This idea has been rattling around my brain for a bit. Hope you enjoy!


He can hear them from the hallway. There's yelling, definitely from Bakugo and, more surprisingly, Iida's raised voice echoes through the door. The wall is solid against his back, not enough to block his class's ruckus but nonetheless a good resting point. Shouta gives them a moment to themselves.

The laughter and scraping of chairs send a smile to his face (one hidden behind his capture weapon). He listens to their wild exclamations before his smile fades into something more of a scowl. It's disturbing how often he forgets they're children. The thought process is a necessity. He needs to think of them as adults weighed with responsibility and wisdom, but it's wrong.

And he hates how necessary it is. There's an uncomfortable ease he falls into pushing adulthood on them. It's when he stops for a moment and takes in their youthful faces, how many of their cheeks are still full and their limbs are growing, he can't help but hate himself.

The burning shame churns in his stomach, yet he forces himself to remember the why. It's because of the innocence and jocund company that he pushes them. They should be spending their days like this. Free and careless without the burden of the country on their shoulders. They are children and though he will never admit it aloud, Shouta would give anything for them to be able to act like that.

But it's not a bargain he can make.

Shouta shoves his hand into his pocket. His fingers circle the spare container of eye drops and, with a methodical twist and blink, squeezes a drop into each eye. He squares his shoulders, settling into the role of teacher before heading into the room. The door swings open, hitting the wall with a bang.

Quiet descends before he even takes a step into the room. His eyes scan he desks and their occupants. Nothing looks out of place at first, but yes, Iida's glasses are a bit crooked on his face. Ojiro's tail is flicking back and forth a bit too excitedly to pretend he wasn't just across the room. All the while Shouta can spot Uraraka hovering in her seat, eyebrows screwed up from nausea before releasing her quirk as subtly as she can. Everyone pretends this order is natural.

The kids are professionals after all.

Fine then.

He blinks at them once. Gives himself a second to take in who's tired and not at their best and who needs to be pushed. Shouta gives in to his earlier fancy and, although he will regret it later, makes himself see them as they are. Valiant, brave, irreplaceable kids. His heart aches at their efforts; at what's being asked of them.

He only allows himself a second and then he's back to their teacher. They may be children, but in his classroom, they will not be treated as such. In his classroom they are burgeoning heroes – they are his burgeoning heroes. To treat them as they are would be murder so he stops any sentimentality from getting in the way of his responsibility. He is the force that will push them to survive.

Shirakumo's smiling face, all teeth and arched eyebrows, could be one of these students. His old friend sitting there joking around with the rest of them. It's an impossible train of thought so he blinks that away as well.

The plan is simply to push them to their potential; past what they think they are capable of. He looks at all of them. Their faces appear youthful in physicality but in sprit they could rival him. This motely group of people are his students.

There is something worthy in each one of them. Proof of that is there were no suspensions this time around. Potential seeps out of their pores but something in the past month's changed.

A stagnant atmosphere hangs around the edges of his classroom threatening to hold them back. They're already forgetting about each other. The way they are lost in the ocean of their long-term goals instead of focusing on the wave right in front of them, the here and now. He can see the fractures already. Their acceptance of the routine of how the year will go. Not that they had plans of coasting through the year but it wasn't enough to be motivated.

They had to be striving toward, god forbid any telepaths hear his thoughts, Plus Ultra at all times. It was imperative to their lives and the people they would be saving that his students were on their game every day. Uncomfortableness is worth it now so that they could make it out of death's reach.

His classes before had needed such treatment and it was only logical that this group would too.

Shouta shrugs his sleeping bag higher on his shoulders, taking a deep breath of the warm comfort it brings, before addressing the class.

"Alright class, today's lesson is going to be up to you. I'm going to sleep so don't bother me."

He slithers down behind his desk, careful to keep his eyes closed enough it looks like he's sleeping. But against their expectations this class period will not be leisurely for teacher and student alike.

Shouta's on a mission. A stealth mission.

There's quiet for about five seconds.

Then…

"Alright! Free period." Kaminari says. Shouta imagines his feet are on already his desk, leaning back to egg a fist bump out of Kirishima. He gets a rally of cries before Iida jumps up, protest ready.

"I beg to differ. Though our proverbial leader is with us only physically today, a new leader will have to be elected for the remaining 45 minutes. Now as student repre-"

"And who the hell made you the leader?"

"Kachaan, Iida knows…"

"Shut up, Stupid Deku."

"Now here,"

"Not manly, bro."

"Oh no."

"They're always like this."

Shouta listens and watches through squinted eyes. Iida finally breaks through with the unwavering support of Yaoyorozu. The two are natural leaders with very different motivations. Iida comes from a place of wanting to prove himself while Yaoyorozu is still learning to accept the leadership others place with her.

This façade isn't strictly necessary. He knows these students and the class dynamics by heart but it's something Shouta feels he needs to do. He needs one last class looking at them from this angle. These assignments before they change.

The thing about the classroom anatomy, something students never think about, is that it's largely an art. The students being the colors and the seating assignment being the brushstrokes. Putting them together in the right way, a complementary blend of colors or striking contrast, can improve on the pigments. In the wrong order, too strong of a brush with purple, can through off all the colors around it. The colors will drown each other out; extinguish what made the each special. In that way a blend of similar brushstrokes can make a whole masterpiece, something building toward the larger goal.

Shouta doesn't have an artistic bone in his body but he's going to paint a picture so damn beautiful it will bring tears to his (and his students' eyes) and not just from not blinking.

He watches as the class comes under direction. Groups form up. Kaminari and Ashido center around a group, whispering to each other while Iida gives a lecture. Behind them Uraraka tries to keep her head up but the queasiness from earlier lingers. Her head dips down and she must have missed a meal again because she's unsuccessful in paying attention as he head falls into her arms.

Across the room sits his problem child and his counterpart. The former takes furious notes while the later takes his time between writing and glaring at the board. Though he can't see the vein on Bakugo's forehead, he knows it's fit to burst he longer Midoriya mumbles.

Next to them, Sero tries to pay attention but is quickly distracted by a note from Kirishima. The two's giggles are easily heard from his space on the floor.

If Shouta could sigh, he would.

He continues to observe them until the bell rings. Students file out with a couple eyes lingering on his form. He makes certain his breathing remains even until the last one closes the door behind them. It's Kouda, he thinks, from the quiet steps and careful way the door clicks.

Wincing at the soreness in his knees, he makes his way over to the desk. Shouta doesn't permit himself to look back at his abandoned warm cocoon. This is more important than comfort.

He takes a pen out and two pieces of paper. One wrinkled from use and the other clean. Shouta blinks and leans back in his seat.

The classroom is strange when its empty. Gone is the energy from before leaving only this strange aftertaste in it.

He needs to think.

Class 1-A is a block of clay and he the sculptor. Sometimes the students need a bit of a refiguring, a change of scenery to grow into what it needs.

By the time he's through the failed attempts are scattered and resting all around his desk. The old, wrinkled page is tucked in his desk drawer and now only a new page, freshly inked, sits in front of him.

It wasn't perfect but it might work.

He looks up and sees the new class take shape.

Yes, it defiantly might work.

With a nod, he tucks the paper into his pants pocket and heads out. Come tomorrow class 1-A will know the mission he'd been on.

Come tomorrow class 1-A is getting their new seating chart.

Shouta pats his pocket and chuckles. If the freshman sitting on the ench outsides sees him smile, the answering scowl and bark not to be late to class, is enough to dissuade them from thinking Aizawa-sensei could ever form such an expression.


I haven't written for this fandom before but have loved it for a very long time. Please let me know what you think. Thank you for reading!