Chapter Text
Aizawa's apartment was sparse, barely decorated and with little furniture. While it was well suited to him, in some way, it also seemed something of a shame. Something was missing, or so Yagi mused, blue eyes surveying the scene before him.
Aizawa himself was a bit on edge, the alcohol that had emboldened him leaving him doubting as he crossed the threshold. There were empty containers filling his bin, spoiling the secret to his enviable figure. The coffee pot needed cleaning, sitting in the sink with soapy water waiting in it. There was a duvet draped over the chair at his desk, a perfect silhouette of himself imprinted in it.
How it had come to this, neither could really say. They'd wanted to share a drink, a casual bonding that they'd grown to desire. Aizawa wanted to apologize for his previously prickly demeanour and Yagi wanted only to show his ongoing appreciation for his fellow companion. The blond also wanted to show that his denial of his companion's offer was not in poor taste but out of necessity, and he bought his liquor without a care as he sipped his tea.
Their conversation had been nothing special, but the bonding had been something else. An electric current between them, arcing each time their eyes met. At first, Yagi felt that it must just be his loneliness bubbling up, urging him forward. As Aizawa drank, however, it became more obvious that it was a mutually awkward attraction, borne of their uncomfortable closeness and intrinsically linked connection to Midoriya Izuku.
The night wore on, their conversation continuing unabated even as bawdy regulars flooded the bar. They outlasted them, Aizawa's face flushed with liquor and Yagi's with shame. They were closer, physically, by the end of their session, and by the end of the night it seemed they would be closer still.
"Do you mind coming back to my place?" Aizawa had asked, his voice low and unassuming.
Yagi swallowed his heartbeat, offering a thin, sheepish smile. "Are you worried you'll be sick?"
"No," he said, eyes flickering away. "But if I have to say it, nevermind."
Even that took courage. Courage that left him now as he stepped on the heels of his boots in turn, discarding them at the door. Yagi steadied him wordlessly as he swayed, his coordination the only reliable sign of his inebriation. The pressure of his hand sent a chill through Aizawa's body, raising his hair with gooseflesh, quickening his heart in anxiety and anticipation.
He stepped away as soon as he was steady, snagging a half-empty energy drink from his desk and tossing it, self-conscious of how unprepared his small apartment was for guests. Yamada or Kayama wouldn't judge him for his habits, but would All Might?
Yagi Toshinori, not All Might.
Aizawa turned back, eyes fixing on where the blond stood by the door, a lanky, skeletal shadow hovering amongst the shoes. He seemed just as nervous if not moreso, unsure if he should take his shoes off or bid him a good night.
It was at that moment that Aizawa understood himself, a clear moment of self-awareness that dried his tongue and tightened his throat.
The conflict he felt was that exact line, blurred though it was. All Might, Japan's former #1 Hero, the late Symbol of Peace, was still someone he could only begrudgingly accept in his life. That was who he feared judging him and his shabby, lifeless apartment. That was who he refused the drink of so long ago, but not who he had offered one to just earlier.
He'd offered the drink to Yagi Toshinori, previously All Might, the meeker, milder version who hoped fiercely that he did enough. Seeing him there, a mere shadow amongst shadows, he understood. Between them was a sea of insecurity, a silence left to fester.
"Are you coming in?" Aizawa asked softly, his voice cutting through the stale air.
"I don't want to impose," Yagi replied equally soft, his voice unsure.
"I invited you," Aizawa reminded, raising a hand to beckon him in. "You don't have to worry about anything other than whether or not you want to be here."
Yagi's lips pressed for a moment as he considered, then he knelt, carefully removing his shoes and placing them by the door. He moved closer, cautiously, almost as if he was expecting the invitation to be rescinded after every step.
He'd done this, hadn't he? Perhaps he had. A long history of rejection would make even the most confident of men hesitate, much less one in such a situation as Yagi. Perhaps that was the true cause, but it was impossible to be certain.
Yagi stopped short of where Aizawa stood, looking down at him with the same tense, conflicted gaze he'd held since they began their walk to the apartment.
"You're not making this easy," Aizawa muttered, shifting his weight. "If you don't want to do this, just say it and save me the trouble of embarrassing myself."
"Embarrassing yourself?" Yagi echoed, his brows furrowing slightly.
"Yeah," Aizawa confirmed, shifting again. "You're gonna make me do it though, right? Should I just get it over with or do you want to leave?"
"I don't understand why you're embarrassed," Yagi said, watching his companion with unblinking eyes. Aizawa averted his gaze, visibly frustrated and resigned to his fate.
"Because I brought you here to fuck," he said bluntly, hoping it would be the single, painful pull necessary to uncover his motives.
"Ah," Yagi replied, eyes slowly lowering. "I can see why you would be embarrassed then."
The silence was terrible. They both felt it slithering inside them, gripping them icily and chilling their blood even as it pounded through their veins.
Yagi spoke first, hands balling at his sides to quell his anxiety.
"I regret that I can't be what you would prefer," he said carefully, the words pricking at his heart as he spoke them. "If you had been more upfront, perhaps we could've addressed this before..."
He trailed off, his mouth suddenly dry.
Aizawa turned back to face him, his own brows furrowing.
"What?" he mumbled, confused and lightly agitated. "Wait, are you apologizing to me for agreeing to this?"
"Of course," Yagi confirmed. "It's been quite some time since I did anything like this in this condition. That is to say, never quite in this condition, but... without using my Quirk."
The last word seemed to sting the worst, a reminder that it was, in fact, never his Quirk at all, and that he was merely using it for the time that he was allowed.
Aizawa merely stared for a few moments, his brain racing to try and piece this information together despite the alcohol lag.
"Do you honestly think I want to fuck All Might?"
This seemed to shock Yagi, pulling his eyes from the floor, leaving them wide in the dim light.
"You said..."
"I said," Aizawa interrupted, stepping forward. "That I wanted to fuck you. I have no interest in All Might."
The distinction was clear, though it robbed Yagi of his words. It didn't seem the time for them anyway, or so Aizawa seemed to think, rocking up onto his toes to press a slightly misaligned kiss to the blond's thin lips. Reflexively, Yagi's hands found his waist, steadying him.
The kiss was not nearly the best either had received, but perhaps the most important. Though he felt he'd gone too far, Aizawa was committed to seeing it through, and as Yagi steadied him, he tried again, landing more solidly this time, feeling his companion begin to return the gesture.
The room seemed to thaw around them, the chill of uncertainty eroding as they kissed. Aizawa's hands found Yagi's chest, balling shirt and blazer alike in his fists, demanding the space between them to lessen. No meaningful distance would be tolerated, for fear that in it would breed more insecurity.
As they broke, they were both momentarily breathless, left panting softly in the near darkness. Aizawa would not let him go, his head meeting Yagi's chest, arms slipping around his torso. Even with properly tailored clothes, it was impossible to tell how small he really was beneath, the embrace illuminating the sharp contrast between the two men.
"Why me?" Yagi asked after Aizawa settled there, returning the embrace gingerly.
"You're real," Aizawa replied, turning his head to rest his ear on his companion's chest, listening to the betraying drum of his heart. "This is you, really you. You're not pretending to be anyone now or trying to please anyone now. You're just... Yagi Toshinori."
His name felt so foreign to his own ears, all but unused after he left his own headquarters and ceased operating as his own secretary. It gave him a small thrill, uncovering some secret part of him that had longed to return to some nebulous past when he was a man, not just a Hero.
"Yagi Toshinori is a husk," he said quietly, bowing to rest his nose in Aizawa's tangle of hair. "You'd have to go even further back to have a chance with him, though I dare say you'd be too young for his taste."
"Idiot," Aizawa muttered, some amount of anger seeping into his voice. "Yagi Toshinori is a strong, capable man who spent his life doing what he thought was best, even when it wasn't."
To that, Yagi could simply hum, unable to deny but somewhat unwilling to accept the truth so plainly presented.
"His life, however misspent, is nearly over. His body is wasted, his energy depleted, and he can scarcely protect himself if he needed to."
"He has more life in him than he wants to admit," Aizawa countered, voice not losing its edge, hands gripping his back through his shirt, the thin fabric all that separated him from warm flesh. "He needs to realize that the only reason he's useless is because he has decided he is."
Yagi's heart skipped, his arms slackening slightly.
"He needs to remember who he is and what made him worthy of the title 'Hero' in the first place. It wasn't some Quirk or an obnoxious catchphrase they could print on everything."
Slowly, a smile crept across Yagi's face, tugging his lips to reveal his teeth.
"He has begun running again."
"Exactly."
With a sigh, Yagi embraced his partner more fully, allowing his eyes to close, taking in the scent of Aizawa's hair. It was more recently washed than it looked, he mused. Aizawa was just one of those guys that looked neglected.
Not unlike himself, perhaps.
"You don't mind this, then?" he asked softly, thinking absently of their seeming similarity.
"Nah," Aizawa breathed, holding him tighter. "I prefer it."