Work Text:
The first time Shouta Aizawa pulled an Irish goodbye was at his own high school graduation. He thought it was a waste of time, the ridiculous, uncomfortable robes, the overly long speeches that always sounded just like every other graduation speech, the pointless fanfare. And, though he wouldn’t admit it, there was a twinge of discomfort in his chest when he watched Hizashi’s parents run up to him when the ceremony ended. They wrapped him in their arms, showering him with praise and congratulations. He was pretty sure Hizashi’s mom even cried. He wasn’t sure. He didn’t really want to watch. So, he left. Quietly slipped out the backdoor of the massive gym they had used for the ceremony, dodging happy families, tearful teachers, and anyone else who stood in the way of his one objective. Home. His bed. Quiet.
Hizashi had lectured him later, sitting on his living room floor.
“Why do they have to make such a big deal out of it anyway?” Shouta had asked flatly, eyes locked on the game console in his hands as he reclined on the couch.
“I mean it’s like a once in a lifetime kinda thing,” Hizashi replied. “It wouldn’t kill ya to participate sometimes.” Shouta paused the game and stared at his friend.
“How would I participate?” Hizashi shifted under his gaze.
“I mean, I dunno.” He smoothed a hand over his hair. It was getting longer, long enough to pull back into a ponytail. “You could at least take some pics or something.”
“I took a picture with you.” Shouta returned his focus to his game.
“Didn’t ya take one with anyone else?” Hizashi wrapped his arms around his knees, holding them to his chest.
“Who else is there?” The pair was silent for a long moment, the only sound in the room the low hum of the fan and the click of the buttons on Shouta’s game.
“Okay,” Hizashi said eventually, “I’ll admit it was kinda lame.” He released his legs, stretching his long limbs and reclining against the couch. “Still, you should say goodbye.”
“Fine.” They sat quietly for a while longer. Hizashi flipped absently through channel after channel as Shouta grew increasingly frustrated with his game. After a series of losses, he let out a loud huff and handed the console to Hizashi, who took it with a grin.
The second time was a few years later, when Kayama had invited them out for drinks after work. It was so loud, and Hizashi’d had far too much to drink. He sat next to Shouta, half shouting everything he said, his eyelids drooping. His glass sat dangerously close to the edge of the table. Kayama was standing on a small stage, serenading an embarrassed Maijima while Kurose and Ishiyama watched, laughing warmly. Shouta ushered Hizashi out of the booth, draping his arm across his shoulders and leading the drunken man out of the bar. The night air was cool on his skin, raising goosebumps along his collarbone.
“What are we doing?” Hizashi slurred against his ear, so loudly Shouta was sure he must have accidentally activated his quirk.
“Shit, man,” Shouta cried, craning his neck away from the other man’s face. “I can hear you.”
“What are we doing?” Hizashi repeated, whispering just as loud. Shouta shoved his face away with one hand, keeping the other wrapped around his waist, supporting him as they made their way down the sidewalk.
“We’re leaving.”
“But we didn’t even say goodbye!” Hizashi complained. He let out a loud groan. “Bro, we gotta go back.”
“We’re not going back.” Shouta caught Hizashi when one foot slipped out from under him. “Jesus, do I have to carry you?”
“Aww, Sho, would you?” Hizashi said with a laugh, throwing his other arm awkwardly around his friend’s shoulders. “That’d be so nice.” Shouta didn’t respond, still dragging him along the empty sidewalk.
“Grade my papers for the rest of the week,” he said eventually.
“What?”
“Next week too, actually.” He stopped, turning to look at Hizashi with a wicked grin on his face. “If you do, I’ll carry you home.”
“Seriously?” Hizashi gave an exaggerated sigh. “You’re too cruel,” he whined, “but I’ll do it.” Shouta stepped in front of him, squatting down and helping Hizashi clamber onto his back. He stood, hoisting the slightly taller man’s legs up to rest on his hips, and continued down the sidewalk.
“If you throw up I’ll shave your head,” he warned when Hizashi swallowed thickly next to his ear. “And you better not forget our deal tomorrow.”
The third time was at his ten-year high school reunion. He didn’t want to go in the first place, but Hizashi had begged him for weeks. Even Nedzu had stressed the importance of his attendance, and since it was happening in the UA lunchroom, he felt he had to at least make an appearance.
It was just as irritating as he had expected. The music was too loud, though at least Hizashi had put together a nice selection. The cafeteria was poorly lit. The food was bland, and the punch tasted like it was fifty percent vodka.
Worst of all, only two thirds of the class was there. He hoped, of course, that the other third had been of the same mind as him, that it was a waste of time, but he knew that wasn’t the case. His fears were confirmed by the small memorial that had been set up in one corner of the room.
His hand trailed along the table, passing over familiar but half-forgotten names. Hero work was hard, and dangerous. He knew that very well. Still, he had hoped that all of his classmates were happy now. That they were living safe, comfortable lives with families that loved them.
He stopped when he reached the end of the table, his hand frozen on a painfully familiar set of letters. His eyes rose to the frame that sat resting above it. They used the same picture they’d used at his funeral. It made sense. It was a good picture. He was smiling, the twinkle in those eyes that were always looking towards the future visible even in the still picture. He looked so young. So alive.
He set his drink down on a table nearby, making his way towards the exit as he took in shallow breaths. The music was so loud, and yet, somehow he could barely hear it. He slipped quietly through the doors, hurrying past the front gates. He needed to get home. His heart was slamming against his ribs as his feet picked up speed, pounding against the sidewalk as he started towards his apartment. Towards safety.
When he reached his front door, he could hardly remember how he had arrived. His feet had guided themselves. He fumbled with his keys, swearing when he dropped them onto the concrete. He picked them up and finally managed to get the door open, closing it behind him and kicking off his shoes in the entryway.
He stumbled down the hallway and into his bedroom, ripping off the shirt that felt like it was suffocating him and dropping to his knees on the floor in front of his bed. A choked sob tore itself from his throat before he swallowed it back down. Clumsily, he ripped the blanket off his bed, draping it over his shoulders and resting his head on the mattress as he took deep, steadying breaths. God he hated that fucking picture.
The fourth was at the staff gathering after the UA sports festival where Hizashi had forced him to provide commentary. A strange sense of pride and anger swirled in his chest as he made his way down the hall toward the exit. His kids had won. The Class 1-A students had won. That was something to be proud of, and he was.
But had it been worth it? He was sure it would help them grow in the long run, but he had warned Midoriya so many times not to be so reckless with his body. And one of his students, the victor, had been chained up like a dog. How could they put a muzzle on a child?
The way the other teachers and the pros who had come to the gathering were talking about Bakugou made his blood boil. They had called him a nuisance, irresponsible, unstable, cruel. Honestly, Shouta could agree with the nuisance thing, most people were, but Bakugou was just a kid. A kid who wanted desperately to win and would do whatever it took. They needed to work on his methods of course, as well as his anger management, but it disgusted him to see the way so many adults were looking down on him, acting like he was some sort of villain.
His injuries from the USJ attack still ached, and the chatter around him buzzed in his ears like a swarm of insects. He didn’t trust himself to remain collected, rational, or civil in his current state. So he left. When Nedzu started making announcements about the students and how to request them for internships, he slipped out.
Halfway down the hall, he heard footsteps behind him.
“What?”
“I keep telling you dude, it’s rude to leave without saying goodbye.” He turned. Hizashi was standing in the middle of the hallway, his arms folded over his chest and the ghost of a grin on his face.
“Didn’t you do the same thing?” Hizashi put a hand on his chest, mock horror on his face.
“I would never!” he exclaimed with a flourish. “I excused myself politely of course.”
“Of course,” Shouta replied flatly. Still, the corners of his mouth curled up beneath his bandages. “Well, you are the epitome of grace.”
“Obviously.” Hizashi strode down the hallway, closing the distance between them. “I’ll admit though, not really my kind of party.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Where’s the music? The entertainment? The pizzaz?” He pushed his glasses further up his nose. “Just a bunch of assholes talking about whether or not our students suck.”
“Yeah.”
“You hungry?”
“I could eat,” Shouta replied with a shrug.
“Alright,” Hizashi started walking, Shouta trailing behind, “let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
Eri had been looking forward to the Christmas party ever since Shouta had mentioned the kids talking about it in class. For the past week, Hizashi and Mirio had been giving her silly, often inconsistent, lessons about holidays every afternoon on the floor of his small living room.
Eri had begged him, Hizashi on his knees right beside her, to sew her a Santa hat, so he did. He made one for Hizashi and Mirio too. He even went out and bought her a fluffy red and white coat dress. She had been overjoyed, flinging her small arms around his neck when he presented it to her.
Unfortunately, when the time came to actually go to the party, she wouldn’t come out of the bathroom.
“Are you ready Eri?” Shouta asked, knocking on the door. Hizashi and Mirio had already left, off to the staff party and 3A Christmas party respectively. “We’re going to be late.” The door cracked open, and her face appeared in the gap. She was staring at the floor.
“Do we have to go?” He crouched to her level, tilting his head so she had to look at him.
“I thought you were excited.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Do you not want to go anymore?” She tugged at one of the small puffballs on her dress.
“I don’t know.” He was quiet for a moment.
“Look, I don’t really like parties either,” he started, “but don’t you think you’ll have fun?” He teased the puffball she wasn’t holding onto. “You’ve got your new dress, and Midoriya will be there.” She rocked on her heels, glancing at him hesitantly.
“You won’t leave, will you?” He stared at her.
“Of course not.” He smiled warmly. “Why would I? You’ll be there.” She let the door swing open. The buttons at the top of her dress were uneven, hooked through the wrong holes, and she wasn’t wearing her hat, but she was smiling.
“Okay, I’m ready.” He laughed.
“I’m not sure about that.” She furrowed her brows. “Can I help you fix your buttons?” She glanced down but couldn’t see anything past the fluffy white fabric around her neck. She nodded, and he carefully refastened the buttons, before standing and taking her hand. He led her into the living room and grabbed her hat off the coffee table, placing it perfectly on her head. “Now you’re ready.”
Eri had chattered excitedly the whole walk over to the dorms. When they reached the door, he squeezed her hand before releasing it and opening the door. The whole class was thrilled to see her, and even though she messed up her holidays, they thought she was adorable. The kids were all eating and laughing, and though Eri kept checking to make sure he was nearby, she was clearly enjoying herself too. Somehow, she ended up getting a sword as a gift, which he would have to do something about later, but seeing the smile and her face made his irritation fade.
By the time a few of the kids started cleaning up, Eri was half asleep in Midoriya’s arms.
“Uh oh,” Midoriya whispered to her as he approached, “I think Mr. Aizawa’s coming to take you home.” He leaned closer to her ear, but still spoke loudly enough that Shouta could hear. “Quick, pretend to be asleep, maybe he’ll let you stay.” She giggled, clinging to his jacket collar. “Oh, hey Mr. Aizawa.”
“Hey Midoriya,” Shouta replied. He reached over and pushed Eri’s hair off her face. “Oh no, it looks like Eri’s asleep. I guess she won’t get to say goodbye to everyone.” Her head shot up, her eyes open wide.
“No, no! I’m awake!”
“Eri, you blew our cover,” Midoriya whispered. She shook her head.
“I have to say bye bye. Mr. Mic says we should always say bye bye.” She squirmed out of Midoriya’s arms and trotted over to where the girls were sitting, waving at them as they fawned over her.
“Thanks for bringing Eri, Mr. Aizawa,” Midoriya said with a smile.
“Of course. She was really looking forward to it.” Shouta stuffed his hands in his pockets, watching as Eri tugged on Bakugou’s jacket, flashing him a wide smile when he turned to look at her.
“Also –” Midoriya began. Shouta raised an eyebrow. “We’re all really glad you came too.” A small smile crept onto his lips.
“Me too, Problem Child.”
“Bye bye Mr. Riot,” Eri said brightly, grinning as she hugged Kirishima’s legs.
“So manly,” he murmured, crouching to hug her back.
“Did you get everyone?” Shouta asked as he approached.
“Yep!” Eri released Kirishima and took Shouta’s hand. “I’m sleepy.” He laughed and headed towards the door. Eri was waving beside him, and as he started to open the door, he heard a chorus of “goodnight Mr. Aizawa” and “see you later” behind him. He turned and flashed them a grin.
“Goodnight kids. Behave yourselves.”