Work Text:
Shoto could have sworn he saw flames out one the windows of the hallway as he was walking to class with Hanta. He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. Nothing was there.
“What’s up Roki?” Hanta asked from a few feet in front of him.
“Nothing,” Shoto turned, facing his boyfriend. “I thought I saw something. It must of have been a reflection.” Shoto stepped forward so that he was in line with Hanta again and they walked to class.
As they took their seats, Shoto couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. It had been quick, but he knows those flames. He could have sworn he saw a glimpse of Endeavor outside of the school.
Shoto hadn’t spoken to Endeavor in over a month. The last time he went home for the weekend, it ended badly. Every time he went home after moving into the dorms, Shoto went back to school feeling heavy. But this last time was the worst training session Shoto had ever experienced. It had been nearly a month now since he had started ignoring Endeavor. He didn’t want to hurt anymore.
So, the fact that he even thought he saw his father outside sent a chill straight to his core. He would like to think that Endeavor wouldn’t dare show up to UA, unannounced, and during classes; that his concern for public image would outrank his desire to get ahold of Shoto. But then again, Shoto knows to never underestimate his father. Endeavor had proven time and time again that he would do just about anything to keep Shoto chained to him.
Shoto watched the door intensely as the rest of his class filtered in. Mr. Aizawa was the last to enter the classroom, shutting the door behind him. Shoto moved his eyes from the door and watched as his teacher dragged his yellow sleeping bag under one arm and set it down next to his desk at the front of the room. Shoto let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding.
It’s alright, he thought, trying to reassure himself. He wouldn’t show up during class. He wouldn’t do that.
About ten minutes into Mr. Aizawa’s lecture about hero laws, Shoto felt a dull ache deep behind his scar. He had been taking notes, but his pen stopped still touching the paper, when he felt the subtle difference in temperature. He froze completely, unable to look up as he heard the door to the classroom burst open.
“Shoto, I need to speak to you immediately,” Endeavor’s deep voice rang out, cutting Mr. Aizawa off mid-sentence. His voice was hard, but calm. Way too calm for barging into the middle of Shoto’s class.
Shoto couldn’t look up even if he wanted to. He was stuck; eyes locked on the ink that was collecting on his notebook from pressing his pen into it so hard.
“Endeavor you cannot just barge in here in the middle of my –“Aizawa started to speak, irritation evident in his voice.
“This doesn’t concern you. I need to speak to my son,” Endeavor snapped back.
Oh God, this is so embarrassing, Shoto thought as he felt his eyes getting hot. This cannot be happening right now.
“Excuse me? You have no right to interrupt my class,” Aizawa bit back. Endeavor hadn’t even spared Aizawa a glance. The second he stepped into the classroom, he fixed his stare onto Shoto, who still hadn’t looked up.
“Look at me boy!” Endeavor demanded, dropping any attempt to keep his cool.
“Enji Todoroki!” Aizawa said loud and firm. The use of his name caught Endeavor’s attention. It caught Shoto’s too, snapping him out of being frozen and he finally looked up. He saw his father, who was standing at the front of the classroom, turn to look at his teacher. His classmates seemed to be as stunned as he was, unable to choose who to look at as the scene unfolded. Aizawa had stepped away from his desk, slowly moving forward to put himself between Endeavor and the students. “Don’t you dare speak to one of my students like that.”
“He is my son.” Endeavor’s flames spiked in anger.
“You are in my classroom.”
Shoto gripped his pen even harder, feeling it crack under his fingers as the heat in the room intensified. But, as quickly as the heat had grown, it disappeared. Shoto watched in horror and shock as Endeavor’s flames died out at the same time Mr. Aizawa’s hair rose.
“Get out of my classroom before I have you escorted off of the campus,” Aizawa said, pointing to the door, red eyes piercing Endeavor’s gaze. Shoto watched as his father turned to look at him, anger written all over his face. He was so angry. Shoto felt his guts twist and his chest tighten. Cold blue eyes dug into him menacingly.
“We are talking after class.” Endeavor bit out, not as loud, but more terrifying than anything else he had said since barging into the classroom. Endeavor was looking past Aizawa to try and threaten Shoto with his gaze; it was working. “You can’t ignore me forever.”
“Endeavor,” Aizawa said again, anger clear in his voice, but so drastically different from the anger emitting from Endeavor. “I will not ask you again. Get out of my classroom.” Endeavor removed his stare from Shoto, turning it on Aizawa. He was clearly trying to intimidate the smaller man, but Aizawa was not backing down. After a few long seconds, Endeavor finally walked out of the room.
He shrunk back in his seat, desperate to disappear. As soon as the door shut, Endeavor’s flames lit up again. Aizawa’s hair fell slowly, and he rubbed his eyes. The glowing orange lingered outside of the classroom for a moment before finally walking down the hallway and out of sight. Shoto was still gripping the pen. Ink had seeped out of the crack, staining his fingers. He was still staring at the door, unable to face all the eyes on him.
“Eyes up front,” Aizawa said, snapping his class back into focus. Hesitantly, the students shifted their gazes back to the front of the classroom. Hanta lingered a little longer, his body turned in his seat to look back at Shoto. Shoto had heard his teacher, but he couldn’t get his head to turn away from the door. Something in him was afraid that he would come back; that if he looked away from the door, Endeavor would come back and force him to come this time.
Shoto could feel his body start trembling, but like his incontrollable gaze, there was nothing he could do to stop it. He felt the plastic from his pen dig into his fingers but didn’t let it go. Mr. Aizawa started speaking at the front of the classroom, but Shoto couldn’t make out a word. His teacher’s words blurred together into just noise. Shoto could feel his chest rising and falling more and more as the seconds ticked by. His mind was blank. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.
“Todoroki,” Aizawa said softly. Shoto jumped at his teacher’s voice. He was standing right in front of his desk. When did he get there?
“Todoroki, can you stand up?” Aizawa asked quietly. Shoto looked around the room. No one was looking at him anymore, except for his teacher. Everyone was writing quietly. When had that happened?
“I- I can’t –“ Shoto tried, having a hard time getting the words out. His chest rose and fell rapidly now, wheezing slightly.
“It’s okay, take my hands,” Aizawa said, holding his hands out. Shoto looked at them and slowly brought his hands up to grasp his teacher’s, finally dropping the pen on his desk. Aizawa’s hands were rough, but warm. Shoto felt himself getting pulled to his feet. Once he was standing, Aizawa gently let go of his hands, opting for wrapping an arm around his shoulder slowly. Shoto leaned into the touch as he was led towards the front of the classroom.
Aizawa led them through the door of the classroom. Shoto’s head was spinning, and he looked around the hallway, frantically in search of any sign of his father.
“He’s not out here it’s okay,” Aizawa spoke calmly, leading Shoto down the hallway.
“Mr. Aizawa, I can’t – I can’t breathe,” Shoto said, moving a hand up to his chest. Each time he took a sharp breath, the pressure behind his left eye intensified. He couldn’t see straight, barely aware of where his teacher was leading him.
“It’s okay Todoroki, he can’t get to you while I’m here,” Aizawa spoke softly. “We’re almost there.”
Shoto’s vision was blurry as his teacher lead him through a door. Everything blended together as he felt Aizawa helping him sit down on something soft. He couldn’t breathe. He was going to pass out.
“Okay, it’s okay Todoroki,” Aizawa spoke from somewhere in front of him. Shoto felt his teacher’s hands on his own again. “Try to breathe with me, okay?”
Aizawa took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then slowly let it out. Shoto could hear him breathing more than he could see him, so he shut his eyes and tried to match his teacher. He clutched the hands in front of him as if his life depended on it, and in this moment, Shoto was pretty sure it did.
After a few shaky tries, he finally was able to take a breath as deep as Aizawa was. He held it and then unsteadily let it out. He felt the oxygen finally take in his lungs and relief washed over his body. He kept breathing with his teacher, eyes clamped shut and hands trembling in the tight grip. Finally, his chest stopped moving rapidly and he began to breathe normally. As his breathing returned, he suddenly became very aware of the nausea rising in his throat.
“Mr. Aizawa,” he whispered opening his eyes. He desperately pulled his hands from his teacher’s grasp to press down on the inside of one of his wrists with two fingers. “I don’t feel good.”
Without hesitation, Aizawa reached next to the couch that Shoto was sitting on and grabbed a small trash can. He brought it forward and Shoto shook his head, pressing down into his wrist harder, his eyes and mouth shut tight.
“Kid it’s okay if you need to be sick,” Aizawa spoke softly.
Shoto felt an involuntary heave wrack his body. He let go of his wrist and latched onto the trash can just as he felt his breakfast rising in his throat. Aizawa moved so that he wasn’t directly in front of Shoto. He reached his hand up and gently rubbed circles into Shoto’s back.
Aizawa stayed knelt on the ground, gently comforting Shoto through it. When Shoto stopped being sick, he hesitated to move away from the trash can as he felt the tears flowing down. He sat for a moment, frozen, again, before Aizawa slowly pulled the trash can from him and set it down on the floor.
Shoto was overwhelmed with emotion, hands flying up to cover his face.
“Hey,” Aizawa whispered, gently placing a hand on his knee.
“I’m sorry,” Shoto whispered shakily. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, you didn’t do anything wrong Todoroki.” Shoto shook his head. He had done everything wrong. He kept his hands firmly in place, wishing that he could curl in on himself and disappear.
“Can you please look at me?” Aizawa asked with a light squeeze to his leg, causing a shiver to run down Shoto’s spine, aching from how gentle his teacher was. Slowly, he lowered his hands from his face, smudging the snot and drool that had accumulated across his mouth. Why can’t I stop crying?
“Here,” Aizawa said when Shoto finally looked up. He was holding out a box of tissues with his free hand. Shoto quickly grabbed one and wiped his mouth. He blew his nose, turning his head slightly out of embarrassment.
“Thanks Sensei,” Shoto said, voice cracking, as he turned back to face his teacher.
“Shoto,” Aizawa started, locking eyes with his student. “You didn’t do anything wrong. He did. Not you.”
Shoto stared dumbfounded at Aizawa.
“But-“ Shoto tried to say.
“No,” Aizawa said firmly, but not in a way that frightened Shoto. Aizawa moved his hand and pushed himself up from the floor and onto the couch in one fluid motion.
“Shoto, whatever the reason your father had for needing to speak with you, he should have never acted like that.” Aizawa’s gaze was intensely comforting as he spoke. “He should never do anything to cause the reaction you had.”
Shoto didn’t know what to say. He sat there, right in front of his teacher, a man who Shoto had come to trust wholeheartedly, and for the first time since coming to UA, he was at a complete loss for words. He opened his mouth slightly for a second, before closing it and averting his gaze to his hands. He focused on the ink stains on his fingers from earlier, picking at it slightly.
Time was moving unbearably slow for Shoto as he prodded at the dark smudges on his fingers. He got so lost in the action; he couldn’t help but flinch when warm hands pulled his own apart. Shoto couldn’t will himself to look away from where his teacher lightly cradled his own hands. Losing all semblance of control, he leaned his head forward and collapsed into Aizawa’s chest.
Deep sobs silently wracked his body as Aizawa’s hands dropped his own in favor of wrapping his arms around him. Shoto held his fists in front of his chest, clenching them hard. He breathed heavily, almost choking from how hard he was resisting his urge to break.
“It’s okay,” Aizawa said, gently rubbing circles into his back. “Let it out.”
Shoto cried. For the first time in a long time, he let himself really cry. Aizawa held him through it, whispering softly and rubbing his warm, protective hands up and down his back.
Shoto didn’t know how long the two sat there, and at this point, he didn’t care. When he finally pulled back, Aizawa loosened his hold on his student.
“We can talk more about this later. I think you should lay down for a bit, okay?” Aizawa said, pushing himself up from the couch. “You can rest in here.”
Shoto looked around the room finally. He was seated on a small, but cushy couch in what appeared to be an office. A desk covered in stacks of papers sat across the room from him. A large window sat behind the desk with soft yellow curtains half open, letting the sunlight in. There was a lounge chair to his right and the door leading back to the hallway on his left. It was a small and simple room, but it felt oddly cozy.
“Where are we?” Shoto asked, voice a bit hoarse.
“My office,” Aizawa responded, standing up. “You can lay down in here, no one will disturb you.”
“What about my other classes?”
“I’ll excuse you and ask one of your classmates to get your assignments for you. I’m sure Sero wouldn’t mind.”
“Okay Sensei,” Shoto said, feeling his face heat up slightly. He slipped his shoes off and curled up on the couch. He hadn’t really realized until now how heavy his eyes felt. How badly he wanted to slip into unconsciousness for a while.
“Rest for a bit. I’ll come back to check on you later,” Aizawa said. He stepped away from the couch and crossed the room heading towards the door.
“Thank you,” Shoto breathed out quietly. Aizawa paused at the door, hand resting against the wall. He switched the light off, lingering for a moment. Aizawa thought Shoto looked so small curled into the corner of the couch. His heart ached as he left him there, but at least he knew he was safe.
~~~
Shoto came too gradually. He stretched his legs, uncurling them from the tight position against his body. He blinked slowly, taking his time to fully open his eyes. He felt calm, at peace even. Whatever he was laying on was soft. The room was dark, but he could tell the sun was shining through a window somewhere. He was tucked into the corner of the couch, warmth coating his body. Everything felt so nice.
The events that led to napping in his teacher’s office came back to him. He felt deeply embarrassed, but also strangely secure. He moved his arms, rubbing his eyes lightly.
“Hey Roki,” a familiar voice whispered. Shoto sat up and turned fully, looking into the room. Hanta sat on the chair next to the couch.
“Hi,” Shoto whispered.
“We have got to stop meeting like this Roki,” Hanta said, more sadness in his voice than the attempted crack at a joke.
“I know,” Shoto said quietly.
“Sorry,” Hanta started, moving from the chair to sit next to Shoto on the couch. “That was meant to be a joke.”
“I know, it’s okay,” Shoto said scooting closer. Hanta lifted one of his arms to wrap around Shoto’s shoulders. Shoto leaned into the embrace.
“Are you okay?” Hanta asked.
“Not really.”
“You know that none of what happened was your fault right?” Shoto stayed quiet for a moment too long, giving Hanta an answer.
“Mr. Aizawa said the same thing,” Shoto finally said.
“Because it’s true,” Hanta said with certainty.
Shoto pressed himself impossibly closer to Hanta, not responding again. He wasn’t agreeing, but he wasn’t fighting the statement either. A few minutes passed before either of them spoke again.
“Mr. Aizawa said we can take as long as we need,” Hanta whispered.
“How long has it been?” Shoto asked.
“Our last class ended about an hour ago,” Hanta explained. “Mr. Aizawa let me come in here as soon as they did.”
Shoto groaned in embarrassment.
“Yeah he definitely knows something,” Hanta laughed softly.
"Hanta?”
“Yeah Roki?”
“I don’t think I can keep doing this.” Shoto exhaled, bringing a trembling hand up in search of Hanta’s. Hanta immediately held his out for Shoto to latch onto, using his other hand to lightly trace his shoulder.
“Do you think it’s time to talk to Mr. Aizawa about it again?” Hanta asked.
“Yeah,” Shoto said, his voice cracking. Hanta squeezed his hand.
“Okay,” Hanta responded. “I’ve got you no matter what.”