Chapter Text
"Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final."
—Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
“Heya, Shota! It's…been a while…three weeks to be exact…
“...”
“Aw, come, Shota! Talk to me!”
“...”
“Shota…?”
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Aizawa blinked against the fluorescent lights, every beam stabbing at his eyes like a thousand tiny knives. “Godamnit,” he muttered, rolling out of his sleeping bag with all the enthusiasm of a cat caught in a rainstorm. The staff room hummed with Nezu’s tiny, ceaseless voice, a persistent alarm that refused to shut off. Midnight sat beside him, leaning in slightly, her expression equal parts curiosity and patience.
“How long was I out?” Aizawa muttered, voice low.
“Two hours,” Midnight replied evenly.
He groaned, sinking back into his chair. “Two hours… I fell asleep when Nezu started talking. Is he… still going?”
Midnight raised a brow. “Yeah.”
Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. “At least did he change the subject?” “
Nope,” she said, smirking. “He’s still on tea.”
Aizawa stared at her, dumbfounded. “Two hours, and he’s still on tea…? How does that rodent even manage that…”
Midnight just smirked, her eyes flicking back toward Nezu, who, blissfully unaware, piped up again. “Oh! Wait, what was I talking about? Right, yes! We have a new teacher joining us today! He’ll be our new English teacher! Please welcome… Present Mic!”
Aizawa froze mid-breath. Present Mic… that name couldn’t be real. Could it? He narrowed his eyes, every instinct screaming at him to look away, and slowly turned toward the door. Then it burst open, sunlight and energy crashing in like a cannonball. “YOOOO, STAFF!” Aizawa slouched in his chair, shoulders sagging as the man he’d tried, successfully, for years, to forget practically exploded into the room. “fuck,” he muttered under his breath, wishing he could sink into the floor.
Present Mic bounced around the room, yapping about himself like a human sunbeam. “You may all know me as the voice hero—” Aizawa tuned it out instantly, nodding at nothing, silently begging the blond not to notice him. Of course, he did. Mic’s eyes snapped to him, grin wide and impossible, radiating energy that made Aizawa’s stomach twist. The blond didn’t hesitate or flinch; he didn’t even seem to recognize the brunette sitting there like a storm cloud. He just smirked, all teeth and brightness, before sliding into the chair right beside him. “Yo yo mate, how are you?” Mic said, bright as ever. “I’m Mic, and you are?”
He reached out a hand. Aizawa’s eyes flicked to it, then away. Brooding. He doesn’t recognize me… good…I can’t let him recognize me… or he’ll try to be friends with me again. I can’t let that happen…
But no. Midnight had to go ruin it all, leaning forward with that smirk that always spelled trouble...