Archive of Our Own

There was a single, blissful moment between the dark and thoughtless, empty void of unconsciousness and the bright and overwhelming, crowded classroom wherein Hitoshi was almost comforted by the feeling of a warm, gentle hand on his shoulder.

All before a sudden hyper-awareness flooded his senses, crashing into him the way a wave from a broken dam might crash into an innocent and unsuspecting town bellow.

It wasn't the accurate kind of awareness, but the panicking kind. The kind where, instead of recognizing that he had simply fallen asleep in class and should accordingly feel embarrassed for disrespecting his teacher— his whole school, really— Hitoshi wound up completely overreacted. His stupid brain, in all its desire to become a hero, was incapable of deciphering what was real and what was not in his state of slight startle. It was a fundamental part of being a hero to have accurate cognition at all times, even when impaired or overcome by adrenaline.

Then again, it wasn't like he was all that close to achieving his dream.

Which was all it was: a dream, a far off fantasy that only existed in the deepest pits of his imagination.

No, no, Hitoshi's blubbering mind couldn't even depict a clear picture of where he was, let alone what was going on. It didn't matter the location, though, because everything blurred together in the end. Someone was grabbing him, panic hijacked his instincts— or maybe, more accurately, his instinctual response was always panic— and all of a sudden Hitoshi was thinking of only one thing.

He was going to get hurt.

Not how embarrassing or I should be ashamed. Hitoshi didn't think to apologize or to correct his behavior by sitting up right and getting back to work— insinuating that he even remembered he was doing work before nodding off in the first place, which would have been giving him too much credit, because he didn't. It was also, apparently, too much for him to even think of his teacher first. A respectable pro hero who deserved only his utmost respect and undivided attention and trust.

Trust to protect him if/when danger arose. Trust to not be that danger.

But Hitoshi didn't trust, much less think.

He just acted— foolishly, at that. His body jerked to attention, but it wasn't upright. No, Hitoshi cowardly curled into himself and away from the minuscule touch. A flinch so violent it made his chair screech against the floor, as if he couldn't call anymore attention to himself. His hands raised, halfway braced over his head which was screaming half formed thoughts that did nothing to help him focus.

Focus seemed impossible when his brain swirled with a cacophony of I just wanted a nap and this isn't fair quickly replaced by I deserve this, and distantly training is going to suck rang out but he was especially thinking how could I have been so stupid to let this happen?

Loudest of all, though, repeating over and over again on top of the rest of the raucous in his head was not the face, not the face because, of course, for what little he was thinking, Aizawa and his dumb judgemental, disappointed mug was one of the first things he bothered to be concerned about. Even if he got knocked in the head— sending his shrunken, underdeveloped, malformed brain ping-ponging off the sides of his skull— at least then his hair would cover the bump. Aizawa wouldn't be able to see it.

Though, Present Mic had begun to join them at training and he had started to develop an odd habit of tousling Hitoshi's hair. Maybe on one of those passes he might be able to feel such a bump, but he'd probably convince himself it was nothing or flat out wouldn't care. Not to mention that, right then, he was the very person Hitoshi irrationally feared was about to give him a bruise.

Right. Present Mic. Because he was in class. Please, he thought to himself, somebody, whatever greater powers or beings that existed out there, just kill him already. Because obviously, whatever gods that be didn't favor him in any way, so why even bother to keep him around? Maybe it was because Hitoshi was their personal laughing stock and they merely kept him alive for their amusement.

Speaking of amusement, a couple muffled snickers rose from several of his classmates.

"Woah, hey Listener!" Present Mic himself chuckled awkwardly, moving his hand slowly away from Hitoshi's vicinity. Though, because the teen had flinched away from his touch so harshly, the contact had already been broken. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

Hitoshi wiped drool from the corner of his mouth. Had he really been asleep for that long? He refused to acknowledge his classmates, or meet Present Mic's eye, opting to stare down at his empty worksheet and grab his pencil like he was actually going to do work. It was a series of questions about a movie they were supposed to be watching, so he couldn't actually do anything because he hadn't been paying attention.

"Sorry," he mumbled, a hand finding it's way to the back of his neck, which actually ached a little from hunching over his desk. Then Hitoshi cleared his throat and spoke with a little more clarity. "I'm sorry, Present Mic, it won't happen again." His response was automated and a blatant fib. There was no way he was getting out of a lecture. Honestly, he probably deserved a write up.

Because that had not been the first time he'd fallen asleep in English. In fact, his teacher had had to woke him up for three consecutive days. Without a doubt, though, that day had been the worst of all those days, his longest and deepest nap. It was almost a shame it had ended. Though, if Present Mic really wanted to get him in trouble, all he had to do was ask any of Hitoshi's other teachers, and they would all gladly tell him that on that day alone Hitoshi had nodded off in each of their classes, as well.

All in all, he was in deep shit.

That as why Hitoshi didn't bother arguing or pleading his case, especially not when Present Mic lowered his voice and said, "How about we talk in the hall, 'kay?" He pointed behind himself, though Hitoshi hadn't seen it because he still refused to look up. He just nodded and pushed his (already skewed) chair back, before leading Present Mic out of the classroom, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Don't burn the class down, keep watching the video," he instructed the rest of the Gen. Ed. students, voice mockingly stern. Hitoshi couldn't hear the humor. He was certain Present Mic was pissed, rightfully so.

It was disrespectful. Careless. Shameless, even. And after all the kindness he'd shown Hitoshi over the semester, too, it was almost… offensive. Just outright rude.

When the door shut and they were alone in the empty hall, Hitoshi rushed to apologize again, but he couldn't offer anything more than a thousand empty apologies. He did feel bad but Hitoshi knew that there was no way he could ensure a change in his behavior anytime soon.

Present Mic shook his head, the charming smile he'd shot the class slipping from his face. "Don't apologize, that's not why I brought you out here," he said, cutting to the chase. "What's going on, Listener? I'm getting a little worried about you."

That shut Hitoshi up. Of course, once upon a time his habits of falling asleep in class or showing up with heavy eye bags had been a cause for concern. As far back as Hitoshi could remember he'd always struggled with sleeping, so he was susceptible to putting his head down any chance he felt even a little sleepy. Not to mention he rarely got called on as it was so and he got his work done at school so it wasn't like it mattered much. But in recent years his teachers hadn't been all too lenient considering his hefty record of not so awesome behavior.

Plus the whole almost being an adult thing and all that jazz.

After being met with silence, Present Mic sighed and nudged Hitoshi a little more. "I get that today wasn't a super engaging class. We took it chill, I turned the lights off, the class was quiet…" He trailed off and waited until Hitoshi nodded to show that he was listening before continuing. "I understand falling asleep. In fact, I could have excused it… If you'd only taken a little nap today. I had no problem excusing it when you fell asleep in class two days ago. Or if you'd just fallen asleep yesterday, it would have been whatever. But you didn't just fall asleep today, or just yesterday, or even just the day before. It was everyday, and you know what they say." Hitoshi did not, but Present Mic was quick to inform him. "Once is a happenstance, twice is a coincidence, but three times is a pattern. I really, really don't want this to become a thing between you and I, Listener."

Hitoshi nodded again but didn't say anything because the only thing he could reach for was another apology or an excuse.

Well, if an excuse meant explaining his situation. But he doubted that Present Mic would care all that much, let alone listen for that matter. There was a reason why his students were the Listeners and that was because he was the speaker. The person that they listened to.

"You do well in my class, I see the effort you put into every one of my assignments and you've picked up a foreign language well. It's not hard for students to impress me because I understand that it's difficult for most people to learn English but I truly believe you're ahead of a number of kids in your class in comprehension, which isn't something I say lightly. But I can't ignore this and I can't give you special treatment just because you're smarter than some of your peers."

He didn't know how to respond to that. On one hand, Present Mic's praise was nice, but on the other, he knew what came next and it was a little upsetting. "I understand," Hitoshi said, eyes still glued to the floor, and his tone kept even. He didn't want to sound like he was trying to sway Present Mic into letting him go scot-free just because of how pathetic he was.

After a second of chewing on his cheek, Present Mic corrected himself. "Well, I shouldn't give you special treatment just because you're smarter than your peers. But… I didn't really correct your behavior the first few times so technically this is only your first offense and I do believe in second chances."

"Thank you," Hitoshi sighed, relieved more than words could express. He really didn't need a call home and one less write up on his record would always be a good thing.

However, Present Mic wasn't finished. "But this can't keep happening, Shinsou. Seriously. At some point it reflects poorly on my teaching if I let your behavior go unnoticed and not dealt with. It would also reflect poorly on me on a personal level if I didn't try to help you. For both of those reasons I'm going to make you an offer and highly advise that you take it." He miraculously produced a sticky note pad from a pocket in his leather jacket as well as a pen. "Come see me at lunch," he said, "And don't let this happen again or I'll have no choice but to write you up which I really don't want to do, okay?"

Hitoshi nodded again and took the note. It was essentially a hall pass so he could walk the half during lunch without someone hassling him for not being in the cafeteria where he was supposed to be. It was addressed for a room that he had never been to before or even heard of, for that matter.

"Alright, take a short walk down to the water fountain and wake yourself up a little and when you get back in there we'll finish up the movie. Without sleeping this time, please. You can get the answers you missed from a classmate."

"Okay, thank you," Hitoshi said again because he wasn't dense enough to not recognize the extreme grace that Present Mic had given him.

"Mhm, just do me a solid and make sure to look all sad like I lectured you to set an example for your classmates when you get back. Off you go." Present Mic ushered him down towards the water fountain and he ambled off. His teacher eventually slipped back into the classroom and Hitoshi was alone in the hallway.

He didn't think that he needed to change how he looked much. Hitoshi knew that, by nature, he had an overall pathetic air about him, so after his short walk, he just entered the class silently and went back to his seat, keeping his head down the whole way.

At lunch, Hitoshi immediately sought out the mysterious room that Present Mic had requested they meet at. He was surprised to find it was a club room. Hitoshi hadn't even known that Present Mic headed a club in the first place, let alone why on earth he would be invited to said club.

Was it supposed to be some kind of punishment?

It would certainly leave an impression, Hitoshi thought, whatever the punishment might be. Which was really saying something because he had been given some really weird punishments before by some rather… creative fosters. Nothing really fazed him anymore.

Hitoshi went to knock on the door, but a button was stuck on the wall beside it with a sign kindly encouraging people to use it instead. After hesitating for a second too long, he decided to listen to the sign with the smiley face on it, and if that turned out to be the wrong move, it would have been the smiley face's fault. Except, no one came to open the door, leaving Hitoshi to stand outside like a total weirdo. He decided that maybe the button was, in fact, the wrong move, and rapped his fist against the door instead.

Still nothing.

His hand hovered over the door handle before Hitoshi finally built up the courage to crack it open, only to reveal that there was no one inside. In fact, the lights weren't even turned on, except for a colorful light plugged into the wall the cross-faded smoothly from one color to the next. He deduced that it had something to do with button he had pushed outside.

It was an accommodation.

The room was designated for the Japanese sign language club and likely designed with the members in mind. How many of them were actually deaf, Hitoshi couldn't say because he had no idea who the members even were, let alone that U.A. had a JSL club.

But there he was, standing in the middle of their very existent club room and taking in each and every detail.

There were posters everywhere. Diagrams showing basic signs, including a chart for finger spelling, but there were also magazine covers and pictures of celebrities. Probably ones who were deaf and inspired the club, but again, Hitoshi wouldn't have known. He wasn't particularly informed on deaf culture— if such a thing existed.

He felt like a fish on dry land.

But what really caught his attention were the certificates hanging in a neat corner of the room. All of which had one name printed on them. Yamada Hizashi.

Disability inclusion, special education advocacy, assistive technology, community involvement.

Certificates for completion, recognition, appreciation, achievement, and so on and so forth

Suddenly, light flooded the room at the tiniest click of a switch. Hitoshi turned around to find Present Mic had entered, his hand falling away from one of the many lamps placed around the room.

"Are you fine with just the low lights?" He asked, a smile ever present on his face.

Hitoshi nodded. "Uh, yeah, that's fine." He turned back around to look at the rest of the club room. It shouldn't have come as a shocker to anyone for Hitoshi to admit that he had no idea what a club room should look like, but a part of him had a hunch that most didn't look how Present Mic's club did.

There was a couch against the furthest wall stacked with several pillows, and Present Mic laid a folded blanket— which he had walked in carrying, along with a lunchbox— across the arm. Plus, there were a few bean bag chairs scattered around in various corners of the room. There was a notable lack of desks, and although Hitoshi understood that clubs were different from classes, it was all rather... Casual.

Comfortable.

Something which Hitoshi was not.

Present Mic put his lunchbox on one of the few tables that were in the room, then he addressed Hitoshi again after giving him time and space to gawk. "Like I don't have enough on my plate," the hero chuckled, "I also sometimes stay after school for the JSL club. Though, I trust it could run itself with the students who are in charge. Usually I just pop in to hang out with these kids every once in a while, maybe sponsor a field trip now and again. They're pretty awesome."

Hitoshi felt his lips tighten into a flat line and he nodded again. As time went on, he was only growing more anxious, questions piling up in his head and begging to be asked. "That's cool," was all he said instead, biting back the sarcastic good for you that he really wanted to hiss.

He wasn't jealous.

Had no reason to be. Present Mic had been a teacher longer than Hitoshi had been a student at U.A. and it was likely some of the students in his club were second or third years and thus knew him for longer. Plus, they weren't really that close. Sure, Present Mic had started spending some afternoons with him and Aizawa and Hitoshi talked to him more than any of his other teachers but still. They hardly had enough of a relationship to worry about it being compromised by students that actually had a common interest and personal connection with the English teacher.

"Sorry for being late, by the way. I stopped by the teachers office to grab a few things and I thought you'd take longer grabbing lunch…" he trailed off, likely realizing Hitoshi hadn't grabbed lunch.

"I kind of thought this was important." Hitoshi hadn't meant to imply that their meeting still wasn't important, but Present Mic hadn't even begun to lecture him. How else could he help Hitoshi if he didn't make sure his offensive behavior wasn't repeated and was instead swiftly dealt with?

Present Mic nodded, "That's alright Listener, I didn't mean to make you skip lunch. I have snacks stored here, one of the other reasons why I occasionally drop in on their meetings and probably the only reason these kiddos let me hang around." He laughed again, clearly very friendly and close with his club members.

He wasn't jealous.

Meanwhile, Hitoshi stood around awkwardly, stiff as a board and preparing himself for whatever Present Mic was going to throw at him. Including, but not limited to— Hitoshi had some hope for the man— a punch. Though, in his group homes defense— a phrase Hitoshi couldn't believe he'd actually ever thought in his life— they actually weren't legally allowed to hit the wards and were kind of expected to uphold the law considering they were literally funded by the government. Only his foster homes had ever been able to get away with physical abuse, and that was mostly because the foster system was just glad to dump the kids wherever so they didn't regulate as heavily.

Still illegal, technically, but widely overlooked.

"I'm fine, thanks."

An unacceptable response, apparently. "No way! You need your energy if you're planning to keep up with Eraserhead at training today," Present Mic exclaimed entirely too loudly. At that, he began to rummage through shelves before handing a small basket filled with food to Hitoshi. "Take your pick," he said.

To not come off as rude, he took a protein bar— a familiar brand that Aizawa always seemed to have on him as well, ready to press into Hitoshi's unwilling hands at the slightest sense of hunger or exhaustion. Then he placed the basket back where Present Mic— who had plopped down into a chair and begun to sift through his own lunchbox— had taken it from.

He motioned to the couch and said, "Sit down, let's talk."

Hitoshi resisted the urge to look around as though Present Mic could have possibly been talking to anyone else. Or maybe he wanted to see if someone would come interrupt them. To save Hitoshi from his impending lecture. But there would be no one else around, he knew that even without looking. It was just him and Present Mic and the warm lit room.

Squeezing himself into the corner of the couch Hitoshi tried to take up as little room as possible.

"I just want us to be on the same page, so I'm going to ask the dreaded question: are you getting enough sleep at home, Shinsou?"

He shrugged mutely. Obviously not, if he was falling asleep in class. But there wasn't much of a reason why. Sure, sometimes he had to take evening shifts for work because that was the only time he could make considering he was still in school, but he had a curfew to make so he could only work so late. It was also common for him to not have enough time to do his homework before lights out, but again, once the lights were out that was it. He'd have to wait to cram assignments until the sun came up and he could use the natural light without disturbing his roommates. Mostly, Hitoshi found himself laying in bed staring up at the ceiling and biding his time because sleep simply wouldn't come to him. His mind would whirl with thoughts about nothing in particular and everything all the same.

On nights like that, Hitoshi would focus on the sounds of the other wards breathing— some steady and heavy, deep in sleep, while others were quick and labored, their dreams plagued by terrors and fears long embedded into their very being. On the rare instance that Hitoshi did fall asleep, it happened too often that he was awakened in the middle of the night to someone else crying out. For a parent, or comfort, or a home that no longer existed— if it ever had in the first place.

Some kids never got the privilege of childhood oblivion. They never got to believe, full heartedly, that their family was someplace where they belonged. It just became a fact of life that they had been cast aside and left to rot. If not by parents that had willingly giving up their rights and obligations, or by an unfortunate accident, then by a system that pretended to care and actually couldn't give more than two shits that each and every displaced child had to share equally amongst themselves.

A fraction of shit. Summed up his experiences quite well, actually.

In the same sense, though, Hitoshi's own mind wasn't even gracious enough to let him have that. Those haunting memories buried in his unconscious or the sporadic spouts of sleep. All he got was a constant weight on his mind that he was unwanted. That the first— and only— people to ever promise to love him unconditionally had taken it back like it was one of the easiest decisions they'd ever made.

One day he was theirs and the next he wasn't.

But Hitoshi wasn't about to get into all of that. Not with Present Mic, not with any of his teachers, and not even with one of U.A.s many counselors whose whole job description was to listen to whiney teenagers' problems. Talking didn't help, only doing did.

It was one of the many, many things Hitoshi liked most of all about Aizawa. He did things. He hadn't really asked Hitoshi if he wanted the extra training, more so just said that he'd make the time and told Hitoshi that he should as well, if he really wanted to be a hero. Now, more and more often, Aizawa would tell him that they were going to eat something, and he never asked whether Hitoshi wanted to or not.

Maybe because he knew Hitoshi was in no position to decline food, but that was besides the point.

Okay, he had to admit, maybe talking had its place. Aizawa was always too keen to correct Hitoshi's form himself rather than pointing out what exactly the teen was doing wrong. It was frustrating because he couldn't correct and prevent making whatever mistake he had made in the future, as both positions felt the same without identifying what exactly their differences were.

Still, Hitoshi had no plans to dump all of his problems onto Present Mic.

So he shrugged, and hoped that they would move on. Not that there was anything to move on to.

The only reason they were actively having a conversation with one another was because of Hitoshi's multiple violations of sleeping in class. It was unavoidable. But it was postponeable. If he tried hard enough, Hitoshi could stall just a little longer.

"Okay," Present Mic breathed— not quite a sigh, but almost. Either way, it made Hitoshi's gut tighten. He hated the thought of irritating his English teacher. "How about this, is it anything I can help you with? Any stress I can help alleviate by extending an assignment deadline? Or is there work from another class that maybe you're not quite understanding and worrying about?"

"I thought you said that you thought I was smart?"

He snorted. "I do, Kiddo, trust me. But that doesn't mean you're immune to stress. Look, I get it. I was a U.A. student once, too. And a rather clever one at that, if you'd believe me. But even I got overwhelmed sometimes." Present Mic paused, adjusting his position as he sat, then he said, "I know talking to your teachers can be scary, but it's our job to do everything in our power to help you succeed."

Even so, Hitoshi shook his head. "No, I'm on top of my work. Aizawa makes sure of it, you don't have to worry about me as well."

Present Mic nodded. Then he said, "Except I am worried, Shinsou. Not really about the work but about you." He seemed to choke for a minute before asking, "Can I ask a question and you answer honestly? This can stay between us, but I want to know, for my own peace of mind."

Hitoshi shrugged, his knee bouncing on top of his hands. He didn't like secrets, or hush-hush conversations, or— whatever between us meant.

"Is your workload to transfer too much?"

Immediately Hitoshi's leg stilled and he sat up straight. It was almost… offensive that someone he looked up to so highly had insinuated that he couldn't handle himself. If only he knew the half of it. Hitoshi had been handing himself for nearly a decade by that point, and he could rest assured that some paperwork and fucking food plans and exercise regimes didn't compare to coping with being abandoned. "No! I'm handling it. I get my work done, I put all my effort into training, I'm doing fine. That has nothing to do with anything." He hated how defensive he sounded, but it wasn't until after the fact that he even realized how much Present Mic's words rendered as a personal attack to him.

"Shinsou," Present Mic said softly, as if he needed to handle Hitoshi gently. "I wasn't trying to imply you weren't putting in the effort, I just want to better understand what's going on so I can help you. You're not giving me much to work with, Listener."

"Well I don't know what to tell you because nothing's wrong." Hitoshi's eyes had found the floor again because he was bullshitting like no one had ever seen before.

Everything was wrong. But that was just how his life was. Nothing was new so why was someone finally noticing now? When he was so close. So close to graduating and being able to support himself. So close to aging out of the group home and leaving it behind. Closer to achieving his dream of becoming a hero than he'd ever been before.

And now Present Mic was going to fuck it all up by prodding in places he didn't belong.

The last thing Hitoshi needed was for him to report his home and get him transferred away from U.A. or telling Aizawa that he wasn't mentally fit to become a hero or anything. He didn't need more people deciding what was best for his future when the couldn't even begin to comprehend how hard he'd had to fight thus far.

He just needed Present Mic to mind his own business.

"You and I both know that's not true but you clearly aren't ready for that conversation."

Hitoshi could have flinched at the slight pinch in his tone. Present Mic was frustrated— had every right to be— and it... It worried him. Hitoshi had upset his favorite teacher (since Aizawa was only his mentor and not yet one of his teachers, so he didn't have to pit the two against each other). Present Mic was going to revoke his kindness, he was going to write Hitoshi up, he was going to lose it all.

But then Present Mic continued, his voice a little more resigned. "For now I'll keep my promise of helping you even if we don't get to the root of the problem today. I saw that you noticed my shiny awards," he motioned to the wall that Hitoshi had inspected only moments previously. "So I know a thing or two about ensuring that every student gets what they need, even if they don't all get the same thing. I'm going to get you a permanent pass so you can come here, to this room, during lunch."

If that was supposed to mean something to Hitoshi, it didn't, so Present Mic explained further.

"Look, I know it's not a lot, but if a forty minute nap on the couch helps you even a little, I'd be more than happy to give you that opportunity. Obviously I can't be in here everyday, but if you do want to talk about whatever or you need help with anything feel free to pull me aside and let me know. Alright?"

Hitoshi's brows met in a tight knit. He glanced up at Present Mic. Take a nap? Was he being serious? Then he looked back at the couch. At the pillows, and the blanket Present Mic had brought, and the posters that depicted hands deliberately positioned to communicate in ways Hitoshi didn't understand.

He didn't belong there. Didn't deserve the leniency. Hitoshi felt disgustingly out of place. Not only in the JSL club room but in the spotlight of Present Mic's concern and attention, as well.

"I—" Hitoshi found himself stumbling. A war broke out in his mind between two decisions. It always seemed to do that. Nothing ever came easy for him. He weighed the few pros he could think of against the endless list of cons. This was a favor and he would owe Present Mic something in return. It was totally wrong to blackmail a student but it was also wrong to sleep in class and back talk a teacher and Present Mic had let him get away with that a number of times before so maybe this was another case of owing each other something. "I can't," he said at last.

It didn't matter how nice having somewhere quiet and tucked away to retreat sounded to him. He couldn't accept any of the good things that came his way.

"Then don't," Present Mic said, "But I'm getting you the permission anyway. Whether or not you utilize that is completely up to you. You're also more than welcome to stay here for the remainder of this lunch period if you'd like, I'll keep you company while I grade some papers. Or you can go get lunch in the cafeteria and catch up with your friends. It's up to you."

Hitoshi hadn't ever heard Present Mic so serious— so scarily sincere that he couldn't even think to look for the threat lurking underneath the man's words. Part of Hitoshi wanted to run off anyway, to pretend that Present Mic had never caught him sleeping or pulled him aside or offered him. He didn't have friends to catch up to, and he wasn't that hungry— his protein bar was still wrapped and probably melting where it was trapped between his leg and the couch just like his hands were. But the thought of trying to fall asleep with Present Mic in the room was uncomfortable. Then again, he still had a whole afternoon worth of classes to get through, not to mention training with Aizawa afterwards.

Glancing over at Present Mic proved that, just as he'd said, he was grading papers and not looking at Hitoshi. Good, that took some of the pressure off of him, but not all of it. He decided to at least eat the damn protein bar. Slowly, to stew in his own thoughts more, and maybe then the lunch period would pass.

It inched by, really. A snail moved more quickly than the hands of that damn clock did. But eventually the bell did ring and Hitoshi made a swift exit. Not before Present Mic called after him, though.

"See you tomorrow, Shinsou."

Although it was pure and simple in nature, Hitoshi couldn't help but feel taunted. Sure, Present Mic would see him in class tomorrow, but it felt like he was saying more than just that. Like he knew that Hitoshi would come find the club room at lunch. That he would return to take a nap, to take advantage of the special privileges that always seemed to find him. It wasn't fair, no matter what Present Mic said to comfort him.

Aizawa never shied away from the fact that his extra training wasn't something offered to most— if any— of the students at U.A. It was unfair to everyone else. It was an advantage over them. But Present Mic had said that he seemed to need it. And he did need it. If he couldn't sleep at the group home but he was falling asleep at school then he should probably capitalize on his exhaustion and fucking sleep for once. It could be nice.

Hypothetically.

Almost like how it was nice that it had taken Present Mic three days to step into his little problem. Hitoshi recognized that he really did take the man for granted. He hadn't realized how much he enjoyed him overlooking his whole falling asleep in class thing until his mentor refused to overlook anything.

He yawned. Big whoop, everyone yawns! Sometimes not even because they're tired, it was just something that happened, a weird thing the body did for whatever reason. Probably a reason but not one Hitoshi just knew off the top of his head. That's how little it mattered!

But no, God forbid Aizawa just let something go for once in his goddamn life.

Hitoshi's jaw clicked as it stretched open in a completely involuntary bodily function, the sound so loud that it seemed to rattle through his skull, almost making him miss when Aizawa spoke.

"You've been yawning a lot lately."

They were in the middle of doing warm up stretches. Training had barely even started and Aizawa was already starting something.

He shrugged. "Just tired, I guess."

Thankfully, Aizawa wouldn't ask one of the top ten stupidest questions of all time— are you sleeping?— because he understood the struggles of insomnia. It was another thing they got to add to the ever growing list of similarities between Hitoshi and his mentor.

"Mic mentioned that you've been falling asleep in class."

Of fucking course he had. Awesome. Way to tattle tale! Maybe Present Mic wouldn't write Hitoshi up but he sure as hell didn't seem to have a problem with getting him in trouble with his mentor. Just the person who pretty much got to decide Hitoshi's whole future simply by whether he felt like agreeing to let him become a hero or not. It wasn't just the training, it was the fact that Hitoshi needed Aizawa's permission— among other faculty members'— to transfer. If he decided Hitoshi wasn't deserving enough to join the hero course then he could kiss his dream goodbye.

It would have been a completely overboard punishment for simply dozing off in class.

Then again, Present Mic was an all around overboard person.

So, in a roundabout way, it was actually a fitting punishment.

Or maybe he really was just worried.

What a ridiculous thought. Sure, Present Mic had explicitly stated that he was concerned, but that was all the more reason that Hitoshi shouldn't have trusted what he said. He knew better than to blindly believe the things people said, especially the kind of people who mandated to pretend they cared, which usually meant they actually cared the least.

He knew better than to get his hopes up.

Hitoshi's lack of attention and careless attitude toward his studies was offensive and disrespectful. It wasn't the kind of crime that deserved further dwelling. Who cared if he was a little bit of an insomniac? Everyone else slept just fine, so why couldn't he? Besides, if something was messed up in his brain then he probably shouldn't even be allowed to become a hero. Maybe if he pretended well enough he might be like Aizawa, who cruised by acting like he was normal.

Was it really acting if he performed the same as his non-insomniac peers?

Their normals were just… different. And that was okay so long as they all got their jobs done at the end of the day.

Or night, technically. Hopefully. Hitoshi really did look forward to working through the dark hours of the evening/early morning. He was glad that he had been enlightened to the world of the underground by Aizawa, nothing sounded better than staying away from the spotlight that most heroes fought so hard to stand in. And, sure, maybe some above ground heroes worked through the night, especially because of how much crime activity spiked when it got dark outside, but still.

Hitoshi shrugged. "I don't know what you want me to say," he replied honestly, though admittedly there might have been a little attitude in his tone. Enough that if Aizawa decided to reach over and slap him across the face or pinch his arm or even just scold him it would have been deserved.

"I don't want you to say anything," Aizawa said, a shortness in his own voice. Just like earlier with Present Mic. Hitoshi was quite the nuisance, wasn't he? An ungrateful brat. "I'm just observing and reporting what I've heard."

Hitoshi huffed a laugh that could hardly pass as being amused. "What, are you keeping tabs on me or something? Next thing I know you'll stick a tail on me so you'll know my every move, make sure I don't go rogue or do something crazy like that."

"Of course I'm keeping tabs on you," Aizawa replied, sounding scarily earnest. Just like Present Mic. Their likeness was almost scary, sometimes, Hitoshi wasn't sure what to make of that. "And don't give me any ideas. Though, I'm not convinced that you'd ever do something of that nature."

For a second, Hitoshi's brain stuttered and before he could think better of it or continue his streak of snark, he found himself asking, "Really?"

Aizawa considered his words for a second the way he always did, measuring his responses and getting his thoughts in line. Lying came automatically, because for most people it was easy to know what people wanted to hear. But Aizawa didn't care what people wanted to hear. He said what he was thinking and he thought of exactly what he wanted to say.

"You've given me no indication that you would ever stray from your goal of becoming a hero. Your dedication to your studies and your training are proof enough of that, I shouldn't have to say it."

Hitoshi tightened his lips into a measured line. "Right," he said, because Aizawa was right. A real hero didn't need to be reminded that they weren't a villain. It was already a given.

Suddenly, Present Mic burst through the gym doors, announcing his presence with a loud shout in English. "Heyo!" His wide grin was especially flashy as he took wide strides toward them.

Hitoshi heard Aizawa sigh softly, probably annoyed that they had been interrupted. Though, for as much as he didn't like the man being around, Present Mic was showing up more and more, which Hitoshi found odd. Again, Aizawa said exactly what he was thinking, so if he didn't want the English teacher around, it wasn't like him to refrain from saying as much.

"If it isn't my favorite Listener, just who I was looking for!"

Great, now it was technically Hitoshi's fault that Present Mic had intruded on their private training session.

"Oh! And you're here too," he said, looking over at Aizawa and offering him a twinkling wink.

"What do you want, Mic?"

"Are you so eager to get rid of me, Eraser?" Present Mic asked amusingly, though Aizawa was quick to respond seriously,

"Yes."

Present Mic frowned and glared at him. Then he brightened again, "I just came to drop something off for Shinsou." He produced a lanyard from behind his back, one with cartoonish cat faces all over. Hitoshi furrowed his brows.

"Do you just have an excess of cat lanyards laying around? Because that's creepy." He snagged the lanyard from Present Mic and glanced over the laminated pass hooked on the end. Then he shoved it into his pocket where he didn't have to look at it ever again.

He didn't need hand outs, or favors, or special treatment, no matter how necessary. Hitoshi could do things on his own, including handling his sleep issues by himself.

Present Mic shrugged. "You'd be surprised by the kinds of things you can find in the teachers office if you look hard enough. Anywho, that's all I needed, I'll get out of your guys' luscious hair now." He tipped his head to the two of them and walked out of the gym.

Aizawa didn't ask what his pass was for and training resumed as per usual. Hitoshi figured that if Present Mic wanted him to know what was up with his own mentee, he'd just blab about it anyway without consulting said mentee first. Obviously it wasn't any of Hitoshi's business— even though it literally was his business and all.

Though, all throughout training, Hitoshi couldn't take his mind off the pass sitting just inside his pocket. In the locker room afterwards, he shoved it deep into his bag hoping he might forget about it. But on his way home, he swore he could feel the pass burning him through the fabric layers of his shirt, blazer, and backpack. He couldn't stop thinking about it. Before Hitoshi knew it, the cursed thing was back in his hand.

He looked more closely at it that time. Memorized the unique swirls of someone else's handwriting and the pristine print of the typical hall pass template, slightly altered for his specific purposes. Hitoshi rubbed the chewed pad of his thumb over the flimsy, rounded corner of the plastic sleeve that protected the pass.

In big, bold, printed letters at the top it read, plainly "Hall Pass" with the necessary additional information underneath in a mix of print and handwriting on the given blank spaces. Both the date and time lines were crossed out and replaced with one simple word: Permanent. His own name was written out in that unfamiliar handwriting, which was a small and tight, messy cursive. He knew it wasn't Present Mic's, having seen the man's atrocious scrawl in the margins of his assignments either making corrections or giving praise for the good work.

It was always obvious that he was in a rush when grading.

The designated, permanent destination was to the club room, which Hitoshi recognized from the note Present Mic had given him earlier. There was also a line that specified he was only excused from the lunch period. At the bottom, the pass was signed by Recovery Girl.

Weird.

Did that mean this whole thing was classified as a health issue?

He sighed and put the pass back into his backpack, buried all the way at the bottom. The last thing Hitoshi needed was from some twerp at the group home to take an interest in his book bag and stick their nose where it didn't belong. He didn't want anyone else to know he'd been given permission to slip away from adult supervision.

It was probably the one thing that his house manager hated more than anything, because what he loved more than anything was having complete and total control over the wards, especially Hitoshi. That meant that letting him, specifically, out of all of the kids he was legally responsible for, slip any further out of his grasp was like a nightmare come true for the man. The fact that Hitoshi had been allowed to have a job and attend after school training with Aizawa was stressful enough. Really, he was doing his house manager a favor by not mentioning those forty minutes wherein he was completely and totally out of anyone's view.

Of course, he hadn't had any plans to abuse the pass, but that didn't matter.

All that mattered was that Hitoshi was trouble more often than he wasn't and if he didn't have someone to keep him in line then he'd probably end up hurting someone, or using his quirk maliciously, or worse.

The next day Hitoshi really did his best to stay awake. Though, that seemed to imply that he didn't try his best to do that everyday, which he very much did. While he hadn't necessarily succeeded, Hitoshi had at least managed to not get caught falling asleep during class, which was the important part. Really, all he cared about was not letting Present Mic catch him off guard. Easy enough considering how on edge he felt around his English teacher since the day before.

And maybe the foam balls that he was hurling at his students in an incredibly sick and twisted version of a pop quiz had something to do with it as well.

Present Mic worked in mysterious ways to get them to remember their vocabulary lists, but it yielded positive results. Life or death and all that. Hitoshi was actually grateful for once— which was rare considering the whole ungrateful brat thing. Not just for the fact that Present Mic made his class engaging enough that he didn't get a chance to accidentally doze off, but also because Aizawa had been working his hand eye coordination and reaction time recently.

Just simple tennis ball drills that would eventually build up to using the capture weapon to aim at and grab small projectiles. Most of them Hitoshi could do by himself, but some of the more complicated exercises included a partner. He ignored how that was the closest he'd ever gotten to the infamous past time of playing catch with dad!

It was bullshit and he didn't care.

Anyway. Instead of flinching away from the innocent and harmless ball heading directly toward his face at concerning speeds or fumbling it in front of the entire class— which would have especially sucked considering the humiliating show he'd put on for them just yesterday— Hitoshi oh so gracefully and nonchalantly caught the ball.

Little him from middle school would have been so proud of how far they had come…

No, actually, probably not. He was still Hitoshi, after all. Young Hitoshi would have been an envious and resentful little shit about the whole thing. Up until a particularly strong gust of wind blew him away because he weighed a collective zero kilograms.

The thought made him smile, but he repressed it so as to not come off as being too smug. Just appropriately so.

Sadly, his euphoria didn't last long. Not nearly long enough, anyway. By the time lunch rolled around, Hitoshi's exhaustion had returned and he was suddenly too tired to give a damn about the implications of utilizing Present Mic's room for a short nap. It really would be just that: short. He only had the 40 minute lunch period and he needed time to wake himself up, not to mention getting there and falling asleep— the hardest part, really— so realistically he'd only maybe get around half an hour to sleep if everything went well.

He twisted the lanyard idly around and around his fingers. Hitoshi was willing to admit he was anxious that if a teacher did stumble upon him not where he was supposed to be, the flimsy hall pass slipped into a slightly sturdier plastic sleeve wouldn't be enough to keep him out of trouble. Present Mic wasn't with him to vouch that he was allowed to leave and he hadn't even talked to Recovery Girl so he had no idea what her involvement in any of this even was let alone what reason she had to sign his hall pass. If he told whoever he bumped into a different story than she had, he'd definitely at least get accused of lying.

Thankfully, he didn't happen to encounter anyone on the relatively short but entirely too long walk to the JSL club room, which only slightly eased him.

Hitoshi couldn't help but glance down the hallway, just in case, before he gently slid open the door and slipped in without anyone seeing.

Just as he said, Present Mic— contrary to his name— was absent. The room was empty. However, the blanket he had dumped there the previous day was still folded neatly on the couch. The plush pillows sat orderly and invitingly.

Fuck. Hitoshi couldn't believe what he was actually considering doing. But damn, he'd be lying if he said that he didn't really need a nap.

Just a small one, he reminded himself. Only half an hour.

Such excuses were his only comfort when Hitoshi found himself sitting on the couch once more. Instead of curling into the corner, he plopped down in the middle and began slipping his sneakers off. Easy enough considering they were a size too big anyway. His mere observation was not a complaint, however, as Hitoshi much preferred his clothes and shoes to be too big rather than too small. He couldn't really blame it on the fact that he'd grow into them eventually, since he had begun to begrudgingly accept that he had already long passed his final growth spurt.

Not that he was small or anything, but he wasn't Eraserhead/Present Mic 180+ centimeters. Though, even they were dwarfed by many of their quirk-enhanced peers and/or students. Height averages had been very skewed after the development of quirks, Hitoshi had learned. Against historical records of average heights in Japan for teenage boys, Hitoshi was considerably taller, in his opinion. Not to mention how, compared to his malnourished ankles, his feet were rather big and goofy looking.

Hitoshi pulled out his phone and set an alarm for five minutes before lunch ended. Hopefully enough time to wake himself up before class. Although he hadn't been given explicit consent to break the "no phones out on campus at any time" rule, Hitoshi figured that no one would catch him anyway, so there was no real harm done. Stiffly, he adjusted one of the throw pillows underneath him and placed his phone beside his head, then he unfolded the blanket partially. Enough to cover his top half, at least. He wasn't about to make a complete mess of Present Mic's room.

Just thirty minutes.

His jaw clicked when he yawned, wide and long, as he slumped further, tucking his hands on either sides of his neck like an almost comforting, though inauthentic, hold. Scraggy fingers came to rub the sore joint, the lower half of his face dipping beneath the soft throw blanket. Hitoshi often found himself hugging his own body close on the rare occasion that he actually got to sleep. And in those precious, blurry moments before sleep fully overtook him, but he wasn't exactly conscious either, he could sometimes pretend the gangling, cold fingers curling in his clothes and clawing at his skin weren't his own.

Hitoshi closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting his mind retreat to those comforting but oh so hurtful fantasies. Something tickled his nose. Animal fur, he thought distantly. Another slow breath. The fact that Present Mic had a pet was new information to Hitoshi. And another, slower breath. Something softer and clean, like a detergent that for once didn't give him a migraine.

To cover up the dirtiness of the kids, many fosters used strong, fragrant, and downright rancid smelling soaps for their clothes and towels and bedding and— well, everything. The group home used whatever was cheapest and could be bought in bulk— usually something watered down and non-name brand. It had no scent, likely because it hardly qualified as a valid detergent, but Present Mic's blanket did have a smell. Just very, very faintly.

Wasn't that funny.

Present Mic's blanket. Which Hitoshi was cuddling! No, not cuddling. Don't be weird, Hitoshi. He was just using it. Borrowing it.

Hitoshi borrowed the scent, as well. Stole it, really. Like a creep. He took it and ran with it. Let it weave itself into his delusions.

Imagined his fingers were thicker, stronger, and the blanket was a shirt, and the smell belonged to a person rather than an inanimate object. The fur was that of a cat, because of course it was. A figure began to emerge, more clearly formed. Defined.

And they had rough— no, rugged Yes, rugged hands that were soft, gentle. Caring. Dark shapes which initially blended into one obsidian blob but slowly, so slowly became decipherable. Where wavy onyx hair ended and heavy charcoal fabric began. Something was missing, Hitoshi's hands wanted to grab onto it on instinct but— he didn't have any hands. His hands didn't belong to him anymore, didn't he remember?

Something else troubled him. A far off trouble that didn't really reach him and only faintly registered as his mind slid further and further from reality. If he was using Present Mic's blanket, why was it Aizawa's form he was imagining?

And then Hitoshi was asleep.

For thirty blissful minutes he thought of nothing. No dreams, but no nightmares either. Just a wonderful blank abyss that seemed to stretch on forever and ever…

Or, at least, until the standard alarm of Hitoshi's phone began to blare directly in his ear. He awoke with a disorienting start, senses rushing in and half processed before he finally had the grand idea to turn his alarm off. Hitoshi rubbed the last of his nap from his eyes, then he ran his hands down his face and back up again to fuss his hair into a more normal looking mess. He tossed his— no, the blanket aside and threw his own heavy legs over the edge of the couch to slide back easily into his shoes.

Hitoshi then stood and stretched until his back popped satisfyingly every which way. He made quick work of folding Present Mic's blanket up, so it would look like he'd never crashed there at all. Or, he had intended to make it quick, but for some odd reason he hesitated. It was just folding a blanket, it wasn't hard, he should have gotten it done and over with.

Instead, Hitoshi's fingers rubbed the soft fabric until he picked out a single piece of fur. In the dark room, he couldn't tell what color it was, but that didn't matter. Besides, Hitoshi was too preoccupied with the memories that had begun to creep back in slowly to give a shit about the specifications of the single follicle. Those dumb hallucinations that he had sworn to forget. They were dirty and indulgent and worst of all childish. Naive and implausible.

Impossible.

It would have been more productive of him to imagine relevant possibilities and futures for himself. Maybe running through different scenarios he might find himself in if he ever became a hero, coming up with plans to deescalate or escape strategies or even binding techniques with the capture weapon. Hitoshi really needed to practice his skills using Aizawa's scarf or he'd never be passed on the support item. And it was clear— made even clearer with every day of training— that he wasn't strong enough to be a hero without a support item.

Or maybe it would have been better if Hitoshi spent his time wondering where in the world he'd be once he failed to achieve his dream of becoming a pro hero. Homelessness hung over his head every waking moment. He was just biding by the days, the hours, the minutes. Every support he had was only temporary, they'd run their course eventually. Hitoshi needed to consider how he was going to even get by.

That was where his mind should have been.

Not fantasizing over what it might be like to be hugged. Especially by… real people in his life who definitely hadn't consented to being included in his perverted day dreams or… before sleeping dream. Whatever. It was disgusting and crossed so many boundaries. Broke so many layers of trust.

Hitoshi could have shaken his head like a dog just to clear his mind of the images that brought him so much shame and guilt. Especially when they made his skin feel warm and tingly. His insides melted into mushy mush that writhed at the thought of physical contact after years and years of isolation by his own design, cold distance from others, and indifference from the house staff. All he needed was a hug, all he wanted was someone to take the time out of their day to intentionally seek out a connection with them, all his problems would have disappeared if a single person just bothered to notice what he had been missing and to give it back to him.

Not helping!

With his focus returned to the task at hand, Hitoshi finished folding the blanket and laid it over the arm of the couch where he'd found it. Right where Present Mic had left it. For him.

Then he slid his phone into its respective pocket, heaved his backpack over his shoulder, and hurried out of the door to class.

The halls were mostly empty. Hitoshi hadn't really expected to stumble upon anyone, especially not somebody who would stop and talk to him. He really, really hadn't expected to bump into the only two somebodies in the whole school who would have bothered to talk to him, let alone together at the same time, but alas, God forbid he catch a break.

"What are you doing coming this way?"

Immediately, Hitoshi recognized Aizawa's voice as being accusatory and he rushed to explain, but failed to get his voice to properly work. Only then had he been thankful that he remembered to pull his super special lanyard out from where he'd kept it safely tucked away in his backpack while he slept. Of course, he'd already imagined someone trying to get him in trouble for not being where he was supposed to be, even if he was headed back toward his classroom like he was expected to do after lunch no matter where he was coming from. Hitoshi handed over his pass, finally letting Aizawa get a look at it.

His tired, chronically irritated, red tinted eyes moved slowly over the handwriting, squinting ever so slightly. Aizawa's thumb traced the lanyard and it almost seemed… fond. Reminiscent.

Present Mic— who had been walking with Aizawa for whatever reason since Hitoshi had yet to form a firm conspiracy on why the two seemed so friendly despite their rich history of making snide comments about one another to him— didn't butt in to explain the pass. That was also weird because Present Mic was always butting in and making his voice heard. Of course, it was foolish for Hitoshi to assume the man would defend him or back him up, so really it was his fault.

He should have known better.

"It's not that serious, I don't know why Recovery Girl had to sign it and make it look all… official, I guess. You didn't seem all too happy that I was falling asleep in class so I was just taking a nap." Hitoshi vouched for himself, because he was a big boy and he knew how to do that, but he couldn't meet either of the adults' eyes as they marveled at Hitoshi's lanyard. He hoped they wouldn't take that as a sign that he was lying. A tell of some sort. He was being completely truthful, it was just… embarrassing.

Then Aizawa huffed through his nose, face ducking ever so slightly into his capture scarf. "I had one just like this when I was your age. Except I was stuck with those uncomfortable cots in the nurses office." He seemed to shudder slightly, eyes narrowing a little further. "I hated that place. Never expected any more than that, though."

With a shrug, he took one last look at the pass before reaching out and handing it back to Hitoshi.

Still intact. Still safe. And Present Mic still hadn't jumped into the conversation, but when Hitoshi glanced his way, he was smiling, ever charmingly. Like an outsider to the interaction. Standing just on the edge of the ring where Hitoshi and Aizawa spent their days revolving around one another. At least, he spent everyday revolving around Aizawa. His mentor likely had other things of substance in his life besides one particularly prickly teen that didn't seem to know when to quit.

Then Aizawa glanced at him and almost seemed to rope him in with a single look. He was good at that. Using only his eyes to communicate a thousand words, feelings that didn't have names, directing people whether either party consciously wanted to or not.

"You're too involved," Aizawa huffed, though Hitoshi was more than willing to counter those words, if only to protect his newly acquired accommodation or whatever that whole thing could be classified as.

Present Mic was perfectly involved, thanks. Please don't ruin that for him, maybe?

In his defense, though, Aizawa's tone was significantly lighter than it was when he was truly chastising a person's actions. Hitoshi thought, fleetingly, that maybe he was just teasing his coworker. Befuddling, but he wasn't going to unpack all of that right there in front of the two men. Hitoshi stored the moment away from further inspection at a later date.

Aizawa returned his attention to Hitoshi. "I'm glad to hear you're taking care of yourself," he spoke earnestly. "Don't start showing up late for class, though."

He moved around the teen, a heavy hand coming to Hitoshi's shoulder as he passed. For entirely too long, but what was probably only a few seconds, there was contact. The man walked so slowly. It was more of a shuffle, really. But then his hand fell away and he was gone.

Present Mic lingered for a few seconds more, surely not concerned that his… friend, Hitoshi would officially dare to say, would walk too far off without him. "You look more lively already, Listener," he winked, his smile widening. "See you later at training, I expect you to kick some Eraser-butt."

He couldn't help a small smirk. "I'll try," Hitoshi said, rubbing the back of his neck. Then, awkwardly, unsure of how to end their interaction, he added, "I really should probably get back to class before I'm late."

With an energetic double pat on the shoulder, Present Mic nodded. "You better start running," he said before he strode confidently back to Aizawa's side.

Hitoshi glanced backward and watched them walk away for a second before heading toward his classroom.

Aizawa waited until Hitoshi's scarily light footsteps were far enough for the echoing halls of U.A. not to carry his hushed voice to the teen.

"I can't believe you remembered that stupid thing," he grumbled, face still ducked into his scarf to hide the embarrassed flush dusting his cheeks. Only his piercing glare could be seen over the many folds of fabric, directed sharply at Hizashi.

He smiled, something different about it than the one he had flashed at the kid. Warmer. More affectionate. Though, Aizawa hadn't missed the way his face had softened near the tail end of their conversation with Hitoshi, either.

"Of course I remembered. I was jelly as hell that you could dip damn near whenever you wanted just to nap!" Hizashi bumped their shoulders playfully, just like when they had been students and walked the halls together so many years ago.

It gave him an overwhelming sense of deja vu some days, which was exactly what he had feared would happen when Nemuri and Hizashi had first begun urging him to consider teaching. That the memories would haunt him. And they did, but in an almost bittersweet way. He felt closer to them. Recalled them more fondly as they were accompanied by newer, more pleasant memories.

Hizashi sighed, half of a chuckle dancing wistfully in the air between them. "What really shocked me, though, is that the old lady remembered. She caught wind of what I was doing and wanted to sign the pass just for old times sake. I'm not the only one who thinks it's uncanny how similar the two of you are!" His eyes glinted mischievously over his obnoxiously bright colored glasses.

Aizawa glanced at the opposing wall. He hadn't been surprised that Recovery Girl had yet to forget what a thorn in her side he'd been throughout his school years. In all honesty, Aizawa wasn't much better now that he was older, either. He just wasn't technically her problem anymore since he was no longer a student.

That didn't mean the soft spot where Aizawa had once irritatingly lodged himself had disappeared.

He hadn't ever underestimated how strenuous the Hero Course would be, but maybe Aizawa hadn't realized just how difficult it was going to be considering certain habits of his. Exhaustion was his most prominent issue. Again, not because he had ever thought becoming a hero would be a breeze, but because insomnia was a bitch who didn't really care about— well, anything really.

The permanent mental fog that seemed to have settled over his brain made accidents during training more common, so Aizawa had been a frequent flyer to the nurses office. As was common practice, Recovery Girl would fix him up, usually with an ice pack or a bandage, and leave him for a few minutes just to ensure no issues arose. And in those few minutes, Aizawa was out like a light.

Stupid, despite his inability to stay asleep throughout the night, Aizawa had always been excessively tired during the day. Not even just tired, which would have made sense, but successfully able to conk out at any given moment. It was incredibly annoying and inconvenient because it almost undermined his struggles with sleep.

The sheer ease at which he could slip into unconscious for a few minutes before eventually being roused awake again made people mistake the quantity of sleep he got for quality rest.

Anyway, after the first few times of discovering Aizawa asleep despite only being left alone for a few minutes, especially for minor injuries that should not have drained him as much as they did, Recovery Girl took notice and began to leave him alone for longer and longer periods of time. Whenever he happened to wake up, he'd find the nurse and she'd write him a note back to class. That was that. Until other people started to notice the prolonged visits to the nurse.

Which was what started the whole thing with the lanyard and pass.

All it took was one flash of the paper with Recovery Girl's signature and at any break Aizawa found himself wandering to her office and collapsing into a cot for a few minutes of rest. Sure, he could have slept at his desk or in the lunch room, but even the smallest noises easily woke him, no less the cacophony of the entire student body population crammed into a single room for an hour or his peers chatting before class started. At least the nurses office was relatively quiet most of the time, save for the few instances that someone was actually sick. Then Aizawa would bail.

He couldn't stand vomit, even just the threat of someone getting ill made him break out in a cold sweat.

Such a handful of a child was impossible to forget, Aizawa was certain of that much. But for Recovery Girl to carry that same concern for Shinsou made his chest feel tight. Choked. Oddly enough.

Maybe he wasn't being as slick as he thought he was if so many people were able to recognize his undeniable partiality for Shinsou. Though, much to his content, that fondness was shared amongst most of the others he'd talked with. If there was one thing they all agreed on it was that, despite his faults— which there were, unfortunately, quite a lot of— Shinsou was a hard working, committed, hopeful, and all around amazing kid who would make one hell of a pro hero one day. He was convinced that anyone who said otherwise had never taken the time to properly get to know him beyond the prickly exterior he adopted as a kind of self preservation tactic.

Which, Aizawa should add, was entirely their fault, reflecting badly on them, and not his mentee.

Hizashi had to take the cake for most adoring (aside from Aizawa, which… whatever) though, evident by the fact that he'd gone out of his way to help the kid in such a meaningful and actually beneficial way. It hadn't even been the first time he'd tried to reach out to Shinsou, just so that he might actually get it through his thick skull that there were people besides himself who recognized that he was more than his less than pleasant past. Sometimes Aizawa was certain that Hizashi connected better with the teen. He was, by default, more accessible than the Heroics teacher, considering he taught Shinsou six of the seven days a week. And he was overall a more pleasant person to be around, he wouldn't pretend it was any different.

While Aizawa and Shinsou shared many similarities, a lot of their sameness actually led to more conflict. They were both stubborn, defaulted to sarcasm and dryness to deflect and mask their true feelings which certainly created miscommunication, and neither of them were willing to admit when they were overworking themselves. Aizawa knew that these were faults he had, which he was willing to admit— to himself, at least— and he recognized those same traits in Shinsou, even if the kid himself couldn't recognize it.

Hizashi, on the other hand, was his balance. They were more cohesive because of how different they were, and he had no doubt that it was the same— or could be the same— with the teen. It wasn't perfect. They had differences in opinions and they disagreed at times. But Aizawa could seldom recall the last time they'd had a real, proper argument.

Usually when they weren't seeing eye to eye on something, it felt like that— not seeing the same way. A difference in perspective. And when it felt more contradictory, Aizawa never figured one side was right and the other was wrong. More like one half of an argument and the other. A whole, incomplete without the other.

As much as he never wanted Shinsou to experience fighting with Hizashi, he hoped the teen felt even a sliver of what he did. Not like he was constantly in opposition, but rather was complemented when he was around the English teacher.

"Hey," Aizawa grumbled, stopping in the empty hall. Hizashi stopped beside him, turning his head with a slight hum. They'd been silent for a while, so it likely came as a slight surprise that he had anymore to say, but Aizawa was certain his husband was well aware that he'd only gotten wrapped up in his own head. Hizashi always seemed to be able to tell whether Aizawa's silences were good or bad. Then he said earnestly, looking Hizashi dead in the eye, "Thanks."

And he kept walking.

Hizashi nodded and smiled to himself, following in Shouta's steps. He didn't need to ask what for. He knew it was just Shinsou in general. Accepting Shou's stray kitten into their litter, looking out for him whenever. Because that was Shouta's kid now, whether he liked to admit it or not. His mentee, his favorite student as soon as his transfer was completed, the little guy too much like himself whom he wanted to take care of just so that maybe high school might be ever so slightly easier for him.

His kid, different from the rest of his students in his own special, angsty teen way.

It took effort for Hizashi to resist a snort, recalling the black sheep his husband used to be as a teen. The only thing that he could hope for now was that Nedzu stuck his unidentifiable snout in this whole thing some time soon before Shouta got irritated and started maneuvering the kid away from them all like the hog he was.

But Hizashi had done his part that time.