Izuku smiled brightly as soon as the door opened.
"I brought files. Files and binders. Files and binders and notes and –"
"Please don't say more words," Aizawa said dully, dragging a hand down his face and palming back a yawn. "Coffee first."
"Yessir," Izuku said with a serious nod, though he rocked back on the heels of his feet as he waited to be invited in.
"Kids like you never cease to amaze me," Aizawa said with a sigh as he backed into his apartment and held the door. "Get in, then."
"Thanks!"
Izuku followed Aizawa, shutting the door behind him as he eyed the sparse apartment. There wasn't much to speak of, but for a well-loved black couch, a couple of dead houseplants on the floor near the window, an orange cat sleeping on the coffee table, and other general necessities.
Toeing off his shoes and frowning at his surroundings, Izuku copied the path Aizawa had taken to another room.
The kitchen was warm with morning light through the windows, and dishes cluttered the sink. A coffee machine sat stark on the off-white counters, half-full. Aizawa was already slouched in a chair around a small, square table, mug in hand. Someone had scribbled on it in marker – you have a drinking problem, a coffee drinking problem.
Izuku sat at the only other chair in the room, careful not to overtly memorize his every surrounding for when his friends inevitably grilled him for what Aizawa's place looked like. He shrugged his satchel from over his head and set it beside him on the floor, nerves burrowing into his bones like ants as he caught sight of Aizawa's drab expression.
Black, bruised eyes met his from across the table. Izuku stared back, remaining silent as Aizawa brought his mug back to his mouth.
A wall clock clicked the seconds away.
This was weird, being here. Maybe Izuku shouldn't have bothered Aizawa with this. Maybe he should have pursued this entirely on his own. Maybe he shouldn't have considered this a viable option at all because he was essentially still just a child despite turning eighteen in a handful of days and being extremely intelligent, because, after all, what did he really know about the venture he was pursuing and who was anyone to trust him with it, especially with finances, and on top of that –
"Midoriya," Aizawa said, setting his empty mug down with a quiet crack. "Your muttering is becoming ghoulish and unnerving."
"Sorry," Izuku said with a sheepish smile, eyes downcast to the scarred tabletop. "I'm just – I don't know if I'm doing the right thing."
"Doubting yourself now?" Aizawa said, scratching his stubbled jaw as he lanced Izuku with a calculated look. "You harass me at a backyard barbecue when I could have been drinking myself into oblivion. You actually convince me to help you. You managed to get yourself into my house, which, for the record, has never happened in my existence as a teacher. And now you're sitting here, in my kitchen, possibly wasting a Saturday morning where I could be sleeping, and you're telling me you're not even sure this is the route you want to take?"
Aizawa slouched back into seat, his speech having encased a single tone of bland distaste. But the intent was clear, and Izuku was speechless, his knees trembling.
Lurching to a slow stand, Aizawa silently took his mug and refilled it. He sat, eyeing Izuku's hollow stare and pale complexion.
"If you did all of that just to sit here and tell me you're unsure of your path, then you can see yourself out and I can go back to bed."
Aizawa sipped his coffee, stare unwavering over the rim of the steaming cup.
Izuku tried to swallow, clear his throat, but he felt as though Aizawa's attention had sapped not just his Quirk, but his ability to speak anything but clear truth.
