Chapter Text
The wind howled past the dorm windows like it had teeth.
Aizawa stood near the entrance of Heights Alliance, arms tucked inside his capture weapon like a worn cloak, watching as the last of his students disappeared into the white blur of snow flurries. The early winter storm had come in fast, faster than even the forecasts had warned, and now fat, heavy flakes drifted from the sky in relentless sheets, cloaking the world in white.
One by one, the dorm emptied out.
Bakugou had grumbled all the way to the waiting car where his mother stood scowling like she could scare the weather into behaving. Kaminari had nearly forgotten his phone. Uraraka had waved cheerfully, cheeks flushed from the cold. Iida had adjusted his scarf five times in the span of a minute before finally jogging off toward his brother’s car. Even Sero and Ashido had bundled themselves up in puffy coats and sprinted through the snow like kids again.
Aizawa had nodded to each of them. Sometimes offered a reminder, a warning, a quiet “Happy holidays.” They left in pairs and groups, chatter echoing faintly down the corridor, leaving silence in their wake.
Only Todoroki lingered.
He stood at the threshold for a long moment, snow sticking in his red and white hair, the faintest smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. He didn't say much, he rarely did but he bowed his head respectfully, eyes flicking toward Aizawa.
“I’ll be back early,” Todoroki said. “Just in case the storm delays return trips.”
Aizawa inclined his head. “Good thinking.”
And then he was gone too, vanishing into the pale white haze of snow.
That left one.
Midoriya.
Aizawa didn’t move from his post. He could hear the soft scuff of Midoriya’s boots in the hall, the creak of his backpack straps as he adjusted them over his shoulders. The kid stepped out beside him, bundled in a green parka with the hood down despite the cold, snowflakes landing on his hair and melting slowly.
“They’re all gone?” Midoriya asked quietly, like it hadn’t already been obvious.
Aizawa hummed. “You’re the last one.”
There was a pause. Midoriya shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fingers twitching at his sides, like he was still deciding something.
“Sensei…” he started, then hesitated. His breath came out in a thick puff before he finally met Aizawa’s eyes. “Would it be okay if I stayed? For the break?”
Aizawa didn’t react outwardly, but he watched carefully. “You didn’t put in a request.”
“I didn’t think I’d need to,” Midoriya admitted. “My mom… she went to visit my dad in America. He lives there now. She was supposed to be back two days ago, but the weather canceled all the flights. She’s still stuck there.”
He spoke steadily, but his voice was tight around the edges, carefully controlled. His hands curled into the hem of his coat, gripping it like it could anchor him.
“I’d just be home alone,” he added after a beat, quieter.
Aizawa watched him. The logic was sound. Reasonable. But he could see something more in the way the kid’s shoulders hunched inward, how he didn’t quite meet his gaze now that the truth was out.
There was more he wasn’t saying. Something beneath the surface. But Aizawa didn’t push.
He just gave a slow nod. “You sure? Storm’s supposed to be heavy. Power might go out. No support staff nearby.”
“I know,” Midoriya said quickly. “I don’t mind. I… it’s quieter here. Easier to think.”
Aizawa glanced out at the snow, then turned toward the dorm.
“You’ll help shovel when it piles up,” he said instead, already stepping inside. “No excuses.”
Midoriya smiled faintly and followed him in.
The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the sound of the wind.
The dorm was eerily quiet now. No shouting, no music, no stomping up and down the stairs. Just the hum of the heater kicking in and the soft tick of a wall clock. For once, it felt like a house rather than a school building.
Aizawa moved to the common room, pulling the curtains shut against the worsening snow outside. Midoriya sat on the edge of one couch, setting his backpack down and rubbing warmth back into his fingers.
A moment later, Aizawa’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
Zashi💛: 15 minutes out! Traffic’s slow. Still want coffee?
He smirked faintly, thumbs tapping back a quick reply.
Sho🖤: Yes. Black. Be careful.
He tucked the phone away and glanced toward Midoriya.
“Mic’s on his way. You eaten?”
The kid blinked and sheepishly shook his head.
Aizawa sighed, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Come on. We’ll reheat something.”
As Midoriya got up to follow him, the first real gust of warmth settled in Aizawa’s chest. It wasn’t just from the heater or the impending coffee or even the promise of Hizashi’s ridiculous scarf flying behind him as he stomped snow into the entryway.
It was this.
The quiet hum of a home, even in the middle of a snowstorm.
And for now, that was enough.
The door thunked shut behind them, the sound muffled by the snow already piling against the frame. Aizawa brushed the flakes from his shoulders and tugged his arms free of the capture weapon, hanging it on its usual hook near the door before shrugging off his coat. Midoriya hesitated for a moment, then quietly followed suit, placing his jacket neatly on the rack.
The dorm felt still in the way only an empty house could. No echo of footsteps, no shouting upstairs, no thud of Kaminari tripping over his own feet. Just the quiet creak of the floorboards and the faint hum of the heater as it kicked on again.
Aizawa headed to the kitchen, Midoriya trailing silently behind him.
He opened the fridge, scanning the shelves out of habit. Empty Tupperware. A few drink bottles. An aging apple that had probably been Kaminari’s. Nothing left from the last group meal, not surprising. The kids had cleaned it out before they left.
He let the door close and glanced over his shoulder. Midoriya had sat on one of the stools at the counter, chin resting in one hand, his other hand absently tracing patterns into the surface with a fingertip. He looked tired. And pale.
Aizawa turned back to the cupboard, pulled out a pot and a box of macaroni. “I’ll make something simple. Sit tight.”
Midoriya gave a small, grateful nod and didn’t protest.
The pot clinked onto the stove. Water filled the silence, gurgling from the tap as Aizawa filled it and set it to boil. He moved through the motions quietly, hands steady, efficient. Kraft would have horrified someone like Sato, but Aizawa didn’t care. It was warm, easy, and filling. That was enough.
As he waited for the water to heat, he leaned a hip against the counter and glanced toward Midoriya again.
“You got any plans for the break?” he asked, voice casual.
Midoriya shook his head. “No, Aizawa-sensei. Just… this.”
Aizawa gave a soft grunt of acknowledgment. That matched what he’d already heard, but it still settled something in his chest. The kid wasn’t planning to sneak off to his house or to some friend’s at the last second. He really was just here. Rootless for the season.
He turned back to the stove, flicking the heat up a notch, then added, “Mic’s staying too. That going to be a problem?”
Midoriya looked up quickly. “No! Not at all. He’s, he’s fun. Loud, but it’s fine. I like him.”
Aizawa smirked faintly at the accurate assessment. “He grows on you.”
“I think he already did,” Midoriya murmured, smiling slightly.
Aizawa stirred the bubbling water as the first few noodles sank and swirled. It wasn’t much, mac and cheese, a quiet dorm, and a kid too polite to admit he didn’t want to be alone but it was something.
Something small, something safe.
The storm would hit in a day or two. The world outside would freeze and howl and disappear under layers of ice and snow.
But in here? He could keep it warm.
And if it meant making sure Midoriya ate properly and didn’t spend the holidays with silence for company, then fine.
He could handle that.
The cheese packet crinkled as Aizawa tore it open, stirring it into the pot with practiced ease. The smell of warm, gooey mac and cheese filled the kitchen, comfort food, nothing fancy, but rich enough to settle in the stomach and take the edge off the cold.
He had just finished scooping it into bowls when the front door creaked open again, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of boots stomping snow from the steps and a familiar, too loud voice calling out:
“I’m home! And bearing gifts!”
Midoriya startled slightly, then grinned as Hizashi stepped inside, wrapped in a thick coat, his scarf flapping behind him like a cape. Snow dusted his shoulders and the brim of his beanie, but his grin was warm and bright as ever, his gloved hand holding a cardboard drink tray high like a trophy.
“Mic-sensei!” Midoriya greeted with a wave, clearly already caught up in the whirlwind energy.
“Hey, kiddo!” Hizashi chirped as he kicked off his boots. “Did you miss me already? Don’t answer that. I know you did.”
Aizawa smirked as Zashi stepped into the kitchen, already unwinding his scarf and freeing the heat from his voice. He moved straight to Aizawa without hesitation, leaned up slightly, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, his breath still cold from outside.
“Hey, Sho,” he said gently, handing him a tall, steaming coffee cup. “Black, no nonsense, just how you like it.”
Aizawa took the cup and murmured, “Thank you, Zashi. Love you.”
“Love you too.” Hizashi grinned and bopped him lightly on the arm before turning toward the counter. “Mmm, is that mac and cheese I smell? Stars above, I am home.”
Midoriya blinked once, then looked down quickly, hiding a faint smile. Not startled, just quietly processing. Aizawa watched him for a moment, but the kid didn’t seem upset. Just… surprised.
Guess he figured it out.
Hizashi didn’t push it. He flopped dramatically into a chair at the small kitchen table, dropping his coat on the backrest, and sighed like he’d just finished a ten mile trek through the mountains instead of a snowy drive through Tokyo.
“Smells amazing. You make enough for three?”
“I always make enough for you,” Aizawa said, already setting the bowls down.
They gathered at the table without much ceremony. Midoriya sat quietly, still a little wide eyed, but he offered a soft, “Thank you for the food” as he picked up his spoon. Hizashi answered with a thumbs up and an immediate mouthful, making an exaggerated sound of approval.
Aizawa took the seat beside him, nursing the warm coffee in his hands for a moment before digging in.
Outside, the wind pressed against the dorm walls, snow sweeping past the windows in thick, swirling drifts. But in the kitchen, the air was warm. The table was full. And for once, there was no urgency. No lesson plan. No patrol shift. Just a shared meal and the soft clink of spoons on ceramic.
The mac and cheese was simple but filling, warm enough to settle low in his gut and push back the cold still lingering in his bones. Aizawa sat quietly at the table, one hand around his coffee cup, slowly sipping while Hizashi and Midoriya carried most of the conversation.
It didn’t bother him. Hizashi could keep a conversation going with a wall if he wanted to.
“So on the radio show last week,” Hizashi was saying between bites, “we did a segment on quirks that affect perception, like sensory swaps, distortion fields, all that fun stuff. One listener wrote in about how her dog could detect her quirk activating before she even knew it. Wild, right?”
Midoriya lit up instantly, nearly forgetting his spoon. “That’s amazing! There’s a whole line of studies about animals sensing quirk patterns, some of it ties into early quirk manifestation! I think it’s in Volume 3 of the National Quirk Evolution Journal..”
Zashi beamed. “My boy knows his sources!”
Midoriya flushed, ducking his head. “Iii I just read a lot…”
Sho smiled faintly behind his cup. He never changes. Even with the dorms quiet and the usual noise of thirty students absent, Midoriya still carried that frantic, earnest energy everywhere he went. Like it would spill over if he didn’t speak fast enough.
Hizashi, of course, encouraged every bit of it.
“Oh! And I wanted to ask,” Midoriya added, between mouthfuls. “You mentioned going shopping tomorrow?”
“Yeah! I figured we could run to the market before the worst of the storm hits. Stock up, get some snacks. Maybe hot chocolate. You’re coming, right?”
“Iii I mean, if that’s okay, Sensei.”
“Of course it is!” Hizashi replied, already sipping from his own drink like it was settled law. “It’ll be fun.”
Shota watched the exchange in silence for a moment more, letting the words flow around him like white noise. Midoriya called them Sensei again. He always did. Even now, when there were no lesson plans, no schedule, no uniforms, no school. Just three people sharing a meal in a quiet dorm during a snowstorm.
It wasn’t necessary. Not now.
Shota lowered his cup and glanced at the kid across the table.
“You know,” he said casually, “since school’s closed and it’s just us here for the break… you can drop the ‘sensei.’”
Midoriya blinked, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Hhh Huh?”
“You don’t need to call us that outside class,” Aizawa clarified, tone even. “It’s just Aizawa And it’s Yamada, not ‘Mic.”
Midoriya froze like a deer in headlights, eyes wide, spoon still suspended, lips parted like the sentence had hit his mental brakes. Hizashi covered his mouth to smother a chuckle.
“You okay there, kiddo?”
“II I, yes! I just, uh..” Midoriya’s head tilted slightly, brows furrowing like he was trying to solve a puzzle in real time. “Just… Aizawa… and… Yamada?”
“You don’t have to force it,” Sho said with a shrug. “It’s an option.”
Midoriya still looked like a confused kitten, trying to navigate an entirely new world of social rules, but after a few seconds, he gave a tiny nod.
“Oo Okay. I’ll… try.”
Zashi gave him a wink. “You’ll get the hang of it. And don’t worry, we won’t dock points if you slip up.”
Shota rolled his eyes, but let the banter carry them through the rest of the meal. The storm outside grew louder against the windows, wind dragging snow across the glass in waves, but inside, everything was warm.
And comfortable.
Less like teacher and student. More like… something else. Something quieter. Closer. A temporary little home.
Dinner passed in a warm haze of conversation and comfort food, the kind that settled not just in his stomach but somewhere deeper, like a weight being lifted, if only slightly. There were no emergencies, no paperwork, no late night patrol shifts or lesson plans to review. Just mac and cheese, snow tapping against the windows, and a quiet evening ahead.
As they cleared the table, Sho gathered the empty bowls and carried them to the sink, already reaching for the dish soap when Midoriya stopped him with a small, insistent voice.
“Wait, Sense... uh, Aizawa.” The name came out awkward and tentative. “You cooked. I should wash.”
Shota raised a brow. “You sure?”
Midoriya nodded, already rolling up his sleeves. “Yes. It’s only fair.”
He looked determined about it, too, like scrubbing dishes was a moral duty he couldn’t ignore.
Shota shrugged. “Alright. I’ll dry, then.”
“Guess I’m on cabinet patrol,” Hizashi chimed in, already twirling a dish towel and tossing it over his shoulder like it was a stage prop.
Midoriya turned on the hot water and got to work, sleeves dampening slightly as he carefully rinsed the bowls and glasses. He was methodical about it, probably the same way he took notes in class, with precise motions and furrowed brows like it was just another type of training.
Sho stood beside him, towel in hand, drying each dish as it was passed along. He didn’t say much, and neither did Midoriya beyond the occasional soft “here” or “sorry” when he accidentally splashed a bit of water. Zashi, meanwhile, kept the background lively with small humming, commentary about dish placement, and dramatic mock gasps over the disorganization of the top shelf.
“How do any of you find anything in here?” he muttered, peering into the cabinet like it held state secrets. “This is a crime scene, Sho.”
“We live with teenagers.”
“Still! I have standards.”
Shota rolled his eyes but said nothing. Midoriya gave a quiet laugh, barely audible over the running water, and Shota caught the faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The tension in his shoulders had eased a little, and he wasn’t shivering anymore.
By the time the last dish was dried and stacked, the storm outside had grown louder, gusts of wind brushing past the building in waves, snow thudding against the glass in steady rhythm.
“Alright,” Zashi said, clapping his hands once. “Kitchen’s closed. Let’s move this party to the common room.”
Midoriya turned off the tap and shook his hands dry before reaching for a towel. “You guys, um… hang out there a lot?”
“Only when we’re being domestic and adorable,” Hizashi grinned.
Sho snorted, slinging the towel over his shoulder. “It’s warmer in there.”
And it was. The heater always worked better in the common room, and we wanted to keep an eye on midoriya. He didn’t need much more than that tonight.
He gestured toward the hallway, already heading that way with slow, relaxed steps. “Come on.”
Midoriya followed behind them, a little hesitant but not resisting. Aizawa glanced back once, just to be sure he wasn’t getting overwhelmed.
He wasn’t. If anything, he looked a little less lost than earlier.
Good.
They had the whole break ahead of them. Just three people and a snowstorm.
No expectations.
No pressure.
Just warmth, and time.