Between Illusion and Erasure

Daylight panic, Midnight conversations

TW\\ Panic attacks, repeating thoughts, addiction, transphobia mention
Beta reader and editor: slipsy (CallMeCase)

Staring into the mirror, you were met with a familiar stranger's gaze. The stab wounds and surgery marks greeted you with familiarity, however, you couldn't say the same for what covered a good part of your shoulder and forearm. The scars had grown in size since the last time you properly observed them.

Without bandages, the acid had marked a distinctive corrosive trail of scorched-looking skin –– separating itself in layers, the center of the areas being the most badly damaged. No one would even guess this was a bullet wound just by looking at it. You weren't able to move it without an aching pain running down your arm, and there was nothing you could do but to wait for the healing process to be completed.

You found yourself wondering how the same wounds looked on Aizawa as you bandaged the wound once again, and how much of his chest was affected. Soon, it was much more than wondering how it looked on him, but what other scars he had. Before you could realize the nature of your thoughts, you wondered how he looked under everything — not only his bulky and oversized usual clothes, but also under the walls he put up — in the most intimate moments, in the dead silence of the night. You wondered who he really was.

'Those aren't thoughts you should have about a friend, much less a coworker.'

You knew that, you also knew that reminding yourself of it wouldn't make those thoughts go away. That was a tango you didn't want to dance again, and the most pessimistic parts of your mind made sure you remembered that. It also reminded you that at the end of the day, your body didn't completely match what you were. Would someone like Aizawa even bat an eye at someone like you?

It didn't matter if he would, you didn't want to allow that to even start. You tried pushing those thoughts away, and dressed yourself — after all, the future was now present to you — and it was, in fact, a terrible way to have dealt with it. Turns out that dressing yourself in a suit you didn't even touch for years, with only one arm, was harder than it fucking sounded.

Smoking with only one arm was also incredibly hard, which was something you had discovered the hard way. With increasingly shaky hands, you had tried desperately to light your cigarette behind the building where the press meeting would take place.

"I thought you didn't smoke." Aizawa's voice pulled you out of your thoughts and back into reality, the cocky tone still lingered in the air when he continued, "Here, let me help." Stealing the lighter from your hand in one sweep motion, he lit the cigarette with incredible ease.

"Thanks," You mumbled, taking it back, "And I didn't, past tense. I'm trying to stop, if that's worth anything."

"Not much," he retaliated in a joking tone.

Aizawa leaned on the wall beside you, eyes now completely focused on his phone, giving you the opportunity to look at him longer. He was wearing formal clothes, face completely shaved with his hair tied back — half of it still loose. You imagined that the suit would look a bit too big on him if he was wearing the blazer he was carrying.

There were no words exchanged, just a nice, quiet moment. You had no idea why he stayed beside you while you smoked, trying to not have a panic attack right then and there, but you weren't one to complain. It was just what you needed, no questions, just company.

"Is anyone but Nezu going to join us?" You finally broke the silence, throwing the cigarette bud away. Somehow, you hoped if other heroes were joining the panel, the attention would miraculously be stolen from you.

"No, I don't think so." He opened the backdoor, you followed right behind him without paying much attention, "At least not tha—" He completely stopped on his track, almost making you bump into him. You didn't realize why, until you saw All Might sitting on the couch, with Nezu on his lap, right in front of you both.