Aizawa Oneshots

Returned Shadows (w/ a POLL!)

HELLOOOO EVERYONE!!! I come back with a little snack!

First and foremost, we are nearing 100 Chapters! This means I of course want to do a special for the 100th chapter :3 so I have included a poll to gauge what y'all wanna see! It is located at the end of this chapter.

YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO CHANGE YOUR ANSWER AFTER SUBMITTING A RESPONSE.

ALL ANSWERS WILL BE EXPLAINED BELOW AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER WITH THE POLL.

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ANYWAYS!!! Here's a little angsty-ish fic. Maybe a part 2 if this is well received? 
Requested by no one, this is just a spur-of-the-moment idea I had. 

Oboro's Twin! Reader x Aizawa!

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The quiet of U.A. High after classes is almost surreal. Sunlight spills through the tall windows in warm, golden beams, catching the dust in the air like tiny stars. Desks sit empty, chairs tucked in neatly as though the students have never been there, and the faint hum of the ventilation system is the only sound besides the distant echo of footsteps in the hallway.

You walk slowly through the halls, fingers brushing against the cool metal railing as you pass the stairwell. It feels strange to be back. Familiar, but strange. Your staff badge clicks lightly against your coat as you move, a reminder that you aren't a student anymore. You're something else now, a teacher. A guide. A shadow of the person you once were.

And yet... you're not quite a stranger.

You're Oboro Shirakumo's twin. Born just minutes apart, sharing his reckless optimism, his quiet charm, the reckless courage that draws people in. And like him, you had once thrown yourself into the world, laughing in the face of danger, chasing the impossible. But when he had died so many years ago, it felt like the world ripped apart beneath your feet. You stayed long enough to witness the hollowness left in the people who loved him, to see Aizawa's eyes for the first time betray the grief he always kept to himself.

Then you left.

Japan had been too heavy, the memories too sharp, and the sight of everything that had been your shared childhood too cruel. You had thrown yourself into work overseas, learning to survive in quiet places where no one could mistake you for someone else, where no one would know your connection to the boy who had been everything to the people around him.

Time passed, slow and steady. The ache dulled but never quite disappeared. You convinced yourself you were ready when the teaching position opened at U.A. again. A chance to step back into the world that had shaped you – and that had taken him from you.

Now, as you pause outside a classroom to straighten your folder, you don't notice the subtle shift in the hallway light. You don't notice the pen clattering from a desk behind you, nor the quiet sound of someone rising abruptly from the chair on the other side of the door.

—

He had been grading papers, tired and mindless, clinging to the quiet that only comes after students had left. He's alone. The hum of the vents, the scratching of pen on paper, the faint rustle of his scarf – it's all he needs to keep his composure.

Until he sees you.

A figure in the hallway, hair falling perfectly into place, posture deceptively casual, carrying the same calm, radiant energy that Oboro had always carried. For the briefest moment, he thinks he imagined it. Perhaps the years of stress, the weight of his responsibilities, are finally catching up to him.

But no. You're real.

His chest tightens. Something long buried claws its way to the surface; memories, grief, disbelief. Oboro? The thought strikes him like lightning, though he knows instantly that it can't be. Not him. Not exactly.