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There was one strict rule in the 1A dorms: don’t wake Aizawa-sensei up in the middle of the night unless it was an emergency.
And maybe this wasn’t an emergency, but it felt like one in the moment, so Izuku didn’t hesitate to knock on his homeroom teacher’s door at 3 a.m.
A few seconds later, the door cracked open, and the man’s exhausted face appeared, backlit by a reading lamp. It seemed he hadn’t been awake, and yet he still looked annoyed, which made Izuku shrink back on himself.
Stupid idea, stupid—
“What is it, Midoriya?” Aizawa grunted, staring without blinking.
“...” Izuku bit the inside of his cheek and looked away. “I threw up.”
Any other time, Izuku might not have brought something so small to his teacher, but he’d thrown up all over his sheets, and he was too hot, and everything was too much, so sue him for being upset. He felt tears starting and couldn’t stop them.
Aizawa looked bewildered, his face scrunching into a half-grimace of frustration and concern, then shifting into outright shock when the tears actually fell.
“Okay,” he said at last, voice rough with sleep. He opened the door wider and hooked two fingers in the collar of Izuku’s shirt, tugging him inside with more care than the gesture suggested.
Izuku stumbled over the threshold, wiping at his face with the heel of his hand. The room smelled faintly of coffee and whatever fabric softener Aizawa used, clean and quiet in a way that was just like their teacher.
Aizawa shut the door with his foot and sighed. “You get it on your sheets?”
“Mhm.” Izuku nodded, standing there and sniffling.
“Alright. Clean up in the bathroom. I’ll—here,” he mumbled, padding over to a set of drawers and pulling out a shirt. He set it on the desk nearby. “Put that on after. You’ve got vomit on yours. I’ll sort your sheets out.”
“Okay…” Izuku trailed off, rubbing at his eyes again. God, his teacher was so nice. His lip wobbled, more tears threatening to spill over, and before he knew it he’d thrown himself at Aizawa with a small sob. “Thank you, Aizawa-sensei!”
“Damnit—Midoriya, shirt!”
“O— oh, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
“No, don’t start crying again—Jesus.”
Izuku grunted as Aizawa nudged him through the bathroom doorway and rummaged through the cupboard for a flannel. He pressed it into Izuku’s hand along with a spare toothbrush and the shirt.
“Sort yourself out. Just—don’t touch anything else until you’ve cleaned up, okay?” he asked, glancing down at his own shirt with a grimace.
Izuku nodded again and swallowed hard. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, he braced both hands on the sink and tried to breathe through the nausea still curling in his stomach.
Water ran cold over his fingers as he splashed his face. He stared at his reflection—red-rimmed eyes, clammy skin—and bit down on another pathetic sound.
On the other side of the door, he heard Aizawa move, drawers opening and closing with quiet efficiency. Then the soft rustle of fabric, and footsteps that retreated toward the hall.
Izuku exhaled, trembling, and reached for the toothbrush.
Not even a minute later, he found himself hunched over Aizawa-sensei’s toilet, retching.
He must have been there a while after that, because at some point Aizawa returned and knocked quietly on the door, speaking to him through it. It was like his voice was muffled in Izuku’s ears, so instead he inched across the floor and pulled the door open.
“Midoriya?”
Aizawa crouched in front of him, giving him a once-over.
“…Okay. Come on, up you get.”
Aizawa helped Izuku to his feet and back to the sink to wash his face. They didn’t bother with the toothbrush this time. Carefully, Izuku found himself guided out into Aizawa’s room and to his bed, settled onto it, then a wet flannel placed on his head.
“There’s a bowl right next to you if you need to throw up again, okay?”
“’s your bed, sensei…"
“It is, but I have some paperwork to finish anyway, so… it’s fine. Just focus on resting.”
Izuku mumbled, already feeling himself start to drift off.
“Thanks, dad…”
He missed Aizawa’s reaction—how he went still, then reluctantly smiled.
“Goodnight, problem child.”