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A week after graduation; Aizawa is already staving off a headache. Requests are coming in from Agencies for team-ups, the hero commission being demanding too. His quirk, Eraser, is apparently highly sought after for missions.
He ignores them for now, readying himself for patrol. The area he covers isn’t patrolled by other heroes (The rundown area and low-income families not inciting financial or status rewards), so he wants to keep to his schedule and silently make the streets a little safer.
He’s still learning to use his capture weapon, slowly teaching himself how to aid his fighting and agility. It’s good for capturing villains, basic movements and helps combat the cold. He slips it on and heads to the door.
A scalding pain stops his movement, Aizawa doubles over. His face, the left side of his face, is burning. Agony cannot begin to describe the pain; his hands claw at the area in desperation to make it stop.
Over the last 5 years, he’s begun feeling the tell-tale signs of a soulmate. He’s never given it much thought, quickly determining that his soulmate is clumsy, but ultimately ignores the feeling.
This, however, is impossible to ignore.
“Shit,” He grits out, lowering himself to lie on the floor. The feeling makes him feel nauseous, overwhelmed by pain flooding his face. He pushes his head into the floor, the action not helping as the pressure does little to distract him.
He sucks a sharp breath in through his tightly clenched teeth, letting out a cry of pain as he writhes.
Gagging, he rolls onto his side, just in time to empty the content of his stomach onto the floor. He curls up tighter, body tense, and waits for the pain to subside.
Despite the sheer amount of pain, Aizawa doesn’t pass out. He doesn’t know how long he lies there, as the pain slowly, ever so slowly, begins to fade.
He takes deep breaths, weakly rolling away from his vomit, and slowly unravels himself from the strained ball he unconsciously curled into. Unclenching his hands from his hair and face, he flexes his fingers weakly, attempting to relax them, focusing on continuing the movement.
Deep breaths, minutes later, and he finds the energy to push himself up; now sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. He slowly closes his eyes, gently, as they were strained shut in pain moments earlier and lets his head rest against the wall.
That was his soulmate, Aizawa collects his thoughts. What the hell has happened to his soulmate? Are they a pro hero? An injury like that doesn’t just happen on accident, in day-to-day life. Are they being attacked by a villain? Are they in danger?
Aizawa’s never felt more useless as a hero than in that moment. It’s only been a week.
His soulmate’s pain, though never as intense as that incident, is continuous. Scrapes, bruises, punches, kicks… burns, all continue, escalating, beyond anything Aizawa could ever imagine. Every day, Aizawa wakes up at 5:30 to a harsh tugging on his wrist. For hours, he feels his body, his soulmate’s body, get beaten up. All his muscles ache like they’re pushed too hard during a workout. His lungs burn, straining to breathe; a sensation he can only imagine comes from smoke inhalation. And the burns, oh the burns. His legs, his arms, his chest are always on fire.
“Fuck,” He says, jolting his mug of coffee when a particularly hard pain surprises him. His coffee splashes onto his hand, the almost boiling liquid barely registering in comparison. Still, he puts his mug down and rushes over to his leaky kitchen sink, letting the water wash over his skin, cooling the mild burn. His soulmate hurts enough as it is, Aizawa doesn’t want to add to that.
He stares at the water running off his hand, wincing as pain thuds on his back followed by the feeling of his palms scratching. He turns his hand palm up; his soulmate clearly stopped his fall by catching himself on the ground.
Aizawa waits and waits for more pain to come. He feels sick when it stops. It hurts when he feels his soulmate’s pain, but somehow, it feels worse when he can’t feel anything.
“Get up,” He whispers to no one. “Get up.”
He stands at the sink for a few more minutes before giving up. He turns off the tap and gets ready for his own day.
Just as he’s leaving the house, he feels a weak bump on his shoulder. His soulmate, moving again. He almost cries in relief.
“I’m with you.” He says, taking a deep breath. He whacks his hand against his doorframe, not enough to really hurt, but enough for his soulmate to hopefully feel through the connection. He gets a weak bump in return.
Aizawa leans heavily against Mic at his apartment. They have a rare, shared day off, opting to spend it doing absolutely nothing. His soulmate makes his presence known by receiving a slap across their cheek, Aizawa barely flinching. Mic notices, of course.
“Soulmate?” He asks, watching in complete worry to see if the pain starts again. Aizawa pushes further into Mic’s side, waiting in anticipation to see if another session begins. Mic gently takes his hand, running his thumb over the back of it in silent support.
They sit quietly for minutes until Aizawa feels a familiar thump against his hand. He sighs in relief. Immediately he pushes himself up and knocks on the coffee table in return.
“They’re good,” Aizawa tells Mic, returning to slouch against him. Mic brings an arm around Aizawa’s shoulders, squeezing. “They’re good.”
“Your soulmate’s so strong,” Mic whispers, loudly because it’s Mic, but the comforting sentiment is there.
“I hate this,” Aizawa lightly thuds his head against Mic’s shoulder in frustration. “They shouldn’t have to endure this.”
“I know,” Mic says, used to Aizawa’s rants about his soulmate’s pain and situation. Completely justified, Mic understands, he feels strongly for Aizawa’s soulmate too. “It sucks. But you’ll find them one day. And then the pain can stop.”
“What if I don’t find them quick enough?” Aizawa closes his eyes, “’Zashi, it’s been going on for years.”
“Have faith,” Mic assures, “Your soulmate is so resilient, you are too. You’ll meet eventually.”
The rest of the day is spent resting, watching tv and taking lazy naps together.
Midnight convinces him to apply for a teaching position at UA, after a particularly long rant about the quality of heroes.
“All heroes care about is ratings,” Aizawa stuffs his hands into his pockets, walking back to his apartment with Midnight. They brush arms when someone hurries past them, clearly eager to get home after a day at work. “It’s infuriating having to work with them.”
She laughs, lightly pushing Aizawa away into his own space. “It’s what gets taught these days. You remember the curriculum, the lessons about appearance and presence. It’s what the hero commission wants.”
Aizawa sighs in frustration.
“There is a simple solution though.” She stops walking, raising her eyebrow in an almost teasing manner. She smirks, hand on her jutting hip. Aizawa sighs, resigning himself mentally.
“…what?”
“Teach the next generation.” She walks over, patting him once on the shoulder. “Train the heroes yourself, UA is hiring.”
Aizawa blanches. “You do realise who you’re talking to right? I’m not qualified.”
Midnight shrugs, “UA will train you, and get you the necessary qualifications. It’s what they’re doing with me.”
Aizawa takes a step towards her, looking up. “You got the job?”
“I sure did,” She grins, “And as I was leaving, they asked for any recommendations for other hires I have.”
Any congratulations for his friend fell from Aizawa’s lips as he processes her sentence. His face drops from neutral to a tired scowl.
“You didn’t.”
Her smile deepens, eyes crinkling. “I did.”
They split ways, Aizawa shuffling into his house. He flicks on the light, immediately heading over to his old, dying laptop. He waits for it to boot up, making himself a coffee in the meantime, stalling.
The laptop monitor glows at him and he trudges over with his drink, sitting at his small table. He opens his emails and sighs at the new email in his inbox from UA.
Aizawa reads the list of students allocated to him. The two at the top of the list are the recommendation students; Todoroki Shouto and Yaoyorozu Momo. He remembers them easily. Yaoyorozu has a powerful quirk, creation. The adaptable quirk paired with her logic made her stand out in the recommendations.
Todoroki, he knows via his father. Todoroki Enji. Endeavour.
Aizawa sighs at the thought of the number 2 hero. He’s loud, he’s uncaring, he’s destructive. Working with him has been a pain that Aizawa has endured several times. They usually cross paths on difficult missions, both called in when powerful quirks are involved; Aizawa to erase them, and Endeavour to match them.
He’s never met Shouto and prays he isn’t like his father, save for a glimpse at the recommendations.
Rolling into his class, reluctantly stepping out of his yellow sleeping bag, he takes in the new Class 1-A. His eyes drift across the students, landing on Todoroki.
His scar is prominent, and immediately Aizawa is taken back to that day 10 years ago. The pain he felt, would surely manifest a scar similar to Todoroki’s. Except there’s no way, Todoroki would have been 5 when he got that scar, felt that pain.
Aizawa puts the thought to the back of his mind, for now, focusing on the class and introducing them to the hero course.
He doesn’t mention anything to Todoroki about his suspicions. Soulmates are rare, with platonic partners usually being reserved for biological family members. Besides, the kid is settling into a new year, a new environment. Aizawa doesn’t want to complicate anything for his student or add any additional stress on a simple theory.
He keeps an eye on Todoroki. The pain Aizawa’s felt for years and continues to feel, points towards abuse. It’s uncomfortable to acknowledge, Aizawa naively hoping for a reckless pro-hero or even a villain. But the routine, the almost apologetic, reassuring knocks on his hand.
Aizawa swallows down bile crawling up his throat. He’ll wait for a little more evidence before prying, besides, Todoroki has no reason to trust him, even if everything ends up being true. He could simply reject Aizawa’s offer of help completely, or it could be a misunderstanding, a coincidence.
Aizawa blinks, the harsh white lights of Recovery Girl’s room rousing him. He frowns at his discomfort, before the memories of the USJ attack return to him.
“My kids,” He gasps out, slowly pushing himself up off the bed. “The students,”
“Calm yourself Aizawa,” Recovery Girl says, appearing at his side. “The villains have been dealt with, and your students are safe.”
“Is anyone hurt? Were there any injuries?”
Recovery Girl rolls her eyes, “Only your reckless self,” She replies.
Aizawa closes his eyes in relief until Recovery Girl continues.
“Well, physically.”
“What do you mean?” Aizawa starts, before gasping. His soulmate. “Where’s Todoroki? How is he? Did he…?”
Recovery Girl points to the bed next to Aizawa’s, Aizawa inhales sharply at turning his head to the adjacent bed.
Todoroki is curled up, facing Aizawa. He’s sleeping, no doubt tired after enduring Aizawa’s injuries. His breaths are deep, arm and hand almost reaching out to Aizawa.
“He hasn’t left your side,” Recovery Girl leans against Aizawa’s bed, also watching Todoroki. “I gave him painkillers, but ultimately, he only recovered when I began healing you.”
She smiles.
“Nothing’s been confirmed yet, but he’s your soulmate, isn’t he.”
Aizawa swallows, he’s been feeling Todoroki’s pain for years. He feels sick. “I think this confirms it.”
He takes a deep breath, unconsciously matching the deep breaths of his soulmate next to him.
“Chiyo, I need you to inform Nezu.” He says, “We need to open an abuse case, immediately.”