“wait, you were flirting with me?”
the first time aizawa realizes something is wrong is when present mic won’t stop laughing at him.
“you look confused,” hizashi yamada says between cackles, nearly falling out of his chair in the faculty lounge.
“i am confused,” shota aizawa mutters flatly.
he’s running on three hours of sleep, two coffees, and the lingering headache of grading essays from class 1-a. he does not have the patience for whatever this is.
mic points dramatically at him. “you seriously don’t know?”
there’s another wheeze of laughter.
finally, mic leans across the table like he’s about to reveal state secrets.
“they’re flirting with you.”
mic looks like he might actually pass out.
you started working at ua three months ago.
recovery girl had retired from most daily responsibilities, and nezu needed someone to help with student support and administrative work. technically, your job involved coordinating schedules, helping students with paperwork, and managing emergency communication.
unofficially, you spent most of your time making sure exhausted pro heroes remembered basic human needs.
which was how this problem started.
aizawa looks up from his sleeping bag with one eye open. “i did sleep.”
you glance at the stack of papers beside him.
“grading while unconscious doesn’t count.”
you sigh and place a coffee beside him anyway.
black, no sugar, exactly how he likes it.
aizawa stares at the cup for a second before taking it.
“don’t sound so shocked,” you tease. “i’m starting to think you expect everyone to poison you.”
“i teach teenagers with superpowers.”
you grin before walking away.
aizawa watches you go with narrowed eyes.
not because of anything suspicious.
“they are not flirting with me,” he says later.
mic wipes tears from his eyes. “shota. buddy. pal. they memorize your coffee order.”
“lots of people know my coffee order.”
“they also bring you homemade lunches.”
“because i forget to eat.”
“they call your cat ugly in an affectionate voice.”
“they told you your hair looked nice.”
mic stares at him in genuine disbelief.
the thing is, aizawa genuinely doesn’t notice it.
he notices you, obviously.
he notices the way you always keep extra bandages in your bag during training exercises.
he notices how students calm down around you.
he notices that you always sit near him during meetings, sliding snacks toward him without comment because you know he won’t get up otherwise.
that never crosses his mind.
someone like you wouldn’t-
he doesn’t finish that thought.
it gets worse when class 1-a notices.
“you’re getting married,” denki announces confidently one afternoon.
aizawa doesn’t even look up from his paperwork.
“you totally are,” mina agrees. “they made you heart-shaped tamagoyaki yesterday.”
“they literally touched your shoulder and you stopped glaring.”
“…i can stop glaring whenever i want.”
the entire class goes silent.
“that’s terrifying,” sero says softly.
you’re completely unaware of all of this.
mostly because, in your defense, you thought your flirting was subtle.
“you look tired,” you tell aizawa one evening.
“yeah, but today you look pretty tired.”
you continue walking beside him casually.
“want me to help with grading tonight?”
there’s a strange look on his face.
like his brain just hit a loading screen.
“nothing,” he says immediately.
then he walks directly into a doorframe.
mic has to physically sit down when he hears about it.
“YOU WALKED INTO A DOOR?”
aizawa glares at him from inside his sleeping bag.
“you walked into architecture.”
the realization finally hits during a storm.
rain pounds against the ua windows while most students stay inside the dorms for the evening. teachers are scattered around campus, and aizawa is finishing patrol reports in the faculty office when the lights flicker.
a second later, the power cuts out completely.
“wow,” your voice says from nearby, “you manifested that instantly.”
emergency lights glow dim red across the hallway. you’re standing in the doorway holding two vending machine coffees.
“one survived the apocalypse,” you announce, holding one out to him.
the kind of smile that always makes something in his chest feel strangely tight.
aizawa takes the coffee slowly.
“someone has to make sure you don’t collapse.”
you say it like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
rain taps against the windows.
you lean against the doorway beside him, shoulders brushing lightly.
and suddenly every conversation replays in his head all at once.
the way you always sought him out first in crowded rooms.
the way you looked at him.
you glance over. “you okay?”
aizawa stares at you for a long moment.
then, completely serious, he asks:
“you were flirting with me?”
then your eyes widen so fast it’s almost comical.
“shota, i literally asked you to dinner three times.”
“…i thought you were being polite.”
you make a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan.
“i assumed you had poor judgment.”
you actually have to put your coffee down because you’re laughing too hard now.
aizawa watches you quietly, feeling oddly warm despite himself.
“so,” you say after a minute, still grinning, “now that you finally caught up…”
“can i officially take you on a date?”
and for once, the answer comes easily.
then, after the smallest pause:
“but i’m choosing the restaurant.”
you grin immediately. “wow. flirting already.”
hawks had been flirting with you for three months.
you just didn’t know that.
which, in your defense, was because hawks flirted with everyone.
the barista downstairs? flirted with her.
random reporters? flirted with them too.
the old lady who sold flowers outside the agency? he called her “sweetheart” so often she started saving the prettiest bouquets for him.
so when he leaned against your office doorway one friday evening and said, “you know, you’d look really good in my hoodie,” you barely looked up from your paperwork.
“probably because it’s expensive.”
hawks stood there holding his chest dramatically, red wings twitching behind him. “that one actually hurt my feelings.”
he stared at you for another second before snorting out a laugh.
“you really don’t get it.”
“nothing.” he waved it off easily, grin slipping back into place. “forget it.”
mostly because your life was busy enough already without trying to decode whatever strange language hawks operated in.
unfortunately for him, this misunderstanding continued.
“i cleared my schedule tonight,” hawks said one afternoon, dropping into the chair beside your desk. “thought maybe i could take you to dinner.”
you hummed absentmindedly. “you finally learned how calendars work?”
“baby, i know how calendars work.”
“then why were you forty minutes late yesterday?”
“you know,” he said carefully, “most people would hear ‘take you to dinner’ and think i was asking them out.”
“you told endeavor you’d wine and dine him if he signed your paperwork.”
“that was business flirting. completely different category.”
you pointed your pen at him. “see? impossible to tell.”
hawks stared at you for a long moment before laughing under his breath, shaking his head like he’d just lost an argument with fate itself.
the thing was, you genuinely thought hawks was just Like That.
touchy, affectionate, playful.
you didn’t think anything of the way he always sat too close to you on the agency couch. or how his feathers automatically drifted toward you whenever you were nearby, brushing lightly against your shoulders or wrists.
you definitely didn’t think anything of him bringing you coffee every morning.
or remembering your order.
or texting you at 2 a.m. after patrols asking if you got home safe.
“you’re staring again,” you said without looking up from your phone.
hawks was sprawled across the opposite end of your couch, wings half-open behind him.
you looked up automatically. “who?”
then very slowly lowered the soda can in his hand.
you blinked at each other.
then you frowned slightly. “wait.”
hawks visibly braced himself.
“were you flirting with me?”
the feather hovering near your shoulder dropped directly onto your lap.
hawks stared at you like he’d just witnessed a natural disaster firsthand.
“…were?” he repeated weakly.
“oh my god?” he echoed. “that’s your response?”
“i thought you were joking!”
“you buy everyone flowers!”
“not custom bouquets based on favorite colors!”
“you said yellow reminds you of sunlight,” hawks said, sounding genuinely offended now. “i had the florist make them softer because bright flowers give you headaches.”
your brain stopped functioning for a second.
suddenly everything replayed in horrifying clarity.
the stupid soft looks he gave you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.
“…oh my god,” you whispered again, this time in realization.
hawks fell backward against the couch dramatically, covering his face with one hand.
“i can’t believe this is happening to me.”
“why didn’t you just say something directly?!”
“i called you gorgeous six times!”
“i thought that was your personality!”
“it IS my personality,” he argued, peeking through his fingers, “but it was targeted.”
hawks looked betrayed immediately.
“don’t laugh at my suffering.”
“i can’t help it,” you wheezed. “you’ve been trying to flirt with me for months?”
“and you thought it was working?”
“i thought you were flirting back!”
you stopped laughing abruptly.
“you remember my coffee orders. you save me food. you text me goodnight. you patch up my wings without complaining.” he pointed accusingly. “you made me soup once.”
“that’s basic human decency!”
then both of you spoke at once.
“oh my god, we’re both idiots.”
then hawks started laughing first.
bright, helpless laughter that filled the apartment.
you joined in a second later until both of you were nearly falling over yourselves on the couch.
“okay,” hawks said eventually, wiping under one eye. “new strategy.”
he leaned closer this time, golden eyes sharp with amusement.
“hi,” he said. “i’m flirting with you right now.”
heat rushed into your face immediately.
hawks’ grin widened triumphantly.
“aw, you finally noticed me.” he bumped his shoulder against yours gently. “so. now that we’re on the same page…”
his wings curled slightly around the couch, softer now.
“…can i actually take you to dinner?”
you tried to ignore the way your heart suddenly started pounding.
“…yeah,” you admitted quietly.
not the polished public one.
something smaller. warmer. real enough to make your chest ache a little.
“for the record, the hoodie line should’ve sealed it immediately.”
you shoved him off the couch.
dabi was terrible at flirting.
not because he didn’t know how.
because apparently you were immune to it.
you looked up from your phone just in time to see dabi standing in the kitchen doorway holding two convenience store drinks.
you glanced around the empty hideout kitchen. “you don’t have a spot.”
despite the insult, he nudged one of the drinks toward you with his free hand before leaning against the counter beside you anyway instead of making you leave.
you took the drink automatically.
this happened constantly.
dabi would insult you, glare at you, invade your personal space, and then do strangely thoughtful things immediately afterward.
he remembered your favorite snacks.
he lit your cigarettes before you could.
he burned anyone who annoyed you into silence with one look.
once, after a mission, he silently handed you his coat because you were cold.
you thought that was just his weird version of friendship.
unfortunately, dabi was under the impression he was being extremely obvious.
you blinked as dabi grabbed your wrist roughly, turning your hand over to inspect the cut across your knuckles.
his fingers were warm against your skin despite the staples lining them.
you watched him dig through the medical kit with an irritated click of his tongue.
“you know,” you said slowly, “you’re surprisingly caring sometimes.”
“don’t spread that around. ruins my image.”
“aw. you worried people will think you like me?”
“they already think that.”
you laughed immediately. “yeah, right.”
dabi was staring at you strangely.
“wait,” you said. “you’re serious?”
“holy shit,” he muttered. “you really don’t know.”
dabi dropped the bandages onto the counter.
you narrowed your eyes. “why are you acting weird?”
he looked genuinely offended by that.
the problem was that dabi flirted like someone who had learned romance exclusively through unresolved issues and bad life choices.
“if anybody else touches you i’m setting them on fire.”
wordlessly appearing beside you every single night until it became routine.
i remembered your favorite coffee order.
threatening a cashier for getting your order wrong.
you genuinely thought he was just Like That.
mean. intense. weirdly protective.
the possibility that he actually liked you never crossed your mind.
mostly because dabi did not seem like the kind of person who enjoyed having feelings.
you glanced up from the couch.
dabi was sprawled across the opposite side, blue eyes half-lidded as he watched you openly.
“you literally have a murder playlist.”
“and you listened to it.”
“because it was weirdly good!”
you rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile.
dabi noticed immediately.
his gaze lingered for a second longer before he spoke again, quieter this time.
you barked out a laugh. “what are you, eighty?”
“i’m trying to flirt with you.”
then he frowned slightly.
“…why do you look shocked?”
“because you just said that like it was obvious?”
dabi sat up slowly, looking personally offended.
“i literally threatened a guy for flirting with you last week.”
“i thought you hated him!”
“i DID hate him. because he was flirting with you.”
“you called me pretty once and immediately followed it with ‘don’t let it get to your head.’”
you started laughing so hard you nearly fell sideways off the couch.
dabi looked increasingly irritated the harder you laughed.
“YOU’RE terrible at flirting!”
“and you’re terrible at noticing it!”
he pointed at you accusingly.
“i let you steal my hoodies.”
“i almost killed a guy because he made you cry.”
dabi’s expression shifted immediately.
that softer look he got sometimes when he forgot to hide it fast enough.
the room suddenly felt warmer than usual.
which was saying something, considering dabi.
“wait,” you said slowly. “you’ve seriously been flirting with me this whole time?”
“months?!” you nearly choked. “dabi!”
“you could’ve SAID something!”
“by threatening people?!”
you laughed again before you could stop yourself.
dabi groaned dramatically, dropping his head back against the couch.
“i should burn this entire conversation.”
blue flames crackled briefly at his fingertips.
“keep talking and i’m leaving.”
you grinned helplessly. “okay, wait. let me get this straight.”
“and all the staring, threatening, weird possessiveness—”
“you still like me though.”
because annoyingly enough, he was right.
his grin spread slow and smug across scarred skin.
“don’t look so pleased with yourself.”
“can’t help it. thought i was gonna have to set myself on fire to get your attention.”
for a second, neither of you spoke.
then dabi leaned closer, resting an arm along the back of the couch behind you.
this time, when he looked at you, there was nothing casual about it.
“just so we’re clear,” he said quietly, “i’m flirting with you right now too.”
your face immediately felt hot.
“finally,” he murmured. “took you long enough.”
