RESURGENCE - MHA x FReader

Chapter XIV: Eraser Head is cool!

Hospitals have a way of making you think about things you usually wouldn't. Like how much people take their bodies for granted. How close the line between "fine" and "not fine" actually is. 

How a person can be standing one second and need emergency surgery the next.

You've thought about it a lot. Probably more than an eight-year-old should. But then again, you're not really eight, are you?

You swing your feet as you sit in the waiting area outside his office, the chair too big for you. Your mom had packed you a book in case you got bored, but you're too distracted to read. The air around you hums, whispering against your skin, restless. It always does when you're thinking too much.

Then, a commotion.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a low murmur from the hallway, followed by the soft scrape of a wheelchair rolling across the floor. You glance up, curiosity piqued, and—

Your heart stutters.

You recognize him immediately.

Long, unkempt black hair, dark bags under his eyes, an exhausted expression that somehow still carries sharp awareness beneath it. He's slouched in the wheelchair, his right arm wrapped in thick bandages, a few smaller ones plastered along his jaw and collarbone. His black combat suit is unzipped slightly at the neck, showing signs of wear—scuffed, torn in places.

Aizawa Shota. Eraser Head.

Your brain short-circuits for a second.

Aizawa is younger than how you remember him from the anime, but he looks just as tired. You suppose that's something that never changes. The exhaustion isn't just physical—it clings to him, sits in his posture, in the slow blink of his eyes.

He's cool. He was always cool. 

The underground hero with a Quirk that wasn't flashy but effective. He didn't need explosions or lasers or fire—just a look. A single, sharp gaze, and everything stopped. You always admired that. The quiet, understated power of him.

Your mind goes blank for a good three seconds before overdrive mode kicks in.

Okay. Okay. Breathe. Don't act weird. Just be normal.

Which, unfortunately, means blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

"You look tired."

The words slip out before you can stop them.

Aizawa, who was staring at the floor in that dead-eyed way only the truly exhausted can manage, blinks. Slowly. Like his brain needs an extra second to process the fact that a tiny child is calling him out.

Beside him, the nurse visibly struggles to hold in a laugh.

"...You don't say," Aizawa mutters, resting his head on his good hand. His voice is exactly how you imagined it—low, rough, and so done with everything.

You press your lips together. "I mean—I'm sure people tell you that a lot, but you really look tired."

The nurse makes a small choking noise.

Aizawa stares at you for another long moment before exhaling through his nose. He looks so unimpressed. But not annoyed. Just... tired.

You straighten up in your chair, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment. This is it. This is your chance.

He's here. In front of you. And no one else in this hospital seems to get how cool this is.

"You're a hero, right?" you ask, tilting your head.