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When Hizashi asked Aizawa if he wanted to come over to his house for dinner, he had asked as a joke.
Somehow he managed to get himself a companion to walk home with and the only thing he could think was, “I should reschedule so I can clean up my room!” all because the echoing words belonging to his mother that continuously replayed in his mind; the first impression was everything, and although this wasn’t the first time he brought a friend over to his house for dinner —or sleepover— this was the first time he brought a completely new friend over. Which was why Hizashi couldn’t help but stare incredulously at Aizawa in 5th period —it’s 6th now— when he only then accepted that he could come over for dinner, and for good reasons too!
One, Aizawa just met him and probably knows very little about his habits and how his mind process a lot of things; two, Hizashi just met Aizawa and knows nothing more than the fact that the raven likes drawing and that he ate mint dark chocolate today. He wondered how Aizawa could just agree to come over to his house as if the outside world wasn’t a threat already— how did he know that Hizashi wasn’t a serial killer ready to stake his position in the ranks? And how did the idea of bringing the council president become such a top priority mission to him?
“Hizashi,” Aizawa snapped his fingers loudly a few times in front of the blond’s face, watching as he turned with a grimace in a slow comical manner that made the other’s lips twitch, “We can reschedule.”
‘How did he know?’ Hizashi thought, maybe there was something about his expression but he could’ve sworn there was a small crack of a smile behind that tower of fabric of his scarf
“You were mumbling about it throughout the period,” The raven reached up to brush the long black strands of his hair aside to show the mirth in his beetle black eyes, “I’ll see you—”
“Tomorrow!” He blurted out, Hizashi sat himself back in his seat because of how harshly he chose to shove his stomach against the table, he gagged a little but recuperated easily, “S-sorry, I didn’t think you’d accept.”
“It’s fine, you don’t seem to think about a lot of things,” ‘Did he just...’ “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Before Hizashi could respond to the strange twinge of amusement and offense inside of his chest, the teacher that was observing the scene in front of her and smiling at how much positivity filled the air— that teacher had reeled her arm back and threw something small at him and then jerked her head towards the door. That obviously meant,
'Go get him!'
Not that he knew, his 13-year-old mind thought it translated to, 'Get the fuck out of my classroom before I throw this table at you.'
His hands flew up as if he was trying to reach the ceiling from where he sat, but instead, with a single swoop and a rush of want to go clean his room— Hizashi caught whatever was thrown at him and stood up, everything gathered in his backpack and his glasses still on the bridge of his nose. Hizashi ran his free hand through his hair and gave a short “Thanks!” to his teacher before scurrying out the classroom. As he ran, Hizashi couldn’t help but realize how his thoughts were in a flurry of different scenarios that could play out— maybe Aizawa agreed to come at all to get to know him better?
‘Or maybe he wants to see if I’m trustworthy...’ Hizashi thinks, he feels a little suspicious of himself but then mutters 'quietly' to himself, “Maybe he has some sort of... Dark mystery—No that’s impossible! The guy’s already a mystery wrapped into a walking bar of dark chocolate.”
“Should I take that as a compliment?” A voice in front of him deadpans, and as Hizashi’s feet makes a noisy screeching sound when it dragged itself to a stop, Aizawa turned around to greet him with a transparent smile, “I didn’t think you walked through this route.”
Deciding not to immediately question what his friend —'Oh my god I referred to him as my friend.'— means, Hizashi turns his head to get a full scan of where he is, and while he does so, Aizawa leans against a stop sign, waiting for him to realize how far he ran from the school grounds.
One thing’s for sure, it was that Hizashi seemed to have gone down the literal path of villains. When he looked around to ‘admire’ the setting, he realized that each breath he took smelled like fermented tofu or something even worse than that, something along the lines of durian. His eyes darted left and right around the concrete walls, only to find... 'Plants.' Said plants looked dried up in a shriveled form as if to turn away from all of the sunlight pouring down on it, even the vines were dead while being wrapped around ancient rusting fences with chipped black paint. Hizashi looked to the street, or what's suppose to be a street; the tar was cracked and looked like someone with a strength enhancing quirk punched the middle of the road for no reason, not a single car passed by.
Step
Step
Step
Was he hearing something? There was the sound of footsteps that kicked rocks and rubble aside, the sound of someone crushing dry leaves and breathing like an old lion that just ran for food, someone behind them. Yes, although distant at first, Hizashi slowly picked up the fact and realized that the thumping was starting to grow louder and closer until Aizawa took him harshly by the wrist —which helped him snap back into reality—. Two thoughts came to mind; either something was chasing him, or he looked really really stupid staring at the ruined tar of the neighborhood street and was beginning to grow crazy. He hoped for the latter as someone who's life has been a pacifist one, but something like the hysterical screeches from behind him told him it was fight or flight and his friend —who obviously should not know more about this route than he does— thought that flight was the wisest option.
And now he’s running for his life with the realization of how majestic Aizawa looks like; seriously though, his hair was flowing in the wind and from the current speed they were going at— his bangs were blown over his head revealing those mysterious and sharp black eyes, albeit the straight-face he had when he looked over to check up on Hizashi, the blond could clearly pick out the transparent highlight of concern that was sown in the gloom of his publicly —no one was around but still— viewable orbs. Aizawa had that sort of face that was in between soft and sharp, like it could be sharp one moment but if you get a good and hard look at him, he looks more like an angry kitten.
“You should hurry up, Hizashi,” Aizawa suggested, the heels of their feet dragged against the concrete in order to make a slapdash turn, “They stop running once you step into the safer neighborhoods.”
“Why do ‘they’ chase us at all?!” Hizashi shrieked and only feeling the slightest bit of guilt about his quirk when Aizawa cringed, he increasingly became faster with every looming word that rang in his head, “Why do you even go this route!”
“First of all, ’They’ are just people who the villains have gotten to first,” That explains why those people are shouting for villains seen in the newspaper and television, “Second, calm the fuck down...And...You don’t get this kind of adrenaline on a daily basis, plus you’re smiling so shut up.”
He was and that equally frightened him and piqued his interest even further, now, Hizashi doesn’t usually run away from madmen or breathe in the fumes of a gloomy part of the city just to look for adrenaline, he doesn’t find interest in dark, eery places where the houses screams of the past abuse; Usually, he’s safe inside of his house with his mom and occasionally dad, snuggled up in his pajamas and in the nice soft blanket on his bed with a tub of ice cream, crying to romantic comedy movies— this, though, this felt equally nice as the latter. It felt different, new, something he could explore until he gets bored of it or until he finds himself as addicted as Aizawa seems.
Right now they were sprinting past house after house until they eventually reached a forked road with one path delving deeper into the dreariness of a Cul-de-sac but this time, there was a thick layer of fog that made it nearly impossible to see the houses.
The first question that came to mind after stealing a three-second glance was, ‘What sort of cliche drama world is Aizawa involved in?’ But no, Hizashi did not have the time to answer that mid-dash, and although he had made an attempt to inform the raven of where his house was —the other path that leads to a much nicer place with ice cream and living trees— Aizawa just pointed at Hizashi’s path and ran, at least until he couldn’t be bothered to stand around anymore, he left without questioning where the footsteps went.
“You know, I feel like my life is no longer normal now,” Hizashi stated blandly, a bird flew over his head, chirping in response with its feet hooked onto the metal fence around his house, “I know right? It’s like one moment, I’m pretty hated with two friends— and then Shouta—”
A shiver rolled down his back in the most unpleasant way a shiver could roll, the blond looked left and right around him and then focused his gaze back towards his house. He’s not going to question the random surge of displeasure but he’ll blame it on the world instead.
"As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted," He hissed to nobody, he was walking past that one tree in front of his house within the fencing now, "Shouta, shows up and it's like... It's like someone threw flowers at my face and walked away!"
Hizashi’s shoes clattered against the wall before he reassembled them to match the other pairs set up evenly, his mother appeared from the doorway and beckoned him with a curious tone to the kitchen, her expression was neutral with a dash of humor when he nearly tripped trying to rush towards her— he didn’t want to waste time; talk to his mother about whatever she would like to converse about, and then make like a tree and leave to remake his entire room so it’d look more... Homey and warm instead of a den for 10-year-old children, Hizashi wanted to fix some stuff anyway— win win.
“You got home 13 minutes earlier,” He froze, stiffening as his expression matched her shock, her face fell and then she started laughing a little, “Oh dear! Your expression is hilarious, excuse me, but ahem... I know you take the long and safe route here, what's different?”
“I kinda... Rushed out of school too quickly and ended up in a bad neighborhood,” Now it was his mother’s turn to stiffen, she did all of that and even wore a frightened-beyond-the-grave look, “But a new... F-friend of mine, he’s kinda weird but cool by the way— he helped me get through the blocks.”
And just like him on an unexpected Saturday morning after a hard week at school, his mother’s atmosphere took an 180 and there was that look of mischief and glee in her eyes that made it extremely hard to ignore.
“I’ll tell you more at dinner, but uh...” Hizashi scratched his head sheepishly, looking to the side and then back to her all in 4 seconds, “I need to clean up my room, he’s coming over tomorrow for dinner, if you—”
“Go clean your room,” And up the stairs in a burst of new found speed he went, his mother never looked so serious about something— not since his dad’s decision to move by himself to his new job
On the brighter side of things, at least his mother supported his friend even though she completely ignored the fact that they had traversed safely —or as safe as a place like that can let him be— through a bad neighborhood; his mother, who wouldn’t let him leave the house until she realized how unhealthy it was— didn’t even bat an eyelash about how his new friend secured a route, in a place that seemed anything but kid friendly, of course, this means that Aizawa would be interrogated tomorrow for his sudden wisdom of how to avoid murderers and—
“Oh what am I even thinking!” Hizashi shook his head distastefully, he was nearly up the stairs when he stopped, “Have faith in Shouta,” And there was the uncomfortable shiver of disapproval that went completely ignored, “He’s your friend now, he helped you, have faith, Yamada!”
He released a groan followed by a stressed sigh, Hizashi immediately gave up trying to shove his inner turmoil into the back of his mind and proceeded to drag himself up the rest of the stairs— which didn't even have that many steps, he was just being lazy as of now. Besides being lazy, Hizashi was also worried and concerned, Aizawa didn't seem like the most polite person he's ever met when it comes to conversing with other people. Overall, Aizawa might not respond coherently and respectfully to whatever question his mother decides to ask.
After all, it didn't take more than the last two period he had with him to learn that, Aizawa seemed to have a tendency to not face adults when they talk to him, it seemed like it at least, his hair was blocking his eyes most of the time to completely avoid eye contact and his attitude immediately turned defensive in the face of anyone that got too close.
‘Mom might not like that, or maybe she will... I don’t know,’ His mom was a weird person, though that wasn’t bad— she’s great at being around
As for how he picked those few notes up, their 5th-period teacher is an asshole— she didn’t care about what the students said as long as they paid attention to her, and well, Aizawa’s tight-lipped personality and him suddenly showing up to class —and speaking a few words when his name was called for attendance—, struck her as him being another arrogant delinquent. It made him laugh a little when the raven finally looked to her behind the curtain of his bangs, the expression of total domination on his teacher’s face only grew as did her ego, and then she said the wrong thing.
“See, Shouta?” There it was! That dirty and inappropriate sneer that looked borderline harassing, that was her mistake— her quirk was her ease in manipulating people into crumbling with just a twisted expression and a name
However, from the way Hizashi felt the atmosphere drop cold, that didn’t work
“It’s disrespectful to call anyone by their first name— it implies that you know me, have a connection with me, or I have given you permission to call me such, which you do not,” And then the killing line, “I don’t feel comfortable having you imply that you know me, I’m reporting you for abuse of your position as a teacher and use of your quirk in public.”
A harsh breeze came around and Aizawa’s bangs blew away from his eyes, ‘black’ beetle orbs turned to a now enchanting red that tinted the skin around his eyes to a light shade of rectory red. With that glare from the student council, their teacher froze with an expression of pure defeat, before she marched away with the lesson continuing. What was funny was her avoiding having to walk by Aizawa’s table as much as possible, leaving the raven to do whatever he wanted in his sketchbook.
Hizashi was deep in his nostalgia and it seemed only the ‘amazing’ sensation of his ankle getting scratched —he can already feel the skin peeling already, wow— by a moderately sized container filled with his old school journals, and then him ultimately falling face first into his open closet— woke him up from his flashback. But while he contemplated the many times he tripped in his own room, he concluded his ankle ached more than his face did because where his face had the bundles of clothing to protect him from any real pain, his ankle was only scratched even further by the edge of the box.
Limping to the bathroom, he opened the cabinet above the toilet and cautiously pulled out the first aid kit— not that he was going to disinfect it with those things disinfectents that burns the wound uncomfortably, he only got the red box down to grab the dry piece of cloth sitting inside. When he had it in his hand, he used the tip of his fingers to push the rest of the first aid kit into the cabinet and turned the sink on to soak the cloth.
“I wonder if Shouta’s going to trip on stuff in my room too...” Hizashi muttered tiredly with a sigh, he was using the soaked piece to wipe off the gathering bits of blood before slapping a bandage over it, “How do I trip on stuff when this is my room!”
“Because you don’t look where you’re going!” He heard his mom from the other side of the door, “Now get back to cleaning! First impressions, Yamada!”
With that loud reminder from his dear mother, Hizashi pushed himself back onto his feet and began to sort out his worn clothing from new clothing. Doing that itself took great use of his nose to determine what smelled better than the other— on one hand, there were clothes that had a strong scent that consisted of deodorant, sweat, and maybe women’s perfume from time to time; then there was the pile that smelled like someone rubbed candy and fresh scented cats against the fabric. Which was fine, he didn’t mind fresh scented cats being used as another ingredient to make his clothing smell better.
Next on the list of things he had to clean up before he royally screws up this new friendship bond he has formed, Hizashi took one short glance at his bed and felt a groan bubbling in his throat— his waiting to be released, because his bed looks like someone decided that they should mug his bed and make it look like the reincarnate of a storm slept in it.
But no worries, he’s going to clean it up, like a responsible teenager.
Okay, he might’ve chuckled at that mental statement— but the term ‘responsible teenager?’ That was hilarious.
“Wait wait, cleaning up my bed... I’m supposed to be doing that,” Hizashi said, standing up hastily and moving away from the closet door when it slid shut
Although the bed really did look like it's been mugged, Hizashi remembers what to do when his bed looks thrashed with the bedsheet slipping off the corners with the pillow cases having dried drool pools, and the blanket crumpled up and smelling like Hizashi after he ran a marathon. What he needed to do was kick everything off the mattress and gather it into one crumpled pile while he grabs the sunflower-colored bedsheet in the cabinet above his closet.
So with the memory foam pillows inside its colorfully assorted pillowcases, there was also the puffy vanilla blanket that would probably be carried over to the washing machine later,they all sat on the floor in one dirty, smelly pie with Hizashi standing on the empty mattress— trying his hardest to actually cover each corner with the smooth bed sheet. And about 3 minutes later his mother walked in —half-staring at her son and giggling quietly— to pick up his blanket and pillows to go put them in the washing machine somewhere in their basement, maybe 15 minutes after that did Hizashi get the chance to successfully announce his victory to no one. The war has been won, the bed-sheet was finally covering his queen-sized mattress and he was free to reassemble the battlefield on his floor.
“You know, I really should’ve done spring cleaning in spring,” Hizashi groaned, throwing all of the small toys of different heroes —who’re probably dead by now— into an empty box, “It’s like... October 25th right now.”
That wasn’t the end of his mopping, he kept groaning and complaining about how bad his timing was throughout the three hours that went by— Hizashi continued picking up small items that laid mindlessly around his bedroom floor, and sometimes put a few of his ‘lost’ photos into empty frames and put them up for display, he did so for the first hour. It became slightly fun looking at old memories and touching wooden frames bought years back. His room was coming along nicely, in fact, the blond felt it become a little warmer to look at— a lot of the pictures were of him proudly using his quirk in family-night karaoke, or just him smiling at the camera, holding something that he took a meticulous amount of excitement in.
His mother knocked on the door a little later when he was still contemplating the past, stating that she was going to leave his blanket and pillow by the door if he doesn’t hurry up to go pick it up. It didn’t take long for Hizashi to hop off of his office chair by a studying desk and onto the light orange carpet before opening his door— stumbling slightly as he held tightly onto the doorknob for support. His mom, strong and wise, took a small peek into his room with a small smile and left before he could say anything, all of the newly dried pillowcases and blanket sat in her son’s hands. The door made a soft click when she left him standing in the doorway.
“And now I have a tower in my hands,” He whispered, hopefully quietly enough for his mom not to hear
Although he couldn’t see much with the things blocking his view, Hizashi was able to calmly plop the stack of fabric onto the floor in front of his door and begin counting the amount of things he needed to put onto his bed. Humming a little song, he plucked at the blanket and pulled it from the pile— he began folding, edge overlapping edge and fold over fold to make a rectangle that was later thrown onto his bed to sit there. Next were the pillows, he counted from the bottom to the top— he had about 3 regular pillows in banana-colored cases, 2 small one in a pale orange, and this one giant body-sized pillow from when he was 5-years-old, that one was white.
Assembling the order of his pillows to where he could feel remotely comfortable lying in it was easily— the three pillows were placed against the headboard with a small space in between where the headboard could be seen, in the small gaps was where the two smaller pillows sat in front, and the giant pillow would retain its use as being something he could hug at night. He almost hit the bedside table when he threw the pillows, though, his table was dark oak and had his old stereo-looking alarm clock sitting in the front, behind it was a small lamp that had constellations dotted into the lampshade.
Hizashi took in a deep breath, satisfied with his room he darted down the hallway, sliding on the banister with a better form to avoid falling over— and immediately throwing himself onto the couch where the remote was, he turned the television on and listened to his mother cooking dinner in the background. Hizashi’s too scared that he’d mess up his bed while he’s sleeping to actually sleep in his bed: "What if he stays over for the night...?" Followed by a highly distressed groan.
“Like father like son, I suppose...” He heard his mom sigh, “With the active voicing out your thoughts and fear of making small mistakes... Wait...The second one’s my fault, haha...”
It really was.
But
Unbeknownst to Hizashi —who is currently eating his food on the couch—, even though it was currently late and around 7PM a particular teenager named Aizawa Shouta just ran past his house, breathing as calm as he can with feet dancing on the concrete in an attempt to mask the sound of his footsteps.
The raven was dashing half speed under the light of the lampposts lined up on the sidewalk, often sneaking a quick glance behind him when he knew his figure could be outlined by the light, but his glances were short and he looked just to see if there was anybody trailing behind him to know where exactly their little victim was heading to.
Of course, he wouldn’t let them see him, Aizawa was dressed in his father’s ancient —but washed, he despises bad hygiene— and pitch black clothing; the downside was that he was too small to fit it and had rolled up the ends of his sleeves along with that of his pants, but it still worked nicely to hide him in lengthy alleyways or behind —under, even— cars when the raven’s well-adjusted eyes spot the people rushing through crowds in busy areas just to look for the person who ‘trespassed’ their ‘territory.’
‘Trespassed, tch!’ Aizawa sneered, his feet automatically leading him to a short dead-end that smelled more of dead rats than his sweat, he pressed himself against the wall, ‘I don’t think you can own a public area.’
To be fair, he did wander into the abandoned site at the exact same time they’d arrive so they couldn’t be blamed for that— his great timing was bound to lead him to the dead end of something sooner or later. But besides that, the site was colossal— a years’ old grave where the old U.A. used to be until they tore it down after a fight between the principal and a few rogue teachers, the aftereffects were tremendous and groundshaking enough that the media didn’t want to report it.
That’s right, the media couldn’t publicize something that was already massively viewed, in fact, the event was already well known by the time someone decided that maybe they should question the people involved; not that they could anymore— or at all.
Aizawa remembered the fight from when he was 5, the sheer damage wasn’t as bad as the adults and the teens would make it sound— sure, there were a few major craters that still had thorns protruding from each crack; sure, there was half a building piled on the other half while a large tree —aka the place where one died— grows to the top; and sure, maybe the remnants of cars stacked on other small flowers were still as fragile as it had been when the battle was still active— and more likely to fall on people; But, people didn’t dare to go in unless it was to demonstrate their quirk as a means of entertainment for all the people that got caught and are still there.
That was what he did —sorta— and a bit more; Aizawa manipulated the branches to his advantage from the cracks of where they grew, as he did to the ‘soft’ concrete floor that had a thick layer of grass piling over; he made attempts to perfect his abilities to fluidly move around actively falling rubble from car windows to learn how to use his height better. Heck! He even learned how to crawl through the entire halves of the building windows, despite the fact that they’re cracked, and even went as far as to memorize the passages all the while holding a rusty tin watering can for the plants.
'They're pretty dry,' He had mumbled one evening
And besides, no one minded his presence, though, that didn’t mean they liked keeping a growing teenager inside a graveyard just to perform acrobatics and water the plants— though they did appreciate it. At some point, Aizawa was sure that from the keys that suddenly dropped onto him —and by that he means in his scarf and down his shirt— from the base of the tree, that the watchers that patrol the area for hoodlums —like the people chasing him— are no longer concerned about his actions.
Secretly they like to think of Aizawa as their student and made sure to push things around to give him a better experience of the place, make it difficult for him, and they took great pride in seeing the cameras catch the 13-year-old slipping through it all like butter on a wet floor compared to the thugs and villains that come by; “He knows this place like the back of his head now, I’m so proud.” One guard whispers.
They think he doesn’t know but he does. Aizawa knows them all, he watches from the crack of the security room door.
‘And....’ The footsteps came rushing by in a frenzy of idiots who couldn’t care enough to sneak, ‘They’re gone.’
That they were. The bad people were gone and Aizawa could finally come out of hiding for the rest of the night, maybe he could even make a sprint home without having to look left and right to make sure there wasn’t another group coming to chase him for the fun of it— there were always two groups, the group that chases him for money and the group that chases him because they seek pleasure in making kids around his age scared. Aizawa was pretty happy he managed to get Hizashi home on time to avoid either group that afternoon, it was only one person as well! That’s pretty lucky for him, not to mention he got invited to dinner too— that's a major win.
Now if only he could actually get the idea —the one that made his palm sweaty and mind race— of having dinner with another human being instead of his overly used leather couch, off of his mind then that would make walking home and not running into a lamppost a much more believable task that can be accomplished; But this was new to him, when was the last time Aizawa can recall himself sitting in a chair with food in front of him and other people that actually welcome his presence? Not for some time, but that was fine, he’s grown to like the silence.
“I’m sure my family's fine,” Aizawa hisses, pacing himself quicker to avoid the possibility of the neighborhood cat following him inside his house
Looking from the outside, if you manage to get through the thick mist casted by one of the neighbors and you’ll find out that all of the houses look old and rickety— the first thought that’ll pop into your head is that if you step in then the house will collapse on you, that’s a complete lie. The spouse of one neighbor that lived across from him had the ability to cast mists, put a small masking illusion around the entire cul-de-sac.
Why? Well, the neighborhood wasn’t safe for kids, and if you were an overprotective parent with kids lost because of the villains and thugs then you’ll do just about anything to make sure the other children are safe— Aizawa Shouta has met the couple, and although they aren’t super nice it’s mostly because they’re paranoid, well, at least until you visit just enough to ensure that you mean no harm.
It was nice to have people care for you.
Aizawa gently tapped the ash-brown colored door with his forehead to stop his train of thoughts, he appreciated the warm feeling in his chest, but moreover he’s been standing in front of his door for a few minutes now and from the sound of a rock hitting the surface of a metal sewer— people —who cared for him— noticed. He didn’t turn around but did wave a hand to signal that it was alright, and with a click of the doorknob, the door opened and the smell of lavenders filled his nostrils.
He looks around his house as if he’s never seen it, deeming it good enough for his taste— it still looks the same as it did several years ago, actually; smooth and clean oak wood floor from the living room to the attic, a leather couch and a few black chairs surrounding a rectangular wood table, a velvety red carpet was under that table. Aizawa turned to the walls, there were several milk puzzles but not a single family photo hung up on that vanilla wall, at least the hanging indoor flowers inside of their clay plots splashed in some colors.
And as comforting as his house felt to him, instead of marveling in the blandness of his house any further, Aizawa —already up the stairs and in the bathroom— turned up the stereo that sat on the wooden shelf, closed the door behind him and began undressing while the shower water shifted from cold to hot before stepping into the bathtub. The water felt like pelting rain that had a slight icy edge when it slid down his skin, basically, it felt like him actually standing in the middle of a rain storm— minus the flowery soap and buttermilk shampoo.
From the hot water there was a light puff of fog that developed inside the bathroom, misting the mirror and adding an extra layer of moisture onto any surface it could touch. Aizawa could see the small drops of water on top of the rim of his sink when he finished bathing, his eyes jumped back and forth from the light switch to the bar of soap from the bath while he brushed his teeth, usual routine before he went to bed.
And when all was finished, when he was in his plain black tee and navy blue shorts, Aizawa walked around the house and turned off all the lights that turned on automatically when he stepped into the house and made his way up the stairs and down the hall to his room.
The door with a coat of lavender paint opened with a loud click of a silver doorknob that rang in his ears —or maybe he was exaggerating the silence?— lo and behold, the room looked the exact same as it had been when he left this morning.
Vanilla walls with a few certificates for acing his acrobatic classes hung up, and then a window covered by ivory white curtains— a lot of the things in this room was white, like the bedsheets and the 3 pillows that sat on top, even the desk with paper stacked on top was white. However, what wasn’t white and did have color was the chair, that was black. Then there was the polished wooden floor with no white rug to cover it, there was also a steel blue box full of colorful notebooks. If Aizawa looked to the right, there was also a mirror with a mahogany frame that reflected the eggplant bookshelves filled with literature behind him.
Actually, speaking of that bookshelf:
“I should... Organize those,” He muttered, acknowledging the fact that none of the books were aligned correctly and that there was also a dictionary on his oak bedside table, “Well... One day.”
Probably not, it was the twelfth time he spoke that line in these past two months.
Aizawa made himself comfortable in his bed, turned off the lamp and fell asleep.
And then morning came for both the raven and the blond, but the blond was the one who chose to drag himself as slowly as possible to school— holding onto the barest of hope that maybe he’ll run into Aizawa on the way, okay maybe he wasn’t just holding onto that hope, Hizashi was practically cradling it and the air around him was charged with his unrestrained enthusiasm.
So imagine his bottle of emotions exploding when Aizawa tapped on his shoulder. One thing Hizashi noticed while his eyes ran up and down the shorter male’s body— he looked happier, for one thing, the scarf wasn't there to block the barely noticeable smile, and there was a glow around him that emphasized how he doesn't look like a slouch wearing his uniform in a baggy-delinquent-way— Aizawa himself was just small so the uniform itself looked pretty big on him regardless— His hair also seemed wavy but not tangled together like it did yesterday and damn, Hizashi got a very strong —but not undesireable— whiff of flowers but he couldn't help but notice there was something missing.
“Ah! Wait a minute, Aizawa!” Hizashi looked away from where Aizawa once stood to look towards him while he walked quietly to school, “I have something for you!”
The council president turned around, his eyes lighting up a bit with mild curiosity and his hand automatically stretched outwards towards Hizashi— expecting something; he wasn’t wrong, the blond rummaged through his pants’ pocket and pulled out a piece of mint dark chocolate that their sixth period teacher tossed to him, and with that, Hizashi gently plopped it into Aizawa’s hand and strolled with him at the same pace.
“Thanks, but how’d you find out?” Aizawa asked, his fingers already undoing the wrapped foil and throwing the gotten prize into his mouth
“Well, yesterday when you got really close to me at lunch, I could smell it on your breath,” Hizashi looked over slightly to see Aizawa’s hair sag in front of his face even further, “Are you... Blushing?”
“Shut your face, Hizashi,” ‘That’s definitely a yes, how adorable.’
“But you love my face! I mean, it’s already the second day and we’re still hanging out,” He noted, “Think about it, you looked dead before you met me— and I, oh wow, I had like two friends and my room was the aftermath of a tornado before you accepted the dinner invitation!”
“And I think we can make this work, you know? Friendship wise, we got what we need! You can be the small angry kitten that’s great at leading and I can be... Uh... what did people call me? Oh! I can be the cockatiel that you ‘hate’ but really love— great friendship!”
The day continued as normally as it can with Hizashi’s random moments of ranting, the small moments where his quirk activates due to an overwhelming amount of emotion— and times where Hizashi is in a room with Aizawa is a time where —as his classmates discovered— the cockatiel seems to enjoy flaunting off the raven like a prized possession. For some reason, that was extremely creepy as well as disturbing, because Aizawa looked perfectly fine letting Hizashi roll around his table like an enthusiastic puppy.
Either way, school ended shortly after Hizashi practically skipped out of the room with the largest smile on his face anyone’s got the chance to see in a while and met up with Aizawa at the same place— people saw, of course, and behind their backs rumors began to build up about the potential manipulation. He frowned.
“Ignore them, Hizashi,” Aizawa said, slapping Hizashi on the back to get him to walk faster, “There’s no one chasing us this time and I know where you live so let me lead.”
“What! That’s scary!” Hizashi knew his quirk had activated but didn’t stop the usage until Aizawa shot him a piercing glare he returned it with a lopsided smile, “Aaaa fine, I’ll stop— geez, you don’t like my voice do you?”
“I didn’t say that,” And without his verbal response other than the smug look on his face, Aizawa spoke again with a nonchalant tone, “I understand your lack of control over your quirk, you’ll learn eventually.”
“I mean! I’ve tried,” Hizashi hissed his mood turning sour as he let Aizawa tug him further down the path rather than letting him stand around in the middle of the sidewalk, “It’s just hard! This stupid quirk of mine does nothing but disrupt others!”
“Big words for an idiot,” Aizawa had a self-satisfied smirk on his face when he tilted his head towards Hizashi to let him get a clear view of it, ‘Oh this bastard can smirk!’
Their conversation carried further into Hizashi’s quirk with Hizashi —loud and uncaring— leading the talk, and although it was mostly him complaining about how useless his quirk would be in a fight against a villain or anyone, Aizawa pitched in often to counter statements he thought were false. They chatted while standing side by side and strolling through the neighborhood— catching stares from people Aizawa was familiar with and having people send scowls at the teen who was responsible for bearing a voice that was loud regardless of his quirk, and whenever Hizashi's mood plummeted even slightly, the raven pushed Hizashi forward with a teasing remark and the other would reply with a cry of ‘distress.’
It was something they could get used to; walking home with someone they want to become friends with and having a discussion they can resume whenever they want, mostly because although Hizashi hadn’t brought up Aizawa’s quirk yet, they could connect on that level. Where Hizashi completely despised his quirk and was often frustrated by its use, Aizawa was able to understand his own quirk and be able to activate it without a moment of hesitation and know what to do.
But even then, Hizashi had an undeniable amount of potential that needed to be unlocked and Aizawa could see it. He wouldn't admit it, but he was a little bitter about it; Aizawa didn’t have any charisma, he didn’t have any charm and because of how little he actually cares for society— he doesn’t want to work for something he doesn’t need, Aizawa doesn't have what Hizashi does; Hizashi on the other hand, Aizawa could practically see the underlying desperation —or was it determination?— in the way Hizashi talked about his school life, and if he was going to be the blond’s friend? Well, he wouldn’t mind being a tool to help Hizashi succeed, that's something friends do for each other right?
Unfortunately, Aizawa’s thoughts were slashed in half when Hizashi placed a hand on his shoulder— he went completely rigid and almost like a natural predator, Aizawa felt the clockwork turning and found that he was completely turned around to face Hizashi, his feet were positioned so that he could fluidly slide back if he needed to retreat. However, Aizawa noticed that he was one movement away from latching his fingers around Hizashi’s neck. Or maybe landing his index and middle finger into the blond’s eye sockets, his hand was just so close to him.
And his eyes were full of fear, but that was to be expected, there was fear in his friend’s eyes.
“Ah, sorry about that,” Of course, Hizashi was as stiff and frozen even after Aizawa removed his hands away, he doesn't expect him to recover from that immediately, “Are you alright?” Why would he even ask?
But to the other, all Hizashi could think was maybe he was the one overreacting but in that single moment, his heart had beaten faster than any moment he could recall. Honestly, his friend could’ve murdered him right then and there and it would be his fault— Why? Because Aizawa told Hizashi not to touch him and he already broke that rule, 'Great going Hizashi.'
“...zashi..Hizashi!” Aizawa snapped his fingers in front of the blond, watching as he reverted back to normal with a small yelp and jolting in the air, glasses bouncing up
“Wha? Oh! Sorry sorry!” Hizashi rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and began walking towards his house, Aizawa giving a strange look, “What oh! You told me not to touch you and I kinda did... So I—”
“Hizashi Yamada!” He went completely stiff again, it reminded Aizawa of a deer caught in the headlights, but as the door opened it was just the blond’s mother, “You and your bad timing left breakfast untouched! Did you at least— oh...”
“Aizawa Shouta, you can call Shouta if you’d like Hizashi-san,” Aizawa bowed politely, a small smile on his face and his black beetle eyes piercing straight through mother and son, “It’s nice to meet you.”
There was this pause that was neither tense nor comfortable due to his mother’s eyes trying to combat the analytical stare with her own. But when the sound of a car coming by was heard by all three pairs of ears— they were rushed inside, courtesy of a worried mother and a raven that was all too acquainted with what she feared. The warmth of the house enveloped Aizawa in a way his house couldn’t and although he already felt like he was a part of this family just by stepping inside, he still felt cold from the incident that happened just a few minutes ago.
Hizashi looked over to see Aizawa’s black eyes drinking in every detail of the house, it sort of worried him how observant he was whenever he was outside or whenever he was anywhere that needed his eyes. Speaking of Aizawa’s eyes, he couldn’t help but wonder from time to time if his eyes were just naturally dry because it seemed like that would painful.
“Aizawa! C’mere c’mere!” Hizashi was sitting with a fixed posture and a lax expression while he patted the couch cushion next to him, “Mom’s gonna make something for you to drink, is chamomile tea good enough?”
“Hizashi, you and I both know you can’t sit straight to save a life,” Like a wildfire, a warm blush spread across his face and Aizawa cracked a grin, “Thanks for trying though, move over— I brought all of my art supply.”
“But why does that?—” With a loud plopping sound, Aizawa’s bag fell right in between them, “Oh.”
“You two are almost like a couple during a fight, everything separated,” They heard Hizashi’s mother giggle, the woman returning with a tray of drinks and a stack of white chocolate macadamia cookies, “I didn’t make too much since you’re staying for dinner, don’t want to spoil your appetite do I?”
And that marked the start of the discussion between Aizawa and Hizashi’s mother with Hizashi himself sitting in between the sharp remarks, small glares and a battle of teasing sentences— even though the two knew nothing about each other, the house was still as lively as it was when Hizashi’s father was here to initiate the same kind of conversation. The house felt warm, and in Hizashi’s own words,
“You know... It feels like home having you around, Shouta!” Hizashi cheered, “Right, mom? Didn’t I choose a great friend? I told you I would when I was 5!”
“Yamada, I told you to choose a great wife,” She began laughing as Aizawa simply sipped on his tea— looking crossed between frustrated and flushed, “But yes, it feels like home with your wife.”
“Mom.... Mom stop laughing, Mom, mom stop laughing oh my God!” Hizashi wasn’t even blushing, just embarrassed and confused, “I think you got to know Aizawa good enough, right Aizawa? Let’s go to my room and let my responsible mother cook dinner.”
Aizawa quickly muttered a thank you as he placed the half-empty cup on the tray, while proceeded to stand up with his bag strap in his hands and his legs automatically leading him to where Hizashi is, he waved a hand at the mother who grinned wholeheartedly at him— she looked happy, proud, and excited to see a new face in the house.
‘Treat him well!’ She mouthed
‘I will,’ He intended to at least
Dinner was nice.