Chapter Text
Aizawa Shouta, after kicking ass and running around the city all night, desperately needs a break.
The sting of his eyes with the slightest breeze makes his head throb more unpleasantly than usual, and as someone who needs his Quirk for the rest of the day as part of his job involving rowdy teenagers with poor Quirk control, this is extremely uncomfortable.
He grunts, annoyed that even closing his eyes is causing a sharp pain to sting his temple harder than a punch.
Alas, he is a hero. He can’t just lie down in the middle of the road, sing Kumbaya and sleep off the after-criminal-encounter-protocol scene.
As tempting as it was, he would get his license revoked; He’s a hero through and through, meaning that option is not advisable.
He let his eyes scan the surroundings, avoiding the flashing blue and red of the police’s car. It’s the typical aftermath: a bit of destruction here and there, cuffing the criminal who is wrapped around his capture scarf like a warm burrito, and— Oh, right. There were two people caught up in the scene.
Aizawa walks to them, feeling slightly disgruntled that he has to do socialization. But the need to find out if they’re safe overpowers it.
He sees an old lady trembling as she bends down to reach for the shoelaces of a toddler who definitely doesn’t know how to tie shoes. It’s bright red. Aizawa wonders why it looks like he’s seen it before.
But he’s sure he’s never met the kid before. He remembers all of them.
Aizawa stops right as he’s near and announces, “Let me, please.” He kneels before she can protest, tying the black shoelaces in a neat ribbon. He helps the old lady stand straighter, looking them over again for any bruises the fight might have caused.
“Ah, thank you so much, dear…” she pauses, a deeper wrinkle forming. Aizawa tells her his hero name. “Ha! It got untied when we tried running away. Thank you for saving us.”
“I’m a hero,” he says, “it’s what I do.”
The toddler giggles, patting Aizawa’s head while he’s still bent down. She has a purple bruise under her arm, and Aizawa’s eyes narrow. “Where did she get that? Is her arm broken?” he asks immediately, inspecting the thin arm carefully.
The old lady’s smile drops into a sad one. “That’s not from earlier. It’s from two days ago, Eraser-chan.”
“Oh.” Aizawa feels bad for intruding. But it looks pretty bad, and he has too much of a soft spot for kids to just ignore something like that. Damn kids making him develop paternal instincts; how do they even do that? “Did she get it checked up?”
“Mhm,” she says, “I treated it. I’m afraid quirkless children have a hard time finding treatment from professionals.”
And fuck doesn’t that hurt to hear? He knew about the discrimination, but is it really still that actively cruel today? Unbelievable. Though he has never experienced what quirkless people have gone through, he's been told it’s worse for them. And to think it starts so young, too. His heart aches and wishes for no one else to experience this.
Not even on his worst enemies.
“I’m sorry,” Aizawa says, and he means it. “I’ll let you two have Recovery Girl check her, just in case. She will understand.”
Her smile is kinder, more open. It takes a second for Aizawa to realize he might be the first to say that. “You’re too kind, Eraser-chan. I’ll take you up on that offer.”
“I hope she’s treated well.”
Aizawa can’t stop staring at the shoes. Something about it caught his attention, though he can’t quite figure out what .
Red, red, red. Bright red. Strangely wider than usual.
( “Sensei… I… can still move.”
“This kid…!” )
Oh.
He now remembers why he recognizes those shoes. Those are the same ones his student—Problem Child—wears, down to the details of the black laces and the white soles. Aizawa never questioned his style, but for it to be a … trend? It’s a bit of a surprise.
Now that he looks back on it, the same shoes stayed with Midoriya. He never changed it, obviously, based on how it slowly grew timeworn and tattered. But he never changed it. Perhaps he likes the shoes too much to let go of them? That certainly sounds like something Midoriya would do.
Maybe he can find out where to buy a new pair and suggest it to the Problem Child so he wouldn’t have to see his student almost trip over his own pair every day.
“Excuse me, if you don’t mind me asking, where did you get those?” He gestures at the child’s feet.
“Ah, yes! These were a pain to get, you know.” The old lady laughs, carefully picking the toddler up as she wiggles her feet as if to show it off. “It’s difficult to find one of these, given that you’d rarely find quirkless people nowadays.”
Aizawa goes still. “What?” That’s strangely specific. “I’m sorry, are you implying those shoes are made for…?”
She eyes him with confusion. “Don’t you know, dear? Those shoes are only custom-made and sold for those who are quirkless. It’s to accommodate their pinky toe joint.”
No, he didn’t know. And even if he did, it doesn’t make any fucking sense!
Does Midoriya just wear it just for fun? That doesn’t sound like something he would even think of doing so what the hell does that mean —
He feels lightheaded, and it’s not from his migraine anymore. “...Right.”
“Oi, Eraserhead!” someone yells. It’s an officer. He almost doesn’t hear him from all the questions whirling a tornado in his head. “We got it covered here! Head to Sansa, he’s asking for you.”
Aizawa decides to think about it some other day.
He ends up thinking about it the next day.
Aizawa feels like his past conscience warned him to not dig too deep into this because it’s not something he can handle; he tries hard to find reason. If it was a problem, Midoriya would’ve reached out to him, right? He’s a smart kid. He knows what he’s doing.
But if Midoriya is hiding something…
Aizawa still ends up sparing too many glances at the glaringly red footwear. He’s sure Midoriya has noticed by now, too, given how nervous he’s becoming as the minutes tick by.
He wouldn’t be a hero if he doesn’t meddle in someone's business to help them.
Midoriya is the last to leave the classroom; As he passes by Aizawa, the man almost reaches out to stop him, but reels himself in at the last second.
He decides to spend the rest of his free time doing some deep digging, papers strewn all over his desk as his eyes burn against the brightness of the screen.
It was frustrating to see there were barely any results.
He ended up asking his coworkers about it, even going as far as to seek Nedzu himself because no one else knew what the fuck he was on about.
“Shoes? You… you’re asking me if I know what red shoes mean?”
Ugh.
A little delirious from exhaustion and feeling like he only dreamt of that interaction with the old lady and the quirkless toddler, Aizawa listened to Nedzu.
“Indeed, I’ve heard rumors about it!” Nedzu says with a clap of his hands. Paws. ???. “Though, I must say. Hearing it confirmed truly does ease my nerves.”
“So you’re saying it’s true?” Aizawa promptly asks before Nedzu can finish. He feels a little giddy, because finally, someone knows! But to be fair, Nedzu knows everything.
Nedzu only grins. “You shouldn’t rely on my speculation, Aizawa-kun, as it is only as it is: a theory. Who are we to doubt them? They surely know more than us, do they not?” Aizawa knows that’s true. He has a gut feeling that articles about it were deleted or swept away to protect people with those shoes from discrimination.
Fuck.
Beady eyes stare at him. “Surely, you must be curious about this because of a student of yours?”
Aizawa glares at him. “Don’t get involved. You already know who it is, but I’d rather approach him by myself.”
Nedzu laughs, gleefully. “Of course, Aizawa-kun! I must’ve been foolish to think you’d want information from anyone.”
That… That’s an interesting detail.
“Anyone,” Aizawa repeats, and Nedzu hums. “That means that someone other than you knows about this.” He states it as a fact.
He thinks about All Might and his strange favoritism. Aizawa’s expression pinches in disgust.
“Find out by yourself, Eraserhead. I trust that Midoriya-kun will tell you more than what I know.”
The switch of tone alarms Aizawa. Nedzu is staring at him head-on, paws pressed together. And the fact that he changed to his hero name…
“I will,” Aizawa promises.
Aizawa made it his mission to talk to Midoriya about it the next day, no matter what.
It wasn’t anything against him. If Midoriya genuinely can’t afford to buy new shoes, then Aizawa, as his sensei, is willing to help. If Midoriya has some attachment to shoes that would only bring discrimination against him from a misunderstanding, then Aizawa, as his sensei, is worried.
The students file out one by one, off in pairs or groups. Todoroki is side by side with Midoriya, both of them seemingly happy with a one-sided conversation.
He asks Midoriya to stay. Midoriya looks like he’s about to shit his pants.
Bakugou glances at them for a moment too long before walking off. Aizawa didn’t miss the meaningful look he shared with Midoriya.
The door slides close. The room is silent.
Aizawa spares the green-haired student a glance before returning to his paperwork. “Midoriya,” he says.
“Sensei!” Midoriya yelps. Both of them blink at each other in surprise at the volume.
“You’re excused from Midnight’s class for a bit,” Aizawa tells him, and he almost smiles at the way Midoriya’s face crumbles at the thought of missing a class. “Don’t worry, Midnight told me that they aren’t tackling any new topics or doing anything important.”
“Y-Yes, sensei,” Midoriya blushes. He’s probably embarrassed at being caught even though he’s an open book of emotions.
Has Midoriya always avoided his eyes that much before?
No, he doesn’t think so…
Midoriya can be shy, sure, but Aizawa’s gotten past that. His student no longer felt nervous around him.
Maybe he thinks…?
“Midoriya, you’re not in trouble,” Aizawa assures.
Midoriya doesn’t even look like he’s listening. “Sorry, sensei.” He apologizes, for absolutely nothing at all.
Aizawa sighs. “I just wanted to talk to you, you’re not in trouble, okay?” He doesn’t feel like the kid will feel any more comfortable, so he continues. “I’ve just learned something interesting, and I want you to tell me the reasons so I can understand, alright?”
I want you to tell me the reasons so you can tell me that I am a terrible teacher for being so hard on you because I wasn’t aware of it , is what he doesn’t say.
He tries to say it as softly as possible. He does not want to scare the kid. That wouldn’t help him get the truth.
“O-Of course, sensei!” Midoriya says, now meeting his eyes dead-on with fierce determination. He’s acting like Aizawa just told him to infiltrate the LOV’s base.
When he points down at his shoes—tattered, timeworn, used, and used—Midoriya’s face pales in realization. Aizawa hasn’t even said anything yet.
“I just wanted to talk about your shoes, Midoriya—”
“I’m sorry!” Midoriya hiccups. “I know— I promised that I would wear them, so you’ll know , I’m standing out. But, but ,” he trails off as a sob wracks through him but he seems to force it in, “it’s getting harder to— I have a Quirk now, I thought it’d be okay— Aizawa-sensei is the best teacher I have, I thought it’d be okay.”
Pause.
There are several things wrong with the vomit of words Midoriya just babbled.
A promise. A promise to wear the shoes? Aizawa may turn a blind eye here and there sometimes, but he sure as hell knows for a fact that he has never made Midoriya promise to wear uncomfortable shoes for no reason at all.
For him to stand out? One glance at Midoriya, you wouldn’t really think he’s the type to stand out unless you get to know him. He just shines the way he is, fit for a hero with a grin like that. But it wasn’t as if Midoriya does it on purpose—it comes naturally to him.
It’s getting harder to what?
He has a Quirk Now? He thought it’d be okay? To what? Aizawa just asked him about his shoes.
And for Aizawa —Aizawa-sensei who expels his students more than he accepts them, who is ruthless when he teaches, who is cruelly blunt with his words—to be the best teacher he has? That is certainly very much fucked up.
“Midoriya, what are you talking about?” he asks, confused out of his mind.
But Midoriya can’t hear him; His breathing is getting louder and faster. His eyes are slowly glossing over with tears and a fog that no one can physically dissipate.
“Hey, hey,” Aizawa says, panicking slightly. “Midoriya, look at me, please. Midoriya .”
Midoriya flinches and ducks away from him as if Aizawa was about to strike.
And that is not the right reaction. That was instinctive to Midoriya—and sure, it would not be as alarming as it is, but for him to react like that by saying his name?
When Midoriya registers that nothing happened, that’s when he breaks. Heart-wrenching sobs fill the heavy silence, and it’s enough to snap Aizawa from his stunned shock.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
Oh, hell no.
“Izuku. Izuku ,” Aizawa whispers, brushing green curls away from a tearful face. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me. Aizawa Shota. You know me, right? Eraserhead. Your sensei.” A heart-wrenching whimper leaves his student. “It’s me, Aizawa-sensei, can you look at me, please?”
Midoriya seems to react to that, with a tiny nod. “Aizawa-sensei,” he whispers, more to himself. It’s infinitely better than him going into a panic attack.
“In and out, Izuku. Follow my breathing.”
Slowly, green eyes look up at him, watery and round. “ Sensei ,” he breathes, recognition alight in green meeting black.
Well, this is going to be a fun teacher-student conference.