He is seven, and it is the first time he remembers being disappointed, realizing in the pit of his stomach and the line of his chest that people will always, inevitably, let him down.
Aizawa doesn't recall most of the house, recalls that it's clean, neat, maybe a painted white door and canary yellow walls, or maybe he's mixing it up with one of the places that he'd gone to later on, it's hard to remember, those years blur together, fast and violent and as slow as molasses drips.
It wasn't that he was unhappy, no, in fact, it wasn't such a bad day.
He hesitates to call it nice, because it's neatly filed in the before, before U.A., before being a hero, before Hizashi, before being a teacher, before meeting his students and finding something that filled the gap in his chest so neatly and perfectly.
But it wasn't bad, no.
Just… normal. A bit disappointing, maybe, but honestly not a big deal.
(Disappointing, he thinks, had been the normal back then.)
He doesn't remember much of his childhood, really, isn't one to dwell on the past when there's a perfectly good present, but he recalls this, in vague, yet coherent snippets.
When Aizawa is seven, he sits on a chair in the kitchen, peeling potatoes. His fingers are a bit clumsy, and he's slow for fear of cutting himself, but he's determined to do well so that they don't decide to ship him off.
The man, the husband, comes home from work, in a neat button down shirt and bright blue tie (maybe it wasn't blue, actually, he can't remember), ruffles Aizawa's hair.
His hand is large, calloused and warm, but Aizawa does not lean into the touch, he's too concentrated on his potatoes.
"Hey there, kiddo," The man says, grinning wide, crooked, "You're a big helper, hm?"
Aizawa is familiar with the way adults speak of this, familiar with how they use flattery like this, but even so he smiles a bit, but only shrugs, "It's my job," he answers, very seriously.
The man smiles a bit, hides it behind his large hands, and Aizawa didn't understand it then but he thinks he understands it now.
(He wasn't cruel. He was kind, Aizawa thinks. Maybe it was because he was seven. Maybe he was earnestly a good man. But he was temporary, and it's hard to be attached to someone who lies so distantly in your memory that you know a book character better than them.)
"Your birthday is coming up soon," the man says, crouching down next to Aizawa, "Anything you want?"
He is young, then, and still probably thinks that when it's your birthday, the universe decides to magically give you whatever you want.
So he swings his legs, thinks hard, and says, very seriously, "Will you give me some time to think?"
"Of course," A wink, "We can get you whatever you want. Reasonably, of course. We can't buy you anything over two hundred dollars."
"We can't buy him anything over one hundred dollars!" His wife says, exasperated, and there's a loud laugh.
So Aizawa thinks, long and hard, about what he wants.
He lies in bed that night, and thinks.
Reads books, wonders if there's anything he wants.
"I don't know if I really want anything," he hedges, every time that the man asks.
"Nonsense," The man grins, "Don't be shy. We can get it for you."
And it comes to him, one day, after overhearing some kids at school talk about it. "Ice cream cake?"
And, silence.
A pause.
A beat.
And then, "Ah… it's a bit too cold for them, isn't it?"
It's fair. November has come, and with it, cold winds and freezing fingers.
Even so, Aizawa swallows disappointment, because he hadn't seen that coming. "It's okay," he says, hesitantly, "I won't mind."
A frown, "What about something else? Maybe a toy truck? There's this really nice one…"
He gets a nice toy truck and doesn't complain when they get him a chocolate cake, even though he hates chocolate cake (when he says so, they sigh and say try it, maybe you'll like it and Aizawa doesn't, but he shrugs and says it's alright when they ask and they smile oh so wide and he scolds himself because he should be thankful for a cake, not unhappy just because the taste ins to to his preference).
He doesn't like the truck, nor the cake, and while it's nice, he supposes, to get new things, he hadn't wanted either and so it just sits in his stomach, unhappily, that a birthday is a day where everyone wants you to be happy but it's only messy because he's no good at these things, no good at being happy.
Thinking back, they were probably worried about a stomach ache.
(And he hadn't really cared. Honest. It was, after all, just a cake.)
He spends his eleventh birthday in the bathroom while people mill around outside, chatting with each other, his knees drawn to his chest as he reads a book about the power of habit.
It's hard to concentrate on the words over the din of noise, especially when the bathroom is small, cramped, his back against the shower wall and his feet against the toilet, but Aizawa makes do.
His foster parents had been chipper, kind people, and he feels a bit bad that he wasn't what they wanted, while knowing perfectly well that there's not much he could have done.
Aizawa has never been one for empty smiles, even when they would have served him well, and perhaps that's what unnerves people.
(That, among many other things. Among everything. Among the fact that his quirk alone makes him a freak, makes him the perfect candidate for villainy.)
He had been 'encouraged' to invite his classmates, and when he had said that he'd think about it, they had surprised him with the fact that they had done it for him, so he didn't have to do it, isn't that great, Shouta-chan?
There is a pit in his stomach as he tries to dredge up a smile but finds only a frown.
Isn't that expensive? He asks, desperately trying to get them to change their minds, to take it back.
What a conscientious boy, they laugh, ruffling his hair. Don't worry, we love parties.
Adults are here, too, milling around, frowning at the length of his hair (it simply isn't proper) or cheerfully telling him something about what a popular boy he is, scolding children when they take too much sweets (you should thank Aizawa-kun! And they do in monotonous, robotic voices before scurrying off to find their friends or eat more).
He doesn't mind, not really. They got some snacks other than the Black Forest cake that Aizawa hadn't liked but they had bought as yet another surprise, and so he has a plat of cookies to eat while he reads.
When the people leave, he has gotten mostly through the book, and his caretakers frown as they say you didn't spend all your time reading, did you?
Of course not, Aizawa lies, thank you for the party. It was wonderful.
They beam, proud of themselves, and then, well, did you make friends?
He shrugs and they frown a bit, but they're still on an adrenaline high from the party, he supposes, so they just smile and laugh and say, why don't you help us clean up?
He does, and takes care in packing away the leftovers in little tupperware containers, sneaking two to his room though they've assured him that he can eat the rest, of course.
The containers are still half full when they send him away, next week, still smiling as they say this is for the best, isn't it? We just didn't fit together so well.
They didn't, honestly.
Aizawa leaves the book on the table, packs the cookies in his bag, and he leaves, the strongest memory of that house being the cold of the shower wall against his back as people laughed, just outside the bathroom walls.
The birthday of his first year at U.A. passes quietly, without much fanfare.
He keeps it quiet, doesn't really see the use of telling anyone, but spends the day with Hizashi after class that day.
His guardians at that time are distant, leaving him mostly to his own devices, so it's unsurprising that they don't recall his birthday. Aizawa is relieved, in a way, grateful that they don't try to make a big deal of it or anything like that. He'd rather just spend the day with Hizashi, acting like everything's normal.
"It's getting cold, isn't it?" Hizashi hums cheerfully, blowing his breath in the air and pretending to be a dragon. He's ridiculous like that, Aizawa thinks, rolling his eyes, but he isn't so bad. "I love winter the best, I think. There aren't any bugs! What about you, Aizawa?"
"This time of year is too cold," Aizawa answers, shrugging.
"Hm… yeah, you don't have a scarf!" Hizashi frowns at Aizawa, "You should get a scarf! Then you won't be cold!"
Aizawa scrunches up his nose, "I don't like scarves," he huffs, "They're unnecessary."
"They make you feel warmer!" Hizashi insists, pressing his fingers against Aizawa's neck, "Doesn't your neck get cold?"
Aizawa kicks Hizashi's shins, "Don't put your cold fingers on my neck," he huffs, "And no, it doesn't. Not until some idiot decides to put his hands on my neck."
Hizashi laughs a bit, tucking his fingers under the folds of his canary yellow scarf to warm his fingers. "Come on, Aizawa. You're wearing sneakers, too! Of course you'd be cold."
"Don't be stupid," Aizawa shakes his head, "I'm perfectly fine."
Hizashi makes a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat, "You sure? I think that you're just trying to act cool, but you should really wear warm clothes."
"I have the winter uniform, don't I?" Aizawa raises an eyebrow.
"It's not enough to wear outside," Hizashi says, exasperated, spinning around in his ridiculous, knee length coat. "Christmas is coming in a month or so. Get a scarf."
"I don't need a scarf," Aizawa insists.
"You definitely do," Hizashi crosses his arms over his chest.
"I really don't," Aizawa shakes his head.
Hizashi grumbles and grouses but eventually drops it, and Aizawa thinks that's the last of it, until there's a white scarf neatly folded on his desk, and when he raises an eyebrow, Hizashi just adopts that irrupting, smug look that he wears when he thinks that Aizawa won't press a matter.
"Return it," Aizawa says flatly.
"Return it where?" Hizashi raises an eyebrow, trying to look innocent.
"Don't play dumb," Aizawa growls, "The stupid scarf on my desk. Get rid of it."
"What would I do with it?" Hizashi asks innocently.
"Return it to the store," Aizawa crosses his arms over his chest, "I don't want it."
Hizashi's face falls into a pout, "But Aizawa! I spent all week on that!"
"What do you mean, you idiot—" and then it clicks, stupid and ridiculous, and Aizawa's eyes widen, "You made it?"
"And you don't even appreciate it," Hizashi grumbles, but it's said teasingly, like he now knows that Aizawa will cave.
"It's…" Aizawa twists his lips to the side, "It's not bad."
And Hizashi lights up, because he's utterly stupid like that, bright-eyed and grin wide. "So you like it!"
"I said that it's not bad," Aizawa repeats, a bit more loudly, narrowing his eyes, and then, grudgingly, "It's nice. Thank you."
Hizashi grins, pleased, "I'm glad that you like it. Want to wear it?"
Aizawa stares.
Raises an eyebrow.
"We're in class."
"Oh. Right," Hizashi frowns, "Then, after school?"
Aizawa sighs, "Yeah, okay. Thank you."
The matter is dropped, and never discussed again, but after that, every day, Aizawa wears a white knit scarf to school.
His second year, unfortunately (or maybe fortunately? Aizawa still isn't sure, to be completely honest), isn't quite as calm as the first year.
Hizashi finds out, thanks to being a meddling meddler, who sneaks looks at Aizawa's file to find out when his birthday is, and is quite unfortunately well prepared by the time that November 8th rolls around.
"What do you want to do?" he asks cheerfully, kicking at a can on the ground with the insides of his feet, watching it roll forward with childish delight, "It's your special day after all."
"How troublesome," Aizawa sighs, lifting his scarf up to cover his nose from the chill, "I don't want to do anything special. It's too much effort."
"Aw, Aizawa, don't be like that," Hizashi pops the can up with the toe of his foot and it pops in the air, up to their shoulders, Hizashi quickly moving to catch it with his shoulder blade and rolling it along his arm before dropping it back into his waiting feet. "C'mon, there's got to be something that you want to do."
"Nope," Aizawa declares, watching his breath float up in the air, cold and white. "I want you to calm down."
Hizashi grumbles, "How about a fancy restaurant? We can eat yummy food or something, I'll treat!"
"I don't want anything," Aizawa repeats, narrowing his eyes at Hizashi, "except for you to shut up."
"So mean to me," Hizashi whines, pressing a hand to his chest, mock hurt.
"You already got me some pencil lead," Aizawa says, referring to the package that Hizashi had put on his desk that morning, "So it's fine, isn't it?"
"Pencil lead is a lame gift," Hizashi huffs, "I only got it because you said that it was the only thing you wanted and I wasn't sure what you'd like."
"I don't want anything else," Aizawa answers flatly, "So just drop it."
"How about the arcade?" Hizashi asks, finally tiring of his little game with the can and going to throw it out in a nearby trash can by a convenience store, "We can get a lot of tickets and I'll get you one of those giant stuffed animals!"
"I don't have room for a giant stuffed animal," Aizawa reminds Hizashi, "I get moved around a lot, remember?"
"Oh," Hizashi's face falls, "Right. Then… um… how about cake? You like cake, right?"
"No," Aizawa shakes his head, "Cake is too—spongey. It tastes weird."
"Not all cakes?" Hizashi asks, looking horrified, "Red velvet?"
"It's okay," Aizawa allows, "But too rich."
"Cheesecake?"
"Too creamy."
"Banana cake?"
"It's basically banana bread," Aizawa's forehead wrinkles, "But with more sugar."
"Coffee cake!"
"Usually has nuts, which I'm allergic to."
"Whoa, really? Um, what about without the nuts?"
"Nobody makes any without nuts," Aizawa sighs, "So I've never tasted it."
"Then we'll get you coffee cake without nuts!" Hizashi declares, looking determined.
Aizawa huffs at Hizashi's antics, "Don't bother, it's a waste of money."
"Aah…" Hizashi taps the side of his nose, that way that he always does when he's thinking really hard about something, "But don't you want to celebrate your birthday somehow?"
"No."
"Hm. Stingy."
Aizawa groans, "Drop it, Hizashi. You already got me a gift, you don't need to feel obligated to give me anything else."
"Yeah, but," Hizashi grabs Aizawa's hand and swings their arms back and forth, "C'mon. What do you want to eat? We can have anything."
"Instant noodles."
Hizashi throws Aizawa a flat look, "I'm serious here."
"So am I," Aizawa answers, even though he really isn't.
"So stubborn," Hizashi sighs, "Mm…ah, how about those soufflé pancakes that you were drooling over before?"
Aizawa thinks of the little shop they had passed, the smell of whipped cream and strawberries drawing outsiders in along with the warmth, and frowns. "There was a really big line before, remember?" he reminds Hizashi, "That's why we didn't go."
"Yeah, but we can wait," Hizashi squeezes his hand, "Especially since it's your birthday, right?"
"You're so annoying," Aizawa sighs, but it's a loosing battle.
Hizashi grins, pleased, knowing that Aizawa has caved, and he chatters as they change course, from aimless wandering to focused movement, a destination in mind.
The shop is small, comfortable, so warm that Aizawa has to take his jacket and scarf off, Hizashi grinning as he laughs your nose is so red! and Aizawa shakes his head it's called human biology, idiot and the soufflé pancakes are sweet and warm and the whipped cream tastes good and somehow, Aizawa becomes comfortable, in a little pancake shop, across from Hizashi, laughing when Hizashi accidentally spills whipped cream on his sleeves.
Second year had ended with quiet confessions in the gym after a spar, hesitancy as Hizashi looks away you don't have to say anything and a week of silence as Aizawa thinks about it, trying to sort out everything, trying to figure out the mess everything seems to have become.
Third year dawns with familiarity, a summer of having solved problems, hesitancy as Aizawa presses his fingers over Hizashi's, and a grin as Hizashi asks is this a date, then? and a hum as Aizawa answers I'll think about it.
They spend his birthday in the mall, Hizashi buying Aizawa okonomiyaki, the two of them shoved into a little red booth, legs spread under the table, eating slowly, as though they have all the time in the world.
"How is it?" Hizashi asks, bent over his own bowl of gyudon, chopsticks clicking together and against the bowl, Hizashi's knuckles occasionally rapping against the table, always moving, never still.
"Not bad," Aizawa yawns, "Are you prepared for the quiz we have in Law?"
"Ugh, don't remind me," Hizashi growls in the back of his throat, "I dunno. You?"
"Of course I am," Aizawa has spent way too long obsessing over the test, if he fails the quiz, he has no idea what he'll do. There's no way he can study more than he already has, he knows everything inside out and to be honest, he's kind of sick of it. "Have you been studying?"
"Yes, mom," Hizashi pokes Aizawa's cheek, "Have you decided what you want yet?"
When Hizashi had asked, Aizawa had hummed take me to the mall and we'll figure out then. Hizashi had whined that he was prolonging the period of time until he decided just to mess with Hizashi, to which Aizawa had laughed but did not deny.
"This meal is enough," Aizawa answers, taking another bite of his okonomiyaki.
"No, it's not," Hizashi huffs, "How about a book? Or some weights?"
"No," Aizawa answers lightly, "I'm good."
"You're terrible," Hizashi squints at Aizawa's dish, "Did you get the vegetarian?"
"It's the only one with enough vegetables," Aizawa answers lightly, "The others never have enough, they either have too much meat or too much pancake."
"Always trying to be healthy," Hizashi sighs and snaps his egg in half with his chopsticks, a bit of the raw centre oozing out into his soup. He puts half on the edge of Aizawa's bowl, "Eat that."
"I really don't need to," Aizawa protests halfheartedly, digging his chopsticks into the centre to get some of the yolk, "One meal without meat won't change anything."
"You almost never eat meat," Hizashi answers, sounding almost scandalized as he pinches Aizawa's arm, "You're all skin and bones!"
"I have more muscle than you," Aizawa retorts, mock offended, as he pulls his arms back.
"Can't tell by looking," Hizashi replies haughtily, "You need to eat more."
"Now who's the mom?" Aizawa grumbles.
"Both of us," Hizashi answers, kissing Aizawa's cheek.
Aizawa rolls his eyes, but it's fond, "PDA, Hizashi."
"I'm not that bad," Hizashi pouts, but goes back to eating his lunch.
He has a ridiculous boyfriend, Aizawa thinks, but with him around, his birthday isn't half bad.
It's just his luck, Aizawa thinks glumly as he stares at his hands, that Hizashi would get injured on the day before his birthday.
"I'll get in some extra hours today, while you're out patrolling, too," Hizashi had said, kissing Aizawa's cheek, "And then we can spend tomorrow off."
"That's unprofessional," Aizawa had answered flatly.
"Then we'll work on a case together," Hizashi shrugged, "It'll work out. We'll eat somewhere fancy, too, you'll see."
"That's terrible budgeting," Aizawa laughed (just a little, mind you).
"It's for a special occasion," Hizashi had stressed, waving a bit, "See you, love you!"
"Love you, too," Aizawa sighed, knowing that Hizashi was going to find some way or another to give him a gift that Aizawa probably didn't need (but would also, probably, like).
Except, now, he's sitting outside of the ER, waiting for word on an idiot who decided to keep up a falling building with his voice.
It had worked, until it hadn't, and now he's here, fingers pressed into his palms, head lowered, trying to remember how to breathe.
Hizashi is awake by the time that Aizawa's allowed to go in, eyes only half open, still drowsy from the meds, or so Aizawa presumes.
"Hey-o, Shouta," Hizashi grins, wide and loud and ridiculous, "How am I looking?"
"They healed up most of your wounds," Aizawa answers wearily, "You only need to stay for a quick check up, and then you'll be good to go."
"Great," Hizashi gestures for Aizawa to sit, "How're you doing?"
"Fine," Aizawa runs his fingers through Hizashi's hair, "You need to train your quirk more."
"I've been training it for precision this entire time," Hizashi purses his lips together, "The goal was to try and concentrate its power, not just let it loose like that."
"You could have died," Aizawa presses Hizashi's knuckles against his lips, the words mumbled into Hizashi's skin.
Hizashi hears anyways, of course he does, and he grins, like an idiot, as he answers, "I'm fine, Shouta."
Aizawa had seen the pictures. Had forced himself to look, at Hizashi, crumpled, little notes in the margins uncertain if it was okay to move him, possible spinal damage, knows that the only reason that Hizashi ended up in the ER was because the paramedic with the healing quirk couldn't handle that much at once, so they'd sent Hizashi to a second healer.
He knows, and it feels terrifying, somehow, to see Hizashi like this, normal, light, smiling, as though nothing had ever happened, as though he hadn't nearly died.
But he can't say that. How could he?
So he swallows the fear, swallows the uncertainty, and says out loud, "I want mille crepe for my birthday."
"I thought you said it was too sweet?" Hizashi raises an eyebrow.
"Matcha flavoured," Aizawa amends.
A laugh from Hizashi. "Of course."
"Mm," Aizawa leans forward, tucks a strand of flyaway hair behind Hizashi's ears, "You idiot."
"You're not going to tell me not to do that again, are you?" Hizashi raises an eyebrow, impossible man that he is.
And Aizawa wants to. Wants to, so badly, to wrap Hizashi up and say never again. But he can't, because he's a hero, too, and he understands, that it isn't something that can be promised, not when there are people to be saved, not when you can save them.
So he just kisses Hizashi's knuckles, closes his eyes, and sighs.
There's a warm hand, curled against his cheek, and Aizawa leans into the touch.
They are young and inexperienced, but they'll survive, all the same.
"Is there anything you want?" Hizashi asks, braiding back Aizawa's hair, his own already pinned back in a haphazard bun.
"No," Aizawa hums, shivering a bit in the cold as they wait for the bus to arrive, "Maybe a nice, quiet night in, to read."
"How boring," He can't see Hizashi's face, but he's probably pouting, he can hear it in his voice. "Were you always this boring? What about when you were younger?"
Aizawa shakes his head, "Nothing."
The braid shifts, and Hizashi makes a noise of complaint, Aizawa mumbling sorry.
"Nothing at all?" Hizashi ties it back, the hairband snapping neatly into place, "What about when you were really, really, really young?"
Aizawa shrugs, and Hizashi sighs, sitting down next to him.
"It's not a crime to want things, you know," Hizashi rests his head on Aizawa's shoulder, "I like to get things for you. It's not a hindrance."
Aizawa breathes in the scent of Hizashi's weird lime shampoo, thinks for a moment, and then, "No, nothing."
Hizashi hums a bit, and the bus comes rumbling up, ready to take them home for the night. "Nothing, hm? Well, then, since it's a special day, how about ice cream?"
Aizawa blows on his fingers and then, amused, "It's too cold."
"It's never too cold for ice cream," Hizashi declares, pulling Aizawa into the bus and putting in their tickets, waving cheerfully at the bus driver who squints at Hizashi, as though trying to put his face to a name, "Besides, don't you ever feel nice and warm and hot in your coat and then you want to cool down, so you get ice cream?"
"No," Aizawa rolls his eyes, "I'd just unbutton my coat."
"Shouta," Hizashi says, scandalized, "Are you saying that you've never had ice cream in winter?"
Aizawa thinks of being seven, of asking for a silly little thing, of worries over a stomachache, and scrunches up his nose, "No. It's illogical."
"Okay. That's it," Hizashi plants his hands on his hips, "We're getting ice cream."
Aizawa narrows his eyes, "Hizashi."
"Shouta," Hizashi mimics, and then raises an eyebrow. "Come on. You'll love it, I promise."
"You're ridiculous," Aizawa sighs, which is as close to agreeing as he'll get, and Hizashi knows it, smiling triumphantly.
They go to the ice cream store and Hizashi eagerly chatters about the options, asking Aizawa what he wants and ooh, maybe they could split half and half, then they'll have two flavours, and, and, and, and it's ridiculous and stupid and he hasn't really wanted this since he was seven but Aizawa blurts out, like an idiot, "When I was younger, I wanted an ice cream cake."
There's silence, as Hizashi digests, blinking at Aizawa, stunned and surprised, and then, a soft look as Hizashi says, "Then we'll have to get some for you, won't we?"
It's ridiculous. Seriously stupid, honestly, and yet, as Hizashi points at the round, overpriced cakes in the freezer of the ice cream shop, he can't help but be a little pleased.
Aizawa had worked late that night, far past midnight, having slept away most of the day, and Hizashi's at the station at 5am, already prepping for the day, so it makes sense that they end up here, like this, legs tangled and clothing rumpled as they eat take out in a corner cleaned of boxes and disks.
"It's a mess," Aizawa notes, squinting around, at the controls, the half opened boxes, the equipment laying everywhere.
"It'll be great," Hizashi answers confidently, "You'll see. Present Mic's Radio Station, the only station run by a professional hero."
"How narcissistic," Aizawa rolls his eyes, but it's said lightly, teasingly, not meant as a barb.
Hizashi laughs, chopsticks scraping the sides as he gathers all his noodles in the styrofoam box. "It's not so bad. I'll be running it when you're asleep, mostly, so it'll be fine."
"Hm," Aizawa hums, laying his head on Hizashi's shoulder.
He falls asleep like that, so he doesn't hear when Hizashi's crew arrives, motley as they are at that time, in the beginning, he doesn't wake even when they start, too tired from a night of work.
When he does wake, it's just Hizashi and the new intern, who volunteered to stay behind and help clean with the promise that she could bring home the leftovers from the crew's lunch that day.
"Ah, Aizawa-san?" She smiles, tapping his shoulder, "Happy birthday!"
He blinks groggily at her, and then, resigned, "Hizashi told you."
A little giggle as she presses her fingers against her lips, "He was very excited about it. Wouldn't mention your name on the station, but told a lot of stories."
A beat as Aizawa processes.
Then: "I'm going to kill him."
She laughs at him, shaking her head as she yells, "Yamada-san, I'm heading home!"
The sound of something crashing, vague yelps, and then, almost affronted, "I told you to call me Hizashi!"
The intern shakes her head, winks at Aizawa, and then floats off (literally).
"Ah, Shouta," Hizashi blinks, "You're awake."
"You talked about me on your show?" Aizawa crosses his arms over his chest.
An awkward laugh, "So you heard that, huh?"
Aizawa kicks the sides of Hizashi's feet, "When were you planning to tell me?"
"I was, I was," Hizashi darts away, "C'mon, Shouta, it's because it's your special day!"
"You're so annoying," Aizawa grumbles, "You didn't mention my name, did you?"
"Of course not!" Hizashi says, offended, "I didn't even say you were a pro hero! Just told stories about you at home. Like the tiger cat incident."
Aizawa reddens, "I thought that we promised to never discuss that again."
"Well, not between the two of us," Hizashi smirks, "But with my wonderful listeners… OI! SHOUTA! STOP! Are you trying to kill me?"
"Yes," Aizawa answers flatly, "Stay still."
"Noooo! Shouta—!"
He's a bit tired that day, sleep from a long night of work, but as Hizashi buys him a box of mille crepes and what's becoming a traditional ice cream cake, he wouldn't trade this for the world.
Why did he think that becoming a teacher was a good idea.
Why.
This is so stupid.
The stupidest.
Aizawa hates this.
He hates everything.
He hates…
"Shouta~" Hizashi sing-songs, bouncing into his office, "You're not still marking, are you?"
"Essays are a problem," Aizawa mumbles, rubbing the end of his pen against his chin, "Students have no sense of logic."
A laugh from Hizashi as he slings an arm over Aizawa's shoulders, crouching down next to Aizawa. "It's not that bad, is it?"
"It's worse," Aizawa agrees, sighing as he rubs the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes, "What time is it?"
"Too late," Hizashi says, unhelpfully, "Time to take the day off."
"I have ten more to get through," Aizawa groans, "I'm halfway through."
"Your students can afford to wait," Hizashi answers firmly, "Teach them some patience."
Aizawa squints at Hizashi, "Is that a thing, that students can have?" He asks, dry and wry and too tired to deal with this.
Hizashi laughs, bending over and reaching his arms behind his back, "C'mon, Shouta."
"No," Aizawa narrows his eyes, "Absolutely not. Aren't you still injured from last week?"
"Noooo," Hizashi pouts, "Recovery Girl said I was A-okay a few days ago, remember?"
Aizawa raises an eyebrow.
Hizashi squirms.
"Really."
"Cross my heart," Hizashi says quickly, "You can even check with her!"
Aizawa sighs and climbs on Hizashi's back, "Don't you have work?"
"I can do it later," Hizashi smiles, "It's your birthday, and there's cake in the staff room."
"I don't like cake," Aizawa sighs.
"Ice cream cake," Hizashi elaborates, bouncing Aizawa a bit to get a better grip on him, "Just for us."
"That's too much for just us," Aizawa laughs into Hizashi's neck.
Hizashi jolts a bit, ticklish, and once he's regained his composure (if he had any in the first place), he says, "We can eat the leftovers throughout next week."
"Hm," Aizawa makes a noise in the back of his throat, "That's not… illogical."
"Double negative," Hizashi bumps open the staff room with Aizawa's hip, "Bad grammar."
"You're ridiculous," Aizawa groans.
"I'm not the one who decided to give hero students the assignment to write essays," Hizashi grins, dropping Aizawa on the ground.
Aizawa groans, "Don't remind me."
A laugh, and teaching is horrible and marking is the worst, but Hizashi's here, so it's not so bad.
His first birthday spent with the Class 1-A (you know the one) is, of course, terrible but somehow manages to cement itself as one of his fondest memories.
How, he still has no idea, because his students are absolutely ridiculous, were possibly even more ridiculous back then, and yet.
There is confetti everywhere, and a giant banner over his blackboard, and a giant platter with dorayaki and mochi and dango on his desk.
It's absolutely ridiculous and vaguely horrifying and Aizawa bites down a fond smile because he is also, apparently, ridiculous.
Somehow, his composure manages to stay, and he raises an eyebrow at Ashido and Kirishima, who were the ones throwing the confetti over him. "You're cleaning that up," he tells them drily.
Ashido, to her eternal credit, isn't even fazed, just snapping a smart salute and a cheerful, "Of course, Aizawa-sensei!"
Kirishima grins and gives him the thumbs up, "Happy birthday, sensei!"
He wants to ask who told them, but he already knows, and already has plans for murder.
"Hizashi," he sighs, that night, the leftover food (which apparently Satou had made, go figure) in their apartment's fridge, "Did you have to?"
"You didn't have fun?" Hizashi asks innocently, and Aizawa bites back a groan because fine, maybe he did, but that is not the point, you ridiculous man.
"It wasn't too bad," He admits, grudgingly, scowling at Hizashi when he has the audacity to beam at Aizawa.
Hizashi pulls an ice cream cake that's probably big enough for the whole class to eat, sets it in front of Aizawa, and grins. "Well, then. So long as it's fine."
Aizawa grumbles, of course, but in the end, it's true. It wasn't so bad, the food was good and his students were—less ridiculous than usual.
(All in all, not a bad birthday.)
In second year, his birthday has fallen on the weekend, so while he celebrates (read: is wrung out and completely exhausted by) with his (overly enthusiastic) class, they don't really celebrate too at home on a school day.
Shinso is already up by the time that Aizawa wakes, flipping an omelette with spinach and tomatoes stirred in, and Aizawa takes a moment to be impressed, and wonder why his teenage (adopted) son can cook better than him and Hizashi.
To be fair, they're both human disasters. And Shinso is—kind of—also one…
Erm.
"Shouldn't you be asleep?" Aizawa yawns, fingers covering his mouth as he leans against the doorway, shoulder raised a bit and head leaning on the side.
Shinso shoots him a vaguely amused look, as though he had anticipated this question already. "It's eight am. And happy birthday."
"Thanks," Aizawa squints at his watch.
Huh. Look at that.
"Hm. So it is."
"Hizashi went out?" Aizawa pulls out three plates, stacking them up beside the stove, nodding sleepily when Shinso gives him a thankful nod.
"He forgot to get cake," Shinso hides a small laugh behind his hand, "Was all panicky about it and decided to try and get it before you woke."
"Well, he failed at that," Aizawa answers drily, "And you decided to make breakfast while he was away?"
"It's not like you two could do it," Shinso smirks.
Which, well, true, but, "We could have gone out."
"We always go out or order in," Shinso adopts a pained look, "I honestly have no idea how you lasted this long with such bad nutritional habits."
"Protein bars and—" Aizawa pauses. He honestly has no idea either. "Magic."
Shinso doesn't bother hiding his laugh this time, more of a snicker than anything as he neatly divides the omelette into three bits, putting one bit on each plate. "Mind pulling the leftover rice from the fridge?"
"No, of course not," Aizawa hands the box to Shinso, who dumps the rice into the frying pan and starts to stir it around. "Anything you want to do today?"
Shinso hums a bit, "Nothing much. It's your birthday, isn't it?"
Aizawa shrugs and leans against the counter, and Hizashi comes in, making disappointed faces when he realized that Aizawa had woken before he returned, and the three of them curl up on the couch, plates in hand, as Hizashi puts on Treasure Planet and they crowd around the computer to watch the movie.
It's a quiet, lazy morning, and despite himself, with his family, Aizawa can't mind.
Sure, he remembers being seven, remembers wanting an ice cream cake and getting a toy truck instead.
But he can't mind, he's had better times, and besides, he's never been one to dwell in the past.
And honestly?
It was just a cake. Now, he has something like a family, and it's so much more than any cake could ever hope to be.