Can't believe I'm doing this.
Crouched outside Izuku Midoriya's window, Aizawa creeps, his head hung low, peering at the concrete windowsill below his feet.
This is completely irrational.
His breath trails slow and labored, black hair concealing his face as it dangles, hiding his aged features.
A cold wind drifts through the air, the mark of a February evening. The slightest of breezes gently sways the inky strands atop his head, revealing the old hero's scarred face.
His burning red eyes sizzle with exhaustion.
You were once like him, Old Man.
Never forget that.
Releasing a deep breath, the man cranes his neck back to a neutral position. Twisting his neck, the popping of vertebra serves as a precursor to his next actions.
Strangely enough, for the first time in years, Aizawa feels something he thought he lost.
Fear.
Reaching a bandaged hand out, his hand gently twitches with hesitation. It wavers in the air, his split knuckles and bruised palms staring right back at him.
Stomaching his pride, he tightens his spindly, bony fingers into a fist and knocks gently against the glass.
KNOCK.
He left Chiyo's around two hours ago.
Sitting in hushed silence, Aizawa remains curled along Izuku's windowsill as if a gargoyle, overlooking the lower class family. The wind gently howls through the concrete tributes of industrialized Japan.
KNOCK.
He should be here by now… Back home.
Aizawa's jet black hair whips through the air, entranced by the wind's song. Slithering, the black snakes dance to their charmer's command.
His face is thoroughly wind-whipped.
Bandaged, gauzed, and scabbed, Aizawa has seen better days.
Reaching his gnarled hand out again, he keeps his fist clenched.
Fingers sticking. Joints are getting old.
This damned cold.
With a sigh, his breath trails out in a pale fog.
KNOCK.
A popping sound is heard.
The window slides open, revealing the confused gaze of the boy Aizawa came to see. Dressed in a plain white undershirt and the same black pants as the day before, Izuku stares at Aizawa with an expression of simultaneous amazement and shock.
Meeting the kid's eyeline, Aizawa's eyes feel heavy. Tired. Even more so than usual.
What hell you've been through, kid.
"Young Midoriya, I have some words for you," he exhaustedly spits out, an ominous conversation-starter. Aizawa's specialty.
Looking over his shoulder, Izuku inspects the door behind him, presumably to the hallway of his family's apartment. Still a smidge open, Izuku gestures with his finger to keep quiet.
Really kid? Shushing a professional like that…
Rolling his eyes, Aizawa sits in silence, still waiting for his invitation to enter. Creeping to the door, Izuku closes the door with the back of his left hand. Waiting for the distinctive click of a job well done, Izuku then turns and gestures for the hero to step inside.
Receiving the okay, as if a vampire, Aizawa shifts his weight and moves to enter the room.
Stepping from the windowsill onto the carpet, Aizawa's tired eyes adapt and accommodate to the blindingly vibrant colors of the All-Might speckled room.
Jeez. What a fanboy…
A strand of thick silk dangles from the ceiling, directly over Izuku's bed. Torn plaster from the ceiling reveals two footprints.
Testing his quirk, I see.
Stuffing his hands into his pockets, mostly as an effort to warm his old joints, Aizawa stands nonchalantly in the teenagers room.
Izuku looks at him, biting his lip in anticipation of what he could say.
Stepping to the bed, Aizawa reaches a hand out and gently drags his fingers across the sticky silk rope.
"I see you've been experimenting." Aizawa runs the silk through a closed hand, studying its composition.
"Having difficulty adjusting?" Aizawa asks without turning an eye towards the kid. He's more focused on the silky strand.
"Y-Yeah. Yeah, I've been… testing it out, you could say. I keep, uh, tearing holes into things… With my fingertips… And I guess my toes too," Izuku admits, clutching his left arm with his right. His unique expression of embarrassment.
"And what have you learned?" Aizawa replies, gently raising the end of the strand to be held with both hands. Testing its weight, grip, and strength, Aizawa curiously examines every possible trait.
"I can… grab things from far away if, if I aim at it," Izuku explains, looking at the spinnerets on his wrists, "like with my webs."
Not unlike my restraining bond…
"Your tensile grip will have to be the first thing you'll have to work on. You can't get by through life without grasping things," Aizawa states, turning towards Izuku. "And don't tell me you can't control it. None of us could control our quirk at first," he adds on, nipping Izuku's following comment in the bud.
"Practice. Grab things, then drop them. Again and again. As many times as possible, until you learn the limits and rules of your quirk. We can worry about the others later," Aizawa instructs Izuku, with a tone of voice as if he was teaching a child.
Approaching his bed, Izuku takes a seat atop the blue comforter.
"We?" Izuku follows with. Aizawa's thoughts skid to a sudden stop.
Attempting to hide his expression, his eyelids only slightly raise.
Shit, the kid caught me. I didn't even mean to say that…
Sending the cogs of his mind into overdrive, Aizawa jolts out a sudden response, "Chiyo and I. We have to keep you under our watch, at least for now. This way we know you can adapt to society with your newfound power, especially due to its… source."
Izuku drops his head, turning his gaze towards the ground. His fists clench.
Noticing Izuku's discomfort at the source of his long-awaited power, Aizawa turns to Izuku.
"This… This will not comfort you as you probably hoped it would. But, the source of your quirk, it is a grievous concern of mine," Aizawa honestly states.
"It's only rational that we discuss this, even if it isn't pretty," Aizawa follows up, turning his crimson gaze towards Izuku.
"The circumstances of your quirk designate you as… Illegal. At least in the government's eyes."
Izuku stares blankly at the ground, still sitting on his bed.
"In objective terms, you qualify as what the media have declared as 'Instant Villains'. Trigger users willing to eschew human decency and their own genetic code to exacerbate their abilities. I know the truth of your abilities," Aizawa bluntly states.
"You're not human anymore. You aren't, you're something new. A mutate, a forced transformation in a human body. You didn't naturally adapt to a quirk, a hidden fragment in your DNA which surfaced at a young age. No, Trigger brute forced its way and altered your genetic code. You're not like the rest of us and everyone around you is desperate to know that, even if they aren't aware of it," Aizawa brusquely comments.
Izuku's fists clench tighter, his nails digging into the skin of his palms.
"No one develops a quirk at your age, even those with late onset quirks. Izuku Midoriya, you are completely unique. There has never been a case like you."
Izuku clenches tightly onto the comforter of his bed.
"And that makes you stronger than the rest of us. You've already demonstrated a stronger conviction than most professionals, surviving the events of last night."
Stepping towards Izuku, Aizawa looks down at the kid, his gaze carrying a heavier weight than usual.
"You decide who you are. Not those who developed Trigger, not the government, and certainly not someone like me."
Looking up at the former professional, Aizawa is surprised to find Izuku's expression to be one of undeterred determination. Staring into Aizawa's spirit, his divided irises strike a chord with the grizzled veteran.
That determination…
That fire…
That heroism.
Izuku's burning gaze powers through Aizawa's crimson visage.
"I know you're not a hero," Izuku cuts through the air with.
Aizawa fails to hide his expression, his eyes jolting open with shock.
What's with this kid and surprises?
"I know you lost your certification, your permit. I know that, when you saved me, you were breaking the law. I know what you are," Izuku breaks Aizawa's gaze, unable to keep eye contact as he extrapolates the truth.
Aizawa is frozen in place.
This kid.
"You're a vigilante. You break the law in order to be a hero, without a permit or government permission," Izuku turns his gaze upwards, "and if I can't secure a permit or the ability to be a hero because of my quirk, then I want to be a vigilante as well!"
Raising his eyes to meet Aizawa's, Izuku's eyes strain with searing passion.
Izuku's determined expression and heroic words drive a burning hot stake into Aizawa's cold heart.
"Kid, you're asking for a lot. You don't know what you'll find out th-" Aizawa attempts to deny Izuku.
Shooting up from his previously seated position on the bed, Izuku interrupts the former hero.
"No! I know! I know what's out there!" Izuku exclaims, snapping at Aizawa.
"I know exactly what's out there! I saw its ugly face last night! And in my own way, I came out on top! I know what's out there!" Izuku screams at Aizawa, hot tears bubbling from the corners of his eyes.
Aizawa is shocked at his passion.
"Kacchan knew what was out there!" Izuku follows his comments with a sucker punch.
"And if he could do what he did, then I should too!" He rebukes Aizawa's concerns.
Breathing heavily, Izuku lets out a few passionate breaths.
"And you said it yourself: I choose what I want to be. And if everyone else won't let me be me on their terms, I'll be me on my own terms," Izuku passionately asserts, clenching his fist by his side.
"I've had to play by their rules my whole life. Now I get to make the decisions for myself," Izuku declares, huffing.
Shocked, Aizawa's whole view of Izuku has been thrown for a tailspin.
The quirkless boy, desperately clutching for a chance for heroism, now a burning hot ball of passion, the greatest hero in the making.
"I've seen your heroism before… Even before your quirk, you threw yourself into action. There was no chance you could win that fight. There was nothing to gain, no reward. Yet you acted with the heart of a hero," Aizawa comments on Izuku's heroic demeanor.
"Izuku Midoriya, I was right. I was right when I said you would never be a hero. You'll never be a professional hero," Aizawa analyzes the increasingly rebellious teenager.
"But you sure as hell can be a vigilante," Aizawa finalizes his assessment.
Looking up at Aizawa, Izuku's eyes widen in shock, surprised at the cold-hearted man's strangely warm assertion.
"Izuku Midoriya. Will you accept my offer?" Aizawa asks, clearing his throat. Confused, Izuku keeps his eyes locked on Aizawa.
"Learn under my tutelage and become a vigilante unlike anything the world has seen. Become who you were meant to be. You can become your own hero, beyond society's limitations," Aizawa offers, reaching a bandaged hand out to the heroic teenager.
Staggering, Izuku's eyes bubble with even more hot tears, amazed at Aizawa's offer.
His legs turning to jelly, Izuku collapses to his knees, stretching a hand out to prop himself up. Choking back the tears that so desperately try to break Izuku's defenses, the kids hand wavers wildly through the air in a vain attempt to make contact with Aizawa's.
Looking up, Izuku's face has flushed red with emotion, tears streaming from his face. With one final thrust of effort, Izuku swings his shaking arm forward, grasping Aizawa's bandaged hand.
The two shake on the deal.
Nodding, Aizawa looks down at the overjoyed teenager with a smirk.
"Take your time, rest for now. I will be in contact with you soon. I will teach you everything you need to know. Professional etiquette, combat skills, methods to save others, everything a proper and rational vigilante excels in. Going forward, you must avoid speaking about your quirk to others. Besides your mother and yourself, you must exercise caution to who you tell, and especially regarding its origins. It's best to do so if you wish to remain safe," Aizawa explains. Izuku wipes the tears from his face, keeping his gaze locked onto his new mentor.
Silently gulping, the teenagers stomach drops upon hearing the last comment.
What about Kaminari?
"But for now, just rest. And most importantly, take a shower. You reek," Aizawa finishes his life-changing declaration. Aizawa's comment knocks Izuku back into consciousness. Grabbing onto his shirt, Izuku's eyes widen with embarrassment.
Approaching the open window, Aizawa leaps outside onto his concrete perch. Looking back over his shoulder, he nods at Izuku before leaping into the sullen darkness of that February night.
Staring out of his window, Izuku watches Eraserhead swing between building to building with his restraining bond, eventually his shadow being enveloped with the inky blackness of the moonlit night.
Clutching a fist and pulling it to the side of his chest, Izuku exhales a deep breath with closed eyes. Gazing out the window, his freckles are lit with a faint moonglow, his eyes glimmering in the darkness.
Izuku Midoriya.
The high-school vigilante.