BEGT ch. 21
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 20 - Chapter 21 AO3
Toshinori finds himself awake before Aizawa, with only a half hour to spare before the alarm would have gone off anyhow, the sun already well-established overhead, and the sounds of rush-hour traffic beeping and screeching on the highway in the distance. Curious how things are going with Gran Torino and Midoriya, he quietly reaches for his phone to check for messages or other updates, moving slowly in the hopes of letting Aizawa finish his recharge.
(10:08pm, Yesterday, Midoriya Izuku) I have to make up for ten years of getting used to having a quirk... that’s a lot of remedial study, but it needs to feel like second nature!
(8:42am, Today, Midoriya Izuku) I get it now, I’m not the egg, I’m a frozen pastry! Gotta cook evenly.
(8:50am, Today, Gran Torino) Where did you find this kid?!?
All Might chuckles and shakes his head, sets the phone aside, and shuts the waiting alarm off. He glances once more at Eraserhead, who had gotten his hair tousled and crumpled against the pillow, and had wormed one leg out from the side of the blanket, but otherwise seems far more peaceful than his usual day-to-day visage would suggest. Toshinori tries his best to sneak out of bed silently, but a soft groan behind him indicates a failed effort, and he sighs and climbs to his feet with a sheepish shrug back at the younger teacher, whose eternally-tired eyes are now staring blearily past him as Aizawa stretches his limbs out with a little tremor of strain. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you." (more under the cut)
Shouta rolls halfway onto his back to meet the gaze of his taller peer, and sits up with an indifferent shrug, "It's fine. Still better than a couch." He ruffles idly at his hair, brushing a few stray locks out of his face, and climbs out of bed, leaving a wrinkled mess of blankets and sheets behind, at least until he catches on to Yagi taking the time to tug them back up into a neater arrangement, and pauses to help on his side, taking mental note on etiquette for non-sleeping-bag living. "You're due to eat," he reminds the stomach-less hero good-naturedly, "And I could too. Something easy?"
Running through a quick mental inventory as he fishes an elastic from the night stand and pulls his hair up, Toshinori nods and ducks into the bathroom to take his retainers out, then heads for the kitchen to double-check a couple expiration dates. "Yeah," he grins at Aizawa and refreshes himself with a quick splash and scrub in the sink, "I'm thinking pancakes."
Eraserhead smirks in a silent agreement and steals into the bathroom himself for a few minutes, dragging the bottoms of those long, pink-patterned pajama pants along the carpet as he emerges, his face and hands damp and his hair messily combed up into a loose ponytail. He ambles over to peer around Yagi's shoulder, raising one eyebrow at the runny consistency of the batter in the bowl, but says nothing to contradict the more experienced chef as he leans back against the counter. "Anything I can do to help?"
"Hm?" Yagi glances up at the offer as he pulls a wide griddle from the back of a sparse cabinet to set on the stovetop, and as an afterthought, he grabs a smaller one to set on the counter, as well as another mixing bowl from the next shelf down. "Here," he hands off the bowl to the younger teacher, who puzzles over it curiously, "Why don't you scramble us a few eggs?" He jerks his head toward the fridge, and Shouta nods seriously to take up the task.
Aizawa tries, in earnest, to accomplish this simple culinary task. But the loner of a hero lacks even the most basic of cooking skills, having gone from pampered living as a child, to college campus cafeterias, to instant packaged foods and takeout. After just a couple minutes, his grumbles of frustration draw Toshinori's attention, and the older teacher glances over to see Shouta reaching gingerly into the bowl to pluck out the broken shells from the goopy mess of eggs.
"Everything ...going okay over there?" All Might tries not to grin too hard at the sight of Eraserhead, struggling in the kitchen, as he pours a hefty puddle into the skillet and leaves it to brown, sidling up behind Aizawa to get a better look at his progress. "Oh dear." He sighs and reaches over Shouta's shoulder to pick out the rest of the eggshells, then takes one more egg from the carton to give a quick demonstration. "Like this," he coaxes softly, giving a couple firm raps against the countertop, "Just make a little starter crack, then pull it apart with your thumbs." He turns the egg over to show the motion, his fingertips dwarfing the egg with their size as he nimbly cracks it open over the bowl.
Aizawa watches the example raptly, and carefully repeats the steps on the last egg. He winces a little as the left half of the shell starts to fracture and buckle under the pressure of his thumb, but he manages to get the gist of it without another mess-up. "Aha. And then just... stir it?" He fetches a whisk and jabs it against the yolks, giving a half-hearted swirl to the mix, looking up as Toshinori nods a confirmation and adds a dash of milk to it. "...Sorry I'm not more helpful. Never learned for myself."
"It's not too late to learn now," Yagi encourages him, speaking over his shoulder as he teases a spatula under the edge of the first flapjack. "Eggs are a good place to start, anyhow. Good protein, you know, and lots of ways to use them." He hums softly to himself as he makes a fluid gesture with the skillet and flips the hotcake over in midair, then scoops a smaller one into the pan beside it. “Learned that from the American chefs,” he boasts, “Can’t do it with the thick puck-shaped cakes like you usually see.”
Shouta watches with interest from a foot or two away, idly stirring at his own mixture as an uncharacteristically soft little smile melts over his features. The taller hero seems to be just as much in his element here, in the kitchen, as he ever does out on the streets or in front of the cameras. Aizawa muses silently that Toshinori's cheer and charisma might very well translate into any setting, once he manages to build some confidence on the subject. He can only hope to see that sunny personality start to shine just as brightly in the classroom, not too far in the future.
(Inspired by this pic from Kotilae!)
After a leisurely breakfast, and a couple of showers, there's still a good few hours before they're due back on campus, so Yagi makes good on his word to show Shouta on a quick tour around the shopping mall nearby. The complex of shops and kiosks is sadly lacking in the way of department stores, and for the time being, the most they're able to find as far as furniture is a plastic three-drawer bin, and a decently-wide plastic bookshelf - some assembly required. Toshinori tucks these under each arm to let Aizawa spend a little more of his accidental nest-egg on clothing and other supplies, until the two of them can't carry anything more, and they trudge back to the apartment, belabored with their new additions. The assembly of the new plastic shelf would have to wait for later that night, as there's no estimate on the box of how long it might take to complete, and by this point, both teachers are growing anxious to report back to UA. Rather than taking the subway to campus again, All Might leads the way across town, leaping in his great, bounding hops, and pausing just within sight atop rooftops and other structures. He waits for the stealthy Erasure hero trailing along behind him to catch up, with his erratic mixture of scarf-slinging and parkour, as he plots out his own version of the overland route between work and home.
Once at the campus, the two roommates part ways to attend to their own schedules and duties, catching sight of each other again only once, during the staff meeting to start the planning stages for the end-of-semester exams. Neither Eraserhead nor All Might are particularly happy with the prospects of sending the students through the same paces of robot-based evaluation, but the newcomer to the faculty holds his tongue, while the jaded veteran teacher bitterly recounts the multiple times he’s already been shot down during previous attempts to steer the exam away from the impractical automatons. The respective frowns on either face shift only slightly as the two pros lock eyes briefly across the table, and Aizawa shakes his head a little and sighs, silently vowing to tell Toshinori all about his gripes with the current system, just as soon as the meeting lets out.
The commiseration session is cut short preemptively, however, when All Might is pulled aside as they leave the conference room, by that same solemn police officer who’d responded to the call at USJ, beckoning the Symbol of Peace for a word alone. “Go on without me,” Toshinori nods toward Aizawa as he leads Tsukauchi into the staff lounge, “I’ll catch up.” Eraserhead turns reluctantly and heads for home, keeping an eye pointed upwards the whole way for that telltale blur of blue, white, and yellow soaring overhead through the sunset-streaked skies. But it never comes.
The younger teacher is halfway through following the instructions on another box-meal from the pantry, attempting to cobble together some dinner, when All Might lets himself in from the balcony, under cover of relative darkness. “Hey,” Shouta calls over the sound of sizzling pork belly, “What was that about?” He glances up, about to poke fun at how long it had taken Toshinori to ‘catch up,’ but stops cold when he catches sight of the older pro’s expression. “...Yagi?”
The Number One Hero had immediately deflated as soon as he’d stepped foot on the balcony, still trailing steam and the hems of his slacks as he’d come in from the humid night air, and the lines and shadows of his gaunt face had fallen even deeper than usual. “It was... an information leak from the police, about the villain I fought at USJ. The one who smashed your face in.”
“Nomu.”
“Yes.”
Aizawa tears his eyes away and turns back to the pan to stir it absentmindedly, suddenly losing his appetite as he recalls the pain and humiliation and fear of being pinned beneath that hulking monster. “What about him.”
Toshinori draws near and listlessly rummages through the cabinets for a jar of mushrooms, and drains their fluid slowly into the sink. “They ran DNA testing on him. He was a low-profile thug, relatively normal-looking, who’s been altered to contain the DNA and quirks of four other people.” Yagi sighs and adds the mushrooms into the pan, and stares at the mixture for a long moment, his vision going out of focus, before he pulls away and collapses into one of the chairs nearby. “We only know of one person who can do that... I thought I’d killed him, six years ago. Apparently not.” The lanky hero sighs again, curling forward to plant his elbows on the table and wedge his fingers into his hair, eyes sinking shut in shame and frustration.
The would-be chef freezes in place as he processes the information, not even flinching when the speckles of grease fly out of the pan to catch at the skin of his hands. His voice rumbles out softly, low and inflectionless as he speaks without meeting Yagi’s eyes, “Since when do you kill people, Toshinori.”
“I don’t, not usually,” All Might shakes his head and looks up, his heart breaking a little at the flat delivery of his new friend’s words, what had sounded like betrayal or accusation or suspicion, “This was... a special case. The villain who gave me this scar, the nemesis of every hero who has carried the mantle of this quirk that I have. Had. He killed the one before me, and now... will probably finish me off, too.” Toshinori cringes and turns to meet Aizawa’s judgement, “All For One. He’s not as much of a tall tale as the history books would suggest.”
“If he’s actually the one behind this,” Aizawa backtracks for a moment, still reeling as he recounts the various rumors he’d heard in connection with that legendary name. “It could have been caused by something -or someone- else, right?” He reaches to turn the stove-top off, and splits the meal onto a couple of plates, setting them on the table and joining Toshinori in the other chair.
“Anything’s possible, I suppose,” Yagi mumbles, though the resigned way in which both heroes pick at their food seems to indicate that neither one of them truly believes it.