Ten years before the manifestation of the first quirk, a glowing child from China, the world has undergone its first change.
Gates opening into various dungeons led to the surfacing of the primordial type of people, called Awakened, or Hunters, the...
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2一 observations with a side of mystery
༻𖥸༺
SAYING THAT AIZAWA SHOTA WAS not a social person would be the understatement of the century, if the words of his 'friends' were to be believed.
As a man in his late twenties and an underground pro hero, it was customary for Aizawa to sport his trademark eyebags, groucy attitude alongside his baggy black and grey costume.
If one were to put him alongside his fellow teachers at U.A. there would be a great discrepancy一 they were just so different in attitudes.
Makes you wonder how he could be high-school friends with Present Mic, of the一if not the一loudest heroes out there (voice quirk notwithstanding).
So, as an unwilling participant, Aizawa was allowing his friend and colleague, Hizashi and Nemuri respectively, to drag him towards a bar now that classes were over and, given that they've caught wind of his lack of patrols the following night, taken full advantage of. (Not that any of his protests would be heard.)
So, sat down on a barstool and nursing a glass of scotch一the only drink he was going to have that night, Shota was monitoring his fellow teachers not unlike a babysitter would, watching as they traded classroom happenings and gossip with a vigor he normally would envy, but not tonight.
Tonight he was entitled to his brooding and nothing that Hizashi and Nemuri could say will convince him otherwise.
He was, understandably, tired. His class had decided that, as an end-of-the-week activity, they were going to put his patience up to the test, again. He didn't know if he should be concerned or not over the fact that he was getting used to class 1-A's special brand of crazy.
(The fact that Vlad King kept trying to make him look at options for psychologists wasn't helping the matter.)
Lost as he was rethinking his class' latest misadventure, he nearly missed an interesting part of the conversation happening next to him.
"一how they were so adsorbed by my lecture! They were so adorable!"
"Hm? What did you show them?"
"History of hunters!"
"Ah."
Ah, indeed. Shota could practically see Midoriya muttering a mile a minute during Nemuri's class as he was writing in his notebook. The erasure hero wasn't even sure what number the teen was on at this point.
To say nothing of the other more academically inclined of his students, like Iida and Yaoyorozu一 hell, even Bakugo to some extent. (How Mineta managed to keep up those high grades was an ongoing investigation.)
Glancing at the loudmouth blonde and buxom noirette at his left and, through appraising their slightly flushed faces, he deemed them sober enough to not need to be monitored at the moment and averted his sight to roam around the pub. (If things with those two turned hairy, then he could always bind them in his capture weapon.)
The Raven's Tail was a pub the three of them frequented quite often when off duty, therefore the master was familiar enough with them to no longer be on the receiving end of Shota's apologetic glances.
As such, it was a testament to his loyalty as a customer that when he saw a man in a corner booth working his way through what was easily the spiciest item on the menu, the underground hero nearly choked on his scotch.
How was that man not dying?一 was the first thought that came to mind. First things first, he could attest to being a victim of that same dish back when they were still starting to come back to Raven's. To put it mildly, it was not an enjoyable experience. Second of all, the guy was more than halfway through the plate of spicy as hellfire chicken noodles and he seemed bored.
No, correction一 more accurately, he seemed annoyed at the pint of beer in his hand, if the glare in those stormy-blue eyes was anything to go by.
Probably noticing the incredulous look on his face and the person it was directed at, Masato-san, the master, let out a barely suppressed laugh. "I know what you're feeling Aizawa-kun." There was good humour lining the older man's voice as his wrinkled face contorted to show a wide smile.
"I really thought that the guy didn't know what he was getting himself into." With a disbelieving shake of his head, Masato-san turned around to talk to another customer, the crinkle around his eyes not letting up.
Huffing away his stupefaction, Shota knocked back what was left of his scotch and let out a satisfied sigh as he placed his glass on the wooden bartop.
Looking once more at his friends, the underground hero barely resisted the urge to hide his face in his hands. The two idiots were so intoxicated that Nemuri was fallen face first on the wooden top while still laughing, missing her plate of nachos by nary a two inches, all the while Hizashi had one French fry stuffed in each of his nostrils as he made a grand show of foolish hand movements.
Skipping the first two steps of questioning his existence and hating this very situation, Aizawa opted to ask for the bill and resign himself to trying to sober the two of them enough so that they could retain the ability to walk in a straight line without making out with a light pole.
While he was contemplating ways of knocking some sense in his companions, on his right came the figure of the person that was previously glaring at his alcohol as if it had personally wronged him.
Tall, not overly muscular 一a lean physique then一 and definitely with the type of face that would make Nemuri stalk the poor man down. (He felt a twinge of pity going towards the guy.)
Raising a hand, the stranger began talking with Masato-san in a slightly accented voice. "You might want to crank up the heat on those noodles."
This drew a smile from the owner as he threw out his reservations about laughing. "If I do that, then I'll have a bar filled with crying people. Not many have your kind of spice tolerance, young man."
The smirk the dark haired man sported as he placed down a few yen was filled with ironic amusement. "Is that so?" He chuckled while putting on a long trench coat. "Anyway, thanks for the food. Don't be surprised if you end up seeing me back here."
"I look forward to it!" Masato-san called after the retreating back of the stormy-blue eyed man.
Aizawa watched as the guy left the pub with backwards wave of his hand before also placing the required money for his and his friend's consumption. (He was going to get his money back from them, one way or another.)
His curious thoughts about the mysterious dark haired customer were put to the side when he once again gazed over the sleeping forms of Hizashi and Nemuri.
He did not attempt to hide his groan.
✂------------------------------------------
this chapter fought me every step of the fucking way. i was close to chucking my phone at the wall a few times.
i hope i did aizawa justice with my writing. he's one of my favourite characters and i'd hate to portray him the wrong way.
also, the fact that all of the chapter gifs up until now have been from bsd is purely coincidental *lying through her teeth*
