  

Or, at least, that was what Shouta thinks he said. Physically, he hadn’t heard anything past the words ‘my boy’.  

The paramedic had acquiesced, but Shouta couldn’t tell if it was for the former number one hero, or someone who, for all looks and purposes seemed like the dead kid’s dad.  

Shouta had busied himself with his phone when they moved the sheet on the stretcher back. Hizashi had given him a sideways look at that but didn’t say anything.  

Maybe, when they get home, Shouta will tell him that he had been the one who helped get the body down. 

Right now, sitting in front of a crying Midoriya Inko, he feels like a second-rate choice. Even though he was Midoriya’s homeroom teacher, the first thing his mother had asked was if Yagi was there. Her first question and he’s already out of answers. He’s practically useless now, sitting slumped in his seat as Nemuri holds Midoriya Inko’s hand and Hizashi hands her a box of tissues and offers to grab her some water.  

At some point, she runs out of tears, and they start the conversation. Only, Shouta can’t even do that right. He barely manages to offer his condolences and mentions that UA is willing to cover all funeral costs when Midoriya Inko goes completely still. 

“Aizawa-Sensei,” she starts, voice cold, “You’re a pro hero, right? As well as a teacher?” 

“Yes,” he’s not all that well known to the public, but the rest of the hero course teachers are all somewhat popular, so it’s not that far a conclusion to leap to. Actually, Midoriya had recognized him too, on the first day of school.  

“My son was,” her voice breaks at the past tense. Next to him, Hizashi places a hand on his knee under the table “a big fan. Lately he’s come home the happiest I’ve seen him in a very long time.” 

It strikes him, for the first time, that Midoriya Inko doesn’t look devastated, like he might expect a parent whose child had committed suicide out of the blue to. Instead, she looks more... tired? Weary is the word that he would use. This woman looks like someone who’s been beaten down again and again yet somehow manages to talk herself into trying one more time.  

Midoriya Inko looks up at him, meeting his eyes properly, and something in him jolts in recognition. He’s seen it time and time again during his hero work, at hospitals, in the mirror the weeks following Oboro: the look of a desperate person losing direction.  

“Can you help me understand?” Midoriya Inko words it like a request, but Shouta hears the thinly veiled order underneath, “Please, Aizawa-Sensei. Can you?” 

 He has no idea what she’s talking about, “Of course. How can I help?” 

If anything, this keys in another round of tears. It's hard to articulate things while grieving, Shouta would know. He has no place to tell Midoriya Inko what she can and cannot do here but he really can’t help her if he doesn’t know what she wants. The best he can do is placate her until she composes herself enough to make sense.  

Shouta glances at Nemuri, but she just shakes her head lightly. She hasn’t caught on either. He lightly bounces his knee and Hizashi taps on it twice in return. Nothing from him then.  

“Does it,” Midoriya Inko takes a deep breath sniffling wetly, “It’s just- I just- I would just like to understand . You’re an adult. A teacher. You’re a pro-hero. Why do you- I don’t understand- Does it- Does it make you feel better about yourself? I just-” 

What? 

Shouta doesn’t get what she’s saying but the tone is enough to warrant a guess. Accusatory: she’s accusing him of something. 

“Oh, Oh ,” Hizashi stands up so fast the chair almost tips over. Shouta’s knee feels cold. 

“Midoriya-San, Midoriya-San, no , it’s- it’s not like that at all ,” he hasn’t heard Hizashi ramble like this in front of someone else in a long time, he’s usually well-articulated, especially in professional settings, “Aizawa- no, Shouta, Shouta would never mean it like that. He’ll- he’ll never say it, but you gotta understand, he loves those kids.”  

More than the declaration of love, it’s Hizashi using his first name that gets to him. 

“Yamada,” Nemuri starts, probably trying to save the remaining thread of professionalism in this conversation.   

“It’s just him being weird Midoriya-San. He’s always saying things like that,” Hizashi babbles, “It’s like- It's like he’ll come home, and he’ll tell me, ‘ God Hizashi all these kids are going to turn my hair grey. Did you see them today? They’re doing so well. I’m so proud of them. They’re going to cause me problems for the rest of my life’ .” 

In some dull, foggy corner of Shouta’s mind, something clicks. He’s become so used to it that he had done it without realizing.  

“Hizashi,” he starts. Nemuri glances at him, bewildered. 

“We’ve got this cat you know. Shouta found her in a dumpster, and she’s only got one eye, and he loves her more than life itself. I swear he spends more on that cat than he does on himself. You know what he calls her Midoriya-San? He calls her Bastard, and Trash, and all these odd, odd names and-” 

“ Hizashi .” 

“And he’s ready to die for those kids,” Hizashi slumps back onto his chair as his panic ramble winds down. In front of him, Midoriya Inko has a bewildered look on her face, “Midoriya-San he almost did die for those kids. He loves them. All of them. And that-” 

Hizashi reaches down and grabs his hand, winding their fingers together under the table. 

“That includes Midoriya.” 

Midoriya Inko makes a choked little sound at that. Everyone in the room flinches at the name. 

“Midoriya-San,” Shouta starts this time, voice rough, Hizashi’s hand warm against his, “Midoriya-San I do not refer to your son as ‘Problem Child’ because I think of him as a nuisance or an inconvenience. He is not a problem. It was just that, this year, whenever something went wrong, I would often find him at the center of it. If not by circumstance, then he would be there to offer his assistance. To help others. As Yamada said, it’s- it’s more an affectionate nickname. Though now I realize it’s a bit of a poorly worded one.”  

He says it as logically as he can. Still, it sounds like a confession.  

“Oh dear,” Midoriya Inko’s hand slides down to her lap, “Oh, dear I’m so sorry-” She sounds like an older, motherly version of Midoriya.  

‘ They’re practically the same person ’ Shouta’s bastard of a mind offers. Logic has often been a haven, a docking stone for him when everything seems to run wild. Except here, the train of deduction rams him straight into the side of a mountain. 

If his mother had thought that... 

“I’m guessing,” Shouta almost has to grit it out, “that Midoriya also wasn’t aware of what I meant by the nickname.”  

Midoriya Inko doesn’t even need to say anything. The way she looks at him is enough of an answer.  

“Damn,” he whispers softly.  

With all that had happened this year, this whole case reeks strongly of foul play. Midoriya had been a prime target for the League and whatever was left of the Eight Precepts, and that was only as far as they knew. Shouta keeps an eye on all his students. Sure, he’d flagged Midoriya’s near-constant anxiety as a cause for concern, but the kid hadn’t displayed any of the signs of escalation that he’s trained to recognize.  

Heaps of evidence aside, there is still the possibility that everything is exactly as it seems. Somehow, it’s the worst outcome.  

Ever since Shouta entered Midoriya’s dorm that morning, the same line has repeated themselves in his head: Why hadn’t the kid said anything?   

Midoriya talks to him: about schoolwork, about hero training, about Eri. He’d even talked to Shouta about his feelings before the Eight Precepts raid. Shouta had left that conversation with a sense of accomplishment. Proud that his student was beginning to trust in others. Trust in him.  

This new revelation unravels things. Why Midoriya often tensed when Shouta called on him in class. Why he consistently thought it the better option to break rules; to go help people himself instead of simply telling Shouta his concerns. Why, more than halfway through the school year, Midoriya still looked at him like it was the first day.  

It makes awful, awful sense. Why would Midoriya ever be honest with someone he thought only saw him as a problem? 

Shouta knows he’s not an emotionally open person. Still, he tries his best to show his students that he supports them. That, beyond his strict instruction, he is wholly invested in their well-being and success. Never before has he failed so spectacularly.  

Their conversation before the raid becomes muddled too: How much of that had been Midoriya being honest? How much of that had been him asking for help? For comfort? 

How much of that had been Midoriya panicking, spilling whatever came to mind to get away from Shouta? To get away from someone he had been uncomfortable with at best and scared of at worst after they had walked in on him in a moment of emotional vulnerability? 

Shouta doesn’t know the answers to any of these. So, now, his repetitive question turns into something else. 

Why hadn’t Midoriya told him , turns into, why didn’t Shouta notice.   

“Damn ,” he whispers again, ignoring Nemuri’s strangled noise of reprimand. Carefully, slowly, he untangles his hand from Hizashi’s and places it on the table. 

Shouta lowers his head. He’d stand up but his legs feel stiff. His elbow aches. All the composition he had started this conversation with teeters at the edge of a chasm he’d never seen. But surely, surely, it has always been there.  

Craters that big don’t appear overnight. 

“Midoriya-San,” he starts, “I am so sorry-” 

“No,” she cuts him off firmly. Shouta keeps his gaze trained on the table. Here, he is obligated to listen to what she has to say.  

“Midoriya-San-” Hizashi says nervously, but she cuts him off again. Then, she reaches over to place her hand tentatively next to Shouta’s. 

“Aizawa-Sensei,” Midoriya Inko says, solemn and final, “This was not your fault.” 

“He was under my care, my responsibility-” he starts to reason, voice even. 

“He was my son,” Midoriya Inko responds, “Would you blame me?” 

Shouta looks up, her face and eyes are wet, but her expression is set.  

“No,” Nemuri answers for him, “never. He spoke very highly of you.” 

Midoriya Inko nods, “Then you cannot blame yourself. Izuku,” her face falls and she rushes to fix it, “Izuku loved it here. At this school, with these people. It may be the best thing that ever happened to him.” 

“What happened,” she gestures between them, “Was a misunderstanding. As- as much as I’ve tried, Izuku has not always been treated well by his teachers. We both knew that there would be an adjustment period here, and I am thankful for all your patience and kindness. I know my son was too.” 

“I could have done better,” he admits carefully. 

“You could have,” Midoriya Inko agrees, “But I- I don’t think there’s anything we can do now. I- just, I don’t know what I’m going to do now. But- but I want to make it clear that I am not placing my blame here. Izuku,” the corner of her mouth quirks up slightly even as a lone tear makes it way down the side of her face, “Izuku argued with me about staying at U.A. And my son hates arguing about anything.” 

“Thank you,” she says, eyes shining, “for giving Izuku a place worth fighting for.” 

Slowly, she shifts her hand to rest closer to Shouta’s.  

“Thank you,” Midoriya Inko tells him, “For loving my son.” 

------- 

Shinsou texts him, asking about training.  

Shouta tells him its cancelled for the day. 

------- 

Tsukauchi packs everything up after barely a day.  

“You all were awfully quick about this,” Shouta comments, unable to keep the bite out of his voice, “Last time we had a scare where you suspected the League, we were walking around you all week.”  

“The students live here,” Tsukauchi talks slowly, like Shouta is being unreasonable, “We don’t want to cause them undue stress. They must already be-” he trails off, glancing to the side. The entire hall is empty, with its inhabitants having shifted into an empty room or bunking with a friend.  

“Bullshit,” Shouta trusts Tsukauchi, but his presence here absolutely reeks of Yagi’s influence. Influence whose intentions he’s been kept in the dark about.  

Over the course of the year, he’s backed off with his comments about All Might’s visible favoritism of Midoriya. Largely because, since Kamino, Yagi had really stepped up his role in supporting all the other students as well. Also, his support seemed to mean a lot to Midoriya. If what his mother had implied was true, the kid hadn’t had any genuine help from a supportive adult beside her for a long time. Who was Shouta to begrudge him that? 

It was also obvious how much Yagi adored the kid. Which was why it didn’t make sense that he’d call off his little detective team already.   

“We both know what All Might is like when he’s trying to get answers,” Shouta tells him, “Why isn’t he making you all camp here for the next month?” 

Tsukauchi sighs deeply, “Yagi doesn’t know.” 

“What?” 

“I said,” Tsukauchi repeats, “Yagi doesn’t know. The closing was signed off by Nezu.” 

Shouta doesn’t know whether to be confused or frustrated, “And why wasn’t I told about any of this?” 

The look of pity catches him off guard. 

“Because you’re no longer part of the investigation.” 

------- 

Shinsou calls him. 

Shouta declines the call. 

------- 

It's dangerous to lose your temper with Nezu: the thought is the only thing keeping Shouta from sweeping his teacup onto the floor and grinding it to powder under his shoe. For now, it rests safe on the table, steam wafting lazily from the dark liquid inside.  

“If you’re trying to convince me you are not emotionally compromised Shouta-Kun, I will tell you now that it isn’t working.” Nezu takes a small sip from his own cup and sets it back down on the saucer. He has the fancy china out today, the one with the floral pattern. From that, Shouta can tell that Midoriya Inko has already been here.  

“My priority is 1-A,” Shouta replies evenly, “I am not asking to be an active participant. I am simply asking to be kept in the loop in case there is still a threat to them out there.” 

Nezu nods, “I know that Shouta-Kun. Your dedication is commendable; thus, here I am telling you that there is nothing of the sort to worry about here.” 

“With all due respect, I’m not convinced of that.” Shouta digs his nails into his palms. He really doesn’t like how long this conversation is taking. Nemuri had to run home, so the kids are currently at their dorms with Vlad. 

The guy is a great teacher, but Shouta is the one who slept on the couch in the common room yesterday. When they switched posts, Shouta was the one Iida had asked when he was coming back.  

Letting out a sound equivalent to a human sigh, Nezu hops off his chair. Behind the desk, Shouta hears a drawer opening and closing before he climbs back on, plastic bag in hand. He slides the object onto the table, it’s a notebook, warped with use, and sealed into an evidence bag. Shouta can barely make out the words ‘volume four’ on the cover. 

“Have you seen this before Shouta-Kun?” Nezu asks, beady eyes unblinking. Shouta squints at the object.  

“This is Midoriya’s, isn’t it?" 

“So, you have seen it.” 

 He shakes his head, the handwriting and label is vaguely recognizable, but not the book itself, “He carries one of these around with him, but it’s titled ‘volume fourteen’. I believe he was still on number thirteen at the start of the year." 

“Do you know what’s in these books?” Shouta knows what Nezu is doing, trying to string him along to the answer. He used to do it more often, when Shouta was younger, trying to instill the process of deduction in him. Now it feels almost condescending.  

Shouta already knows how to ask the right questions.  

“Hero analysis. He writes down what he observes about people’s quirks,” he’s seen a page or two at a glance. It was mostly speculating which animal Ojiro’s tail most closely resembled.  

“Not just, there are also sections on strengths and weaknesses, possible improvements, psyche, and more. I’ve had the pleasure of looking through all fourteen volumes. Midoriya was certainly a bright one, wasn’t he?” 

“I’m his teacher,” it’s logically correct, but something about the way Nezu is consistent with the past tense bites. Everyone else usually slips up once or twice when talking about Midoriya, “I know.” 

“He had a lot to say in these, I’m honestly impressed. It’s a shame Yagi hadn’t come to me about this sooner,” Nezu muses. 

“Can we get to the point?” 

“Well Shouta-Kun, as Detective Tsukauchi and his team were going through Midoriya’s room, they came across his notebooks. All fifteen of them.” 

Shouta frowns, “He wasn’t done with fourteen yet.” 

“Yes,” Nezu nods, “turns out there was a duplicate for volume four. The original, which was on his shelf, opened with a lovely snippet on Sandrider’s debut and speculation on the duration of his quirk. It was a bit lacking, of course, but that is to be expected when the author is seven.” 

“What about this one then?” he gestures to the book between them. 

“This one was started at around the same time, if the syntax and handwriting are to be believed,” Nezu picks up his teacup, “we found it on his desk.” 

“Okay. Again. What is the point of all this?” Shouta asks him abruptly, his gaze unwavering even as Nezu smiles slightly at his slip up.  

“Have you looked at Midoriya’s personal file Shouta-Kun?” he asks. 

Shouta nods. After the display at the sports festival, he’d checked it over to see if Midoriya had any kind of medical history that he should be aware of. The ease with which he’d broken his own limbs during his fight with Todoroki had concerned him.  

He didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved that most of the file was blank.  

“Well, it’s a bit unfortunate that you missed it. After all, it's such a small technical piece of information that could have been easily overlooked. Just two numbers on the date. They do make those quite hard to read sometimes.” Nezu puts his teacup down without drinking from it.  

“You see Shouta-Kun, Midoriya registered the date of the appearance of his quirk as the day of the U.A entrance exam.” 

Somehow, Shouta hadn’t expected his lack of context for the situation to get even worse.  

Quirkless. For most of his life, Midoriya Izuku was perceived as quirkless. The connection is so immediate that he doesn’t even question the absurdity of someone manifesting their quirk at that age. 

“That’s too convenient,” he hisses, “quirk records are on everything. Anyone could have gotten this information. Just because Midoriya fell into a group that is stereotyped by high suicide statistics, it doesn’t mean-” 

“It’s not a stereotype Shouta-Kun,” Nezu informs him. Shouta freezes. Back in middle school, ‘quirkless’ had been his most common taunt, especially when he’d started applying to high schools. ‘You’re practically quirkless Aizawa, you’re not going to live that long anyway’  

“Still-” he tries, but Nezu just raises his hand.  

“I do not make baseless assumptions Shouta-Kun. Places that accept quirkless patients are far and few in between, so it is no surprise that they were not noted on his file, but I have done my research. Midoriya Izuku had been in and out of therapy since he was five. Three of his emergency room visits required a mandatory psychological evaluation afterward. He had been isolated, if not actively mistreated by his peers for most of his life. He had a clear history of self-harm. Do I need to go on?” 

Shouta’s head feels stuffed full of cotton. In one memory, Midoriya laughs loud and freely as he tries to teach Eri how to do a crossword puzzle. In the other, he stares back at Shouta, tears in his eyes, clutching his broken finger, waiting for his approval.    

Nezu is still staring at him expectantly, so Shouta looks down. The notebook lays there innocently. He picks it up, the plastic evidence bag crinkling in his hold.  

“So, this-” he peels back the sticker to open the bag. Slow enough for Nezu to notice. Slow enough for him to tell Shouta to stop. To tell him that it’s evidence for a case he’s no longer part of. To remind him about the legal clauses on respecting a minor’s privacy.  

“The final entry is dated for last Sunday,” Nezu informs him instead.  

Shouta lays the book on the table, carefully flipping over the wrinkled cover. The first page is empty. The second just says ‘Property of Midoriya Izuku’ next to a childish cartoon All Might drawing.  

He flips to the third page.  

‘Dear Mom’ writes seven-year-old Midoriya Izuku.  

‘I am so sorry’  

------- 

Shinsou texts him.  

Shouta doesn’t open it. 

------- 

Tuesday night Shouta sleeps on the couch in the 1-A dorm common room again.  

At least, that is what he tells Hizashi when he calls to ask where he is. Sleeping implies that there was resting involved. In reality, Shouta checks the security camera footage near obsessively and paces up and down the halls, riding the fine line between maintaining his student's privacy and receiving confirmation of their safety. For a moment he wishes his quirk was something akin to Jirou’s or Shoji’s, so he could at least sit down for a minute, assured that he was hearing nineteen people breathing.  

Around one in the morning, he wanders back down into the kitchen and finds Aoyama sitting at the table with a half-drunk mug of tea. It speaks to how disoriented he is that he didn’t even hear the kid come downstairs.  

“Oh, sorry Sensei, I was just,” Aoyama notices him and scrambles to stand up. Shouta waves his hand in dismissal. This is the absolute opposite of a problem; Aoyama probably doesn’t realize how much of a relief it is for him to see Midoriya’s direct neighbor alive and well in a well-lit room. He takes a seat at the other side of the table.  

Aoyama lowers himself back into his chair and picks up his mug, grimacing when he takes a sip.  

“Do you want me to warm that up for you?” Shouta offers. 

“What?” Aoyama stares at him. 

“Do you want me to warm that up for you?” he repeats, pointing to the mug for emphasis. 

“Ah, no, no it’s alright,” he pushes the drink away, “I am not a fan of the flavor anyway.” 

“Then why make it?” Shouta asks, mostly to keep up conversation. 

“Ah, I wanted to try something new?” Aoyama winces at the obvious lie, like he hadn’t meant to say it, “I just grabbed the first one I saw,” he amends. 

Shouta nods and the two of them lapse into silence. Five minutes in, he considers going back to the couch to give Aoyama his privacy when he hears him sniffle. 

He looks up: Aoyama is sitting with the chair pulled away from the table, head bent low in Shouta’s direction.  

Vaguely, he thinks that this is what he must have looked like in front of Midoriya Inko.  

Aoyama’s hair obscures his face, but if he looks closer, Shouta can see his tears fall into his lap. His shoulders shake minutely.   

Shouta starts to stand, but the movement makes Aoyama hunch into himself even further, so he settles back down.  

“Aoyama...” he prompts after a minute. 

“I wear earplugs,” he gasps wetly, half choking on a sob, “ Sensei I wear earplugs to sleep. ” 

It sounds both like an alibi and a confession. Shouta doesn’t say anything. 

They sit at that table until morning.  

------- 

Shinsou calls him.  

Shouta doesn’t pick up. 

------- 

Wednesday morning, he walks back into the teacher’s lounge for the first time that week. On his way to his desk, he passes by Yagi’s, and pauses, looking at the mess of papers on the usually clean surface.  

“He hasn’t been by all week,” Snipe informs him from the other side of the room, “Won’t answer calls neither.” 

Shouta just nods in response.  

His own workspace is the same way he’d left it Monday morning. He stares at a stack of half-graded essays before sweeping them away into a folder. Opening the drawer, he rifles through piles of notecards for his keys.  

“Looking for these?” Hizashi shakes the key ring next to his ear, and Shouta practically elbows him in the face with how fast he jumps aside.  

“What the hell Mic?” he grits out, ignoring Nemuri’s loud ‘ooh he called you Mic’ .   

“Sorry, sorry. In my defense, I walked in here very loudly, I thought you heard me!” 

“What?” Shouta says out loud. Hizashi sighs and shakes the key ring again.  

“Hey, can you do me a real quick favor,” he lightly tilts his head towards the meeting room, “I’ll give you these in return.” 

“Those are my keys,” Shouta grumbles but follows Hizashi into the conference room, pulling the door closed behind him. As soon as they are alone, Hizashi’s expression drops. He tosses the keys on the table and holds his hands up slightly. When Shouta nods Hizashi leans closer to put them on either side of his face.  

“Liar,” he whispers, tracing his thumbs lightly under Shouta’s eyes. His pauses when he reaches the scar, but continues over it, increasing the pressure on that side slightly so Shouta can feel it, “You didn’t sleep yesterday.” He says it like a fact. 

“I’ll sleep today.” 

“Will you?” he murmurs, lowering his hands. Shouta almost chases after them, but Hizashi takes a step closer and winds his arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. 

“I fed Bastard this morning,” he says into Shouta’s shoulder, “She was very displeased to see me twice in a row.” 

“As she should be,” Shouta pauses, “Do you think I should start calling her something else?” 

“Nah,” Hizashi steps back slightly and Shouta shifts with him. They’re both getting too old for this, “I don’t think she’ll respond to anything else at this point.” 

They stand in silence for a moment. Shouta feels it when Hizashi takes a deep breath.  

“You didn’t pick up my call this morning,” he says, tightening his hold. Shouta winces, he doesn’t even remember getting it. 

“I thought you were Shinsou,” he grumbles, closing his eyes. Hizashi’s shoulder is bony, and his hair is let down today, which means that it keeps getting in Shouta’s mouth. 

“Stop ignoring Shinsou,” Hizashi reprimands lightly, “you’re going to feel shitty about that later.” 

“I feel shitty about it now.” 

“That’s fatigue. Or hunger. Oooh do you think it might be dehydration?” Hizashi squawks when Shouta slaps him on the arm, “Why are you hitting me!? I’m right!” 

“Stop talking,” Shouta mumbles. On second thought, Hizashi’s shoulder is not as uncomfortable as he previously thought. He might actually fall asleep here.  

“Argh, Shouta !” He stumbles as Hizashi draws back and half drags him to the couch. Shouta struggles futilely against him when he tries to get him to lay down. 

“I tol’ the kids I ‘as comin’ back,” he manages to slur. 

“I’ll look after them,” Hizashi reassures him, “Don’t worry your crazy old head about it. No seriously Shouta, I’m probably the last person to tell you this, but it looks really bad. Have you heard of a hairbrush? You can keep one in your desk, and it takes like ten minutes-” 

Shouta doesn’t hear the rest of it. 

------- 

He misses a call from Shinsou. 

He doesn’t call back. 

------- 

Midoriya Inko comes back later that afternoon. Officially, it’s to start packing the things in Midoriya’s room now that the police have completely cleared it. Unofficially, she’s here to see Midoriya’s little friend group.  

The kids are waiting in the common room when they get there. Uraraka practically leaps to her feet when they enter, barreling past Shouta to hug Midoriya Inko. From the couch, Todoroki gives him a sideways glance, and Shouta takes the hint to get lost while they talk.  

He barely completes a circuit of the building before Kirishima comes looking for him. 

“Umm... Sensei...” he starts, “I think we might need you downstairs.” 

He almost activates his quirk on instinct, “For what?” 

“Uh,” Kirishima rocks in place slightly, “Actually, Bakugou just went down there so...” 

Shouta takes the stairs two at a time. 

Sure enough, by the time he gets their people are already yelling. Bakugou stands in front of Midoriya Inko, hands clenched. Iida is doing his best at playing peacemaker, which is a measurable task considering he’s also holding back Uraraka. 

“What’s going on here?” Shouta demands, hair raised. Midoriya Inko’s eyes widen as she catches sight of him. Bakugou, on the other hand, ignores him, taking the opportunity of a distraction to continue speaking. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, bending his head low, “Auntie I’m sorry.” 

“Katsuki,” she whispers, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “it’s not. It's not anyone’s fault-” 

“Yes, it is!” Bakugo shakes her hand off, leaning down even further, back ramrod straight. A little more and he’s going to be in the best-mannered bow Shouta has ever seen, “It is. It’s my fault.” 

“Katsuki...” Midoriya Inko tries again, but Bakugo makes a strangled noise. It takes Shouta longer than usual to realize that he’s crying. It must shock everyone else too because the room falls silent. Even Uraraka sags in Iida’s hold. 

“It was my fault. I did it. I,” Bakugou sucks in a breath that sounds like it hurts, “ I’m the one that put the idea in his head! ” 

“No,” Midoriya Inko sounds almost resigned as she says it, “No, Katsuki you didn’t.” 

“Goddamn it I did! Deku- Izuku- he- I told him to do it,” Bakugou confesses, “I told him- I goddamn told him- I goddamn told him to jump off the roof.” 

Shouta didn’t think the room could go any stiller. Everyone seems to be holding their collective breaths. 

Midoriya Inko just sighs lightly. Reaching out, she puts her hand back on Bakugou’s shoulder and pulls him close. The way it’s bowed, his head ends up resting on her shoulder.  

“Katsuki,” she whispers but they can all hear it, “What exactly did you tell Izuku.” 

Bakugou sniffs loudly, “I told De- I told Izuku to- to take a swan dive off the roof and pray for a quirk in his next life.”  

Someone in the room gasps.  

Honestly, what a goddamn mess. The apathy is probably coming from his lack of sleep, but all Shouta can think about right now is that this is rapidly turning into another problem for him to sort out.  

“How dare you,” Uraraka starts, voice laced with venom, but Midoriya Inko cuts in. 

“Uraraka dear, please. Katsuki,” she rubs his back almost consolingly, “When did this happen?” 

“In our last year of middle school,” Bakugo admits robotically.  

“I see,” she shakes her head, “Katsuki, I knew you and Izuku weren’t friends anymore but this-” 

Bakugo tries to raise his head, but Midoriya Inko puts a hand on top and lowers it gently back down onto her shoulder.  

“Can I tell you something Katsuki?” He nods, “I am not sure of a lot of these things myself; I only know whatever my boy has told me. And with every passing year, he always seems to tell me less and less. Did you know Katsuki? The two of you must have been in first or second grade.” 

She takes a slow breath, “I- I- didn't know about the bullying then. All Izuku mentioned was that he was being teased in school and that the teachers didn’t seem to care about it. He- he- wouldn't even tell me they were bothering him about not having a quirk. Just that they were being unkind.” 

“Then, one day, he got back from school and went straight to bed. He just came home and fell asleep. I thought nothing of it then. I was almost thankful; Izuku could be a handful during bedtime. But it happened again, and again, and again. Until it got to the point where I had to force him awake to do his schoolwork. Or to eat. Or do anything.” 

“It was so scary. He was always running around, getting into places he wasn’t supposed to be, and suddenly, I’m struggling to get him to do something as simple as eating. Even katsudon Katsuki. Imagine, seven-year-old Izuku not wanting to eat katsudon. Hard, isn’t it?” she smiles softly. 

“The nerd was obsessed with that stuff,” Bakugo says lightly.  

“He never stopped. He asked for it every birthday. Anyway, I was terrified. I called your mom, I called his pediatrician, I called his teacher, but no one could tell me what was wrong or what to do. Finally, I just went ahead and asked him. I asked him ‘Izuku baby, do you know why you’re so sleepy all the time’. And he- do you know what he said Katsuki?” 

“No,” he whispers. It the silence of the room, Shouta can hear it clearly.  

“He said- my Izuku, he said, he said ‘Mom, mom, I’m just tired of everything. I want to sleep so I don’t have to think of anything at all’ I- he- he told me, "Her voice hitches slightly, “he told me ‘Mom, everyone hates me here. They’d just be happier if I went away. I wish I could-’” 

Midoriya Inko is crying properly now, but it's quiet and muted. 

“And then,” she says, voice trembling “Katsuki, and then he told me- He was my baby Katsuki, he was just seven. And he looked up at me and told me he wished he was dead.” 

Midoriya Inko stops, inhaling and exhaling deeply. She still has her hand on Bakugou’s shoulder. 

“I don’t think,” she starts, “that you have been treating my son well for a long time. He never told me anything, so, I don’t have any kind of idea on how he felt about you. But believe me, Katsuki, if there is one thing I do know, it is that you were not the one who put the idea in his head.” 

Again, it takes Shouta longer than necessary to realize that Bakugou is crying.  

------- 

He has twelve missed calls from Shinsou. 

------- 

Shouta isn’t taking any chances, so as soon as Midoriya Inko leaves, he drags Bakugo to Hound Dog’s office and tells him that, in no uncertain terms, is he allowed to leave until either Inui clears him, or his parents come to get him. 

On his way back to the dorms, he gets accosted by Asui, who asks him if she can go home for the rest of the week, the permission slip printed and ready. Shouta practically snatches the paper from her to look. 

“Who’s picking you up?” he asks, noting the conveniently empty ‘reason for dismissal’ box.   

“I’m going to be taking the train like always,” she stares at him unblinking.  

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” he hands her the paper back, “All students are required to remain on campus.” 

“They lifted the lockdown last night, Kero,” finally, finally, she blinks, looking slightly to the side, “Please Sensei, I really want to see my siblings again.” 

Shouta considers it for a moment, then sighs, holding out his hand for the permission slip.   

“I’m not letting you step foot off U.A. property alone. But-” he tries to ignore the way her whole face lights up, “But, if your parents came here to pick you up then I would consider letting you go.” 

“Thank you, Sensei.” she croaks. 

“Do you understand?” he repeats, holding up the paper, “I am not signing off on this until I see your parents. With my own two eyes. Are we clear?” 

“Yes Sensei.” 

“Good. Also, fill out this box down here. All permission slips are copied and filed.” 

Asui glances at the ‘reason for dismissal’ section, “What am I going to say?” 

“Just make something up,” Shouta really doesn’t like the thoughtful look that comes over her face. Leave it to Midoriya to surround himself with people just like him: angel-faced, well-mannered, and the biggest problems he’s ever had the pleasure of dealing with, “Just say it’s a family emergency or something. If someone asks, tell them to come talk to me about it.” 

“Ok Sensei,” she takes the paper back but pauses, staring at him placidly. 

“Did you need anything else?” 

“Ochako said that you hugged her,” Asui tells him completely straight faced. 

“Oh for-” Shouta breathes deeply, but holds his arms up all the same, allowing her to squeeze him until his ribs hurt. She’s deceptively strong for her size.  

When she lets go, both her face and his shirt are wet. 

True to her word, Asui’s parents are at the gate by the end of the day. Shouta personally walks them in before he signs off on her permission slip.  

Under ‘reason(s) for dismissal’ it says: ‘death of a family member’. 

------- 

Seventeen missed calls. 

This time, one of them is from Fukukado. 

------- 

Thursday morning, Midoriya Inko sends him the information for the funeral. 

“I’m very thankful for U.A.’s assistance in all this,” she tells him over the phone, “Please let his classmates know that they are all welcome and that if they wish-” He hums in response when appropriate. At this point, all Shouta can discern is that her tone is polite. She could be telling him to burn in hell for all he knows.  

“-I wasn’t told but they did call to let me know he was cremated yesterday,” Midoriya Inko is saying when his brain catches up. That isn’t right; all decisions on what to do with the body are supposed to be left completely up to the next of kin.   

“Who told you this?” he asks, already stumbling out of his office, and towards the stairs. The kids are back in school today, which means that he’s free to go wherever he needs without searching for someone else to look after them. 

“I um- the funeral home did. They left a message yesterday. I saw it when I got home last evening.” 

“I see,” Shouta raps sharply on Nezu’s door, “Thank you so much Midoriya-San, I will call you back soon.” He hangs up before she can say anything.  

“Come in Shouta-Kun,” Nezu’s voice crackles over the speaker. In front of him, the door to the office buzzes and clicks open. 

Shouta barges in, letting the door swing shut beside him and freezes in his tracks as he catches sight of Yagi sitting on the couch, teacup in hand. Yagi also stills as he realizes who just walked in, his face going slightly red.  

“Is there some way I can help you?” Nezu chirps, voice high. Whatever he was discussing with Yagi, he’s annoyed at having been interrupted.  

“Yeah,” Shouta almost growls, “Since when does U.A. make direct arrangements with the funeral home?” 

“Funeral home?” Yagi places the cup down onto the table as he delves into a coughing fit.  

“I’m sorry?” Nezu asks, voice lighter this time. He’s intrigued, which means that Shouta’s probably off the hook for that interruption now.  

“Midoriya’s mother just called me about his funeral,” he clutches his phone tighter, “apparently, she received a call from the funeral home yesterday telling her that they already cremated the body.”  

“Well, that’s interesting,” Nezu is already sliding off his chair, pulling his phone out of his pocket, “ I certainly didn’t authorize that.” 

“Well, according to Midoriya Inko neither did she,” Shouta tells him. The two of them pause for a moment, before they swing their gazes over to Yagi, who hunches ever further under their combined scrutiny.  

“This is the first time I am hearing of this,” he says heavily, “I just came back from Yamanashi this morning.” 

“ Nezu ,” Shouta hisses. He doesn’t like where this is going. 

“Ah, well it seems that a phone call of my own is in order then,” Nezu grins with teeth as he wanders toward the soundproof conference room in the back of the office, “Would the two of you be so kind as to wait for me?” 

“Nezu, I have two students off campus right now -” Shouta starts, but Nezu just closes the door behind him without answering. Gritting his teeth, Shouta leans back against the wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Yagi move awkwardly to the side to make more room on the couch.  

“Midoriya Inko asked for you when she came in on Monday,” Shouta tells, him, looking off to the side, “Nemuri called you half a dozen times already. The students keep asking me where you are.” 

“Ah, Young Aizawa I’m so-” 

“Save it,” Shouta mutters. The door to the conference room remains sealed no matter how hard he glares at it, “What’s in Yamanashi?” 

Something clatters on the table as Yagi lets out a choked, “ What ?” 

“You said you just got back from there this morning. So, what was so important to you in Yamanashi?” 

“Oh, um, a mentor of mine lives there. Currently.” 

“So, you went to go see them?” 

“Well, kind of.” 

“Then what?” 

“I-,” Yagi clears his throat, “Someone, someone very important to me is buried there.” 

The answer catches him off guard. For some reason, it had never occurred to him that All Might, that the symbol of peace, might also have someone’s grave to stand and grieve over.  

“Were they a friend of yours?” he ventures. 

“Technically she was my teacher but, um, I suppose the best way to describe our relationship would be familial really. She- she was like a mother to me.” 

Shouta is reminded, abruptly, of Midoriya Inko. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the anger has mostly drained out of him by now, “How did she die?” 

The room dims as Yagi stands up, his tall frame blocking most of the window, “She was murdered,” he says, voice shaking, “By All for One.” 

Shouta whips around, “The villain from Kamino?” 

Yagi nods, face drawn. It only occurs to Shouta now that he looks even worse than usual.  

“Young Aizawa,” he starts, “There is something that I have neglected to tell you.” 

“I can see that,” Shouta huffs, but he slinks over to one of the chairs, nonetheless. His knee aches when he takes a seat. 

 “It’s a bit of a lengthy explanation I’m afraid.” 

“I don’t think either of us are going anywhere until Nezu is done.” 

“In that case, it was about nearly a year ago when I met a young man-” Yagi pauses and steeples his fingers together, dark eyes glowing, “Actually, it began long, long before then. It started, with two brothers...” 

------- 

Shouta has twenty-seven missed calls.  

He doesn’t recognize some of the numbers. 

------- 

Shouta doesn’t remember walking back to the dorms. 

He’s barely used his quirk at all this week, yet his eyes burn like hell, and it hurts if he blinks too fast. His head spins when he jogs up the steps to the building, and his knee screams with each step.  

The headache, at least, can be attributed to the practical lake of information Yagi saw fit to dump on him twenty minutes ago, instead of at the start of the year, when it would have been exponentially more useful. Aside from that, Shouta has no logical explanation of why he feels like this when he’s been doing little more than sitting on his ass all week.  

He doesn’t know how he makes it to the couch, but he’s thankful that none of the students are around to watch him flop onto it bonelessly. If he remembers correctly, they should be on the grounds behind the building with Hizashi. He'd mentioned that he was talking them out for fresh air.  

He pulls out his phone to check the time, but the screen is dark. It’s dead. He tosses it haphazardly onto the table. Good riddance. It had been a nuisance all evening, buzzing near consistently.  

Shouta braces himself and blinks slowly, likely dozing off in the process, because the next thing he knows, someone is flinging the door open yelling his name. He leaps to his feet, hair already rising, capture weapon in hand and ready before he realizes who it is.  

Shinsou stands at the entrance, hair mussed, face pale, breathing hard. He has his phone in a death grip in one hand. The other is tucked firmly in Uraraka’s hold. It seems like the only thing that’s keeping her from collapsing on the ground as she leans over, gasping for air.   

“Shinsou? Uraraka?” he asks. His voice sounds far away and distorted, even to his own ears. 

“Aizawa-Sensei,” Shinsou whispers, eyes blown wide, and Shouta watches as his expression crumples.  

------- 

You have: 34 missed calls