Chapter Text
Last week, there had been a large-scale villain attack on a small city neighborhood. Heroes had shown up in full force, driving back the villains in a desperate fight, trying as best they could to stop the collapsing buildings and rain of explosions. It had been a painful and heated battle, with more casualties than anyone wanted to admit. Even when All Might had finally arrived, it took some time to bring the chaos to a close. Now that it was a few days in the past, that tragedy and suffering had to be turned into paperwork and bureaucratic tape.
Aizawa squinted up at the tall office building with distaste. Tall, brightly colored posters decorated the windows, featuring an ever-smiling All Might, declaring “You can be a hero!” One or two news vans idled on the curb, waiting patiently for even the slightest chance to catch a glimpse of the number one hero. Fans slowed down as they walked past, admiring the grand decorative logo. Just like All Might, the building was flashy, and just like All Might, every passerby wanted to stop and take a look.
Biting back a sigh, Aizawa scanned the visitor’s card he’d been given across the black sensor by the door. The small light turned green and the glass door unlocked, so he stepped into the massive lobby, already impatient to get this entire thing over with.
The lobby was decorated even more flashily, if that were actually possible. The carpet was a rich navy blue, decorated with white stripes that imitated the detailing on All Might’s suit. Posters and blown up magazine covers were hung on every wall, lit beneath with miniature lights as if they were hanging in an art gallery. A handful of silent televisions were mounted on the walls, cycling through what looked like documentaries and recorded news stories about the nominal hero. One entire wall was a glass case, dedicated to peace awards and trophies that had been given to All Might in thanks of his work. One of his old costumes was even mounted in the case, as clean and perfect as if someone had pressed it just that morning.
Even the receptionists’ uniforms were in the same colors of red, white, and blue, although clearly toned down to look less like circus clowns and more like actual professionals. Still, the interior was just as uncomfortably flamboyant as Aizawa had always expected the office building of All Might would be.
Aizawa approached a cheerful smiling woman with bright brown hair. In fact, all the receptionists were smiling. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the main criteria for new employees was obnoxious levels of enthusiasm. “Hello, sir! What are you here for today? Are you looking for an interview? Organizing a charity event? Seeking to contact our legal team for our policy on collateral damage? Or maybe—”
“Paperwork,” Aizawa interrupted. He didn’t have the patience for this long-winded chatter. “During last week’s attack I split off from the rest of heroes and spent the majority of the fight working with All Might. A representative on the phone said I had to come in to have All Might fill out his share of the legal form.”
“Alrighty! Can I see your hero license?” Aizawa pulled the small card from his pocket, let her catch a glimpse, then put it away quickly. He preferred to share as little as he could with strangers. “Thank you Eraserhead-san! Let me just check the schedule.” She turned to her computer, a few extra fingers sprouting from her palms. She rapidly typed something at an almost unnerving speed, a few extra fingers protruding now and then to hit a hard to reach key.
She paused for a moment, then looked up with another big smile, sliding a new card across the desk, this one marked with three golden stars. “Alright! You should be clear to head up to floor fifty-eight! Please let me know if you need anything else, and thank you so much for serving alongside All Might-sama!”
Sama. Aizawa grimaced. Where they really all so enamored that they spoke of him with the same eager admiration as if he were royalty, or some sort of god? It was possible that the receptionist was instructed to say that, but that was admittedly an even less appealing idea.
Without bothering to respond he picked up the card, and shuffled across the lobby. He passed by the small clusters of eager heroes and businessmen with sharp suits without so much as a nod of greeting. Aizawa swiped the card down the reader next to the elevator door. Even the ding announcing the arrival of the elevator was too loud, too energetic. The sooner he could get this over and head back to his apartment, the better.
The elevator was spacious, with spotless glass walls and a star-strewn carpet that perfectly matched the lobby. A tinny song was playing over the hidden speakers, an upbeat piano melody a grateful composer had written after All Might had saved him from the collapse of an apartment building.
The song was played at every All Might press conference, in every All Might documentary, and at any charity event All Might attended, like some a movie character’s theme song, following him everywhere. Hell, a few famous artists had done their own similarly obnoxious pop covers or remixes. But no matter what form it took, the overly energetic song had a way of grating on Aizawa’s nerves. He almost felt relieved when the small screen over the elevator door finished the count up to fifty-eight.
The doors slid open, and Aizawa stepped out into the office of the international number one hero.
The office was nothing like he expected. For starters, it was actually somewhat small. The carpet was a simple soft green, and rather than dramatically lit glamour shots of All Might, the walls had framed posters of old American movies kept behind lovingly polished glass. There were a few small windows, and mismatched flower pots sat on each sill. In one window, a tall glass vase with narrow shoots of bamboo, in another, a squat clay pot filled with cut daffodils, and none of the other pots seemed much alike either. They looked like they belonged to someone who didn’t know much about gardening or plants, but was trying their best to keep the little things alive. Compared to the rest of the building, it was really rather modestly decorated.
The desk was small too. There was only a single All Might action figure, but the surface was so crammed with paperwork and boxes it looked like the toy was seconds away from falling to the floor. The two small leather chairs on either side of the desk were both empty. In fact, the entire room was empty.
Aizawa sat down in the chair clearly meant for guests. He glanced at the stacks of documents, feeling for the first time in a while, some small amount of approval for All Might. At the very least he did his work thoroughly.
Between all the stacks of paper, however, a small engraved brass nameplate caught his eye. He reached in and picked it up, reading the inscription. “Yagi Toshinori. All Might Secretary.” So maybe the approval wasn’t that deserved after all.
Suddenly, a door swung open behind him. Aizawa turned around just in time to see someone step out of what looked to be the bathroom, coughing harshly into a clenched fist.
In spite of all his years in the field, all the things he had seen working as a hero, Aizawa was startled at the sight of the man. He was gaunt and sickly looking, like a man that had woken up a week after his own funeral His eyes were almost completely cast in shadow, giving his sallow bony face a dark look, with only the dim blue light of his irises cutting through. He wasn’t wearing an unnecessary color coordinated uniform like the receptionists downstairs. Instead, he was drowning in a yellow pinstripe suit that somehow made the tall lanky man look almost like a child.
This man didn’t bother with the peppy grins and upbeat mindless chatter the receptionists had seemed more interested in. He offered a tired smile, offered a polite deep bow, then took a seat at the opposite side of the desk. “Eraserhead-san,” he said, waving a stray strand of long golden hair away from his face. “Thank you for coming. You’re here to fill out the paperwork for last week, right?”
Aizawa stiffened slightly. “Yes. Is All Might here? It’s quite important this gets done so the villains responsible can be properly charged.”
“Of course. I’m afraid All Might-san is. . . preoccupied. As his secretary, I’ve been granted the legal authority necessary to fill out the paperwork in his name, so you’ll be working with me,” explained the man apologetically. This was Yagi Toshinori then, no doubt.
Aizawa bit back a bitter sigh. How bitterly unsurprising that such a highly regarded hero couldn’t be bothered to fill out his own forms. “Fine. This may take several visits to sort out, considering the extent of the damage,” he explained, sliding across several of the papers.
Yagi looked down at the paperwork, his smile slipping. It was nice, at least, that someone in this building was honest with how they felt. “It makes me ache to think that the only way we know how to answer so many deaths is with nothing but statistics,” he said tiredly, picking up a pen.
“Well, be glad you’re not a pro hero then. It becomes inescapable,” Aizawa said, looking down to focus on the paperwork. He didn’t doubt that last weeks events were scarred into his mind, just like so many other events of his hero career. But why waste time thinking about it when the memories would be back the next time he slept?
Yagi hummed in agreement. He had already filled out answers to a few of the simpler questions. He moved with an efficiency that showed how familiar he was with the slow, draining work. Aizawa had to admit it was admirable to see someone so grounded in a place like this.
Yagi paused, as if he had noticed Aizawa watching, and glanced up for a moment. “Eraserhead-san?”
“Aizawa-san is fine,” he answered curtly.
“Aizawa-san,” Yagi repeated, tapping his pen on the desk. In spite of how frail the other man may have looked, Aizawa could feel a restless energy coming from him. “All Might-san instructed me to thank you for everything you did during that fight. He says if you hadn’t been there, the villains would have certainly escaped and hurt many more people.”
Aizawa frowned, starting the slow process of filling out his own forms, trying to ignore the sting of bruises with each small movement. All Might had hardly spoken to him, and as far as the media had cared, it was only because of All Might that the tragedy hadn’t become a massacre. He didn’t respond, his focus instead on figuring out the first block of text.
Yagi looked like he wanted to say something, to try again to break the ice, but after a moment, he thought better of it and turned down to focus on his own work. They spoke little, only when they needed to verify dates or trade papers. In fact, it was mostly silence and rustling of pages for a good solid hour.
Around then, Yagi stood up from his seat. From the look on his face, he regretted it, and he rubbed his side with a grimace. He glanced down at Aizawa and smiled again. Maybe it was just because of the sea of unpleasantly large grins plastered everywhere in the lobby, but Aizawa found he liked the smile. It was simple, gentle, and best of all, honest.
“Can I get you some tea, Aizawa-san?” he asked, setting his own pen down. Aizawa, too engrossed in the papers, grunted, shaking his head in mild disinterest. He wasn’t here to make small talk and drink after all. He was here to get work done. “Ah. Would coffee be alright?” Aizawa couldn’t help glancing up. He definitely couldn’t pass up on the chance for caffeine, even if he tried. He wordlessly nodded, looking back down at his papers.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Yagi pull open one of the desk drawers, picking up a bottle of what looked like some fairly serious prescription medications. As frail and sallow as he was, Yagi certainly looked like the sort of person who needed them.
With the bottle in one hand, he shuffled quietly out of the room, shutting the door softly behind him. Aizawa glanced over his shoulder after he’d left. As irritated as he’d initially been that All Might hadn’t deigned to show up in person, he was starting to find that he didn’t mind so much.
In some ways, Yagi seemed like the anti-thesis to All Might. Fairly quiet. Private. Introspective. In other ways, he reflected the proclaimed ideals of the man he served; kind, hardworking, and polite. In theory, he was probably an excellent secretary. In practice, Aizawa couldn’t help wondering if he was wasting away in the background, drowning under mountains of work and being left behind as the world revolved around the man he worked for.
Eventually, Yagi shuffled back into the room, a small white cup in each hand. He set down the first in front of Aizawa, easily in his reach, but out of the way of his papers. It was dark and thick, with a few thin coffee grounds still floating on the surface. He took a small sip and tried not to smile. It wasn’t incredible, but it wasn’t bad either. It tasted simple, homemade, warm. Nice, even.
Yagi returned to the seat across from him with a cup that smelled like lemon and ginger. As he took a drink, he quietly returned the pills back to the desk drawer, no doubt having taken them while out of the room.
After a moment, Yagi set the cup back down, glancing across the desk with a faint curiosity. “So, Aizawa-san. What led you to hero work? If you don’t mind my asking.”
Aizawa glanced up from his papers, leaning back in the comfortable leather chair. “It was what was needed,” he said, taking a long slow drink from his coffee. “Crime was worse back then. Not that it’s much better now, but when I was going into high school. . . it was hell. I knew my quirk would be suited to the position of a hero, so I pursued that goal.” He took a second sip from his mug before setting it back down on the wooden desk. It would probably be polite to return the question. Though, to his own surprise, he found himself actually somewhat curious. “And you? What sort of quirk or hidden talents do you have that led you to pushing papers for All Might?”
Yagi paused, a deep embarrassed red crawling across his features. He cleared his throat, managing a crooked smile as he slid his long slim fingers back around his cup, lifting it quietly to his lips as if to buy himself a few more seconds. “I’m quirkless, actually. And not much good with paperwork if I’m being honest. To be frank, I only have the job because someone was needed to do it, and I get the work done well enough,” he explained.
“Well you’re doing it, aren’t you?” Aizawa said, motioning around the office absently. “I don’t see All Might in here punching these papers into submission.”
He’s almost startled when Yagi laughs. It’s a warm, bright sound, like the wind rustling a field of sunflowers on a bright day. After a few seconds, the laughter slips into a short-lived coughing fit, but that can’t stop Yagi’s smile. “No, I suppose not!” he said, shaking his head, trying not to chuckle. “I suppose not.”
They still didn’t talk much as they worked. But it wasn’t a stiff silence anymore. Occasionally it would be broken by a few friendly words, and Aizawa found that when it was with Yagi, he wasn’t bothered by mindless chatter. No, that wasn’t right. With Yagi, it wasn’t mindless. Aizawa didn’t waste words if he had nothing to say, and Yagi always seemed to have real thought behind what conversation he did make.
As the hours dripped by, Yagi would sometimes leave the room. Usually, he would have some excuse, like offering to make more coffee or needing to get a pen with more ink. Then he would come back in, paler than before and holding his side, then they would sit and talk and get work done.
“Is it ten already?” Yagi said, glancing up from his report on public property damage. He laid it down on top of the stack next to his empty cup, pushing away from the desk. “The cleaning staff will be here soon. They don’t touch my papers, but I try to stay out of their way.” He looked back to Aizawa, and the formidable stack of forms they still had left to fill out. “Aizawa-san, I’m afraid the thought of getting these done today was overly optimistic of me. I’m incredibly sorry, but we’re going to have to meet for another few days to get this done.”
Yagi may have been sorry, but Aizawa was not. As dry as paperwork could be, he found that hadn’t entirely minded. Since he usually patrolled the nightshift, Aizawa slept half the day away, then spent the other half laying around his apartment until Yamada or Kayama or both dragged him out to “socialize,” and “have fun,” and “actually have a goddamn life what the hell Aizawa have you been out during the day even once this month.”
Spending time sitting with Yagi, quietly working, drinking coffee and sharing the occasional word—it was a bit of a jarring change of pace. But not unwelcome.
Of course, Aizawa didn’t say any of that. “That’s fine.” He picked up a small blank card on the desk and scribbled out a quick note. “Here, Yagi-san. My phone number. Call me any time after nine and so long as I’m not preoccupied with a mission, I’ll come over.” He stood up and held out the card.
Yagi accepted it with a small smile, tucking it away in the breast pocket of his oversized suit jacket. He walked around the desk and pressed the call button for the elevator, leaning up against the wall. It was a bit hard to tell if it was an expression of casualty, or if he was leaning on it for support. “Thank you for your patience today. I really am sorry that All Might-san was unavailable to do this in person.”
The elevator dinged, and Aizawa followed Yagi inside. “Trust me, I much prefer it this way. You have nothing to thank me for.”
“I still haven’t thanked you for last week.” The door slid shut, and Yagi leaned forward, clicking the button for the lobby. “I gave you All Might’s thanks. But not mine.” He turned back to face Aizawa. There was a sincere gratefulness in his expression, soft and glad. Working as an underground hero, it wasn’t very often Aizawa saw that. “Without your work in the fight, those villains would have hurt a great deal more people. Thank you for your service.” He tried to bow, but it immediately became obvious how heavily he was holding himself up by the wall, how hard it was for him to make the simple movements. Aizawa felt a ghost of the pain fleetingly cross the other man’s face.
“Again,” Aizawa said, watching the numbers tick down. “You have nothing to thank me for. I was simply doing my job.”
In spite of the physical pain he seemed to be trying to hide, Yagi smiled. “A firefighter or a police officer is only doing their job. But that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve thanks for the lives they save.”
It’s an interesting sentiment, one that clings in Aizawa’s head. Eventually they reach the first floor, cross through the serenely abandoned lobby, and out into warm night air of the street outside. They said their goodbyes for the night, and parted ways.
Aizawa watched for a while as Yagi shuffled down the street to wherever his apartment was. It crossed his mind that maybe he should have offered to walk Yagi home. A sickly man without a quirk working in the service of All Might could no doubt draw the occasional reckless villain or curious mugger. But then again, certainly All Might knew the risk for his personal secretary and had precautions in place.
It took more self-control than he expected, but eventually, Aizawa turned away and started the path down the opposite direction, towards the nearest train station so he could catch a ride back to his apartment. He had his weekly breakfast with Yamada in a few days, and so long as it was still dark there were a few good hours left for a night patrol. There was plenty of his regular life to think about. Plenty of more logical thoughts to fixate on. But in all honesty? The only thing Aizawa could think of was how much he was looking forward to doing paperwork again tomorrow.