A/N: So, this fic is going to be more a bunch of drabbles in the same universe than anything plot heavy or consistent.


"Find anything today?" Aizawa doesn't look up as Hizashi drops into the room, heavy yellow cloak dropping from his shoulders before he hangs it onto the coat rack.

"When do I ever?" Hizashi sighed, straightening his back and stretching his arms until his shoulders gave a satisfying pop. "It's fine. The curse only really activates when I scream and shout anyway, so it works best as a defense mechanism."

Aizawa frowns at Hizashi from his spot on their carpet, hovering a few feet in the air.

(Aizawa had been fond of brooms before he fell asleep on one, sixty feet in the air, and had only survived the fall thanks to Hizashi's quick levitation spell. Carpets, working on crystals, didn't require the constant feed of magic like brooms did and being larger, Aizawa was less likely to fall off. Hizashi still teases him about it from time to time, but knows when to rest.)

"You break all of the windows when you have nightmares," he sighs, and with a flick of his fingers the carpet lowers to the ground, the hum of the magic crystal powering down and it's pale white glow darkens to nothing.

"Sorry," Hizashi mumbles, rubbing the palm of his hand against his nose, "We could always put tape on my mouth or something."

"If silencing spells didn't work, tape probably won't either," Aizawa shakes his head, "I'm not mad about the windows. It's just a bit inconvenient, is all. You almost got stabbed with the glass when your light bulb broke over your head."

Hizashi winces at the reminder.

"And more than that," Aizawa's close enough now to reach out and touch Hizashi, thin fingers resting on his wrist (just above the dark blue chevron bracelet that they've imbued with soul bonding magic, and hanging from Aizawa's ankle is a matching yellow one), "It doesn't let you sing."

Hizashi tries to fight back the burning feeling in his throat, because he's a witch, having dreams of singing on a radio show is ridiculous, witches are supposed to thrive in the dark and unknown, not become radio show hosts (even if he dreams of having a radio show for witches, of segments that teach home remedy spells and give book reviews on spell books or fantasies but it's ridiculous anyway). "My career doesn't require me to sing," he shrugs, shoving down the helpless feeling building in his chest.

Aizawa just shakes his head and clicks his tongue at Hizashi, "Come on."

Hizashi links his arms around Aizawa, beaded bracelets and fate strings hanging off his arm, and Aizawa's arm is bare but for a few scribbled runes that he's inked onto his arm while he was thinking and didn't want to go search for paper.

"Let's forget about curses," he urges because there is no point on dwelling in things like that when he is perfect content in his cozy apartment living with Aizawa, "I'm feeling like cake for dinner today."

"You're ridiculous," Aizawa snorts.

Hizashi swoops down to press a kiss to the tip of Aizawa's nose and Aizawa pushes him away, laughing a bit. Satisfied, Hizashi grins and answers lightly, "You love me."

"Not because you're ridiculous," Aizawa rolls his eyes.

"You sure about that?" Hizashi pulls Aizawa into a dip, holding him over a bent knee.

Instead of standing up, Aizawa raises his eyebrows from his spot in Hizashi's arms, smirking when Hizashi's arms start to quiver. "In case you've forgotten, I weigh almost 200 pounds, and you almost never work out."

"I know, babe," Hizashi grins shakily, "Please get up before I drop you."

Aizawa hos and hums because he is evil and enjoys seeing Hizashi suffer.

"I hate you," Hizashi grumbles.

Aizawa laughs and finally stands up, rolling around smoothly and shoulders sliding up to his cheeks as he wraps his arms around Hizashi's neck and pulls him in for a chaste, quick kiss. "You love me," he corrects Hizashi.

Hizashi is utterly in love, so he probably looks like a dope, but he agrees anyway with a dreamy little sigh as though he were still 16 and crushing with puppy dog love, "I do."

Aizawa reddens a bit but doesn't snark at Hizashi, instead they go back to holding hands as Hizashi bounces into the kitchen and starts looking through the fridge, taking a moment to make sure nothing will expiring soon before he pulls out some frozen perogies and a pot.

"So how was class today?" Hizashi asks, closing the fridge door with his hip and stretching a leg to use his feet and shut the cabinet door as he moves to the sink and turns on the tap.

"Not bad," Aizawa hums a bit, two fingers on the counter beside the sink as they wait for the water to fill up the pot, "One of the teachers got hit by a student's stray spell and quit, though, so I took on two of his students while we were waiting for a replacement."

Hizashi hums thoughtfully as he closes the tap and puts the pot on the stove, turning it on before looking at Aizawa again. "Only two?" he asks, surprised.

"I expelled three of them," Aizawa admits, shrugging.

"Of course you did," Hizashi laughs, "You know who's going to replace the teacher yet?"

"Not yet," Aizawa pushes a lock behind Hizashi's ear, "We're still waiting for applicants."

"I see," Hizashi nods, "Who are your two new students?"

"Todoroki Shouta and Yaoyorozu Momo," Aizawa drums his fingers against the stove, "I've heard good things about them, and they were both very earnest in today's lesson, so I think it will be okay. They get along well with the other students, too, so that doesn't hurt."

"Sounds wonderful," The water starts to boil so Hizashi dumps in the perogies and turns the heat to medium. "What unit are you on?"

"Just the basics so far," Aizawa watches the water bubble as Hizashi pulls out a pair of chopsticks and begins to stir the perogies, "Like those handshakes that help you remember names, dust to keep your keys from disappearing, that sort of thing."

"That's useful," Hizashi hums.

Aizawa presses a finger on Hizashi's temple, tracing his witch mark there, and laughs, "It's dull is what it is. But it's important for everyday life."

"You want to start on specializations, don't you," Hizashi laughs.

Aizawa shrugs, which is answer enough.

"So impatient," Hizashi tweaks Aizawa's ear and laughs at his disgruntled expression, "You have an idea of what they'd all like?"

"Not exactly yet," Aizawa bats Hizashi's arm away, "But they're good students. I'm sure they'll do just fine. They wouldn't be in my class if they didn't know what they wanted and worked hard to get it."

"You're a wonderful teacher."

Aizawa rolls his eyes, "We're married. You have to say that."

"So mean," Hizashi pouts.

The timer beeps and he turns back to his perogies, but Hizashi doesn't miss the fond, exasperated smile that plays on Aizawa's lips right before he turns away.


"You should be asleep," Hizashi hums from his spot leaning against the doors.

They slide open easily, glass against glass, and he glances at where Aizawa is floating on the edge of the balcony, carpet rippling in the soft summer breeze. Aizawa's put his hair in a loose braid, eyes closed, lashes long against pale skin, and Hizashi idly wonders if he remembered to water all the plants and herbs that are scattered around the balcony. Probably not, Aizawa always forgets. Ah well. Hizashi will ask him later.

"Pot, kettle," Aizawa hums, a soft lullaby spell against the wind. It does nothing for either of them, the sort of magic that only works for mothers (witches rarely become mothers, but it was more common, back when Tradition still clung strong and back when magic was most powerful in song and spoken word).

"Harsh," Hizashi laughs, and pads forward, glass door sliding shut behind him.

The cement of the balcony is cold against his bare feet, but he likes it that way. Witches, he thinks, were meant to be barefoot, to be connected to the elements, not covered up in cloaks and cloth and steel toed boots that they wear by way of necessity.

"Nightmare?" Aizawa's voice is soft as the carpet opens, dipping down so that Hizashi can climb on.

Hizashi plays with the little wisps of baby hairs by Aizawa's ears, fingers curling around and over, and then asks quietly, "Can't I just decide to spend some time with you for no reason?"

Nightmares, then, he sees Aizawa decide, but Aizawa is silent, pressing a hand to Hizashi's so that his palm lays flat against Aizawa's cheek. "I suppose there's nothing wrong with that," Aizawa smiles at him, soft, sweet, and it still takes Hizashi's breath away.

"You out here for the wind?" Hizashi asks, letting the wind curl against his fingers for a moment, ruffling his sleeves, before he uses a bit of magic to playfully redirect it to Aizawa, ruffling his hair and making him huff at Hizashi's childishness.

"It's nice out, tonight," Aizawa shrugs, a life and fall of his shoulders, "Feels stronger."

Specializing in silences, Aizawa's magic is an odd contrast to Hizashi's, who hasn't specialized yet but wants to in something techy, more modern. Aizawa walks the traditional life, keeping cats as familiars despite the fact that most witches have abandoned familiars, deciding that the risk that comes with being connected like that simply isn't worth the companionship that can be found in other humans.

"Am I ruining it for you?" Hizashi asks.

"No," Aizawa answers quietly, "It's perfect, like this."

Hizashi bites down the grin threatening to take over his face, and instead pays attention to the rustle of leaves in the wind, the sound of a wind chime, the untouchable warmth of the stars. The little, inconsequential things, are where Aizawa draws his power from, and Hizashi has learned to love that. "How cute," he coos.

Aizawa turns red but doesn't shove him off of the carpet to his doom, so Hizashi thinks that he's doing all right. "Why are you out here?" Aizawa turns Hizashi's question back to him, trying to make Hizashi forget his moment of sappiness.

Ha.

He's got another thing coming.

"I came for you, of course," Hizashi grins, carding his fingers into Aizawa's, knuckles and callouses and little scars from backfired spells.

Maybe Aizawa is tired, or maybe he just doesn't feel up to pretenses tonight, because instead of calling Hizashi sappy or corny, he smiles back and leans forward to kiss Hizashi, and Hizashi agrees, it's perfect, like this.


They are in a bar and Hizashi is a little drunk, fingers curling into Aizawa's as he mumbles, "I love you so much, you don't even understand," and Aizawa laughs as he pushes away sloppy kisses.

They are outside before Hizashi knows it, him not blackout drunk but just enough that he has absolutely no filter for... anything really... and Aizawa is sober because he's badass and weird like that and they are passing an ally and there is a girl and a gang and Hizashi may be drunk but he can see where this is going.

There's laughter and ringing and sloppy kisses and Aizawa has his hands out in a familiar stance that Hizashi hasn't seen but remembers clear as day and there's a yelp as a boy lifts in the air and slams against a wall.

"Shouta," Hizashi says softly, fingers ghosting over Aizawa's arms.

"Stay here, Hizashi," Aizawa answers quietly, voice barely a whisper before he leaps forward and his fist slams into the nearest gang member, and Hizashi pulls out his phone to call the police, muscles moving in a half-forgotten memory.

He had never enjoyed using magic for ranged magic, and Hizashi still remembers when they were young and when he was training, finding Aizawa in alleys with blood on his knuckles and split skin and a wand tucked behind an ear, half forgotten, as though Aizawa could never recall that magic could be used in battle.

(It's dirty, Aizawa says as Hizashi disinfects his hands, using magic for something like fighting. Hizashi says nothing. He is proud for Aizawa's honor, but he cannot agree because of the black eye that Aizawa sports with pride.)

Aizawa is, as always, graceful, punching, dropping, and leg shooting out to kick the legs out from under these inexperienced children in one fluid motion, elegant and practiced, and the girl watches with stunned, wide eyes as Aizawa finally finishes with the gang and, with two quick arm movements, takes away just enough energy that they fall unconscious.

"Police?" Aizawa turns, and Hizashi snaps his fingers twice, nods, and Aizawa's shoulders slump as he turns back to the girl. "You alright?"

The girl nods, and Hizashi sees with no small relief that she's still fully dressed, looking fine aside from a quickly growing bruise on her cheek. "Grats," she whispers, voice soft and tinkling like a bell, and ah, Fae.

Hizashi hesitates.

He's fairly sure it wasn't, but... "You weren't planning on doing anything with these boys, were you?" he asks quietly.

The girl's eyes flash, irritated for a moment (the Fae were always proud), before she answers haughtily, "I use urban magic."

Aizawa raises his eyebrows, "What were you doing here?"

The girl flushes and takes off her headphones, letting long ears dangle out as she mumbles, wiping away foundation to reveal red marks on her cheeks, "Was here for a band performance. I stepped out for some fresh air after we finished and..." Her jaw locks, "Wouldn't have happened if I had my wand."

Aizawa nods, "Remember to keep it on you next time."

"Gave it to a friend," She runs a hand through her hair, "Anyway, I owe you now."

Aizawa sighs, but doesn't argue. Fae, even the more modern ones, are sticklers for Tradition. "Try to keep your wand with you. Maybe keep a spare, next time."

She nods and snaps her fingers. A black and white business card appears and she slips it into Aizawa's hands, "You can call me Jirou," she says lightly, knowing better than to give her first name. "Grats for the save."

"Thank you for the favor," Aizawa answers politely.

She grins at him before straightening her jacket (leather, Hizashi notes, probably can handle herself just fine with a wand in hand, which makes sense, not many learn to fight when they can use magic) and sauntering off..

"Look at you, being a hero," Hizashi teases Aizawa, slinging an arm over his shoulder.

"Look at you, still drunk," Aizawa grumbles, but doesn't push Hizashi away.

"Home?" Hizashi asks, leaning over to kiss Aizawa on the cheek.

Aizawa hums, which from him is a yes, and they go home, hand in hand, and Hizashi can forget about fights in alleys and curses silencing screams because he thinks it's all okay right now.