Work Text:
Izuku abandons his teaching plans to watch Aizawa-sensei, a few desks over. He’s hunched over his own work, fingers tapping over the laptop’s keyboard. His hair is pulled back in a bun today, bangs included. It makes his black eyepatch stand out starkly against his pale skin, when half his face is usually covered by hair. Izuku thinks he should be used to seeing that by now, but it still catches him off-guard, sometimes. Nowadays, Eraserhead can't even erase quirks anymore.
“Spit it out.”
Izuku blinks. Aizawa-sensei has stopped typing, one good eye now looking up to glare at him. Izuku smiles. This only seems to irk his old teacher further.
“Nothing,” he says.
Aizawa-sensei scowls. “Don't you have grading to do?”
“I’ve finished them.” He’s just been drafting a new lesson plan for the next semester, even though it’s only been a few weeks into the current one.
Aizawa-sensei narrows his eye, probably picking up the fact that Izuku is way ahead of his work. “Go home, then.”
“After you,” Izuku replies, letting the cheekiness slip into his smile. Aizawa-sensei gives a put-upon sigh.
“Midoriya,” he grumbles out. “I don't care what you do with your own time. But if you're going to still be here you either need to stop drilling a hole into my head or say what you want to say.”
“I’m not glaring at you. That's kind of your thing, Sensei.”
“Sometimes I miss the early days when you were scared of me.”
Izuku laughs outright at this. Aizawa-sensei lets him know exactly how he feels about his response, by intensifying his gaze, as if praying his quirk would come back if just for five seconds so he could silence Izuku in an instant.
Izuku thinks back to those early days. Class 1-A… That eventful year feels so far away from where he stands today. He remembers Aizawa-sensei’s presence from that time; always there, always watching their every step. These days, it's Izuku who is carefully retracing his old teacher’s steps. He simply wishes that what he does is enough to not let down the bright-eyed hero-to-be’s currently under his care.
“Midoriya.”
Aizawa-sensei is still looking at him. He tilts his head slightly. Prompting, without another word.
His old class knows this lesson, each their lives centered around it, treasured much like a steadily beating heart: for every hand that you offer, keep taking the ones that reach out to you.
Izuku exhales slowly. “Do you miss it?” At Aizawa-sensei’s slow blink, he clarifies, “Your quirk.”
Aizawa-sensei hums. “Sometimes. Mostly when I remember it's the most effective way to wrangle the class.” Izuku huffs. Of course. “But I’ll live without it.”
“I guess,” Izuku hedges. Yes, Aizawa-sensei will live, much like numerous others who no longer have the quirks they were born with will live. So many others were less fortunate, those who didn't manage to walk through the war with their lives at all.
Aizawa-sensei’s gaze is its own form of communication, Izuku’s always thought. He’s blunt and doesn't mince his words, but even without saying anything, his eyes speak for him when you care to look back from where you’ve taken a step further beyond.
I’m watching you, he’s saying, always. Standing a little behind, hands in his pockets, ducking a smile into his scarf. Watch each other’s backs, and I’ll watch yours.
“Do you?” Aizawa-sensei asks back.
Izuku doesn't have to ponder for too long. “Sometimes,” he copies the answer. “I used to never have any in the first place, so I can't be too broken up about it.”
It’s his standard answer. Usually, people back up from this much, with some more encouraging words and some distraction to cheer him up.
Aizawa-sensei raises an eyebrow instead. “You’re allowed to accept where you are right now while wishing you had more, you know.”
Izuku suppresses a shudder. That's the heart of the matter, isn't it? He’s had a taste of his dream. He’s content with his role of helping others to reach that same dream, now. Still, it's hardly wrong of him to still wish he could continue living that dream, isn't it?
Izuku shakes his head. “What difference would it make?”
“Maybe not much.” Aizawa-sensei shrugs. “That’s just what growing up is. You look at where you have gotten in life, and you may find that you're not exactly where you used to envision yourself to be. Why shouldn't you be allowed to feel disappointed?” He leans back on his seat. Still looking at Izuku. “Whether or not you choose to try and change things from there, the most important part stays the same. You live.”
Izuku smiles. Today, it doesn't wobble. It’s still one of his favorite things—heroes, and their promise to save lives and keep living. “I had no idea you feel that way, Aizawa-sensei.”
“Watch it, you brat.” Izuku’s smile widens. “Who says anything about what I feel?” Aizawa-sensei crosses his arms, grinning slightly—ticked off, but in good humor. Izuku thinks about what little they’ve heard about Kurogiri from their teachers, and thinks that maybe Aizawa-sensei does understand.
“I’m a teacher too, now, you can't call me a brat anymore.”
Aizawa-sensei packs his things up. He stands, moving to finally leave the near-empty teacher’s office. He pauses by Izuku’s desk as he passes, and then he plants a fist to his head. Izuku looks up at him. Aizawa-sensei has a small smile on his face—he doesn't hide it quite so often, these days—and his fist presses a gentle weight to Izuku’s hair. He doesn't do hair-ruffling, like All Might loves to do, but Izuku thinks both gestures hold similar intentions.
“You will always be a little troublemaker, Midoriya.” The hand lifts, and he continues his walk. “And if you need a reminder, Nedzu doesn't give extra pay for overtime.”
Izuku follows suit in quickly packing his things up and catches up to his teacher. They walk the empty sunset-lit UA hallways together. “What if I invite you for a drink, Aizawa-sensei?”
Aizawa-sensei snorts. “You won't catch me drinking with you anytime soon.”
Ah, worth a shot. He’ll ask for Yamada-sensei’s help some other day. “Then, can I come visit Eri-chan? Dinner’s on me.”
Aizawa-sensei shoots him a bored look. “You should know by now that if you decide to visit you don't have to bring anything, so clearly you just said that to get on my nerves.”
“Sure, sure.” Izuku’s already tapping away on his phone, texting Eri and ordering dinner. He gets an immediate enthusiastic reply from the former, and a sigh from her guardian, who is still walking beside him.
“See? Troublemaker,” Aizawa-sensei says. He’s used the word so often, that after all these years, it has curved and bent into something fond instead. Izuku laughs, at his teacher turned coworker who he will always think of as his teacher anyway, and learns to live with it all over again.