Work Text:
“I knew this was such a stupid idea,” Aizawa said, scratching his right knee as he sat on his apartment bed. “Stop laughing.” He narrowed his eyes at the albino boy sitting in the armchair by the bedroom window.
Tony was doubled over, tears, not of sadness, but of laughter, gathering in the corners of his eyes. “I should’ve known you couldn't handle your liquor.”
Aizawa grunted loudly. “Shut it... I’m not drunk.”
“You’re absolutely wasted, look at you, old man.” Tony took a deep breath and settled more comfortably into the armchair. “I almost cried out of laughter.”
“It’s not funny.”
“It’s actually pretty fucking funny,” Tony said, raising a finger. “And kind of hypocritical. How come you get to drink and I don’t?”
Shota raised an eyebrow. “Are you really asking about the difference between me, an adult, drinking and you, a teenager?”
That made Tony lower his finger. “Fine, you win this one time, old man. I’ll give you that.”
“Of course I do.” Aizawa rolled his eyes and then tried to focus on a task that was simple but felt impossible at the moment: taking off his shoes.
He leaned forward, deciding to start with his left foot because his right one was a bit stiff that day (it happened on cold days). Shota leaned forward and quickly realized the strategy wouldn't work when he nearly toppled over.
Tony burst out laughing again, and Aizawa grimaced. “I said shut it.”
“If you don’t want me to laugh, then stop being funny!” Tony wiped his left eye. “Man, you could probably use some help.” He didn't actually get up to help, though.
It was strange, really; even though Tony was an annoying, brazen brat, Aizawa knew he cared. Sure, he’d point out exactly what you were doing wrong right to your face and laugh about it, but if he liked you, he’d help. Because, despite everything, Tony Redgrave was a good kid.
Many would likely dispute that, after all, he was a mercenary with a lousy personality. He killed people, he was hunted down and killed demons. In most people's eyes, someone truly "good" certainly wouldn't have a track record like that.
Then again, Aizawa didn't care much about most people's opinions.
"It’s easier if you put your knee against your chest," Tony demonstrated, placing his foot on the cushion of the chair, only to immediately drop it back to the floor when he saw Aizawa shooting him a murderous glare.
"Why do you even have shoes on inside the apartment?" The teacher narrowed his eyes; it was one of the few rules he’d established from day one.
Tony blinked and looked down at his feet, appearing... confused? He furrowed his brow before a sad smile touched his face, a look that sent a shiver down Aizawa’s spine.
"I must’ve forgotten to take them off when I got back," the albino said, scratching his head. "I’ll take them off when I go back; don't worry about it."
Now it was Aizawa’s turn to be confused. "Go back where?" He was right there.
"To my room, old man. I’ll leave them in the hallway later," Tony rolled his eyes. "You really are wasted..."
"No, I'm not," Aizawa said, pulling his left knee to his chest and starting to untie his shoelace.
Once the lace was undone, it hadn't even been that tight, the shoe slipped off easily. Shota didn't take off his sock.
To handle the other foot, he had to use both hands to lift his leg by the knee and get that foot onto the bed. Maybe it was stupid to wear a shoe on that foot, but he wasn't about to go out barefoot.
He waited for Tony to make a comment about it, but nothing was said. Aizawa glanced sideways at the boy, who was still in the armchair with an expression that seemed complicated, and he was staring at his leg.
When the boy noticed he was being watched, he looked away.
“You don’t have to do that,” Aizawa said, struggling a bit to take off his shoes.
“I’m not doing anything, old man.”
“You were thinking something stupid. I know you.” Did he really? Aizawa shook his head and let himself fall onto the bed. Screw it, he was exhausted from the moment he’d walked through the door of his bedroom.
“What do you think I’m thinking?” Tony asked, as if he didn’t know the answer himself, which was strange; he’d never needed Aizawa for that before.
“I think you look guilty,” Aizawa said, closing his eyes.
“Am I guilty? Why would I be guilty?” Tony’s voice seemed to draw a little closer, though Shota heard no footsteps.
“For not stopping what happened,” Aizawa said without opening his eyes. “For letting it come to this. It’s not your fault.”
Tony didn’t seem to have a comeback ready for once, because he didn’t answer. Had Aizawa not heard the sound of footsteps, he would have assumed Tony had left the room.
“How can I blame myself?” The boy’s voice was low and distant, further away than it should have been if he were still sitting in the armchair. “When I wasn’t even there?”
“That’s exactly why.”
“Projection is an ugly thing, but you were there, old man, so that can’t be it.”
Aizawa didn’t understand what that was supposed to mean. “What do you want-”
“Your eyes are already closed. Do us both a favor and go to sleep, then; you’ve got a class to teach tomorrow.” Tony clicked his tongue. “And I won’t be able to help you.”
“Why not?” Aizawa still didn’t open his eyes.
“You know why, old man. But don’t worry... it’s not your fault. You did what you could, and far more than you should have.” Tony let out a sigh. “It’s okay, it’s all better now. Go to sleep.”
A sinking feeling spread through Aizawa’s chest, accompanied by a sudden wave of drowsiness, and he swallowed hard. “Tony-”
“Sleep. We both know it’s the best thing you can do right now.”
Shota Aizawa didn’t want to sleep, but he no longer had the strength to defy that command from Tony or from his own body. He eventually drifted off, a terrible feeling in his chest and a heavy weight on his conscience.
Aizawa woke up far too early the next day, thanks to the rays of the rising sun streaming through the bedroom curtains he’d forgotten to close the night before.
He shielded his face with his hand as he opened his eye; it was too bright, and his head was pounding as if it were being bombarded by the kind of music Yamada liked.
He turned away from the sunlight and groaned loudly; yesterday had been awful, driving Aizawa to do something he didn't usually do: drink.
Mind you, Shota did drink, he wasn't exactly a saint, but it was usually a social activity, not a solitary one. The only reason he even had alcohol in the house was that All Might had given it to him as a gift.
It was a whiskey that was certainly neither cheap nor Japanese, something new and different, he had to admit, though he suspected someone else would have been far more excited about the gift, and for all the wrong reasons.
Damn, what a shitty thought.
Tony wasn't there anymore; it had been practically a year since he’d gone back to where he came from.
Aizawa was happy about that, genuinely happy; looking back at everything that had happened, he even felt relieved. Imagine being thrust into a war in a world that wasn't even your own, all while demons were hunting you down? Shota hadn't liked sending Tony away, the place the kid came from certainly wasn't a suitable environment, but these days, he found some solace in the fact that the albino hadn't witnessed any of what had happened after.
And, more importantly, he hadn't been there to see what happened to him.
Faced with two terrible options, Aizawa at least found some comfort in the one he’d been subjected to... not that the other option had ever really existed. It never had; Tony Redgrave had always made that perfectly clear, and it was a good thing he had, because it was the right thing to do.
Just because it was the right thing to do, however, didn't mean it didn't hurt.
The teacher let out a deep sigh and sat up in bed, finally opening his eyes to look around the room and face a new day.
Everything was normal: the dresser with a drawer left open, the TV he barely used, and Tony RedBear (the white-furred bear with a red tie and small eyes) sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room.
Hawks had given him the bear a few days after Tony had left; he could have asked why it had taken so long to hand it over, but he hadn't.
Aizawa didn't know how the bear had ended up there; it usually stayed in the guest room, which still had a red blanket on the bed. If he weren't a skeptic, he might have suspected a ghost, but the fact that demons were real was already more than enough folklore for him.
The teacher then got up with a grunt, stretched his arms, and headed to the bathroom.
He had a class to teach today, and no assistant to help him carry papers or chat with him on the way.