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Yamada Hizashi had known Aizawa Shouta for a long time before he got his teaching job, but the first year his husband got his own class to teach and watch over, Hizashi felt like he was meeting an entirely new person. The changes wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone who didn’t know Shouta as well as he did – even Shouta himself insisted nothing was different – but Hizashi could tell. Shouta was, in a word, happier. He was still his grouchy, unapproachable self, but Hizashi had found him grinning fondly while correcting papers, and he’d never heard him talk more than when he got to discuss his students. He was more guided, too; like he’d suddenly been given a purpose that drove him relentlessly onwards. Shouta had always been one of the most intense people Hizashi had ever known, but all that intensity and drive was almost overwhelming when channelled into devotion for his classes. Hizashi wished he’d had more teachers like Shouta when he was in school, he’d certainly have liked it a lot more.
Sometimes, Hizashi worried all the work was too much for Shouta. He’d always been very single-minded and dedicated to any task thrown his way, but the intense focus he always displayed for his job as a teacher often came at the expense of his own health, especially since he was still doing hero work alongside it all. Somehow, despite doing essentially the same jobs, Shouta seemed to always have more on his plate than Hizashi, which had him wondering if his husband wasn’t signing up for more work than he could actually handle, despite his assurances that he wasn’t. Still, it was foolish to ever blame teaching on Shouta’s exhausted, unkempt state. In fact, Hizashi was fairly sure having students who depended on him was the only thing that kept Shouta even remotely in good health, despite all the effort he put into keeping his husband from recklessly throwing himself into any perilous situations he encountered.
The first time Shouta had gotten hurt while teaching, it really hadn’t been so bad. Since they were both pro heroes, their standards for what constituted a ‘bad’ injury were different from most, but even if he had been properly injured, Shouta’s way of talking himself out of an earful was masterful. He’d come home with a bandage on his temple and a smile on his face. Hizashi had tried to be upset, for a moment, before his husband had started explaining how he’d gotten the injury. Apparently, he’d challenged one of his students who had an elasticity quirk to catch him off guard during a training session, and had taken quite a fall when she’d managed to sneakily trip him while he’d been trying to direct some of his other students. Hizashi knew the kid well, both from having her in class and from all Shouta said about her at home. One of the challenges that came with keeping their relationship largely private was that Hizashi had to pretend he knew much less about their shared students than he did. The next time he’d seen her, he hadn’t been sure whether to scold or congratulate her on her success, so he’d simply left it be. Shouta had seemed so proud, so happy, that Hizashi really didn’t have it in him to tell his husband off for encouraging his students to hurt him.
Of course, it wasn’t only students who got Shouta hurt as a teacher. He’d not had a single intern’s run go as according to plan and always ended up stepping in and taking the damage onto himself, to the extent that he’d stop taking people on himself. Being an underground hero wasn’t for everyone and in trying to protect those who weren’t cut out for it, he often ended up putting himself out of commission. Hizashi wasn’t thrilled about it, of course, he wished Shouta would just think before throwing himself into any imaginable situation to protect a student. Hizashi had yet to find a scenario Shouta wouldn’t dive headfirst into if he thought he could keep a kid safe, especially when they were in his classes. Obviously it was important to keep the kids safe, but Hizashi wished he’d just show some more self-preservation instincts in the field.
Despite how often they messed up and ended up getting him hurt, Hizashi had never seen Shouta more genuinely proud of anything or anyone in his life than he was of his students. He acted like they were all his chaotic, troublesome children, and Hizashi knew that he did consider them that way, at least to a certain extent. He’d been thrilled beyond words when a tired Shouta had slipped up and referred to his class as such.
“What are you doing up?” Hizashi asked, padding up to his husband. Shouta was lit solely by a weak lamp as he hunched over their dining room table, scribbling furiously in his notebook, a stack of graded exams to one side and loose pages of notes to the other.
“Working,” Shouta grumbled, not even pausing in his writing. His back couldn’t possibly appreciate the way he was hunched over so far, and judging from the bags under his eyes – even darker than usual – his body had noticed him pushing himself too far, despite how profusely Shouta was sure to insist he wasn’t feeling any drawbacks at all.
“What on?” Hizashi set his glass down and leaned over Shouta, resting his head on Shouta’s own. He tugged at the hairband keeping his hair in a loose ponytail and out of his face, hoping to distract him enough that he’d be able to get him into bed. The glass was as good an excuse as any, though he was sure Shouta saw right through it. “I thought you finished grading hours ago.”
“I did,” Shouta said, and Hizashi wondered if that was going to be all he had to say on the subject. But then, as he always did when his class was involved, he kept going. “But I realised the mistakes I kept seeing in some of the copies actually related to the notes I’d taken on their performances in class. Takeda, for example, struggles with timing and thinking on her feet during both practice and exams, and on written tests she often struggles to get everything done in time. And Saito – the one with the shadow quirk in my class, obviously, not the shark one – has trouble reading instructions fully, and often rushes into practice fights without fully considering the ramifications of his actions. The way they approach written exams, for most of them, can be applied to their performances in battle, and I can use that as a way to determine which areas might be lacking.”
Hizashi would never say it, because it would earn him a murderous glare, but he found it frankly adorable how much Shouta cared for his students. The first few days, when he came home, he acted all aloof and referred to them with only their quirks, but his resolve would crumble before even a week had passed. Hizashi had been witnessing his husband’s rapid plunge into absolute adoration for his class – whoever may be in it – for four years at that point. It was his own first year teaching at U.A. and he found Shouta’s enthusiasm for teaching was infectious, even if he couldn’t bring himself to care quite as much.
“And what does that have to do with you being awake at three in the morning? You can’t teach them all these new tips and tricks if you’re too tired, you know,” Hizashi said. He tried snagging Shouta’s pencil from his hand but the task proved impossible.
“I’m trying to find more individualised ways to teach them, based on their perceived faults in both written and practical examinations,” Shouta said. “I also have to take their quirks and personalities into account when it comes to these things, or nothing I say will ever go in.”
“I wish I’d had you as a teacher,” Hizashi said with a smile. Tugging at his husband’s waist, he finally got the stubborn man to stand up, though he refused to let go of his pencil. “You care so much about them, it's amazing.”
“I’m only doing what’s expected of me,” Shouta replied. Now that he was away from his work, Hizashi could clearly see how exhausted he was. His eyelids were drooping and his eye bags looked almost more like bruises in the dim light, body clearly heavy as a stone and dark eyes hazy with tiredness.
“No, I do what’s expected of me,” Hizashi said, taking Shouta by the hands and slowly guiding him towards their room. The man needed some sleep before he got back up and went right back to work at the school, and Hizashi was doing his very best to get those few hours into him. “You go so far above and beyond it’s a miracle they haven’t put you into every pedagogical textbook yet.”
“You don’t know what pedagogical books I’m in,” Shouta shot back weakly, reluctantly letting himself be dragged into bed. He was already wearing his pyjamas; he’d gotten changed alongside Hizashi only to go right back to his work. “And they deserve it, you know. All my kids are so dedicated to their courses, it’s unfair if I’m not putting in the same effort.”
Hizashi just grinned widely. He’d always known Shouta loved his students in more of a paternal way than any other teachers he’d ever encountered, but his husband had been resolutely insisting he only tolerated them as much as any other teacher they had for years. It was nice to know he realised he’d been lying, at least. Hizashi took the opportunity of silence to push Shouta into bed and clamber in beside him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. The cuddles served to appease and comfort the both of them, but also to ensure that Shouta wouldn’t be returning to his notes as soon as Hizashi’s attention wavered.
“No, wait—” Shouta said, the penny having finally dropped in his tired brain. “Not my kids. I meant my students, my class and— stop looking at me like that!”
There was never any point bringing up the subject of having kids with Shouta. There was no doubt that he wanted them, he wasn’t particularly subtle about how much he loved children, but he really already had kids. Maybe, if the teaching job ever got tiring, Hizashi would ask if Shouta wanted children of his own, but they were both perfectly happy with how things were. He had broached the subject at one point, before they were even married, but Shouta had anxiously confessed that he was scared to take on the responsibility of child, since he was so bad at taking care of himself, and Hizashi had confessed his own similar concerns. A few months after that, Shouta started work at U.A., and it made him so wonderfully happy.
Hizashi wasn’t a bad teacher by any means, there was just no competing with Aizawa Shouta when it came to taking care of a class. He’d gotten lessons from the best, and by that he meant just about anyone but his husband. Hizashi had no hope of being a teacher like Shouta, and he knew trying to learn his methods would only stress them both out, so he tended to go to other friends for advice when he felt he really needed it. In particular cases that involved Shouta’s students, he would turn to him for assistance, but generally he tried to avoid it. There was no point in him trying to be like him, he’d only fail and ruin any hope of getting his students to trust and respect him.
If there was anything Shouta devoted himself to almost as much as teaching, it was hero work. Despite Hizashi’s insistence that it would improve his life considerably, Shouta had never been able to develop a healthy work-life balance. He’d once said that taking notes for his students was a hobby to get his husband off his back, which had only served to drive Hizashi’s point home. If underground heroes had a leadership board, there was little doubt that Shouta would be at the top. His quirk was perfectly suited to fight from the shadows, but he had the strength and training to come out victorious in hand-to-hand combat, as well, and he was truly a marvel to behold in action. Hizashi had rarely gotten to see Shouta properly fight, given their different schedules, but the few times he had, he’d been absolutely blown away. It wasn’t that he hadn’t known his husband was strong, it was just that he’d never seen it applied in proper combat. The line between Shouta and Eraserhead was thinner than it was for most heroes, probably because he hardly changed his appearance or mannerisms at all between states, and Hizashi hadn’t been sure if he’d been watching Eraserhead or Aizawa Shouta in action. Either way, the fight was over before he could even try to intervene, and Hizashi had been absolutely blown away.
All that to say, Hizashi wasn’t surprised to learn his husband had thrown himself into the fray of a villain attack on the USJ. He’d simply expected to go pick Shouta up from the hospital later with a warning from the doctors, give him an earful if only because he felt like he should keep up the routine, and then scowl throughout their whole commute back to U.A. the next morning, Shouta’s injury bandaged and hidden away.
When he arrived, Hizashi couldn’t instantly see Shouta, but he wasn’t particularly worried about that. He had the villains, then Thirteen, then All Might to worry about before he or anyone could start thinking about anything else. But as soon as the chokehold of the immediate concern let up, Hizashi started scanning the scene for his husband, though he hardly got to do a single sweep of the chaos before Nemuri placed a hand on his upper arm and guided him out of the building.
“Hizashi,” she said softly once they were standing outside. He could hear the police approaching rapidly, glad they often had such a prompt response to trouble with U.A. “You’re not going to like what you’ll see.”
“What?” She couldn’t have said anything that would’ve set him more on edge. Nemuri knew him, she knew how much he’d put up with when it came to Shouta’s injuries, so her giving him forewarning before he even caught sight of his husband had his heart rate spiking. “What do you mean?”
“I saw him,” Nemuri said. Her voice was soft, but commanding. She needed Hizashi to listen to her despite her gentleness, and luckily for her, he wasn’t sure he could look away if forced to. “And clearly you didn’t, or you wouldn’t be here with me. So I’m warning you now: it’s bad. And he’s going to need you to remain calm, okay?”
“I’ve dealt with his injuries before, I know how it works,” Hizashi snapped. He didn’t want to be sharp with her and would surely regret it later, but the fear was setting in and all he wanted was to sprint to Shouta’s side, to know what she was talking about.
“This is worse.” She said it with such unshakable confidence. He really hoped she was wrong, but knew there was no way she’d make such a big deal if it wasn’t serious.
Nemuri had been right. She’d convinced Hizashi to stay and try to corral the students, since they all knew and trusted him, and he was glad she had. If Hizashi had been the one in charge of carrying Shouta’s body out of the building, he was sure something in him would have shattered. He watched carefully as Shouta was instantly carried into an ambulance, catching sight of little more than how bloodied he was. Unable to tear his eyes from the back of the ambulance until it was out of his sight, Hizashi felt rooted to the spot by a storm of emotions. It had been made clear that everyone would survive, thankfully the ambulances had gotten there so soon, but he couldn’t help thinking what if he died? If Shouta died and Hizashi hadn’t even gotten to see him, if the last thing he’d ever said to his husband was some dumb, offhand comment about his students, he’d never stop thinking about it. But no, they’d said no one would die; Midoriya, Thirteen, All Might, Shouta, they’d all be alright, in the end.
Waiting for news about Shouta’s state was agonising. After an hour, he’d gone to the bathroom and gotten out of his pro hero costume as much as he could without having any spare clothes to change into. After two hours, Nemuri showed up in street clothes and offered him some comfortable clothes too, clearly anticipating a long wait. After three hours, Hizashi split a pair of wired earbuds with Nemuri and tried not to think about anything as she put a podcast on. After four hours, Nemuri returned home to feed her cats, promising that she’d be back soon, but Hizashi found that he didn’t really care either way. After six hours, Hizashi felt like he was going to lose his mind. After eight hours, a doctor finally came to talk to him.
Hizashi would never resent Shouta for trying to protect his kids. He would never get mad at him for trying to keep villains away from a group of inexperienced children. He would never be frustrated with him for loving his students and thoughtlessly rushing in for them. It was hard, though, not to let that anger overtake him for a moment while the doctor was explaining all the injuries he’d sustained. It was brave of him, it was kind of him, but that didn’t make Hizashi any less upset. Well, it did. It did make him less upset, because he knew it should, and it was stupid for it not to. Mainly, Hizashi just felt like breaking down and crying, but he didn’t want to crumble until he’d at least seen his husband.
Shouta had never looked so small, lying in that bed with both arms bandaged and his whole face wrapped in gauze. He seemed frail. He seemed breakable. Hizashi sat at his side and gripped the hand that wasn’t enclosed in a cast. It’s okay, he wanted to say. It doesn’t always have to be you who takes the blows. Instead, Hizashi rested his head on the mattress beside his husband’s body and could only wish that Shouta taking care of his kids came at less personal risk.