Chapter Text
Aizawa hesitated before saying, "If you're comfortable with it, I can carry you to the bathroom where you can clean off some of the soot."
The initial rush of embarrassment you felt at the offer was quickly replaced with a sinking dread in the pit of your stomach as you realized your quirk hadn't activated on it's own in response. You became increasingly aware of the biting chill that filled the room. Tears threatened to spill, but you refused to cry again and quickly blinked them away. "Okay. But wait, are the pipes actually still working?", you asked once you were sure your voice wouldn't waver.
"I'm not sure, but at the very least you'll be able to wipe off some of the ash." Aizawa glanced down briefly before quickly averting his eyes. You glanced down and blanched, your jacket had shifted open slightly in your haste to get up earlier, revealing your now exposed chest. You hastily pulled the two sides closed while rambling out a mortified apology.
Aizawa cleared his throat and stood abruptly, "On second thought, you rest here and I'll go grab something for you to clean up with."
Despite not wanting to be alone, you nodded with a quiet, "thanks". He looked as if he wanted to say more, but left the room without another word. To your relief, he left the candles on the table next to you.
*******
Aizawa returned a few minutes later with a small wash cloth and a ceramic bowl of melted snow that he warmed using the now steadily burning fire in the living room. His shoulders dropped slightly as he registered the faint sound of you snoring. He walked over to the side of your bed and set the bowl of lukewarm water on the nightstand. Aizawa tried to keep his eyes trained solely on your face, but found them trailing down to your still unzipped jacket. You were curled in on yourself with your knees drawn up to your stomach and your arms tucked firmly against your chest. His fingers flexed and Aizawa gripped the cloth tighter as he was struck with the sudden urge to touch you.
Without taking his eyes off you, he dipped the cloth into the water with one hand. He squeezed out the excess water and knelt down beside you. A muscle in his jaw jumped as he warred with question of wether he should wake you so you could clean yourself or let you continue to rest as he did. His blood heated in spite of his morals at the thought of being able to feel the curves of your body pressed against his hand again. You shivered in your sleep, the sound of your jacket rustling snapping him out of his thoughts.
Clenching his jaw, he wiped his now damp free hand on his pants. He gently cupped your face and brushed his thumb along your cheek. He spoke in a low voice, his deep timbre rolling over you as he said, "Y/N, you need to wake up before the water gets too cold. You can go back to sleep once you're done cleaning yourself up."
You groaned and tried to rub the sleep from your eyes. "How long was I out?" You asked, resisting the urge to stretch. As exhausted and sore as you were, you had no desire to expose yourself anymore than you already had. With a small grunt, you pushed yourself up into a seated position, dropping your legs over the side of the bed. You took the wash cloth gratefully and began to wipe your face. Aizawa took a long sleeved black shirt that you didn't recognize from off his shoulder and set it on the mattress next to you. It looked too large to be one of yours.
"I figured you wouldn't want me to go through your dresser drawers, so I brought you one of my shirts." Aizawa explained, confirming your suspicions.
"Don't you need it though?" You asked, just now noticing that he was wearing one of your oversized sleeping hoodies.
"No," he said shaking his head, "I'll be warm enough once we're in the living room." He strode over to your closet and retrieved one of your other hoodies before setting it next to the shirt. He walked over to the opposite side of the bed and sat down with his back facing you. He turned his head towards you slightly as he said, "Let me know once you're done so I can carry you to the living room."
You paused with the washcloth still raised to your neck, stray drops of water falling to your thighs where they cut thin trails through the ash. The muscles of your thighs twitched at the sensation. You cleared your throat as you dipped the rag back into the bowl. Wringing it out again, you said, "Thanks, but you don't have to do that."
"No I don't," He agreed, "But I'd like to if you'll allow it."