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Shouta's skull was pounding, and his class definitely wasn't helping — every voice grated against his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. He should've just called in sick and buried himself under his covers at home, every little thing hit his senses way too hard.
The lights felt like they were drilling holes into his eyes, and he kept flinching at every little sound. Someone dropped their pencil and it might as well have been a gunshot. Even his hero outfit felt wrong against his skin, like it was made of grit instead of cotton. He slumped forward, resting his forehead against the cool surface of his desk. It helped, but only a little. He wasn't running a fever, he checked. So what the hell was wrong with him?
"Aizawa-sensei, you okay?" A voice piped up.
He could feel the weight of everyone's stares now — the whole class had gone quiet the moment his head hit the desk. Embarrassing.
"I'm fine—" he started, his voice coming out rougher than he meant it to.
"He's overstimulated," another voice cut through the noise, blunt and sharp as a knife. His head throbbed. Who—Tokoyami?
The words made his entire body tense up. Was that what this was? He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the fluorescent lights that felt like they were burning straight through his eyelids. Every shift of fabric, every whisper, every scratch of pencil on paper— Fuck. Someone was moving closer. He could hear their footsteps, feel the subtle vibrations through his desk. Even the air current shifting made him want to crawl out of his skin.
A hand hovered near his shoulder, not quite touching — Tokoyami again, probably. The kid actually seemed to get it.
"Do you need to step out?" The question was barely above a whisper, but he heard it clear as day. Everything was too loud, too bright, too much—
A blanket of darkness suddenly draped over him like a shield, and he let out a small breath of relief.
"Dark Shadow and I deal with this a lot," Tokoyami murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Shouta didn't reply just yet, letting the blessed darkness hold him. His shoulders gradually lost their tension, the painful knot in his spine slowly unwinding as the sensory assault dimmed to manageable levels. The silence felt like a weighted blanket, pressing against his frayed nerves and smoothing them back down.
He could still feel everything — the grain of the wood under his forehead, the whisper of fabric against his skin — but it was dulled now, bearable. For the first time in hours, he felt like he could actually breathe.
"Thank you," he mumbled after a moment, the words feeling thick in his mouth.
He hated showing any kind of weakness in front of his students — it went against everything he stood for as their teacher. But right now, with his senses finally settling back to manageable levels and Dark Shadow's comforting presence still shielding him from the harsh fluorescent lights, he couldn't bring himself to care about maintaining his usual stoic facade. Sometimes even pro heroes needed help, and pretending otherwise wouldn't teach his students anything useful.
A soft murmur of conversation had started up again in the classroom, but it stayed hushed, considerate. His students weren't exactly tiptoeing around him, but they were being... careful. The thought should've irritated him more than it did. Instead, he just felt oddly grateful.
He lifted his head slowly, testing. The lights still stung, but it wasn't unbearable anymore. Dark Shadow pulled back gradually, letting him adjust instead of dumping him straight back into the sensory hurricane. Smart kid, Tokoyami.
"Class," he managed, his voice steadier now. "Take five minutes. Stretch your legs. Just keep it down."
They didn't need to be told twice. Most of them got up quietly, drifting into small groups or heading for the door. A few stayed put, pulling out books or phones. Nobody was staring at him anymore, which was a relief. He'd have to figure out how to deal with this better next time, maybe keep some of those noise-canceling headphones Hizashi was always going on about in his desk.
For now though, he just breathed, letting his system reset. Sometimes the world was just too damn loud, and that was... fine. He could work with that.
"Are... you autistic, sensei?" Ashido's voice cut through the quiet, her tone curious but gentle. Her bright pink complexion seemed softer somehow, less jarring than usual against the fluorescent backdrop of the classroom.
Shouta blinked slowly, taking in the question. His dark eyes met Ashido's, finding no judgment there — just an open, honest interest that reminded him why he'd grown so fond of this particular class. Her usual boundless energy was tempered now, held in check as she waited for his response, body language deliberately still in a way that spoke volumes about her emotional intelligence.
"I've never thought about it," he said slowly, the words coming out measured as he considered the possibility. His fingers traced absent patterns on the desk surface, a habit he'd never really noticed before. Now that he was thinking about it, there were probably a lot of things he'd never really noticed about himself — the way certain textures set his teeth on edge, how he'd always preferred the quiet corners of rooms, his tendency to hyperfocus on grading papers until the sun came up. But putting a label on it all seemed... complicated. "Maybe. I'd need to think about it more."
Ashido nodded, looking thoughtful. Her hand drifted up to twirl a lock of pink hair — a gesture that suddenly seemed very familiar to Shouta. How many times had he caught himself doing the same thing with his own hair when he was deep in thought?
"I just noticed some things," she said, shrugging. "The way you always have your capture weapon around your neck, even when you don't need it. And how you sometimes zone out during faculty meetings — Mic-sensei mentioned it once." She paused, looking slightly embarrassed. "Plus, you do this thing with your hands when you're explaining stuff, kind of like—"
She demonstrated, fingers moving in a repetitive pattern that made Shouta's own hands still against his desk. He'd never realised it was noticeable. Hell, he'd never realised he was doing it at all.
"Huh," was all he managed to say.
His brain felt like an overturned filing cabinet, memories and habits strewn everywhere in a new light. The way he'd always eaten his food one type at a time, the fact that he could recite hero laws word-for-word but sometimes missed obvious social cues...
Ok, maybe there was something to this after all. Something shifted in his chest — not quite uncomfortable, but definitely strange. Like finding out you'd been speaking a different language this whole time without realising it. He rubbed at his eyes, suddenly exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with his sensory overload.
"Thanks, Ashido," he said quietly. She beamed at him, but mercifully didn't push the topic further. Instead, she drifted back to her desk, leaving him to process this new piece of information about himself.
The classroom noise had settled into a gentle hum, his students' voices pitched low enough that they didn't make his skull feel like it was trying to crack open anymore. He found himself watching them with new eyes — the way Tokoyami kept to the shadows even on good days, how Midoriya's hands flapped when he got excited about hero analysis, Bakugou's intense aversion to certain sounds.
Maybe he wasn't the only one who needed to do some thinking.
For now though, he just leaned back in his chair and let himself breathe. The fluorescent lights still sucked, but they weren't trying to murder him anymore, so he'd count that as progress. Tomorrow he'd do some research, maybe talk to Hizashi about it. Tonight? Tonight he was going home, wrapping himself in his sleeping bag, and not thinking about anything more complicated than what takeout to order.
Oh fuck, even the sleeping bag thing hit different now! The way it wrapped around him like a cocoon, blocking out everything... He dropped his head back with a quiet groan.
"Yeah, he's definitely caught on now," someone whispered with a barely-suppressed snicker.
"Back to work," he grumbled, his voice soft but carrying just enough authority to get his point across.
His students shuffled back to their seats, the sound of chairs scraping against the floor not quite as grating as before. His head still felt like it was stuffed with static, but at least the world had stopped trying to assault all his senses at once. Small victories, right? He glanced at the clock. Still another hour to go. He could handle that now, especially since the kids seemed to have collectively decided to tone everything down a notch.
Even Bakugou was being... well, less Bakugou than usual.
Tokoyami caught his eye from across the room and gave a slight nod. Dark Shadow peeked out briefly, giving what looked suspiciously like a thumbs up before vanishing again. Shouta felt his lips twitch despite himself.
Maybe this wasn't the worst way to figure things out about himself. At least his students weren't going to make a big deal about it. Well, except for Midoriya, who was probably already scribbling theories in that notebook of his. The thought didn't bother him as much as it probably should have.
"Alright," he said, straightening up in his chair. "Page 394. Let's talk about rescue protocols."