Work Text:
It was past eleven in the evening when Toshinori had finally made it back to the school, parking in the underground garage on the North side of the campus. Hercules’ motor powered down, leaving him in complete silence, and the previously dimmed for the night panels flashed brighter, almost uncomfortably so in contrast with the dark surroundings. The sharpness of it added to his existing headache, making Toshinori wince in discomfort.
“Arrived at your destination,” the onboard computer said, Melissa’s voice soothing his tired nerves. “It’s rather cold outside, so better zip up your jacket. Have a good night!”
“Thank you, you too,” Toshinori replied, opening the door and stepping outside, into the cool air of the parking lot. Then he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was talking to his car again, pathetic, pathetic man...
As he reached the ground floor, he realized that outside the garage the air was even chillier, the freezing wind blowing mercilessly against his face, forcing him to hide as much of it as he could into his scarf. It smelt of snow, too, and salt from the ocean, but the ground was bare, not a single snowflake descending from the sky.
At least the cold was pleasant enough to ease his headache and make him feel slightly less exhausted. It did little for the dizziness he felt, however, besides forcing him to try remembering the last time he’d eaten. With a dreadful sort of disappointment, he realized that he couldn’t and sighed into his scarf, his breath still rising in a puff of vapor.
Past it, his eyes focused on the line of the dormitory buildings, the lights shining brightly from the windows, silhouettes of students around the common areas dancing in his vision, distant voices and laughter reaching his ears. It beckoned him through the night with a promise of warmth and... honestly nothing else, but his empty room and a pile of boxes he’d never seemed to have time to unpack.
What did he even have at the dorms? Another packet of miso soup and a prepackaged onigiri from a convenience store that was likely expired by now?
As he began nearing the dorms, he suddenly spotted a dark, misshapen figure with an enormous weapon of some kind. Without thinking, he almost leaped into action, adrenaline starting to pump through his system, then suddenly realized that it was not one figure, but two, both familiar to him.
Aizawa Shouta was walking in the direction of the teachers’ dorm, carrying little Eri on his back, trying to hold her stable with one of his arms, while in the other he carried several bags and — here Toshinori had to double take — a giant sword, which by no mean looked plastic or foam or fake in any other manner.
“Aizawa!” Toshinori greeted, trying to be quiet as he realized the girl was fast asleep on the man’s back.
Aizawa didn’t reply to him, only turned around to stare, and Toshinori could immediately see the reason for his silence — there was another white plastic bag in his mouth, held between his teeth.
“Ah, let me help you with this,” Toshinori offered, hurriedly reaching out for all the extra weight the other man tried to balance, taking the bags from his hands and mouth. An incredibly pleasant smell of food immediately reached his nostrils, making Toshinori’s mouth water, reminding him that he was in fact starving despite being unable to feel hunger the same way as when he still had his stomach. Then, after a quick consideration, he also plucked the sword from Aizawa’s hand, confirming his suspicion about the thing being heavy. “Where did that come from?” he chuckled, eyeing the shimmering in the streetlight metal with amusement. “Doesn’t exactly look like your style.”
Aizawa hummed at that. “Tokoyami’s gift for Eri,” he explained, now able to take a better grip on the girl to prevent her from sliding off his back.
“Ah,” Toshinori nodded, finally registering Eri’s outfit that consisted of a red coat with a fuzzy, white collar and a matching Santa hat. Of course, it was Christmas Eve today, wasn’t it? He’d completely forgotten about it, too caught up with work, only reminded mere several hours prior when Nezu called him.
“You got our class upset, by the way. They all waited for you to show up for the party,” Aizawa continued as they began walking towards the dorm together, almost matching in steps. “You also told me you’ll get the student qualification forms filled out for the Ryukyou and Fatgum agencies. I need these before Monday,” he added, yet perhaps it was Toshinori’s imagination or the painfully quiet night around them, but he sounded more admonishing when he talked about the party than the forms.
“I, uh,” Toshinori bit his lip. “I spent the whole day at the police station with Tsukauchi, so it completely slipped my mind, sorry.” It was not only the party, but the general existence of the holiday that had been completely forgotten. He regretted it now, because he truly wished he could've been there, celebrating with the kids, seeing the joy on their faces.
Aizawa stopped midstep, glancing at Toshinori with something akin to curiosity, yet more composed somehow. “Tsukauchi, huh?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.*
There was no contempt in his tone, nor teasing, yet somehow the question made Toshinori want to fret. “Working! We were working!” he hissed immediately, not even knowing why it was so important for him to clarify. He wished to believe it was because he didn’t want the other teacher to think he ditched their class for personal reasons. Yet, deep down he knew it wasn’t the case, and the real reason was somehow connected with the fact he could still remember the feeling of Aizawa’s lips on his each time he was closing his eyes, no matter how briefly the contact had lasted, or how much time had passed since then.
It wasn’t like it was the first time somebody’d done it. As a general rule, Toshinori believed that the vast majority of All Might’s fans were nice and polite people. Still, there’d been instances of some of them attempting to take their appreciation too far, and in the thirty years of his career he’d been kissed and groped, not to mention some of the rather explicit fan mail he’d received from his fans.
But Aizawa was not one of All Might’s fans. In fact, for the first several months of working together, Toshinori honestly believed his younger colleague hated him. He’d also gotten to know Aizawa well enough by now to be able to tell there were no ulterior motives behind his actions. That made him offering himself that night simply baffling, because the only reason it left Toshinori with, was that Aizawa simply wanted it. Wanted him? And that was something he had difficulties believing.
“You know, I don’t really have time for...” he trailed off, trying not to phrase it in a way that left room for misunderstandings. Because while he really wanted to deny there was something scandalous going on between him and the good detective, he also didn’t wish for Aizawa to think he tried to signal his own change of heart with that. “Anything,” he finished.
“Sure,” Aizawa responded simply, and his detached tone made Toshinori want to keep explaining his reasons, even if he knew that would only make the situation worse. That in turn made him feel incredibly stupid for even attempting to exonerate himself. What a mess.
“I have finished the forms by the way,” he said instead, trying to move this conversation as far from the direction it was going as he could. Besides, he was sure Aizawa himself had moved on from that awkward situation, at least that would've been a rational thing for him to do. “I will get it to you as soon as we get to the rooms.”
Aizawa hummed at that, but said nothing else and simply continued walking, leaving Toshinori no other option but to follow him. Finally, they reached the teachers’ dorm, amd Aizawa somehow managed to open the door with his capture weapon alone, which made Toshinori smile in marvel despite his exhaustion and headache.
Another moment, and both of them finally found themselves in the warmth of the common area, which was still brightly lit and lively despite the late hour. Most of the teachers who were gone to supervise the parties of their own homeroom classes had started to return, and at a glance there appeared to be a plan of continuing the festivities. Food was on the table and a collection of different alcohols was placed amongst the plates and trays, with Miss Midnight already starting to mix her famous concoctions.
Just for a moment, Toshinori considered coming down after helping Aizawa, despite being so tired. Not that he was particularly a party person, and he’d never truly felt like he was fitting in with the rest of the teachers, but they were nice to him, enough to tolerate his shortcomings when it came to education. Plus, anything felt like a better option than returning to his empty room to climb under the blanket trying, and more than likely failing, to fall asleep while staring at a bare wall.
Aizawa stopped only momentarily to unceremoniously toe off his boots, switching them to a more comfortable pair of slippers. Then, without as much as slowing down, he moved towards the elevators, passing their coworkers who had enough courtesy to quiet down the conversation as they saw the sleeping girl. Completely lost in thought, Toshinori followed his example without thinking, forgetting completely about his jacket or the bags with food he carried, realizing his mistake only as the elevator had already reached his and Aizawa’s shared floor.
“Shit,” he muttered trying to turn around to summon the thing back up.
Next to him, Aizawa groaned in displeasure. “It’s fine, just leave it on the windowsill for now,” he said while moving further into the corridor towards Eri’s room. “Also, swearing in different languages doesn’t make it any more appropriate in a school setting," he added dryly, yet Toshinori managed to catch a glimpse of a smirk in his expression and that confused him a little. Was he really criticizing him or wanted to cavil at him for fun? The latter should’ve felt more disrespectful, yet Toshinori found himself almost cheered at the idea that Aizawa didn’t really have as many issues with his general existence as he initially made him to believe.
“Sorry,” Toshinori apologized nonetheless, as he walked towards the open area on the other side of the corridor, feeling strangely less awkward about his mistake because of it.
There was a window there, smaller than the floor to ceiling ones that overlooked the courtyard, but it indeed had the windowsill where he could place the bags. The street behind it was dark, but the main building of the school was towering in the field of his vision, illuminated with a myriad of floodlights which made it stand out among several other facilities Toshinori was able to distinguish in the night through the more prominent reflection of his own sullen face.
A colorful tinsel was hanging above the window itself, red, green and gold intertwining together, making the window look festive. Toshinori had difficulties imagining Vlad King hanging it there, moreover Aizawa, and Eri was way too small to reach that height even if she used a chair. And so, it was a complete mystery to him who had decided to decorate their floor.
“The sword?” he heard Aizawa’s voice behind himself and glanced back, noting that he’d already finished the task of getting Eri to bed. “She wanted it in her room.”
“Ah, right, here,” Toshinori nodded, passing to him the incredibly dangerous-looking weapon, noting at the same time that the heavy weight of it barely registered in Aizawa’s posture or expression. In fact, the other man lifted it so easily as if it indeed was a toy, and Toshinori sighed at the sight, remembering the not-so-distant times he wouldn’t have noticed its mass either.
Aizawa stowed the blade somewhere in the depth of Eri’s room and returned back to the corridor, stepping in front of Toshinori and staring at him with an unmistakable expectation. Toshinori stared back, his mind suddenly racing, wondering what the other man was waiting for him to do. Surely it wasn’t something scandalous again, despite his close proximity or the intensity in his eyes.
“Umm,” Toshinori began, swallowing thickly, trying to ignore the throb of pain in his head and the strange sensation of anxiety that found a vacant living arrangement in the place where his stomach used to be once.
“The forms,” Aizawa explained simply, as it was the most obvious thing in the world, because of course it was. “You said you finished filling them.”
“Right,” Toshinori nodded before quickly darting around his colleague and towards his own room, making a fool out of himself by dropping the keycard as he tried to pull it out of his wallet. Almost doing it again as he leaned down to pick it up.
All this time Aizawa was just standing behind him, waiting patiently, and Toshinori could practically feel his stare burning a figurative hole in his back. Then again, perhaps, it was his own jacket, which while doing a fine job of keeping him warm in the freezing wind outside, was feeling a little toasty for the dormitory’s interior.
Finally, Toshinori managed to unlock the door, and stepped inside. He almost expected Aizawa to follow and no matter how much effort he put into ignoring the thought, his heart thumped treacherously in his chest, forcing him to squint his eyes. Exhaling, he pretended it was a flash of bright, luminescent light that came to life as he flipped the switch that was the reason for it.
Aizawa didn’t follow. Instead, he stayed at the threshold, staring inside the completely bleak and empty room with an unreadable expression. Toshinori was certain it wasn’t judgment he was trying to conceal with the lack of reaction to the state of his coworker’s living space, yet he still felt embarrassed for being unable to unpack completely in all this time.
The discomfort of it made sweat pool at the lower half of Toshinori’s back and he hurried to rid himself of the jacket, throwing it unceremoniously towards his bed, feeling immediately relieved at the breath of fresher air that touched his shoulders through the thinner fabric of his work shirt. In the corner of his vision, he noted Aizawa’s gaze leaving his frame and following the movement of the jacket. It was almost a relief until Toshinori realized the jacket had never made it to the bed’s surface, but fell onto the floor beneath it, and Aizawa was now staring at it as if it was about to come to life and run away from his negligent owner.
At least his writing desk wasn’t a mess, but it was unaesthetically overstoked with books and papers given the only other place Toshinori could keep his work-related belongings was a cardboard box that stood nearby. Still, he knew where the forms were exactly, because it’s been only a few days since he finished filling them out. Opening the needed drawer, he hurried to grab the stack of papers laying on the top and pulled them out, rushing immediately to pass them to his co-teacher not to force him to wait any longer than it was necessary.
He was already shoving the stack into Aizawa’s hands when something suddenly slid from between the pages, colorful flashes cascading down the floor. And suddenly there was a small explosion of pictures, a firework painting the green carpet of the corridor with painfully familiar faces that stared at Toshinori with a range of cheerful expressions.
“Crap,” he swore again, unable to hold the unsavory word behind his teeth, too frustrated at the complete lack of own competence.
At least this time Aizawa didn’t mention it, didn’t mock Toshinori for his vocabulary transgression, nor for his clumsiness. Instead, he simply went to his knees at the same time Toshinori did, starting to help him picking up the photographs that now littered half the corridor.
“Sorry,” Toshinori muttered again, as his fingers grabbed into the corner of a photo that depicted his own self from almost forty years ago. Young and carefree, he was grinning happily at the camera surrounded by some of his old classmates he barely remembered now. He wasn’t even sure what exactly he was trying to apologize for. Perhaps everything at the same time.
Aizawa ignored his apology, however. “Those are from your apartment, aren’t they?” he asked instead, picking up a photo from David Shield’s wedding with Toshinori standing to the side of the groom with a happy smile on his face. He stared at the picture for a moment, yet once again it was impossible to read him, to tell if he recognized the famous scientist from America, and whether or not he was curious about other people depicted there in any way.
“Yeah,” Toshinori confirmed. “I pulled them out of their frames, because I don’t have enough space to hang them here. But I wanted to keep them with me,” he explained, even though he really didn’t need to. People were allowed to keep pictures, the mementos of their life forever frozen in time as a reminder there were still things out there, things that made everything Toshinori had gone through in his life worth it in the end.
“An album would be a good place to keep them, or they will get scratches otherwise,” Aizawa offered, sounding genuine, as if he truly wanted to assist. He wasn’t looking at All Might when he spoke, his hands moving purposefully and with precision as he was picking each picture with so much care it made Toshinori wish to admonish himself again for already managing to bend some of them a little.
“That’s probably a good idea,” Toshinori nodded, his fingers tracing over the most recent photo he’d printed for himself. It was taken a while ago, during one of his classes with 1-A, every student surrounding his still muscular at the time form, excitement of new beginnings clear in each of their expressions.
Suddenly he heard an honest chuckle coming from Aizawa, the sound of it much softer than the usual range of his vocal expressions, and he looked up.
There was a barely noticeable smile on his face, and his eyes were soft as he was looking down on a photo he just picked from the floor. “Honestly, I could recognize you by the pose alone,” he said, turning it towards Toshinori. This time it was a one that didn’t originally hang on the wall of the Might Tower, and was depicting Toshinori at the ripe age of four with both of his knees scraped and covered in Band-Aids, yet gleefully throwing his fist into the air.
“Well, it's rather iconic, isn’t it?” Toshinori found himself chuckling back, realizing suddenly that his embarrassment and anxiety was subsiding despite the two of them still sitting on the floor in front of his own room, surrounded by a stack of old photographs. That would’ve been a strange thing to explain if Vlad King suddenly walked in on them. Then, before he could stop himself, he found his mouth opening again. “I copied it from my mom, actually,” he said against his better judgement, already starting to look for the picture before showing it to Aizawa.
And there she was, in her white dress and red sneakers, with her long blond hair flowing past her waist. Her fist was flying as proudly up as if she herself was fighting villains on a daily basis. Then again, she most likely had, just not the same kind Toshinori had used to deal with. Quirkles but brave, she was protecting Toshinori at times it mattered the most, and that alone had placed her among the strongest heroes in his eyes.
“She must’ve been proud of you using that as your hero pose,” Aizawa said, his voice turning even softer now, almost to the level he used when talking to Eri, and Toshinori honestly had no idea how he could even start to categorize that comparison, only knew that it brought some kind of warmer emotion in him, like a warm ocean wave splashing inside his chest.
Despite the heavier implication of Aizawa's question, or his inevitable response to it.
“Well, she'd never lived to see it,” he replied quietly. Not because saying it was painful, as he had enough time to accept and make peace with his grief, learning to cherish the precious memories of his mother without soiling them with sorrow. He simply knew it would unavoidably upset Aizawa. Because no matter the facade the man had always tried to project, Toshinori had come to realize he was a rather caring person underneath it. “I was not born into peaceful times,” he added, hoping it was an explanation enough as Aizawa certainly knew their history, was well-aware about the era of civil unrest and the constant fighting on the streets, with hundreds of civilians perishing in the crossfire.
“I’m... I’m sorry,” Aizawa responded predictably, averting his eyes.
“Hey, it’s alright,” Toshinori smiled, craving suddenly to reach out, to place a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t do it of course, worried to come across a little inappropriate. “I’m sure she would’ve been thrilled,” he chuckled.
There was a moment of a slightly awkward silence where both of them were sitting completely still, the pictures around only partially collected. Or at least it felt that way to Toshinori, because he wasn’t entirely certain how he was supposed to proceed from there. He wished to ask Aizawa about his parents, mostly because he wondered if such a private person would even agree to disclose something like that, but also because he was genuinely curious, as he’d never heard Aizawa mentioning them even in passing.
He couldn’t bring himself to do it in the end, more than a little intimidated by the idea he was likely closer in age to Aizawa’s parents than to the man himself. This was not a great night to be reminded about being an old man, powerless... useless...
“What about...” Aizawa began, picking up several more pictures from the floor until finding a specific one — a photo of Nana Shimura. Aizawa had seen the picture before, Toshinori had caught him looking at it when he was helping him pack all these months ago. He hadn’t asked about it last time, but it appeared he was indeed curious. “Sorry, it’s probably none of my business,” he quickly corrected himself, resuming to pick up the rest of the photographs with an efficient speed, before finally passing them all to Toshinori with an apologetic bow.
Toshinori smiled fondly, accepting the stack. “She was a Pro Hero and my teacher,” he replied.
“I’ve never heard about her,” Aizawa said, his eyes not meeting Toshinori’s.
“Well, you probably haven’t heard about a great amount of heroes from before my time,” Toshinori sighed. “The profession wasn’t yet as... televised back then, with many Pros working as parts of police enforcement rather than show stars.”
On that, Aizawa grinned. “Can’t say I disapprove of the notion.”
“And I can see that,” Toshinori chuckled, wondering if the change in the perception of their profession was also his doing, if he was at least partially responsible for turning the fighting against villainy into a kind of a show business. If that was the case, he really didn’t think it was such a bad thing. It made it possible for the general masses to see they were protected, it gave them a peace of mind.
“Was she working at the U.A.?” Aizawa asked next.
“No,” Toshinori shook his head. “Just a chance encounter with somebody who believed in a young boy and his dream which might've seemed unreal to anyone else. She believed in me, and so she became my idol, my inspiration,” he grinned almost merrily, feeling his chest becoming lighter at the thought of Nana.
Suddenly, he caught himself wishing he could tell more. That he could explain Aizawa if not everything, at least some of the things that’d been weighing him down for such a long time. Given how uncharacteristically talkative the other man had been the entire evening, Toshinori even believed that he’d listen to his babbling without judging or trying to provide advice merely for the sake of saying something.
Toshinori supposed that was the downside of getting close to people, that guilt of having to keep secrets that slowly ate away the initial joy of sharing a precious memory.
Thankfully, that line of thought was interrupted rather harshly, the next question from Aizawa taking him completely by surprise. “You had a crush on your teacher?” the man smirked, raising an eyebrow. He sounded distant and almost disinterested, with ‘almost’ being the key word. Toshinori wondered if Aizawa even realized what he was doing right now or how it looked from the side, as if he was still attempting to assess his odds. Because honestly, perhaps Toshinori was incredibly slow when it came to interactions of more personal nature, he wasn’t completely blind.
Or, at least, he no longer was. One could say Aizawa attempting to shove his tongue down his mouth had been a real eye-opener.
Yet, if Toshinori allowed himself to be at least a little bit honest, he had to admit it was almost endearing. Enough so that he found himself laughing at the question, openly and boisterous, regretting it almost immediately as the motion reminded him he was still harboring a hell of a headache. “Ow,” he huffed, rubbing his forehead. “Goodness, no. Well, perhaps a little,” he confessed.
Aizawa eyed him skeptically for a moment which felt too long, but in the end he obviously decided to have some mercy, and instead of any additional questions about Toshinori’s past, he decided to switch to a more rational one. “Headache?” he inquired, more than definitely noticing Toshinori wincing in pain from laughing.
“Yeah,” Toshinori confirmed. “I probably need to eat something, I haven't had a chance to have dinner yet,” he said, omitting the fact, he hadn’t had lunch either, and that his breakfast hadn’t been of any significant consistency, because Aizawa really didn’t need to know that. Because Aizawa could conclude that he couldn’t take proper care of himself, which would be embarrassing. Or worse, realize that most of the time Toshinori simply didn’t care enough to make it his priority, which would be... which would raise questions Aizawa wouldn’t ask out loud and Toshinori wouldn't be able to answer even if he did.
This time Aizawa’s gaze on him hardened. “Come on, there’s plenty of food here,” he said, finally getting up from the ground, offering his hand to Toshinori.
It was a casual contact of accepting help, but Aizawa’s hand felt cooler than his own, rigid clauses from using his capture weapon gently scraping his palm in a manner that should’ve have been pleasant but somehow sent electric jolts across his entire body that traveled at almost a lightspeed beneath Toshinori’s skin.
The contact was broken before Toshinori had time to consider it, to even understand what had happened exactly, and his mind was quickly pulled in the different direction as most of the joints in his body protested painfully from being suddenly yanked up, and he sighed deeply in annoyance at his own body for its protests over being overworked and neglected.
“I don’t really wish to impose on you,” Toshinori said, hoping that if he started to talk again it would make Aizawa miss all of his reactions.
He thought it worked, too, because Aizawa didn’t even spare him a second glance as he began making his way towards the windowsill, opening up the bags and containers. “The class packed most of it for you anyway,” he explained. “You will be just taking your share.”
“Oh,” Toshinori managed as he came to the selection of foods, eyeing it with more guilt than excitement. Even more so now, after being reminded about missing the entire thing.
There were a lot of things in the containers, ranging from chicken wings to takoyaki, to sweets that he obviously couldn't indulge in. None of it was hot anymore, not after being carried through the freezing streets. Yet, it wasn’t cold either, at least not enough that it would’ve made it less delicious. There were no forks or chopsticks however, yet it didn’t seem to stop Aizawa, who plucked a piece of sauce-covered chicken with his bare hand, sending it straight into his mouth before licking his fingers clean. Same ones he’d just been touching the floors with.
Truly a man of somebody’s dream, Toshinori mused.
Well, not that he was any better, as far as men went. “I feel awful that I didn’t get Eri anything,” he sighed, dropping the newly gathered pile of documents and photos and carefully placing it on the edge of the windowsill.
“I gave money to Mic, he will buy something for her and we will sneak it into her room later tonight,” Aizawa said as a matter of fact as he picked another piece of chicken. “You can buy something tomorrow.”
“That won’t be from Santa then,” Toshinori sighed, wondering if he could run to the store right now. It was likely a horrible idea, because he was so exhausted he could practically see white noise before his eyes and driving in such a state was simply unsafe. Perhaps, he could go early in the morning before the girl’s usual wake up time? She was probably going to be sleeping in as well, given how late Aizawa allowed her to stay up tonight.
That seemed like a sounder plan, he just needed to hurry up with his food, so he could grab a shower and pass out for at least five hours. With that in mind, he picked up what seemed to be the safest thing to eat with his bare hands, pulling out a corn dog from one of the plates by its stick and taking a bite. Immediately, he realized the thing was home-baked rather than store bought, and was more delicious than he’d expected, forcing him to hum in appreciation as he chewed. Class 1-A was a truly talented bunch.
He concentrated on eating for the next moment, trying to chew fast, but still being thorough. Still, despite having food inside of him now, Toshinori noted that the white noise had not disappeared from his vision, only intensifying instead. He was about to rub his eyes, when he heard Aizawa gasping, barely notable in surprise and saw him reaching to open the window, letting a current of cold air wash over Toshinori’s face.
He opened his mouth, about to ask the other man what he was doing, when he understood it himself. “Wow,” he said instead, moving closer, looking outside the window in awe. It wasn’t an issue with his vision, it was... snow. White, puffy flakes falling down from the sky, turning the view on the campus below hazy. The wind had quieted down by now, and it became almost eerie quiet, yet magical at the same time. Breathtaking enough that for a long while neither of them could look away.
“Hey, All Might?” Toshinori heard Aizawa call gently and glanced down in his direction.
The other man’s gaze was still aimed outside, light shining from the corridor was framing his hair in a golden halo, while his face was illuminated with cooler white of the street lights that were reflecting from the fresh blanket of snow. His expression was thoughtful, but peaceful, and Toshinori suddenly caught himself realizing that he was so incredibly... beautiful that it almost made his breath hitch. It probably wasn’t the most appropriate thing to note about a coworker, especially given Aizawa’s past offer of intimacy and Toshinori’s subsequent rejection of it. Then again, he doubted that he’d even notice Aizawa’s appearance in this particular light if not for that exchange.
“Yeah?” Toshinori responded, matching Aizawa’s quiet tone, gulping as he finished chewing another piece of his corn dog. The taste of it barely registered now, in the wake of his overwhelming emotions.
Aizawa turned to look directly at him this time, his lips stretched in a smile as he showed Toshinori the screen of his phone, white numbers 00:02 bright on the black background. “Merry Christmas,” he said.
It took an effort for Toshinori to hold eye contact without blushing, and he was fairly certain that he failed in the end. Nonetheless, he found himself smiling back. “Merry Christmas," he replied, his heart thumping in his chest so strongly, yet it wasn’t an unpleasant rhythm. It made him feel lighter somehow, even if he wasn't certain it was a good thing, couldn't predict the direction of his own thoughts and impulses if Aizawa continued looking at him like that.
Thankfully, Aizawa didn’t allow for it to happen, breaking whatever spell Toshinori found himself under by turning away. “Thank you,” he said, finally closing the window shut before plucking another piece of chicken from the plate.
“What for?” Toshinori asked in confusion.
“I promised Mic and Midnight to go down to the party as soon as I returned,” Aizawa explained with a shrug. “And I kinda didn’t want to. You gave me an excuse to postpone it.”
“Ah,” Toshinori nodded. “You still probably should head out.”
“Probably,” Aizawa agreed, then reached out to scratch his nape as if in consideration. “You, uh, wanna come?”
And Toshinori did, unexpectedly to himself he wanted to go down with Aizawa and spend time with the rest of the teachers. And this time it had nothing to do with his fear of staying alone tonight. And yet... “Ah, I can’t. I still need to head back to the police station in the morning,” he responded, shaking his head. Then he almost smacked himself on the forehead. “Which will make it impossible to go look for a gift for Eri before she wakes up.”
Aizawa's expression turned thoughtful for a moment, then he grinned, leaning more comfortably onto the windowsill. “Let’s tell her you heard a noise on the roof at night and went to investigate. Nobody was there, but you found a gift that Santa dropped by accident. Good thing we had our All Might to save the day, huh?”
That was so absurd, but also so clever, Toshinori laughed again. “A rational deception,” he agreed.
Aizawa chuckled, too, his expression still inexplicably soft, which made it difficult to concentrate on anything else. “Just go rest,” he sighed in the end. “I’ll take the leftovers downstairs.”
Toshinori nodded, watching Aizawa starting to clean up after their impromptu dinner. Finishing his corn dog, he grabbed one more, hoping that it wouldn’t be too much food to make him sick, then picked up the stack of photographs, not wishing to forget them here by accident, together with the work forms that Toshinori was certain Aizawa would remember about.
They both were quiet for a little longer, but this time the silence wasn't strained or uncomfortable, but a pleasant lack of need for words. Afterwards, they walked back to the elevators and only when the door before them slid open with a ding, Aizawa turned around and looked at Toshinori again. His mouth opened, but it appeared he wasn’t sure what to say, so he closed it again, his gaze falling.
“Have a good night, Aizawa,” Toshinori prompted, smiling gently at his friend.
“Yeah,” Aizawa responded, before stepping into the elevator cabin. “You too.”
And to his complete surprise, Toshinori did. Returning back to the dorms, he’d expected he was going to toss and turn the entire night, yet he slept so soundly that he hadn’t heard at all the people sneaking outside his door, nor he heard the jingle of the sleighs outside the windows. And even the most epic, yet bizarre fight with the Guardian Angelbot that took place only a room away from his own was utterly missed.
He did however stumble on a pile of teachers in the common area, passed out completely from exhaustion while dressed in variations of Santa outfits. Well, somebody had a good Christmas celebration, he thought merrily as he continued on his way out, determined in his good mood to accomplish everything he set his mind on today. Including finding the most precious gift for Eri on the roof of their dorm that Santa dropped oh so carelessly.