Chapter Text
Teaching was a lot like fighting, in Izuku’s experience. He had always considered himself to be an adept strategist, and he prided himself on his ability to plan for eventualities with backup plans to spare, but when plans crumbled and the next moment came down to pure action, every moment of battle became instinctual and even a bit impulsive. So much of Izuku’s successes depended on the gamble that came with risky impulsivity—relying on his heart and body to take the lead instead of his mind.
Before his first lecture in front of actual students, he agonized over his previous performances in front of larger crowds far less critical than a bunch of overconfident and overzealous teenagers, and he hoped that his courage and instincts wouldn’t desert him.
He spent weeks hunched over lesson plans and powerpoints only to snap right into teaching the moment he found himself in front of a class of impressionable kids with quirks they had just begun to understand how to use. It was almost instinct to stand behind a podium—to help and to lead.
A lot of teaching was just rambling with a dash of wizened lecturing, and he was already plenty good at doing that for hours on end. With his skills and knowledge, he had felt it was only appropriate to train the next generation of heroes so they might understand and learn about the dutiful undertaking before them. Well, they were learning enough. Maybe not always what he wanted them to know or what the exams required them to know, but his evaluations were fine and he was just happy that no one in any of his classes had attempted to fight a serial killer.
“Mr. Midoriya, you just taught us about democracy and how the Hero Commission had to evolve after the war to bring in new viewpoints. This class needs new viewpoints! I say that we vote on the matter at hand!”
“This is not a democracy, and you have no rights. Sit down. You cannot bring a crossbow to class tomorrow.”
Everyone groaned. Izuku sent his third silent prayer of repentance to Aizawa that day.
“Groan all you want. Support items are not for the classroom.”
A student with teal hair raised his hand.
“Mr. Midoriya, I can’t get the online textbook to open for me. Is there some sort of code needed to access it?”
“You only needed that code to get access to the textbook the first time.”
A blank look.
Izuku continued. “The semester started four weeks ago.”
The kid had the unfettered gall to raise an eyebrow, daring him to come to his own conclusion.
Izuku sighed and removed his glasses to rub at the space between his eyebrows.
“We’ve been using this textbook the entire time—have you not opened it once?”
His student shrugged his shoulders and Izuku wearily relayed the correct code to open the textbook, albeit reluctantly. A quick look at the clock’s nearly vertical hands had Izuku releasing his students for lunch as he quickly informed the class that he would be off campus for lunch, so there would be no office hours and they should not loiter around his classroom knocking on the door for the next thirty minutes asking for help on an assignment like they somehow always did right when it became extremely inconvenient for him. Never any other time, though. He often joked that his students had some sort of secondary quirk to find the most untimely instances to ask for help. Another one of his students raised her hand.
“Miss Sakura, is there something you need?”
“Mr. Midoriya, are you going off campus for a date today?”
“What? I don’t—aren't you fifteen? Do your homework.”
“He’s avoiding the question! We deserve the truth!”
Izuku sighed and started his fourth repentance prayer of the day. He had assumed that winning a war would’ve granted him some form of peace from these minor karmic annoyances, but alas. Walking out the door to the clamor of twenty teenagers had never felt so sweet.
“I might be going crazy, Kacchan. I mean, I love those kids, but sometimes I could swear they were born just to make me go crazy. Maybe I’m being punished for some crime I committed in a past life.”
Katsuki took a sip of water as they walked towards lunch. While he was still in his hero suit, fresh off of patrol, its presentation was slightly relaxed. Katsuki’s hair was held back by his mask, and he was missing his heavy-duty gauntlets. Izuku figured the lack of firepower was supposed to signal some kind of off-duty-ness about him.
“Or this life. Might be those vigilante activities coming back around.”
“Technically, it was not vigilante work. I had a license. Also, I do not appreciate your tone right now, Kacchan. Not when I’m being driven crazy by children that can’t even drive.”
“Heh, you can’t drive either, nerd!”
“You’re stepping on my point. And I don’t need to know how to drive. You drive me everywhere anyways.”
“Maybe you should tell the mini-nerds that. Bond over your shared lack of knowledge on which side the brake pedal is on.”
Izuku pouted, showing clear distaste for that suggestion.
“I miss when you were less reasonable. A few years ago, you would’ve just told me to beat the crap out of those kids or something.”
“That was actually gonna be my next suggestion—feels like those kids could use a bit of humbling via beatdown. I could blow those twerps up for you.” Katsuki cackled, making a few sparks by hitting his palm with a fist.
Izuku found himself sinking into laughter with him as he tried to maintain a stern look.
“No, no, I promised myself I wouldn’t let you beat them into unconsciousness no matter how annoying they might grow to be.”
“Boooo, blunt force trauma builds character. Look at me!”
“No, it doesn’t, Kacchan—blunt force trauma builds traumatic brain injuries.”
“Well, I guess if you say so, Doctor Deku. So, when’d you get your medical degree? In between your fourth or your fifth round of double arm fractures?”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Must’ve been difficult to get that M.D. in between concussions!”
“Not funny!”
Katsuki avoided a half-hearted swipe aimed at his head while he chuckled at his own joke.
“Hypocrite,” Izuku scoffed fondly. “I don’t even know why I’m complaining this much right now at this point in the semester. This isn’t even my worst batch of kids.”
“Yeah, that one kid with the… uh—” Katsuki snapped his fingers and avoided running into a pole, “...it was some kind of weird pain quirk. Uhh..”
“Oh! Headache! Hero name: Headache!”
“Yeah, that little bastard!”
“You should’ve seen my face when he told the class his hero name. Felt like he was reading my mind.”
“Wasn’t he the one who tried to secretly ‘Pavlov’ you into avoiding homework assignments over the weekend by giving you tiny cluster headaches on Fridays?”
“Ughh, don’t remind me. I’m still hesitant to assign Friday homework because of it.”
“And, because you’re a soft nerd.”
“No, Kacchan, it’s because I was tricked by the power of psychology!”
“Eh, doubt that. You’re a sentimental nerd, it’s your nature. No bells or headaches required.”
Izuku stuck his tongue out at that, an appropriately immature reaction.
“Have you eaten yet?”
“I had breakfast.”
Katsuki looked skeptical and Izuku attempted to retain a clear expression. He failed.
“A piece of bread as you run out the door does not count.”
“How dare you, Piece of Bread is like a father to me.”
“I’m getting you lunch. You will eat it or you will die.”
“You can’t technically make me eat anything.”
“Fine, then die,” Katsuki said as he pulled out his wallet and prepared to pay a street vendor for two servings of yakitori. They both knew that Izuku would give in and eat like he had been starved for a month. It was practically ritual for them—especially now, when Izuku hadn’t been eating as much as he had when he trained back at UA. He certainly tried to keep a healthy diet and exercise, but things slipped through the cracks, especially with a full-time and very demanding teaching job. Izuku found himself lucky to grab anything for breakfast, and Katsuki unfortunately knew it. On days where he could help it, Katsuki would even swing near Izuku’s work commute to shove a bento box in his hands before taking off to the next scene.
“So, teaching’s driving you crazy. How’s life?”
“Boring. I was doing minor consulting work on a case for Tokoyami and Shinsou, but they kept brushing me off—said I was ‘overworking myself’ and ‘not sleeping enough.’”
“Those bastards, making you take care of yourself.” Katsuki’s sarcasm bled into every layer of his statement, emphasized by the food that he lightly shoved into Izuku’s chest.
“Yeah,” Izuku sighed as Katsuki leveled him with a glare. Katsuki’s concern was probably valid, Izuku thought, but he also knew himself, and he knew that straying too far from hero work would lead to restlessness. While he was not in the field and not technically employed as any kind of hero, he couldn’t help seek out very, very small opportunities to consult or be in-the-know on certain cases. If it meant he slept less and had minimal free time, that was okay with him.
“Heard from Todoroki recently? He’s up in the ranks.”
“Oh, yeah! He mentioned he wanted to get lunch sometime soon.”
“We do live in the same goddamn city, it wouldn’t kill him to see us every now and then.”
“Kacchan, he’s busy.” The pair sat down on a bench. “Honestly, I know you’re busy too—I don’t mind if you can’t have lunch every now and then.”
“If I didn’t have lunch with you every now and then, you’d starve and die, nerd.” Katsuki took a bite to emphasize his point as Izuku rolled his eyes.
“I do eat, Kacchan. I might not have time to make anything complicated, but I’m fine with what I can make.”
“What you can make would make your mother cry.”
“Put some respect on Piece of Bread’s name. Sometimes I put stuff on it!”
“Cryyyyyy.”
Izuku pointedly took a bite of his food as he smirked. They both knew they were winding each other up. At the same time, Katsuki knew he should tone down the excessive internal worrying for Izuku, and Izuku knew he should probably pick up a recipe or something just to prove he wasn’t eating popsicles for dinner (anymore).
“Agh, I have to go back soon.” Izuku only had to make it through two more classes—one of them contained the upperclassmen, who tended to have a bit more respect for him. They were old enough to remember the war in more detail. The younger students were split, some of them knew what he had done and respected him for it, and some of them called him Grandpa Old-Man and asked him if he studied with the dinosaurs. Some of them did both.
“Yeah, me too,” Katsuki said, standing with his trash and grabbing Izuku’s out of his hands.
“I had it,” Izuku noted.
“And now I do.” Katsuki threw away their containers, and walked back to Izuku’s side. “I’ll walk you back.”
Izuku nodded.