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[He shrugs; yes, it's pretty bad, but he's dealing with it as best he can. It will either get better or-- not matter, the longer he's undefeated.]

Personally? No. [Technically not a lie!!] I take my fan letters very seriously!

You really read them all . . .

[Shouldn't he hire someone for that? Or better yet, just throw them all out discreetly. It's all well and good people write him letters, but surely he doesn't have to waste time reading through them.

He huffs a sigh and settles back down.]

You're ridiculous.

Hahaha, what's wrong? You wouldn't read what people send you?

[He probably wouldn't want to be noticed enough to get letters... But still, they're so cute, Aizawa.]

There's better ways to spend your time.

[Like training. Or sleeping, he thinks, rubbing at one irritated eye.]

Besides: doesn't it demoralize you to see how many people wish you ill?

[He trains all the time! Aizawa!!]

Not particularly, no. It did at first, but more people are starting to come around... It's important to know what's in people's hearts in order to be a hero.

[Better ways to spend his time, please-- appreciate the people!]

If you say so.

[He still doesn't believe it, but this isn't an argument either of them will ever truly win. Instead:]

I'm starting my second internship soon. I probably won't see you for a few weeks, unless it's on the field--

[Which is a possibility, he realizes. Of course it is, but he hadn't really thought about it before . . . he can't treat All Might as anything but a distant symbol, if that.]

--but if you want to try and find a date in that time for whatever American movie you wanted to see, I'm pretty sure I can find at least one afternoon free.

[He gestures behind him. There's a schedule and a calendar; look and pick, babe.]

Edited 2018-06-21 02:25 (UTC)

[He'll do his best not to play favorites with interns who are not working with him at all-- it might take a huge effort, but he will try. For now he twists to look up at the schedule, which sadly involves pulling away to sit up.

Hmm, hmm.]

You have a Thursday here, [he says, reaching for it, because Aizawa can also see through the back of his head.] And it looks like a Tuesday here.

[So, pick one, or he will pick both.]

This time, I'll pick you up.

Thursday.

[Give himself something to look forward to, and thus push through whatever difficulties he has in training. He's about ready to settle back down again, but then another thought occurs, and he glances up.]

. . . you mean in a car, right?

[IT'S JUST THAT HE'S SEEN ALL MIGHT JUMPING AROUND BEFORE . . .]

[Haha... uh.]

On foot...?

[All Might can't fucking drive, call the presses.]

In my defense, any car I'd buy would be big enough to stand out.

As long as you don't plan on carrying me.

[He just doesn't want this to be a Lois Lane-Superman thing. On foot is acceptable, and that settled, he curls up against Toshinori again, his head against his chest.

They stay like that for a little while, Aizawa slowly dozing off. he hadn't thought he could have on a date, and certainly not with someone so dazzling as Toshinori, but he's an exhausted man and Toshinori is good at being calming. A few hours tick by, and sometimes they talk and sometimes they just sit in silence.

Once he heads out (sneakily, sort of, but not really, his head ducked down as though that will erase the fact he's seven feet tall), Aizawa flops back on his bed, trying not to do anything stupid like hyperventile or grin.

It's a little hard to believe, honestly. It's hard to believe that any of this is happening; that he's gone from being sour and anti-social to having someone like Toshinori eager to take him out. And better yet: that he himself likes someone like Toshinori. But honestly, it makes sense, doesn't it? He's always gravitated towards bright, loud types, so long as they had something beyond volume. It means they can be the social ones while he simply stays quiet and basks in their presence.

He spends the next few days being an absolute idiot in his thoughts, though he tries hard not to. He takes his classes seriously, but it's hard when all his mind wants to do is drift away and fantasize about what Toshinori might be doing . . .

Not that he really needs to fantasize, not when All Might's accomplishments are plastered everywhere. He keeps stacking up the wins, defeating villain after villain with such ease it's almost unbelievable. Most often a solid punch or two does it; most of his battles last less than five minutes.

It's odd, watching All Might nowadays. It's odd to see the difference between the exuberant boy he likes and the almost obnoxiously positive superhero.

His internship starts and it is, as he predicted, difficult and time-consuming. Entirely worth it, of course, and he learns a great deal in a small amount of time, but still: exhausting. Each day is a lesson in how to deal with different kinds of criminal activity: how to defeat everything from gangs to small fry loners; how to spot a drug deal and how to judge if it's worth his time; how to know when to sit and listen and when to immediately act.

They don't cover large-scale disasters for the simple reason that there are none, and this is practical training. That's good, Aizawa thinks. Most of the large-scale monsters are immune to his quirk, and while he knows he needs the practice on how to defeat those kinds of villains, it's certainly not something he's looking forward to.

Which is why one attacks, of course. The day before his date with Toshinori, some kind of slimy, acidic blob of a creature attacks a bank. The gang its affiliated with rushes in around it, intent on stealing the stacks of money stored there, while the creature writhes and twists, spitting acid out wildly. Is it stupid, or simply bent on destruction?]

The latter.

[He answers his mentor quietly. Water Watcher (as he's known, with the quirk to manipulate liquid molecules) crouches on the roof next to him, rapidly observing the situation. There's an instinct within him to rush forward, especially as the screams grow in volume, but he'll only be a victim if he doesn't have any kind of plan.

Aid any injured citizens. There's a hospital three blocks away; if you bring them at all closer, an ambulance can meet you halfway. The important point is that they get out of range of that thing, his mentor decides, and Aizawa nods, straightening up and preparing his capture cloth. I'll be the one to deal with him.

A solid plan. It might have worked, too, save for the fact that he hears a boom of familiar laughter ring out from across the street.

Oh, boy.

All Might is here.]

[Toshinori, predictably, because he sure is all over the news doing it-- throws himself back into his hero work the very next morning. The sun is hardly up before the first All Might headline is being drafted live on the scene of some unruly pair of villains trying to plant something in a train station-- and it only gets busier from there.

He thinks about Aizawa, sure, thinks about him a lot, actually, but there's little time to himself when he's working, and he's working most hours of the day lately. When he gets a free minute, a moment to stop and breathe, it's that evening in Aizawa's room he always comes back to; soft and quiet and intimate, relaxing in the exact way his everyday life is not.

Not to say he doesn't thrive under pressure, because he does. Each time All Might's grin is plastered all over the news it's broader, his heroics grander, as if daring villains to even try. When one gives up and turns himself in the moment All Might arrives on the scene, Toshinori feels something shift in the way the world thinks about heroes. Minute, sure, tiny - but it's there.

It has its ups and downs, though; the very next day another villain appears spouting nonsense about how All Might really inspires villains to try harder, and that one he makes short work of with the same smile - but he feels a sick dread settle in his stomach. He's glad he works alone; no one to prod him about the change in his demeanor, unnoticeable to anyone who isn't really paying attention.

It's only a few days since Sunday but it feels much longer, and All Might feels like he's been awake for weeks when he shows up at the bank. There's some kind of blob monster quirk and the villains around it- its... keepers? Or are they its cronies? Who knows-- for All Might, those details aren't as important as the immediate action.

If only heroes had a social media feed, they wouldn't double-book like this.

Either way; All Might is here!! and everyone knows it already, several civilians on the floor of the bank cry out in relief, and several of the gangsters actually drop their bags and turn to approach him. So they're the reckless types, wholly convinced All Might is not nearly as unstoppable as the press claims— and they come at him at once with their quirks while two others continue their looting, out of reach beyond the acid... thing.

So, he'll keep these guys occupied, which shouldn't take too long.]

[It's unfortunate that they've, well, double-booked, but it isn't actually a detractor. All Might is new, but he's not green; he's easy to partner with in a pinch, which means this fight ought to go even faster.

Gunshots ring out (who still uses guns, he wonders faintly) as Aizawa zips and springs his way down, his stomach swooping giddily even now as the ground rushes up to meet him. He's quick, his shielded eyes scanning the people below. They run quickly for the most part, and he ignores those who do, but--

There, a woman who hobbles too slowly. She must have twisted her ankle, but she's gamely trying to go as fast as she can. It isn't fast enough, though; that acidic monster is turning, winding up one hand. It's a clear shot, there's no way he won't make it--

--and it's easy, really. It's almost like a training exercise. He lands on a pole and whips his cloth out, snagging her and yanking her up just as the acid flies. It sizzles on the ground, eating away at concrete, as she shrieks in terror and dangles in the air.

Give her this: she doesn't struggle the moment she realizes Aizawa is trying to help her. Within a moment he's released her, jumping down to join her and help her hurry away. Ten feet, twenty, and he half-turns, keeping that monster in his focus, except there's even more gunshots, too many for even a few people to be shooting at once.

It's not several guns. It's just one, one man, bullets spraying from his fingertips. Ten "guns" in all, and All Might is dodging well, but he's also contending with beating the other members of the gang. It's all too much at once, and then--

--abruptly, the bullets stop.

All Might sees the opening and strikes; within an instant he's knocked the walking gun out. And that's all well and good, and Aizawa feels something like pride rise in his chest, and then--

--then, there's a scream and a shout of warning and all he knows is darkness.

It's such a stupid injury. A rookie mistake that he'll agonize over later. He'd taken his eye off the acidic monster, and of course it had attacked: it hit him square on the side, a large glob of it eating through his uniform and sizzling on his skin. He'd staggered, stumbled, gasping from the pain; another blob had hit him square in the chest, and he'd blacked out from sheer pain.

And now he's here, in some sterile environment, his mind swimming as he tries to wake up.]

[It's a good fight, right up until the end. He's surprised for only a fraction of a second when he sees a flash of movement in his periphery and realizes it's Aizawa; his grin broadens as he sinks his fist directly into a gangster's face, and surely that's his love of justice making him smile like that and not his--whatever they are, people who've yet to go on a second date.

It's a good fight, anyway, and All Might ends his bout against the gun-handed man with only a graze to show for it, and then--

Everything is a blur, after Aizawa goes down. Toshinori wants to rush to his side but All Might is occupied with the remaining gangsters and the acid blob himself. He makes short work of the gangster - a punk with a quirk that creates false images of himself, but All Might is fast enough to punch through all of them and knock out the man before he can make more - and puts himself between Aizawa and the acidic monster.

One for All isn't the greatest quirk to use against what seems to be just an amorphous blob but he punches it anyway, knocking off sizzling blobs and blistering his hands as he does, until he can reach the quirk holder embedded at the center of it and drag them out, tossing them to the ground. It's done; civilians applaud, some press try to reach him, but All Might has already returned to scoop Aizawa up off the ground and demand an ambulance for him and the other injured people here.

He can see the headline now: All Might: Hero's Hero or something like it, singing his praises for plucking a hero intern out of danger. Too bad he doesn't really care what the press says about this incident, at the moment.

But All Might has work to do, and it pains him to leave Aizawa at the hospital, but he affects his best look of detached concern, tells a few people to "take care of the boy!"-- and he's gone. It never stops... until hours later, well into the next morning, it does, and it's Toshinori who lies his way into Aizawa's hospital room, saying something about being a former schoolmate and family friend.

Sure. Well, he's here, slumped in a chair and dozing, jerking awake when his head lolls back (he is... too tall for this chair). He's up, he's up, and so is Aizawa-- relief hits him full in the chest, and all of a sudden he's upright and awake.]

Hey! How are you feeling?

[He is . . . so loud. So loud and so bright, and Aizawa squints up at him, more than a little overwhelmed. He blinks once, twice, his eyes burning, wondering how Toshinori managed to get into his bedroom, vaguely pleased about it regardless . . .

But he's not in his bedroom. He's in the hospital, because he was acting like it was his first year and he had no concept of villains attacking in pairs. The memories come back one by one, stumbling in and presenting themselves in ashamed little mumbles. You got cocky, you got distracted, you got attacked and needed to be rescued--

With a groan he slumps back, resting against the pillow.]

What happened? Everyone got out all right?

[One more loud thing to add to the growing list: Toshinori dragging his chair as close as he can get it to Aizawa's bedside, reaching for his hand to curl his fingers around it lightly. He's sporting a few bandages himself - had to walk all the way here with his hands in his pockets, just in case - but otherwise he's fine. Of course.]

All Might punched the villain until it exploded, [he says, and that's pretty much what he did to the thing, so that's good enough.] No one else was hurt as-- as seriously as you.

[He doesn't outright ask if Aizawa is okay again, but it's written all over his face.]

Good.

[He says it thickly, some of the tension releasing from his body. He fucked up, but at least he hadn't fucked up in such a way that innocents got hurt. He won't be so lucky next time, he knows, and swallows thickly.

Toshinori's hand feels good surrounding his. He feels a bit guilty for accepting the comfort, but he knows pushing it away in some fit of self-flagellation won't help. Training, improving, getting better . . . that's how he'll make up for this.

He tips his hand up, threading their fingers together, and takes stock of how he feels.

. . . fairly miserable is the conclusion. His body hurts, one massive burn that hurts each time he moves. Even breathing hurts; the rise and fall of his chest is quiet agony.

A stray thought crosses his mind, and he frowns.]

What day is it?

It's Thursday morning. [So.] You're probably standing me up tonight.

[He manages a smile and a gentle squeeze to his hand. Date night is ruined, but he'll probably be here all night again if they don't let him sit here all day. He has things to do... not yet, though. Not yet.

He isn't particularly worried anymore, now that Aizawa is awake. Sure, he's still injured, but it's the difference between nearly comatose and awake, but hurt-- he won't die from an injury like this. Not that that makes Toshinori want to leave his side, but when he inevitably has to, he won't be as distracted as he was the night before.

Anyway, he can totally bring his DVDs here-- but first, another realization.]

There's a slight chance your name is in the paper. With mine. About that. Your internship had more to say than I did about you being there, and... [He waves his other hand, an "I couldn't help it so hopefully it's not too embarrassing" gesture.]

[It's not Toshinori's fault, but still Aizawa's mouth tightens, regret and displeasure written all over his expression. He can well imagine the headlines, frankly: painting him as inexperienced and immature, a boy who would surely have perished if All Might hadn't been there. It was undoubtedly good press for the symbol of peace; less so for Aizawa, who had virtually no other press to back up on.

This was going to cost him offers, Aizawa thought, but then forced the thought away. Perhaps it would and perhaps it wouldn't; either way, he could do nothing but accept that.]

Fantastic. Did they disavow me or just say they hadn't worked with me long enough to teach me anything?

[A croaked out few sentences as he pulls his hands back, bracing them on the bed behind him. Aizawa grunts from effort as he forces himself to sit up, the movement jerky and erratic. His body hates the idea and informs him in no small terms just how stupid he's being; he ignores it.]

I doubt I'll stand you up. There's no logical reason for me to stay in here much longer, not if they've already wrapped me. All I need are the instructions for the coming weeks.

They-- You're moving too quickly for your injuries-- They praised your initiative, at least.

[The real question is whether or not they meant it. Toshinori won't soften the blow and tell him he did a good job; he didn't, quite simply, and it's that kind of mistake that Toshinori, as All Might, would have to reprimand him for if Aizawa were his intern. Mistakes happen, everyone gets hurt eventually-- but they really shouldn't, when it comes to hero work.

A solid C- across the board. Toshinori watches Aizawa struggle just to sit up, frowning around his protest that he really should spend another night in the hospital, but instead--]

I'll take you home with me. I was going to pick you up anyway, so this is simpler.

[He scoffs. It's not that he thinks he didn't make a mistake-- he had, undoubtedly, and he expects no praise for it-- but this all comes back to the bureaucracy of heroics again, as far as he's concerned. Rather than simply tell the truth and say that it was a foolish mistake that was entirely Aizawa's own fault, the agency hedges and disavows him even as they falsely praise him. Initiative, as if that's worth anything. No, they say that just to save face, to keep their own reputation above water, and he hates it.

Better to just acknowledge he did poorly and say they'll teach him better. Or not, but to try and offer faint praise stings even worse.

But whatever. He'll do better next time, he resolves, and ignores his inclination to relive the incident with ear-burning embarrassment. He'll train harder, focus more on his spacial awareness, but for now--]

. . . all right.

[He'll have to check in with the agency anyway, but they don't care where he sleeps. His parents, while supportive, are more than a little hands-off; they won't notice if he's gone a night or two, not anymore.]

Let me . . . I have to meet with the others first. Or call them.

[He hesitates. He's still fuzzy from pain and medication both, but he feels a little removed, as though he isn't fully absorbing what's happening. Toshinori is taking him to his home, and that's . . . good, isn't it? Yes. And yet . . .

It takes him a solid half a minute.

Toshinori is taking him to his home, and the thought drops out of the sky one word at a time, solid and immobile, and his eyes go wide as he stares down at the blankets. They haven't even had their second date yet, but he's going to stay at his house-- and oh, yes, they'd gone up to Aizawa's dorm room, but that's so wildly different than visiting someone's apartment and staying with him. That has implications, and while he isn't stupid enough to think they'll have sex, still, it's a frankly breathtaking prospect all on its own.]

Ah-- yeah.

[He says it stupidly, and then shakes his head.]

Let me just-- I should find a phone, I have to--

[Oh, there he goes again, awkward and bumbling. Toshinori can't help but smirk, leaning back in his chair to give Aizawa his fidgeting space. Did he not realize they would wind up at his apartment to watch his American movies? Now that he's injured, this is simply the more convenient option - maybe make a pit stop for a change of clothes, or maybe he'll accidentally forget that and put Aizawa in his own clothes, hmm, yes.

Yes, that's a great idea. Either way - it's cute as usual, the way he fumbles over his words and his mind clearly runs away from him with all kinds of possibilities, and Toshinori does nothing but chuckle as he gets up to cross the room, where the generously provided phone from at least 20 years ago is sitting on an extra table. He brings it back and hands it over, trying not to stare too obviously as he pictures Aizawa failing to fill one of his t-shirts. It will fall off his shoulders just so, and he'll keep tugging at it, which will only make it that much more noticeable when it slips again...

He's a man of simple tastes. It's going to take a while for someone to come and release Aizawa after his phone calls, anyway, so he sits back down to wait.]

You call whoever you need to, I can wait.

[He'll wait very well, even resisting trying to hold his hand again in favor of playing with a lock of Aizawa's hair once or twice. Hey, he's still here, hello. When the calls are finally done, he speaks up again--]

I could sleep on the couch?

[Don't make him sleep on the couch, babe.]

[It's very hard to focus when Toshinori is playing with his hair. He isn't deliberately being distracting, he's not obnoxious, but still: he's already hyperaware of where his semi-boyfriend is, and each touch only makes it worse. He doesn't shiver, at least, although his head tips into the touch eagerly time and again.

At least his voice is steady. The agency is, of course, aware he's in the hospital, and they're generous enough to accept him back in two days, once his injuries have healed enough for him to be of use to them. There's a very long period in which Aizawa says nothing at all and a voice goes steadily on and on in a lecture, which is . . . not exactly fun, but certainly deserved, so he simply sits and listens, only occasionally making a noise to acknowledge he's still there.

(He thinks that perhaps it would have been a better taught lesson if the lecture had been delivered in person, but he isn't stupid enough to say that).

When it's over, he sighs and slumps back on the bed. He takes Toshinori's hand again, tugging him in closer. A nurse pops in, telling him he'll be released within the hour, which is just enough time for a quick nap.

He sort of wants Toshinori to come in here with him, but he won't say so. But if they're going to share a bed tonight (and they are), it's best to establish that here and now. So:]

Come here.

[So no, he won't sleep on the couch.]

Edited (listen i got distracted) 2018-06-21 19:06 (UTC)

[Aizawa's hair is nice and soft, even after a night in the hospital. Toshinori likes playing with it and keeps at it for most of his probably awkward phone call, only half listening. It's still early in the day; he can take Aizawa home and let him sleep, go get some work done, come back with dinner and go from there-- that sounds good. Maybe date night will manage to pull through, this time.

But for now they're just waiting for someone to come give Aizawa his instructions and let him go, and Toshinori's hand is being pulled, but come on - he genuinely can't fit in a hospital bed, especially one that's already occupied. It's still nice, still makes his heart flip over a few times that Aizawa wants him close, but it's just not practical.

He has a whole bed at home! Surely, this can wait. It's going to have to, as Toshinori stands halfway, leaning over the bed, but does not make a move to actually climb in.]

I'll get us both in trouble like that, [he says quietly, then less so,] I'm going to get some coffee.

[He's been up all night and a cramped hospital bed nap won't cut it, sadly. Still, he won't leave Aizawa high and dry, leaning down to kiss him soundly instead.]

[His heart twists at that soft rejection. It's for a hundred different practical reasons, he knows, and yet he stiffens, so wildly new at this that it feels as though he's made a grave mistake. His grip slackens, his hand pulling back as he retreats within himself-- he'll get coffee, it's fine, he won't ask for something like that again, Toshinori will sleep on the couch and he'll stop thinking about absurd things--

--and then he kisses him, and oh, but that's a lovely alternative. That's perfect, soft heat and overwhelming affection, and Aizawa freezes for just a moment, his entire body going still as his thoughts pleasantly fizzle and explode in delighted little shrieks. It takes him a few seconds before he realizes dimly that he's meant to participate as well. Hastily, clumsily, his mouth moves, returning the kiss hungrily (thirstily, ha ha), arching his back and pressing up to ensure it keeps going. His body protests loudly to such an action, but his body can shut up, he'll have all day to tend to it and this kiss is worth a great deal more, more, he wants more, he wants to spend the next hour kissing Toshinori--

And then someone knocks at the open door, coughing awkwardly, and Aizawa's resulting glare could kill, it really could.

At least it isn't a hapless nurse. Just Hizashi, grinning and apparently not all that fussed about Aizawa's apparent ire.

Toshinori excuses himself hastily, heading out to get coffee-- and, likely, to do a few laps and give Aizawa some space. That's nice of him. It's a pity it means that neither Aizawa nor Hizashi get peace, as the former snarls and the latter unashamedly asks question after question, his interest both caring and nosy. What's his name, what does he do, is he a hero, what's his quirk, why didn't I know about him, Shouta--!

On and on and on, and he answers the questions as best he can. Toshinori Yagi, he's a secretary, no, I don't know what his quirk is, it's only been one date--

The next set of questions are a little more invasive, and he doesn't bother answering them. A nurse comes to his rescue soon, giving him instructions on how to care for himself and when to come in for a check-up, and just like that, he's released.

Thank god.

Hizashi is, for all his loud teasing, genuinely worried about him, and so only peels away when Aizawa makes it clear he isn't just going back to his dorm to sulk. He even has the audacity to leer when Toshinori meets them at the hospital's entrance, which does nothing for Aizawa's general nerves, but it is what it is.

On to Toshinori's apartment. On foot, which might be a bit of a trial, but there's nothing for it but to walk, so off they go.]

[Ah, Toshinori thinks, he should have kissed Aizawa sooner. On their first date, tangled up in his dorm room, a kiss like this would have been perfect-- no hospital, no bandages, no sound of nurses muffled just outside. Aizawa is warm and soft and wanting, and Toshinori slides his fingers into his hair to keep his head tipped up, kissing him to make up for the times he could have done it sooner--

And then they're interrupted, and he stands there sheepish and red-faced until he can edge around Present Mic- who has a name he's going to have to learn and hastily, apparently- and get out of there.

He gets his coffee iced and drinks it all in two gulps, then gets another and takes his time drinking it. A few nurses try to chat him up and he's too distracted to even politely pay attention, edging back toward Aizawa's room with his coffee, catching the same nurse who released him and turns Toshinori back around to the entrance--

And Mic is still here, which is great, and Toshinori manages not to say anything absurd under the force of his shit-eating grin, but he does glue himself to Aizawa's side and put his arm around him despite all of the wiggling eyebrows going on just a few feet to the left.

On to his apartment, indeed. There's no way to improve the walk but it's not bad, and Toshinori's apartment is what one would expect from a recent graduate earning a secretary's salary. It's comfortable and tidy, with a few very vintage posters of heroes- fictional ones, but still- and, okay, he has some All Might merch. He does. It's very exciting to be an action figure and there is a little plastic All Might beaming down at them from on top of the fridge as he leads Aizawa past the kitchen to his bedroom.

It's less tidy in the bedroom, but most of the room is his huge bed, so that's to be expected. Aizawa can sit, Toshinori has a few things to fuss over first--]

You must be hungry! What do you want to eat?

[Watch as he produces a veritable encyclopedia of takeout menus. For real, they are in a binder. It's a mess. He lives like this. But he thinks this is totally normal, so he just goes on--] Your friend is exactly the same in person as he is on the radio.

you heard me

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