Archive of Our Own ^beta

After all of his family’s dirty laundry got outed to the world, and he was discharged from the hospital, Child Protective Services would not let Shouto go home. They said that he was in danger, or something, because his father abused him. One of the workers, a young lady with an empath-type quirk, had explained to him that he was no longer in his father’s care. He had asked if he would be placed under his mother’s care or sister’s, but she had just given him a sad smile and said it would be best for him to live with someone that wasn’t a constant reminder of his traumatic past. Which was honestly bullshit. He didn’t voice this to her, though. He was too tired to be disrespectful. 

"Where will I go, then?" He had asked in exasperation.

"Usually you would be placed in foster care, but your teacher has stepped up and said that he’d take you in until this whole situation gets sorted out."

And that was that.

Living with Aizawa didn’t seem nearly as bad as living with random strangers, so he took this new development in stride. As soon as Aizawa was discharged, he took Shouto to his house, saying something about how he had Hizashi set up a room for Shouto. The atmosphere between them was a bit awkward for about a week, but things cooled down after a while.

Now he’s been there for a little bit over a month, and Shouto could finally enjoy quiet moments like the one he was experiencing now; helping Aizawa make dinner. Well, to be honest, it was more like chaperoning Aizawa and making sure that he didn’t burn down the kitchen. 

He was cutting chives for the niratama donburi and Aizawa was whisking some eggs for it. The chives weren’t cut perfectly like Bakugo had taught him, but they were close enough. He was a bit out of practice for cooking, anyway, so it wasn’t really his fault necessarily. His cooking skills could only develop so far while he’s fighting villains practically every other day.

The eggs make a sizzling noise as they hit the pan, and Shouto watches as the yellow mixture bubbles and steams. Aizawa stirs the eggs with a spatula slowly, Shouto has to remind him to turn down the heat of the stove. They add the chives to the mix, and eventually the dish is ready. 

They both sit down and begin eating, Shouto absentmindedly staring at his cup of tea. Yaoyorozu had given him a box of assorted teas whilst he was recovering in the hospital, so he figured he’d make the best of it and use a package for dinner. (He had boiled the water with an electric kettle. He was grateful that Aizawa didn’t own a stovetop one.)

"Things are a bit hectic now that the class is trying to get Midoriya back, huh?" Aizawa comments offhandedly. He takes a bite of his niratama donburi, chewing it slowly before swallowing.

"Yes," Shouto agrees, blinking away from the tea cup. "But we made a plan."

"That so?" Aizawa grimaces once his hair brushes against some of his food. He slips an elastic off of his wrist and ties his hair into a loose ponytail. 

"Mhm," Shouto nods. "We’re going to get him back. No matter what. Although I was quite surprised that Bakugou was especially adamant about getting him back. But those two have always had a complicated relationship, so…" He trails off.

Aizawa makes a noise of agreement. "Yeah, I never really know what’s going on with them. One day they’re enemies, the next they’re rivals, then friends…" He waves his hand around while he talks, his chopsticks clicking together every once in a while. "I don’t get it."

"Not many of us do." Shouto shrugs. He takes a bite of his dinner. Bakugou and Midoriya were an enigma. Shouto didn’t think he could understand them even if he tried.

Aizawa sighs. "Yeah, I get that."

They finish dinner pretty quickly, although it takes Shouto a bit longer since he takes slow sips of his tea. Aizawa takes his hair down and mentions something about checking the mail before he stands up and leaves, shuffling his slippers on in the process. Shouto watches him as he leaves the room, thinking idly about the fact that he should add “eggs” to the grocery shopping list, since they had just run out.

Shouto stands and collects the dishes, stacking them carefully. He’ll wash the dishes while Aizawa gets the mail. 

For the first few weeks of living with Aizawa he didn’t quite know what was expected of him. Aizawa wasn’t actively training him like his dad used to, so he thought about qualities that made people likable. His sister cleaned and cooked and stayed quiet, so he decided that was the best course of action for him.

However, this just made Aizawa give him weird looks. After about a week of it, Aizawa sat him down and had a “talk” with him.

("You know you don’t have to clean everything, right? You’re not a maid." It was said light-heartedly, but the sentence still made Shouto tense up. "The only thing you should clean up is your own mess, like if you leave your laundry on the floor or something."

Shouto nodded, even though he didn’t really understand what Aizawa was saying.

"And you can talk."

"But, sir…" Shouto started quietly, wringing his fingers together anxiously.

"None of that ‘sir’ stuff, okay? Just ‘Aizawa’ or ‘Shota’ is fine."

"Alright.")

So, he knows he doesn’t have to wash the dishes, but he wants Aizawa to like him. If people had a happiness meter, then doing a favor for them would naturally make it go up, correct? His father was always in a better mood when he didn’t have to do unnecessary things like put the dishes away or clean the living room. And it’s not like Shouto thinks Aizawa will hurt him. He just… wants Aizawa to like him.

Even if that means having to touch dirty dish water.

He cringes throughout the whole process of washing the plates, drying them and putting them away in the cupboard. The tea cup should be easier to clean since there had only been liquid in it, but as he’s moving his arm back to turn the sink on, his elbow knocks into something, sending it crashing to the ground. He freezes in horror, eyes widening.

When he finally gathers up the courage to turn around to see what he broke, his heart drops.

It’s a mug. A cat mug.

And, Shouto didn’t know much about this mug, but he knew that it was out on display in front of a photo of a smiling boy with wispy blue hair and goggles, so it must’ve belonged to that person or something. He had always thought that the boy was one of Aizawa’s old students, but he’s never seen this hero's debut before. 

One of the first thing’s that Aizawa had said to Shouto when they first started living together was " Don’t touch that mug, it’s off limits," but Shouto had just broken that rule.

Before he can think too hard about it, he’s on his knees, trying desperately to pick up the broken pink ceramic. He didn’t do it on purpose. It was an accident. 

Aizawa rushes into the room, setting down some envelopes from the mail onto the counter. "Hey what happened? Are you okay, Shouto?" He asks worriedly. Shouto watches in slow motion as Aizawa’s face changes from concerned to shocked to angry.

The shards of clay slip from his hands as he stares at Aizawa in fear. His legs feel weak, so he attempts to help support his weight with his arms. He’s in so much trouble, isn’t he?

"I can- I can f-fix it," Shouto whispers, trying to keep his voice steady. His bottom lip trembles and his arms wobble with the effort of holding up his weight. He can fix this. He will fix this. "I can buy you a new one, or—"

"I don’t—!" Aizawa starts angrily, weaving a hand through the long strands of his black hair in agitation. "I don’t want a new one, Todoroki."

Shouto flinches at his family name. He messed up. He messed up so bad. He thought he had been doing well, but maybe he hasn’t. Maybe he’s been pissing Aizawa off the whole time, and now all of his pent up anger is going to be directed at Shouto. He knew it was too good to be true. He knew it. But he was stupid, and convinced himself that it was, because, what? Aizawa ruffled his hair a few times? Made him breakfast? He has to be realistic. 

"Sir," He tries again. "I can put it back together, and—"

Aizawa lets out a frustrated huff and Shouto flinches, curling into himself further. "Do you know what you just did?" He practically demands, his red eyes burning a hole into Shouto’s head. 

"I-I broke your mug, sir." His voice pitches upwards a bit at the end of his sentence out of shame and embarrassment. "I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry."

His father always made him repeat what he did wrong. To make him recite his faults. To make him understand that what he did was wrong . He’d ask what Shouto thought was a suitable punishment for him, which was worse than just straight up giving him his lesson. Because if he guessed too low, he’d get a disappointed huff and a worse punishment than he originally was going to get, and if he guessed too high then he put himself through unnecessary pain. (It was necessary, Shouto’s thoughts whisper harshly to him. You fucking deserved it.)

"It’s not just a fucking mug," Aizawa practically shouts. Shouto doesn’t allow himself to flinch. He goes as still as possible and squeezes his eyes shut tightly, preparing himself for a blow. "I told you not to touch it."

"I’m sorry-" He gasps out, shaking from fear. "I didn’t mean to— to… b-break it. I swear I didn’t. I’m sorry—"

"Just—!" Aizawa pinches the bridge of his nose. Father always pinched the bridge of his nose when Shouto fucked up. "Just be quiet. Please . Just be quiet for a second."

And Shouto wants to follow orders. He does. He’s good. He can be good. He can be an obedient soldier, like he was trained to be. But he needs to make this better. He needs to make this better so that Aizawa doesn’t kick him out. He’d rather get beat black and blue than be abandoned. He doesn’t want to be left behind again.

"S-Sir, if-if I may, I just—"

"Todoroki—!"

"—I want to let you know that you can probably even break one of my bones while beating me, if y-you wanted to. CPS doesn’t usually check in until a month later, and even if th-they do," He tries to steady his words again. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. "It’s easy to play off injuries as acc-accidents in training. No one ever noticed when Endeavor left burn marks—"

"Shouto!" Aizawa actually does shout this time. He’s breathing heavily, and he looks like he wants to strangle something. ( Shouto? Does he want to strangle Shouto?)  "I’m not going to beat you , for fucks sake."

The tears that are pooling in Shouto’s eyes fall, sliding down his cheeks wetly. They’re warm, and sticky, and he didn’t mean to cry, he didn’t! " Sir pl-ease!" Shouto begs, chest stuttering with the quick inhales of his breathing. The second word makes his voice crack, and he wants so badly to just be good. He wants to be good for Aizawa. 

"I’ll do anything. Anything, I swear. I won’t talk, or eat, and I’ll stay in my— in the room, a-and I’ll even stay in the closet if that’s what you want," He cries harder, but keeps pushing out his words. He needs Aizawa to know just how sorry he is. "You can hurt me however you’d… y-you’d like. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry." He buries his hands into his hair, pulling on the multi-colored strands. His knees dig into the kitchen tile harshly, and he hopes it leaves bruises. He deserves it. "And I know I deserve worse, a-and I know that you hate me, but please don’t leave me, please don’t leave—"

"Shouto." Aizawa says eerily calmly. "I’m not going to do any of that to you."

He’s… not going to do that? Not any of it? Then what does he want to do? Whip him? Choke him? Beat him with a cane? Leave him to sleep outside in the cold? His head is racing with thoughts of possible punishments, but he knows that what Aizawa has planned for him is way worse than whatever he can think of, but he’s stupid so he can’t think of any suitable punishments.

"Now," Aizawa takes a step forward, and Shouto can’t help but scramble backwards a bit. "Get out of here. Give me some space, please. I-I need to think." 

Shouto nods quickly, the action making him dizzy. His fingers yank at the strands of hair in his hands in the process, but he doesn’t even care. "Yes- yes sir. Yes, of course, sir." He stands up quickly, releasing his hair to put a hand on the wall to balance himself. He quickly scrambles upstairs. 

The issue, however, is that Aizawa didn’t say where he wanted him. The room Shouto’s staying in? Aizawa’s room? Bathroom? As he’s going through the possibilities in his head, a thought dawns on him. 

Aizawa is probably going to kill him. 

That’s why he had sent him upstairs. So he can grab the murder weapon or something. Or maybe he’s just going to use his hands, and he’s stalling time to prepare a body bag.

Shouto doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to die. He hasn’t even become a pro hero yet. He hasn’t become number one. He knows he fucked up, but he’s not ready to die. He needs to hide. If Aizawa finds him, he’s dead, and he can’t let that happen. 

So, Shouto blinks through the tears, and looks for a hiding spot. 

Aizawa’s room is out of the question. Too risky. His own room is too obvious. The bathroom is too easy. Shit. That’s practically the entire floor. The only place left is… 

He turns his head down the hall and zeroes in on the closet. It’s pretty spacious. If Shouto hides good enough, Aizawa will never find him. And if he does, Shouto can just shoot out some ice and freeze Aizawa to the ground. Aizawa can’t use his quirk properly because of his eye injury, so he should escape pretty easily. Not to say that there won’t be a struggle. 

The closet door doesn’t even make a creak as it’s swung open and closed, and Shouto makes use of himself and quickly curls up into a ball in the back of the closet, behind a box of Aizawa’s old kitchen appliances. He hunches in on himself and tries to get as small as possible. This is okay. He’s okay. He’s fine. 

After three and a half minutes (Shouto counted), there’s the sound of slow footsteps up the stairs. Aizawa’s prosthetic makes a clicking sound as he approaches closer. Shouto can feel himself shivering and making involuntary whines, so he bites the palm of his hand to make the noises stop. 

Doors are opened one by one, and Shouto can hear Aizawa rummaging through the rooms. He finally gets to the closet, opening up the door slowly. The fluorescent hallway light streams into the dark space, slowly lighting up the room. Shouto’s heart beats quickly in his chest. The door begins to close, and Shouto thinks he’s safe, but he must’ve been shaking too much, because the box in front of him bumps into the wall, alerting Aizawa of his presence. 

Time freezes. 

The door swings open again, and— 

"Shouto? Is that you?"

It’s done. It’s over. All he can do now is plead for his life. "Sir…" He manages to say quietly. The words are muffled through his hand, so he drops it and clears his throat. "Sir, please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please-"

"Shouto, hey…"

"Please don’t, I’m s-sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t kill me, I don’t wanna die." He sniffles, his words coming out rushed. "Please, please…"

Aizawa gets on his knees (which is probably very hard to do with his prosthetic leg, and Shouto feels responsible-), and moves the box out of the way. Shouto trembles, trying to press himself further into the corner. "Hey, shh, it’s okay…" 

"I’m sorry!" He wails, covering his head with his hands in case Aizawa tries to aim there first. He didn’t see Aizawa holding a weapon, but his chin is tucked to his chest, so it’d be pretty hard for Aizawa to choke him like this. "I don’t want to die!"

"Shouto, I’m not going to hurt you. It’s okay. It’s okay." Aizawa says quietly. He doesn’t touch Shouto. He makes no move to grab him. He just sits there in front of him, whispering reassuring words under his breath. 

"You’re fine. You’re safe. Do you know where you are?"

Shouto blinks. Of course he knows where he is. He’s at Aizawa’s house, and he’s trying not to die, because he… he… 

He doesn’t know what he did. Maybe he failed at training, or talked too much, or was too annoying to take care of. But whatever he did, he knows he’s sorry. He needs Aizawa to know, too. 

"I’m sorry." 

"It’s okay," Aizawa says instantly, in the same soft, reassuring voice. "You’re fine. You’re safe. You’re at my house."

Shouto knows he’s at Aizawa’s house, but he— did something, and he needs to apologize. 

"I’m so sorry, sir." The words are slurred together, and he’s not sure if it’s from over using his voice or if it’s from crying. 

"You’re fine. You did nothing wrong."

"I did," Shouto insists. "I… I…"

What did he do? Did he leave dishes on the table? Talk to Natsuo or Fuyumi without Father’s permission? Was he not able to perfect a special move in training? No, that’s not it. He’s… he’s not with his Father anymore. Why is he in trouble? What did he do? He… he broke something, maybe. A vase? Decoration? Plate? 

No. 

A mug. 

He broke a mug. A cat mug, and- and he’s sorry. “I broke a mug. I’m sorry.” 

"Hey, it’s fine." Aizawa says softly. "It wasn’t your fault. I overreacted. I’m the one who’s sorry."

Shouto pauses. No, that’s wrong. Shouto is always the one who fucks up. "No, no, I- I’m sorry."

"Hey," Aizawa reaches a hand out slowly, giving Shouto time to bat it away. For some reason he doesn’t. The big calloused hand brushes his tears away, and the action is kind. Gentle. The hands don’t burn. They don’t hurt. They don’t slap, or pull, or shove. His breathing even outs a bit, and no new tears are falling. He thinks he’s exhausted. He’s tired himself out from crying. 

"It wasn’t your fault, Shouto. It’s just a mug. It’s porcelain. But you’re a person, and you’re real, okay? You mean much more to me than a mug," The pad of his thumb is repeatedly brushing over his cheek, caressing it softly, even though there’s no more tears to be wiped away. "I promise you, I just overreacted. And I’m sorry for that."

Shouto doesn’t know what to say. He’s too tired to think of other ways Aizawa could hurt him, or other ulterior motives he could have. He just relaxes into the touch, pressing his cheek to Aizawa’s hands. "I didn’t mean to lose control like that. That mug was very special to me, and I just freaked out a bit. I never meant to scare you."

"S’rry." Shouto mumbles, his eyes blinking slowly. 

"It’s okay. Like I said, it’s just a hunk of clay. It’s fixable." With his other hand he brushes some hair out of Shouto’s face, tucking it behind his ear. "One of my old friends from high school gave it to me. He passed away shortly after. I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty, I just want you to understand why I reacted so unreasonably. It’s not an excuse, though, and I’m sorry."

Shouto nods. "M’sorry too."

"It’s okay. It’s fine." His fingertips graze Shouto’s scalp, and he lets out a soft noise of satisfaction, melting into the touch. "You must be really tired, huh?" Aizawa says softly. Shouto nods half-heartedly. "It’s okay. You can go to bed."

"In here?" Shouto asks sleepily. 

"No, not here. In your bed."

"M’kay."

He follows Aizawa out of the closet, staying close to him so they don’t drift too far apart. Aizawa dims the lights and helps Shouto into bed, and he has half a mind to change into his pajamas, but he’s just so tired that he can’t. 

"Goodnight, Shouto." Aizawa says. He turns to leave, but Shouto quickly grabs his hand. 

"Wait," He blurts out. Aizawa turns around. "Don’t leave me. Please."

Aizawa smiles. "I won’t."

And he didn’t.