Archive of Our Own ^beta

In Yamada’s perspective, when you accept a suggestion from an essential stranger about something as important as a hero name, that’s definitely a step in the direction of friendship.

That’s what he thinks, as he talks personally to the new transfer from GenEd every morning. That’s what he thinks, as he invites the GenEd kid to lunch with his group every day. That’s what he thinks, as he asks the GenEd kid to come to the arcade with him. That’s what he thinks, as he asks if the GenEd kid wants to study with him.

However, Aizawa Shōta, the GenEd transfer, the one who accepted a suggestion from an essential stranger for something as important as a hero name, doesn’t seem to share his sentiments.

He hardly responds to Yamada’s questions. He never accepts the invites, to lunch or to the arcade. And even though his marks are just barely above the passing grade in every subject but Hero Training (where he’s almost top-ranked in the class), he never wants to join Yamada’s study sessions.

Every advancement Yamada makes towards the GenEd kid is met with an icy glare and frigid rejection.

And maybe Yamada can’t take a hint, but every new day, he keeps trying to build a relationship with Aizawa. He keeps trying to break down those sturdy walls surrounding the serious, deadbeat kid’s heart. He keeps trying to be his friend.

Because honestly? Aizawa needs one. Every day, he comes to school alone, talks to nobody, opts out of group projects and partnered assignments, eats lunch in the classroom alone (actually, Yamada can’t help but think, does he even eat at all?!), and leaves for home, alone. He makes an effort to not talk to anyone, and avoids every conversation he can. Anytime a group of students come too close to his desk, he puts his head in his folded arms and sleeps—most of the time. Yamada has seen him snap on some poor group once because they were being too loud.

And Yamada knows kids can be cruel. His peers—not all of them, and not all just in his own class, but a large enough chunk to have Yamada concerned about what kind of personalities UA lets into their Hero Course—aren’t pleasantly surprised about Aizawa becoming their new classmate. They aren’t happy with their old classmate (a real piece of work, who Yamada has actively seen sending anonymous hate messages to innocent people on social media. Yamada’s glad he’s gone) being replaced by this scruffy, dirty, rude mess of a GenEd kid. And unhappy people often talk about why they’re upset, and oftentimes make stupid choices while doing so.

Like spreading rumors.

It starts with, “I heard the GenEd kid cheated in the Festival,” which then skyrockets to, “He definitely uses quirk enhancers and steroids.” Some of the newer ones are more petty insults like “I don’t think he’s showered all month,” while others are more personal, like, “His family’s just a bunch of drug dealers.”

The new favorite going around is, “With a scary quirk like that, he’s destined to become a villain.”

Yamada doesn’t buy into any of them. Especially the villain one. Aizawa is probably the most serious person in the entire hero course, which is more than what he can say about some of the other students. There’s no way Aizawa is infiltrating his way into the hero course just to get the jump on up-and-coming heroes as a part of some evil scheme. And as jaded as he may appear, Aizawa won’t slowly turn more and more villainous as his life goes on—Yamada just doesn’t believe it.

Aizawa is an ass. But he is one determined and tenacious ass.

And honestly, Yamada thinks Aizawa wouldn’t be so rigid and cold if he just swallowed his pride and let people in . He could use a friend or two to loosen him up and wind out those tight coils. At the very least, getting him to socialize would make Aizawa easier to work with. Cooperating with him is like working with a brick wall whose only thought going through his mind is about how much he hates you.

So Yamada tries. And tries. And tries. Until one day, Aizawa doesn’t take it anymore.

“Can you not take a hint? Or do you just like to hear yourself talk?”

Yamada pauses in his ramble about the concert he’s going to that he has an extra ticket for. The one he’s in the middle of inviting Aizawa to. “Huh?”

“I’m not. Interested.” Aizawa’s glare bores into Yamada, red-rimmed and piercing. Yamada swears he sees Aizawa’s hair begin to float like he’s using his quirk, except Yamada doesn’t feel any tightness constricting his throat. “And since you’ll ask me again, because apparently you can’t get it through your thick skull, I’ll say it again: I’m not interested, and I never will be interested. So fuck off already and leave me alone.”

At first, Yamada is shocked. The hurt of the statement comes much later, long after the conversation. For now, perhaps it’s just how this rejection was so hostilely phrased, but all he can feel is… anger.

“...Why are you always such a dick?”

Aizawa blinks, then squints in disbelief. “You think I’m the dick? That’s bold, coming from the person who literally can’t stop pestering me for more than two seconds, just ‘cause you’re so desperate for attention.”

“I was just trying to be nice! I was trying to be your friend!” Yamada bites back.

“I don’t need your friendship, okay? I don’t need your pity.”

“Well then, maybe you should have let me know sooner!”

“I have literally said ‘no’ to every single thing you’ve ever asked me to do—what made you think I wanted anything to do with you?”

“I thought you might wanna hang around someone who didn’t hate your guts!” Yamada yells. “But I guess you just get off on everyone hating you!”

“I don’t care what people think about me,” Aizawa hisses back, just as coldly.

“Well maybe you should! Maybe if you did, you could finally pull that stick out your ass and stop being such a jerk! And hell, maybe if you actually gave a shit and talked to people, everyone would stop calling you a villain!”

Maybe he’s gone too far—the thought only occurs to Yamada once he’s finished spewing out the words. His heart is racing with the adrenaline of the argument, he’s panting. The remaining students in the class that haven’t departed for lunch just yet stare at him in something akin to bewilderment.

Aizawa, himself, stares too. Yamada can’t read his face very well. He still looks furious, attacked—not hurt, per se, but perhaps... stunned. Like he hadn’t expected that particular insult to be spat out of Yamada’s mouth.

The grip on his messenger bag’s torn strap tightens. Aizawa forces a tight gulp, before throwing the bag over his shoulder and making for the door. Yamada is about to make a hasty apology, say he didn’t mean that, would never mean it. But Aizawa’s hiss of, “Maybe if you actually listened instead of talked, you wouldn’t believe them…” stops him before he can utter a word.

The door slams shut after he exits, leaving the room in dead silence. For about half a minute, anyways.

“Holy shit, Yamada! You fuckin’ roasted him!” one of his classmates, Hoga, hollers from across the class.

“Didja see the way he stiffened up?” Iwai adds, practically squealing. “He looked so guilty!”

“Serves the little bastard right,” Hoga agrees. “Nice job tellin’ him off, Yamada; I didn’t think you had it in you!”

Yamada doesn’t respond, at least not immediately. He’s still reeling over everything said in the past minute and a half. A small portion of his brain, with a whiny voice and an overbearing sense of justice, screams at him over his own responses. Why did he say that? Why did he say any of that? Sure Aizawa was being a dick, but Yamada could have handled his rejection so much better.

For the most part, his own anger drowns that little voice out. But he’d be lying to himself and everyone else if he said he didn’t feel the least bit guilty.

“Shut the hell up…” Yamada murmurs as he walks out the door. He doesn’t have the energy to engage in another argument. He’ll tell them off for their disgusting slander another day.

For now, he just needs to cool off.

Two weeks after their squabble, their homeroom teacher, Daybreak, informs the class that they'll be having a little field trip.

It’s not an extravagant one: just taking a specialized class at one of UA’s off-campus facilities. Still, it riles the crowds and engages everyone’s interests.

Well, almost everyone’s.

Two weeks after their squabble, Yamada and Aizawa still haven’t made up. Yamada has thought about trying, actually attempted to on a few occasions. But Aizawa is still as unresponsive as ever, possibly even moreso. Now he won’t even give Yamada the satisfaction of an aggravated glance peeking out from over his folded arms. Aizawa either pretends like Yamada isn’t there, or moves to someplace else, entirely.

Which is beyond rude, but honestly, Yamada is a fool for expecting anything different. He should have known better than to try and befriend the most insensitive asshole in the entire class. He should have gotten it from the first ‘no’ Aizawa hurled his way that he wouldn’t ever want anything to do with Yamada.

He was wasting his time trying to be nice to someone who would never reciprocate his efforts. Aizawa, Yamada snidely thinks to himself, would criticize him for such a mistake.

But he refuses to let that negativity get him down.

“Alright, listeners! File up and ship out!” Yamada calls as he helps Iida lead the class into the bus. “Find a pal to lean up against, and don’t let open spaces lie!”

With varied comments and criticisms, his costumed classmates slowly load onto the bus that waits to transport them. Once Yamada has gone a few rounds of swinging his arms to point at the bus, he fiddles with the directional speaker around his neck. His hero costume, if he does say so himself, is pretty spectacular—but his one complaint is the speaker. It’s big and bulky, acting more like a neck brace than a support item. The only reason he keeps the thing is because he needs it, if he doesn’t want his quirk to hurt everyone around him. Though he loves doing hero exercises in costume, Yamada hopes today’s activity doesn’t take overly long. There’s only so much pain his neck can take in one day.

Before long, almost everyone is on board, with the last few straddlers moving along at a slower pace. Yamada casts a leer at Aizawa as he passes by, who makes a great effort to ignore his existence entirely. Yamada scoffs and rolls his eyes.

Iida watches the exchange with a raised brow, but keeps his comments to himself, which Yamada is glad for. He’s already received a plethora of questions from his motherly friend about why he suddenly stopped interacting with the grumpy kid. It’s already gotten obnoxious.

Instead, Iida leans his head into the bus, glancing back at his classmates. “Alright, everybody in?”

A chorus of yes’s echo through the vehicle.

“Okay,” Iida turns to Yamada and smiles. “Time to go!”

“Right on!”

Iida shuffles in first, claiming the empty seat next to Kan. Yamada follows idly, whistling as he walks.

However, his song cuts out abruptly when he sees where the only other open spots are.

Every two-seater is filled to the brim, but the strip of four seats at the back of the bus are completely vacant… Except for the one person Yamada is trying to avoid. Aizawa sits next to the window, arm resting against the sill with his fist pushed against his cheek. He spares Yamada a small glance before huffing a sigh and turning his attention back outside the bus.

Yamada purses his lips, a little frustrated at the situation. He keeps his sneer on Aizawa even as he slumps into the opposite window seat, then swivels his head away in a fashion that makes him regret the directional speaker even more.

Perhaps he’s being overdramatic. And for an audience that doesn’t even react.

But as long as Yamada doesn’t have to interact with his newly-named nemesis, he’s happy.

Of course, life likes to play him like a fiddle.

The Unforeseen Simulation Joint is a gigantic facility, and as soon as Yamada steps into it, he knows partner or group work is in his future. Six different domains surround the main plaza where they gather, each centered around a different environmental disaster: a city on fire, a shipwreck, a storm, a blizzard, a mountainside, and a collapsed district. Each section is its own region; a marvel showcasing just what kind of wealth and architectural power UA possesses.

Chameleon, the assistant teacher partnering with their homeroom teacher, gives a long-winded explanation of what their assignment for the day is. Their mission today is to split into groups of four, picked by drawing lots, traverse through one of the disaster facilities, and rescue (and if necessary, resuscitate) recreational dummies scattered throughout. This exercise is meant to test teamwork through rescue missions and working with any kind of hero, regardless of how familiar one might be with another’s abilities. After orientation, the class wastes no time in choosing their groups.

And of course, because life just loves to fuck him, Yamada is grouped with Aizawa.

They’re grouped up with Tokimune, who also despises Aizawa (though unlike Yamada, Tokimune has always had some unbridled hatred of him), and Kikuchi, who is one of the few who is indifferent to him. Their group is soon assigned to the blizzard zone.

After answering some last minute questions about the assignment, Daybreak sends everyone off to their respective disaster zones. Yamada waves a forlorned farewell to Iida (who heads to the collapsed city zone) and Kan (he heads to the shipwreck zone), then joins his group at the entrance. They walk in, everyone but Aizawa chatting up a storm, and though they think they’re prepared, the blast of cold air that hits them like a freight train once the doors open says otherwise.

Because of the need to keep the simulated blizzard going, Yamada assumes, the snow zone (as well as the storm and fire zones) are all encapsulated in domes. From the outside, the group can’t see anything past the circular line of windows around the top of the facility. It’s only once they step inside that they can see the vast landscape that lies within. Most of the zone is nothing but an icy tundra and mounds of heavy snow, but in the middle of the facility is a tall mountain. By the entrance is a large, open shelter, filled to the brim with blankets, heating solutions, and other cold-combative items. A safe zone, it seems like: where they’re supposed to bring the dummies to once they’re ‘rescued’. There may be more to the zone, but the pelting snowstorm makes visibility difficult. Yamada almost wishes he brought his regular glasses instead of his shades just so he could see a bit better.

And of course, the minute they step foot into the snow, Yamada knows a certain someone is going to make this trip difficult.

As Kikuchi is devising a plan on how to go about the task at hand, Aizawa continues past the group, heading in the opposite direction. Yamada sneers as he watches him go.

“You ditching us and going it alone, Eraser?” he calls after him. Aizawa pauses and looks over his shoulder at Yamada, but doesn’t say anything. Kikuchi and Tokimune, too, shut their mouths to watch the exchange. “Jeez. Even in a group project, you’re impossible to be around.”

“It isn’t logical to go through the entire zone as a group,” Aizawa responds. “Splitting up would cover more ground.”

“Well, that’d make sense, I suppose, but—” Kikuchi begins to agree, before Yamada cuts her off.

“Oh, you’re just saying that cuz you don’t wanna deal with us!” Yamada bites back. “Can’t work with your partners—cuz then you might have to actually socialize!”

“Think whatever you want,” Aizawa says, unfazed. “If you want to waste time fraternizing, then go right ahead. I don’t care what you do.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. You don’t care about anything, do you? What a sad fuckin’ life you must lead,” Yamada taunts. Aizawa glares, but doesn’t respond. Next to Yamada, Tokimune is very visibly getting a kick out of seeing Aizawa getting slammed, which Yamada hates, but he’s too frustrated to let this go just yet. “Well go on, then! Go save the world by yourself! Cuz I don’t care, either!”

Aizawa huffs out a puff of hot breath. He mutters a, “Whatever…” before turning and walking away.

“And I don’t care if your ass gets hit by frostbite, either!” Yamada calls out after him.

Aizawa doesn’t dignify him with a response. Within moments, the snowstorm blurs him out of sight completely.

Heaving a heavy breath, Yamada turns back to the remaining members of his group. Kikuchi looks at Yamada as if he had just kicked her dog, while Tokimune is not even fighting to keep the satisfied smile off of his face.

Kikuchi’s gaze continuously darts between Yamada and the direction Aizawa left for. “You—” she stutters, obviously not sure what to say in the wake of this mess. “I-is he gonna be okay, alone?!”

“Who cares...” Yamada shakes his head, rolling his eyes.

Tokimune slaps a hand down on Yamada’s shoulder. “Gotta say, Mic-y boy, I was a little worried about you when you spent so long trying to make friends with that guy,” he says. “Glad you’ve finally seen the light.”

Yamada tugs himself free. Then he pushes past the two, heading in the opposite direction Aizawa went in.

“Let’s get a move on. I’m freezing.”

It happens when they’re in the middle of resuscitating an ‘unconscious’ dummy.

Everything seems to be going routinely, when suddenly there’s a loud drag and lock, like the sound of heavy automated doors drawing shut. The sound echoes all throughout the dome, causing the three students to jump in surprise. The lights shining in through the dome’s windows shut off without warning as well, shrouding the already dim zone into darkness.

“What just happened?” Kikuchi asks under her breath.

“Part of the test…?” Tokimune guesses, but he doesn’t seem awfully confident in his answer.

Yamada joins his teammates in looking around for an explanation. From the sound of it, it seems as though something was powered down. But with his limited view of the outside world, it’s difficult to tell.

For another minute or two, there’s nothing but silence. But out of the corner of their eyes, they see flashes of light pouring through the windows. Out against the very roof of the USJ, through the glass, are messages written in light. From Daybreak’s quirk, no doubt—and judging by how brief the messages are, their homeroom teacher must not have much light to work with. Nevertheless, the messages read as instructions, most likely aimed at the entire class.

DON’T PANIC

POWER OUTAGE

DOORS WON’T OPEN

COME TO PLAZA IF YOU CAN

IF NOT FIND SOMEPLACE SAFE

WILL FIX THIS SOON

After the last message airs, the first one loops again. Yamada looks to his partners, who in turn look at each other. They seem as confused as he feels.

“Well…” Kikuchi starts. “The zone doors closed…”

“B-but.. The safe zone should still be open, right?” Tokimune asks.

“Let’s check,” Kikuchi nods.

It’s not the case, they find as they near the exit. The safe zone where they’re supposed to be carting all of the dummies to has been locked up, barring all the supplies they weren’t already carrying with it. No matter how hard Kikuchi pulls at the doors with her magnetism quirk, the metal won’t budge. UA certainly has its countermeasures against thieves (though why anyone would want to steal rescue supplies, Yamada can’t fathom).

“That mean we’re stuck here?” Tokimune asks, a worried lilt to his voice.

Kikuchi nods fearfully, her cold hands coming to rest in her folded arms. “Shit…”

It looks to be that way. There aren’t very many “safe places” in a snowstorm. Yamada gulps, clutching his arms to keep his limited heat in. He looks around, searching for an answer. The only thing out in this barren wasteland that gives him any sort of a solution is the mountain.

“These places are made to mimic real locations, right?” He asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“Yeah,” Tokimune answers, anyways. “But what’s that got to do with anything?!”

“Well…” Yamada begins to walk back. “If it’s down to the detail, then maybe there’s a cave or something we can hold up in.”

The other two look at each other, Tokimune with active concern in his eyes. Kikuchi turns back to Yamada, nodding fervently. “Okay. That’s our best shot.”

“Then let’s go!”

It takes a while for them locate a cave within the mountain. And once they find it, they have to shovel away a wall of snow before they can clamor in.

Along their trek to the cave, Kikuchi uses her quirk to gather as many magnetic rocks from the land as she can. And once they’re safe inside closed walls, she dumps the rocks onto the cave floor for Tokimune to warm using his heat vision. Before long, the three are about as cozy as they can be in a snowstorm with little-to-no supplies.

The comfort lasts for a while, and Yamada begins to foolishly think that this mishap will blow over smoothly.

Until something is brought to his attention.

Kikuchi is in the middle of warming her hands by the heated rocks when she heaves a heavy sigh. It’s easy to tell something is bothering her just by the look in her eyes.

“Something wrong?” Yamada asks.

She hums, pursing her lips. She keeps her eyes glued to the pile of rocks, pointedly avoiding both Yamada and Tokimune’s gazes. “It’s just…” she starts, hesitantly. “...Do you think Aizawa got Daybreak’s message?”

Oh right. Aizawa’s still out on his own. For a blissful moment, Yamada forgot he even existed.

He rolls his eyes. “Sure he got the message,” he says. “But did he follow it? Probably not. Hell, he’s probably still out trying to finish the assignment.”

“You really think so…?”

“Why ask? I’m sure a loner like him can handle the cold,” Tokimune asks. “Probably enjoys it, too.”

Though he’s probably right, Yamada doesn’t like the tone of voice Tokimune uses. It appears that, even though Yamada is on the outs with Aizawa like the rest of the class is, he still has a hard time respecting their reasoning about it.

“Well, it’s just that… I know he wanted to work alone, but I felt kinda bad letting him go off on his own,” Kikuchi explains. “And we have don’t have a way to get in contact with him. I mean, something terrible could have happened to him, and we would never know…” She hugs her knees tighter to her chest with each word; she obviously knows she’s the only one concerned about Aizawa’s wellbeing.

Well… Yamada begrudgingly thinks to himself, the only one willing to admit it aloud.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Tokimune says, leaning back against the cavern wall. He crosses his ankles and folds his arms behind his head, closing his eyes. “If he gets frostbite, he can consider it retribution for his frigid personality. Serves him right.”

Yamada can’t say he agrees. Sure, it would be something of a poetic irony for the blistering winter to take down the stone-cold Aizawa Shōta, but is it deserved? Even while angry with him, Yamada can’t bring himself to say that.

He can’t get Kikuchi’s words out of his head: “Something terrible could have happened to him, and we would never know…” Because she’s right: there is no way they could know. Yamada trusts Aizawa to be aware of his surroundings, but he doesn’t trust him not to make stupid decisions for the sake of proving his worth as a hero course student.

Who knows if Aizawa is stumbling through the blizzard right now, shuffling through snow so high it reaches his waist, fingers numb and body parts slowly shutting down one by one? Once Yamada thinks up the image, it’s all he can picture.

After spending too long in silence, Yamada springs to his feet. “I’m gonna go find him.”

Tokimune laughs out of surprise. “What? Why?”

“Kikuchi’s right. Knowing Eraser, he’s probably still out there somewhere freezing his ass off. And he sure as hell ain’t gonna come looking for us,” Yamada explains. Then he sighs. “Besides...I’m the one who told him to fuck off. It’s on me, if anything happens to him…”

“And what if he doesn’t want your help? What then?” Tokimune responds. “Face it, Yamada—that villain’s a lost cause. You’re better off just staying here and keeping yourself safe.”

God, Yamada wants to punch him.

For the good of his task, he keeps focused. “It doesn’t matter if he wants my help or not—he’s gonna take it,” Yamada says, a determined gleam flashing in his eyes. “No one’s ever been able to ignore me forever.”

He heads for the mouth of the cave, pulling his leather jacket and gloves on tighter before he suddenly hears a clamor, tear, and racing footsteps. Kikuchi stops Yamada just before he heads out, pushing a makeshift knapsack into his hands. It’s warm and heavy, obviously filled with some of the heated rocks they gathered, held together by a ripped piece of Kikuchi’s costume.

“Be careful,” she tells him. Then after a moment, she asks, “Do you want me to come with you?”

As much as it pains Yamada to leave Kikuchi behind with someone like Tokimune, he shakes his head. “You’re both already safe in here. Eraser’s my problem, not yours.”

Kikuchi presses her lips and nods. “Okay… We’ll find you if you don’t come back.”

They both ignore the distressed noise Tokimune makes. “Right on.”

And with a final goodbye, Yamada steps back into the blizzard. He tucks the heated rocks into his pocket, trying to conserve their warmth as best as he can against the cold. As he trudges his way through the knee-deep snow, his teeth already chattering from the wind and ice pelting against him, he can’t help but grumble to himself, “You better be okay, Eraser… I can't believe you're making me go through this again just for your ungrateful ass…”

Even if the lights were still shining above, retracing Aizawa’s footsteps is impossible in the storm.

Yamada has nothing to go on for trying to find his classmate again besides heading back to the zone’s entrance and following the same general direction Aizawa stomped off in. There is no trail to follow, no obvious tell of where Aizawa has been or where he was headed. The only things Yamada can go off of are the scattered dummies half buried in the snow. A handful of them are registered as ‘rescued,’ others, ‘requires assistance.’ Yamada follows the rescued ones, until that trail finally runs cold as well.

He grimaces, pulling his sunglasses closer to his eyes in an attempt to shield them from the onslaught of snow. The spiraling wind howls around him, a high-pitched shrill drowning out all else. The darkness is blinding, the snow mounds so identical Yamada starts to worry if he’s going in circles.

“Eraser!?” he calls out again. And yet again, no answer. “Eraser, where are you?!”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing but the continuous howl of the wind and the sound of his own echoing voice. Yamada never uses any more than five percent of his quirk as he’s calling out for Aizawa, for fear that the sound bouncing off the walls of the dome might cause irreversible damage to the zone around him. He can’t risk an avalanche; not when Kikuchi and Tokimune are still in the cave on the other side of the mountain, and not when Aizawa’s whereabouts are unknown.

Besides, Yamada is loud by default. Even while competing against the shrieking cyclone, he can still be heard loud and clear.

Suppressing yet another shiver, Yamada hugs himself tight, burying as much of his face into his speaker as he can fit. Even with the sturdy defense his leather costume puts up against the pelting ice, he’s still freezing. It doesn’t help that Yamada has always been a person who gets cold while wearing a thousand jackets. And despite his earlier hesitation on using the heated rocks Kikuchi supplied him with so soon, Yamada’s uncovered fingers can’t take it anymore, and he fishes out two of the stones to clutch onto as he keeps his hands buried in his armpits.

He loves his hero costume, but the fingerless gloves were a mistake. What was he thinking?

“Eraser!!” Yamada calls out.

Again, no response.

He gulps. “Dammit Eraser…” Yamada mutters under his breath. “Where are you?”

‘Crack!’

Yamada yanks his foot back just before the floor beneath it breaks apart. He’s honestly surprised at how quickly he managed to react, considering how stiff and unresponsive his limbs are right now. He takes a few steps back for good measure, eyes darting to the snow around him to make sure he’s not standing anywhere else fragile.

The chunk of ice he stepped on breaks apart from the rest of the snow, drifting away atop of the black waters it previously concealed. Yamada releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his heart hammering in fear against his chest. He hadn’t even seen the frozen lake he was about to walk across…

But as Yamada’s looking around for the safest way to avoid the aquatic deathtrap, he notices something peculiar: there’s another hole in the ice about ten feet ahead of him.

It’s difficult to spot, as the fallen snow has begun to flood the gap, but the darkness of the water is unmistakable. Something fell through the ice sometime before he arrived.

Or someone.

An icky feeling begins to claw and tear at Yamada’s insides. His heart thumps harder, louder, to the point where he can hear it echoing against his hearing aids. He forces a gulp and a breath, trying his best to stay calm, telling himself that there’s no way Aizawa would let himself succumb to one of nature’s (no matter how simulated) traps. But the moment Yamada pictures Aizawa under the ice, lost in the depths, struggling and pounding against the barrier to fresh air while slowly succumbing to paralysis with every second spent in freezing cold, he can’t unsee it.

After a moment of fearful hesitation, Yamada slowly purses his lips together and blows a high-pitched whistle through the gap in his teeth. He makes sure to aim the sound towards the ice, and nothing but the ice, as he gradually ups his volume. The ice in front of him vibrates, and the higher Yamada goes, the more it cracks, until it all splits apart. He stops once he can clearly see the water underneath the floating ice chunks.

A body bobs up to the surface, the sight freezing Yamada’s heart. But upon closer inspection, Yamada notices with overflowing relief that it’s just the limp form of a dummy, and not the drowned body of his classmate.

Yamada decides it’s best to move on. Though he can’t see everything in the dark waters, he’s wasting time if Aizawa obviously isn’t around here anymore. He continues on, praying Aizawa is still okay.

He is sick of seeing the dummies. Every time he spots the motionless form of another one, his mind immediately jumps to the possibility that it’s actually Aizawa’s motionless form. Buried in snow, half submerged in a lake, hanging precariously over a deadly drop; each new dummy Yamada spots puts a devastating lurch on his heart. He’s sure that if he makes it out of this alive, he’ll be seeing the periled dummies in his nightmares.

“Eraser…” Yamada calls again, not even bothering to shout at this point. His nerves are too bundled to attempt it. He looks around; around the zone, back towards the exit, even back overhead to the windows to see if Daybreak has written any new messages. But the same instructions play over and over again, providing a lackluster source of light into the otherwise pitch-black blizzard.

He’s about to retrace his steps and perhaps try scaling the mountains when he spots a trail through the snow. A clean cut path through the knee-deep snow, recently made, too. It’s got to be Aizawa. It has to be.

Mustering up all the strength in his legs that he can, Yamada trudges forward, following the trail as quickly as possible before it’s overrun with the precipitation. “Eraser?!” He calls, keeping his eyes to the ground to spot his classmate in case he took a spill in the snow. It’s difficult to run; even without the numbness in Yamada’s feet, the snow banks put up a battle against his movement that he is just barely winning.

But he has to keep going.

“Eraser! Where are you?!” The ground trips him as he runs, and Yamada faceplants into the powder. But he ignores the pain of his equipment jabbing into his collarbone and readjusts his shades before picking himself up again and pushing on.

The trail leads him back to the mountain. The opposite side, if Yamada can guess correctly. Of course: a cave is possibly the safest place to be in a snowstorm out in the wild. Aizawa may be stubborn as all hell, but he isn’t stupid. Yamada curses himself for not looking for other caves sooner.

He rushes forward, chest heaving from the difficult run. The mouth of the cave is half buried in the fallen snow, but Yamada wastes no time in climbing over it. Once inside, He rests his hands against his knees in an attempt to recover his breath and relish in the disappearance of the sharp winds piercing his face.

Halfway through his momentary break, though, Yamada raises his head back up to look ahead through the rest of the cave. Some odd mixture of relief and dread fills him once he spots who he was looking for.

“Eraser!!”

He can’t stop himself from tearing through the distance to reach his slumped classmate. His feet have minds of their own, carrying him forth without a thought, bringing him right to where he needs to be. Yamada stops himself before he can slip, then he kneels down by Aizawa’s unmoving form.

It’s difficult to tell if Aizawa is conscious. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Yamada’s entrance, his breaths so shallow and sparse Yamada wonders if he’s breathing at all. “Eraser! Eraser, w-wake up!” Yamada brings his hands up to the sides of Aizawa’s face, one tapping rapidly against his cheek. He’s freezing. “C’mon man, wake up!”

Yamada pats harder, to the point where he’s almost smacking Aizawa’s face. It does the trick: Aizawa’s head lolls forward, unfocused eyes cracking open, blue-tinged lips parting. “....Y.. Yam..da…?”

His voice is so weak, distant, despite being directly next to Yamada. Yamada grits his teeth, forcing himself to nod.

“You dick. What—I leave you alone for an hour a-and, this—” Yamada motions to Aizawa’s entire form. Though the words coming out of his mouth are scolding, he can’t bring himself to mean any of them. “What happened?!”

He grasps at Aizawa’s shoulders, but pulls a hand back when he feels just how soaked his clothes are. Fearfully, Yamada pats against the rest of Aizawa’s costume: all drenched, ice crystals forming patterns against the black jumpsuit and his hair. Even the ground around them is pooling with puddles.

“Why are you all wet?!” he asks, even though he already can guess the answer.

It takes a minute for Aizawa to gather the strength to answer. “...Didn’t see the lake… f-fell in…”

Yamada’s suspicions are confirmed. He’s happy Aizawa managed to find his way out, but his waterlogged stature does create some serious problems.

“Didn’t see it? How? Weren't you paying attention?” Yamada can’t help but ask.

Aizawa takes a long, shuddering breath, gasping as if that was the most difficult task he’s ever done. “Eyes… hurt…” He slurs out.

“Don’t you have your eyedrops?”

Aizawa doesn’t answer, which Yamada supposes is an answer in of itself. He must have ran out, or lost the bottle. Yamada has never seen him without them. Upon taking a closer look at Aizawa’s eyes, Yamada grimaces at just how red and inflamed they look. Those winds were harsh, even against a person not suffering from dry eye. Yamada can only imagine just how much pain Aizawa’s eyes are in right now.

“‘S-ss-s not that bad…” Aizawa mumbles. “It’s not—...s’ not that bad… Just… tired...”

“Shit…” Yamada mutters to himself. He looks out to the mouth of the cave, back out to the snowstorm raging outside. The darkness hasn’t cleared yet; the power outage still hasn’t been solved. Aizawa clearly isn’t doing well, and though Yamada figures he knows the quickest route back to their teammates’ cave, Aizawa is in no condition to be moved. Yamada isn’t even sure if Aizawa is able to stand; he sure as hell won’t make the trip back through the blizzard.

It doesn’t help the fact that they have no sources of heat. Aizawa doesn’t seem to be holding onto any blankets or flammable objects like Yamada hoped he would have. And all Yamada has are the heated stones Kikuchi supplied him with (which are quickly losing their warmth as time goes on) and the clothes on his back.

He looks back to Aizawa. To his blue-tinged skin and the ice chips forming in his hair and the vacant stare from his bloodshot eyes. Hears him mumble over and over and over again how it’s not that bad, he’s just tired. And in that moment, Yamada knows what he has to do.

Yamada reaches forward and pulls the soaked capture scarf off of Aizawa’s shoulders. He shucks it to the side, then fumbles for Aizawa’s jumpsuit zipper. The slider is frozen; it takes a few hard tugs to pull it free, and Yamada almost worries about tearing the thing before remembering that Aizawa’s hero costume is basically just a trash bag made of fabric. He pulls the zipper down to Aizawa’s waist, then pulls his arms free of the garment, tying the free sleeves around Aizawa’s midsection.

Yamada then tears off his own leather jacket and slips it onto Aizawa. It’s a tight fit: Aizawa may be shorter than Yamada, but he’s a lot broader. But it works, and that’s what matters. Yamada zips up his jacket so that it prevents any more cold air from seeping into Aizawa’s soaked undershirt.

He’s not through yet. Yamada pulls off his headphones and places them atop of Aizawa’s ears. As he is fiddling with the headset, he yanks off one of his leather gloves with his teeth, then the other. Once they’re free, Yamada slips Aizawa’s hands into them.

Yamada is in the middle of replacing Aizawa’s waterlogged boots with his own, when Aizawa suddenly asks, “...You g-g-giving me all your clothes…?”

Yamada tosses one of the sloshed boots away. “E-everything that fits, anyways,” he answers, a shiver forcing its way through his body as the chilled air attacks his exposed skin. It hasn’t even been a minute, and he’s already freezing. He looks down at himself; he doesn’t have much else to give besides his tee shirt, pants, and socks. Humming in thought, Yamada loops his thumbs into his pants pockets. “You think you’d be able to slip into these bad boys?”

Aizawa doesn’t come up with any feedback, but a quick look at his form answers Yamada’s question.

“Eh, maybe not,” Yamada frowns. “Your legs are too big.”

Despite his lack of responses, Aizawa manages an oddly disgruntled sound at the comment.

Yamada holds up his hands in defense. “Meant as a compliment. I am not ashamed to admit that you got a killer pair of thighs.”

Aizawa grumbles lowly, but doesn’t say anything else. He sinks against the wall he is leaned up against, looking dangerously close to drifting off to sleep. Yamada quickly fixes his other shoe in place around Aizawa’s right foot before moving along to the next step.

Aizawa’s fingers are discolored. Not quite black yet, but close enough that it has Yamada worried. His fingerless gloves will only do so much. Thinking fast, Yamada pulls out the knapsack of heated rocks from his leather jacket. He grabs two of the rocks, placing them to the side as he divides the rest to place into every pocket that his jacket and Aizawa’s jumpsuit contain. He then places the two leftover stones into each of Aizawa’s hands.

One of the rocks tumbles out of Aizawa’s grasp, his fingers not quite strong or nimble enough to hold on. Yamada frowns, replacing the stone in his hand. He clasps his own hands around Aizawa’s, both to cement Aizawa’s grip on the stones and to try and help warm them just a bit more. It’s like holding ice cubes.

When Yamada is sure Aizawa has a firm grasp on the stones, he lets go to unhook his directional speaker from his neck. Instantly, the frigid air attacks his exposed skin, sending a chill down his spine. As he recovers, a hand massaging his stiff neck and shoulders, Yamada examines the support item. He then looks over to Aizawa, who, despite his new articles of clothing, is still hunched over, shaking. Yamada makes up his mind.

“Eraser,” he says. Aizawa gazes his direction, but does not move. “I’m gonna put my speaker on you, okay? It’s uncomfortable as shit, and it feels like a neck brace, but it’ll help keep you warm.”

Aizawa gives the barest hint of a nod. “...Okay.”

Yamada nods as well, then unhooks Aizawa’s goggles from around his neck to make room for his speaker. As Yamada is locking in the clasps on his speaker in place, it occurs to him just how docile and agreeable Aizawa is being. Not once since Yamada has arrived has Aizawa put up an argument, not once has he said something incriminating or rude. It’s probably from Aizawa’s draining energy from the hypothermia, and while the lack of a fight is relieving to Yamada, it’s… also kind of worrisome.

The speaker locks into place, forcing Aizawa’s chin away from his chest. It doesn’t take long for him to sink as much of his face into the machine as he can, and even less time for him to look uncomfortable in the position his neck is forced into. A price to pay, Yamada assumes as he hunches over, collapsing into himself, to keep warm. Already, as the cold air envelopes his bare neck, he finds himself missing the damn thing.

Yamada leans Aizawa forward, away from the wall, then slips in between the gap and settles in behind him. He rests Aizawa’s back against his chest, hiking him up so that Aizawa’s legs are resting moreso against his own rather than on the cold cave ground, and snakes his arms around him, embracing tightly. Yamada can feel the coldness from Aizawa’s body even through the leather jacket; it’s all he can do to share some of his own body warmth, dwindling as it is.

Out of curiosity, Yamada looks over Aizawa’s shoulder to gauge what Aizawa is thinking. The boy’s face is scrunched, short, shuddering breaths making their way out of his nose. His eyes are screwed shut. Probably out of burning agony.

“Eraser, bud, I-I need you to stay with me, okay?” Yamada jostles Aizawa’s arm to get his attention. Aizawa’s eyes crack open a sliver. “I n-need you to stay awake.”

“..’m tired…”

“I know, I know…” That isn’t good. Yamada bites his lip, unconsciously hugging Aizawa a little tighter. “But you need to s-stay awake. You fall asleep now, a-and you might not wake up again…”

He whispers that last part, a little scared at the thought of it. He could actually lose Aizawa forever if he can’t help him. His heart hammers inside his chest; suddenly it’s hard to breathe. They may not exactly be friends, but Yamada doesn’t wish death on Aizawa. Not before, not now, not ever.

“So—so… Stay with me, okay?” Yamada stammers, trying to think of ways to keep Aizawa alert and with him. He can’t help but bury his face in Aizawa’s hair, regardless of how cold it feels against his skin. “Stay with me…”

“‘M not going anywhere…”

Yamada blinks. The quiet quip, while probably meant less as a joke and more as a signifier that Aizawa is slowly losing the ability to think rationally, gives him an idea.

Yamada pats Aizawa’s arm again. “Talk to me,” he commands. “Just k-keep talking to me; that way you’ll stay awake!”

Aizawa grumbles in dismay. “About what…?”

“Anything! Whatever you want!” Another idea strikes Yamada. “Actually, how about this: n-now that you’re stuck here with me and f-forced to act like we actually get along for the sake of s-saving your life, I’ll ask you all the basic things friends should know about ea-each other!”

Another disgruntled sound. But Aizawa complies. “L-like?”

“Well, let’s start with something simple! Uhhhh…” Yamada thinks. “Ooh! Favorite c-color?”

Aizawa is silent for a moment, and Yamada worries he might try to opt out of his little ‘game’ (if it can even be called that). But eventually, he gives his answer. “...Pink.”

A loud guffaw bursts from Yamada’s chest before he can stop himself. “Pink?!”

As Yamada is laughing himself silly, Aizawa actually makes the effort to glare over his shoulder at him. “What’s wrong with p-pink?” He questions with an ungodly amount of seriousness that just makes Yamada laugh harder.

“Nothing! There’s nothing wrong with pink! Pink’s a g-g-good color,” Yamada manages to force out between bouts of laughter. “It’s just—I just—I just wasn’t expecting it from the guy who wears all black!”

Aizawa huffs, averting his half-lidded gaze. “Whatever…” he mutters. Despite the blue tinge to his skin, Yamada swears he sees Aizawa’s blood making a grand attempt to rush to his cheeks.

Yamada wipes a tear from his eye and composes himself, biting back a shivering gasp. “Alright, alright—next question,” he announces. “Faaaavoriiite…. Animal?”

“Cats…”

“H-hey, I have a cat!” Yamada tells him. “Her name’s DJ Eneko!”

Even though Aizawa isn’t looking at him, Yamada can feel his judgmental gaze piercing through him.

“.....Sh-shut up! It’s a good name!” he argues, his voice cracking about halfway through his first word. Aizawa shakes his head the slightest bit. “I bet your cat’s name ain’t as good.”

“Don’t have one…” Aizawa says.

“Huh? Your family not l-l-like them, or is someone allergic, or…?”

“We have dogs…” Over his shoulder, Yamada can see Aizawa making a sour face through his ice-laced grimace. “They’re l-loud…”

“Hey man, dogs are c-cool too. Maybe you can get a cat when you move out!” Yamada suggests as he flicks away some of the frost laden in Aizawa’s hair. The wetness gives Yamada goosebumps.

Aizawa gives the barest hint of a nod. “Yeah...”

“Alright, next question…” Yamada lolls his head against Aizawa’s shoulder, pressing his cheek up against the tall collar of his jacket. He can feel the cold metal of his speaker through the leather. “Favorite band?”

“...Don’t have one…”

Yamada just about tosses Aizawa off of him out of shock. “Huhh?! Whadaya mean you don’t have a favorite band?!”

“I don’t... have one…” Aizawa repeats.

Yamada stifles another indignant squawk. It’s okay, he tells himself. It’s okay: choosing a singular band as your favorite is hard. “W-well, what about a favorite song? Surely you got one!”

“No.”

Yamada almost faints right then and there. “How do you not have a favorite song?” he questions in despair as he bangs his head up against the cavern wall.

“I d—I don’t… I don’t listen to music…” Aizawa mutters, which is the final push that drives the stake through Yamada’s heart.

“Oh no,” he says. “We’re changing that.”

Yamada feels around Aizawa’s front, ignoring Aizawa’s grunts of annoyance as he searches for a particular jacket pocket. Once he finds the one he’s looking for, he unzips it and pulls out a handful of cassette tapes. There are only three to choose from, two tapes from popular bands and one made from his own design. Yamada loops his arm out of the gap between Aizawa’s arm and his side to get a better look at each before deciding on which to play.

“Turn towards me, Eraser, I’m setting some tunes,” he commands.

Aizawa grumbles, but complies, shuffling as much as he can until his side is leaned up against Yamada’s chest. He rests his head against Yamada’s shoulder.

Yamada sets one of the tapes into the player built into his directional speaker, then fiddles with the controls to get it to play. Soon after, the sound of electronic beats and autotuned voices bounce all throughout the cave’s walls. “What a p-perfect time to show you my mixtape!”

Aizawa lets out a long, irritated groan.

“Hey hey hey, d-don’t look so gloom, l-l-listener!” Yamada says, forcing his chattering teeth to clench so he can give a cool, confident grin. He can’t help but bop his head to the beat, and if Yamada was sure Aizawa wasn’t suffering from frostbite, he’d pull him up and force him to dance with him. “These bangers are hot!”

“I’m still f-f-freezing…” Aizawa spits out.

Yamada sighs, then turns down the volume to the music. “Alright, alright, I hear ya. Next q-question.” He readjusts his grip on Aizawa, pulling him in as close as he can. Yamada can feel him trembling in his grasp. “Ummm… when’s your b-birthday?”

“November eighth…” Aizawa replies.

“I’ll be sure to remember,” Yamada comments. “Favorite subject besides hero training?”

“Lunch.”

Yamada laughs. “As m-much as I wish it was, lunch ain’t a subject. Try again.”

“Fine… M-m-modern lit.”

“Huh?” Yamada questions. “But you always fall asleep in that class.”

“Peace Keeper’s voice p-puts me to sleep the best.”

Yamada stares for a moment. And then he erupts in laughter. What a surprise: Aizawa has a sense of humor after all. “Of course that’s your reasoning…” Yamada sniffles as he composes himself. He clears his throat, then his voice takes on a mischievous edge. “G-got any crushes?”  he asks as he jostles Aizawa’s arm.

Aizawa is quick to reply. “No.”

“C’moooooon, you can tell me! I won’t s-s-spill the beans!”

Aizawa frowns up at him. “E-everyone hates me. Why w-w-would I like them l-l-like th-that?”

Yamada blinks. “Well… N-not everyone hates you,” he says. “Tensei and Kan don’t hate you.”

“Kan h-hates me.”

“No he doesn’t,” Yamada corrects. “He’s just mad cuz you destroyed him in the f-festival. You’re his new hurdle. Besides, he—he yells at the people he hates.”

Yamada hears no correction from Aizawa telling him that he is one of the people Kan yells at, so Yamada assumes he has made his point and continues.

“Ki-Kikuchi doesn’t hate you. She was really worried about you, ya know,” Yamada tells him. Aizawa only responds with a grunt. “Tokimune—” Yamada scowls, “—yeah, no, Tokimune hates you.” He can’t even lie to Aizawa on that one.

“Y-you hate me…”

It’s said with such a tone lacking in infliction, lacking in emotion. Yet it’s one of the most heartbreaking things that Yamada has ever heard come out of Aizawa’s mouth. Yamada’s jaw clicks open in an attempt to say the first thought that pops into his head, but then promptly shuts moments after. Once he has collected his thoughts well enough, he speaks.

“I…” he starts. Then he takes a breath, starting again. “I don’t hate you.”

Aizawa doesn’t respond.

“It’s just… We just got off on the wrong foot, that’s all. I c-coulda left you alone, you coulda been nicer, that’s all. We both m-made mistakes and l-lashed out,” Yamada clarifies. “But I don’t hate you. Honestly, I-I always thought you were really cool. Th-that’s why I t-talked to you so much. I wanted to be f-friends with you.”

A dry, humorless chuckle.

“Heh… Look where that got us,” Yamada mumbles self-deprecatingly.

Again, Aizawa says nothing. If he’s happy about Yamada’s confession or angry about it, he doesn’t let it show. He just blinks slowly, watching with tired eyes the raging winds outside, his shuddering breaths near silent.

Yamada purses his lips, a bit disappointed in himself at bringing the mood down. “M-maybe we should talk about something else, huh?” He gives a half-hearted chuckle as he thinks up another round of questions to lob at Aizawa, ones that are hopefully lighter in content. “Who’s your favorite pro hero?”

“Black Star.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard of that one,” Yamada says. Probably an underground hero. “What’s your b-blood type?”

“B…”

“Me too,” Yamada responds. “Where were you born?”

“Tokyo.”

“Same here. What do your parents do for a living?”

“They’re in prison.”

Yamada promptly chokes on his own spit. “For what?!”  he blurts before he has time to consider just how privacy-breaching his question is.

Had he not already been frozen stiff, Aizawa would have probably tensed even more. Regardless, to Yamada’s surprise, he answers the question without much hesitation. “Robbery… Arms dealing…” he lists off, his gaze fixated on a rock in front of him, furious. Ashamed. “...Murder...”

Yamada can’t help the loud gulp that seems to echo all throughout the cave. How could he? He can’t imagine living with—let alone, being related to— someone who has killed people. Perhaps if times were tough, and it was out of self defense, sure; but with the bitter tone that bleeds into Aizawa’s words, Yamada doubts that was the case. He shudders, not just out of the cold in his bones.

“That’s horrible…” Yamada forces himself to say, because it really is. And though he probably shouldn’t pry, he continues to question: “They, um… they didn’t h-hurt you or anything…” He forces another gulp. “...Did they?”

Aizawa blinks slowly, gaze somehow unfocused and yet so piercing. “I was a mistake…” he answers. “They l-lived with it…”

It’s a roundabout answer if Yamada has ever heard one, but he’s smart enough to draw his own conclusions. He gives a sympathetic squeeze to Aizawa’s hands. “Well, a-at least they’re gone now, right?” Aizawa nods robotically. “Who—who you living with, now?”

“With m-my aunt…”

“That’s gotta be better, right?” Yamada asks.

Aizawa grimaces. “Sh-she yells a lot…” he pushes through a cold-inflicted waver in his voice to say.

Yamada frowns; he can draw his own conclusions from that, as well. “Man, you just can’t catch a break…” he mutters, mostly to himself.

Upon rubbing his thumbs against Aizawa’s calloused hands and the stones clutched tight within, Yamada notices with alarm that the rocks have lost most of the heat they emitted. Aizawa hands, while slightly warmer, are still on the brink of being frozen in blocks of ice. Yamada’s own aren’t much better, and while he can still move his fingers, he can’t ignore the piercing numbness that attacks them every time he tries.

He can only imagine that the other stones tucked within his jacket’s pockets are losing their warmth, as well. Yamada swears under his breath, wishing he had something to make a fire with. There’s a chance he could find some materials outside the cave, some loose twigs and maybe some flint. But one look at Aizawa’s glazed over face, and Yamada knows that if he leaves him for even a few minutes, there’s a chance Aizawa will fall asleep and never wake up.

Not to mention Yamada’s uncovered feet feel like they’re about to fall off his legs.

“I’m not like them…”

The quivering voice tears Yamada out of his thoughts. He blinks down at Aizawa. “Huh?”

Aizawa’s lips purse into a wobbling line, his eyebrows furrowing. He forces out a few shaky breaths that sound scarily close to sobs. “I’m not a m-murderer…” he mumbles. “I don’t wanna h-h-hurt people…. I’m not a villain…”

That last statement hits Yamada like a punch to the gut.

“I-I…. I’m gonna be a h-hero…” Aizawa forces through his hypothermia-addled brain to declare. “No—no m-matter what anyone says…”

Yamada hugs him close, as tightly as he can. If his grip is hurting Aizawa, he doesn’t say anything, just sinks into the embrace like it’s a lifeboat and he is stranded without a paddle. Yamada knows the only reason why Aizawa is saying any of this, revealing his personal feelings so achingly, is because the paralyzing cold is making him weak. He realizes with a breaking heart that Aizawa would never admit any of this aloud to another human being if he had full control of what he said.

Especially not with the way his own peers have been treating him.

Yamada lets his head fall into the crook of Aizawa’s shoulder. “I’m sorry…” he chokes out.

Aizawa doesn’t respond verbally, but Yamada can feel his muscles stiffen against him.

“I’m so s-s-sorry…” Yamada repeats. “I’ve been such a dick to you…”

His voice is crumbling to shards of broken glass, each word stabbing a hole through his heart. Breathing is suddenly so difficult. Yamada’s chest feels tight, forcing him to gasp out his words.

“You just—you just told me over and over and over again that you wanted nothing to d-do with me, and—and I didn’t listen! I just kept pushing you, and—and then I got pissed when you called me out… And I told you—”

Yamada pauses, unable to even repeat the words he had said out of spite just a couple weeks ago.

“I guess you just get off on everyone hating you!” He had said.

“Maybe if you actually gave a shit and talked to people, everyone would stop calling you a villain!” He had said.

“God, why did I say that?!” Even as tears threaten to spill from his eyes, Yamada somehow manages to keep his quirk in check. Even though he’s practically screaming, despite the frigid air tightening around his lungs and constricting his throat. He wants to cry. He wants to cry because what kind of person says something like that? What kind of hero says something like that?

He feels nauseated from guilt. While he may have never personally fed into the rumor-infested gossip about Aizawa, he certainly never did his part to stop it from spreading. Yamada really, truly thought it would all just stop and fade away as a crude but simple joke if he had managed to become friends with Aizawa, show the world that Aizawa Shōta was a good person who could socialize and cooperate. A person who had feelings. A good hero who could let the world in.

How ironically cruel that Yamada had just gone and made everything worse.

“When we get out of here, I’ll—I’ll leave you alone, okay? I promise,” Yamada says. “I won’t bother you anymore. I won’t make you be partners with me, or—or ask you to come over, or anything. You won’t have to hear from me again. Hell, i-if you want me to, I’ll—” Yamada sucks in a deep breath before saying his next thought. “I’ll find a way to transfer to 1-B. That… That way you won’t have to put up with me at all…”

Hell, why stop there? Maybe it would be best for him to transfer out of the hero course altogether. If Yamada is going to give his classmates shit for their hateful comments, then there is no reason why he should be exempt from the rule.

“Okay…?” Yamada whimpers. “I’m so s-s-sorry… You deserve so much better, Aizawa… You’re gonna m-make a great hero. I know you will…”

Against him, Aizawa is dead silent. Yamada isn’t sure if he’s grateful or heartbroken about the lack of response. He doesn’t deserve one, certainly not one of forgiveness. He won’t blame Aizawa if he decides to never forgive him at all, to be honest.

A look into his classmate’s eyes, and all Yamada can see is turmoil. Aizawa can barely keep them open, every gaze into them a gruesome reminder of just how much pain his dry eye must be giving him. Whether that’s what’s bothering Aizawa, or Yamada’s apology, or his own confession, or his exhaustion, Yamada can’t tell. His chest hardly moves against Yamada’s; Yamada has to watch for Aizawa’s slow blinks to let him know he’s still alive.

It’s probably not possible for the zone to get colder, and yet it feels like the temperature has steadily dropped ten degrees. Aizawa isn’t shivering anymore, and Yamada has no feeling left in his hands and feet. He swears he feels ice crystallizing against his exposed skin, slowly encasing him in a glacier. It takes all of Yamada’s energy to force a gulp and a shaking breath.

He doesn’t know if it’s been minutes or hours since the power outage. With how slow time seems to be crawling, it could be days. Yamada tries not to think about the possibility that he and Aizawa are the only ones in the entire class suffering from this mishap. That they’re the only ones dying. And no one has any way of knowing what’s happening to them, either. Kikuchi and Tokimune are the only ones with a clue, and they’re clear on the other side of the zone. Even if the other half of the team does decide to search for the missing members, Yamada suspects he and Aizawa will be frozen stiff by the time they’re found.

It’s his fault. If Yamada hadn’t been so cruel to Aizawa, hadn’t told him off so vehemently, maybe he could have convinced Aizawa to stick with the group. Then he wouldn’t have been all alone. Then he wouldn’t have fallen into a frozen lake. Then he wouldn’t have been fading in and out of consciousness as his body slowly shut down. None of this would have happened if Yamada had just thought before he spoke.

Yamada lets himself close his eyes for a moment, just a moment. When he cracks them back open, he sees clear skies and white beaches. Warm rays of sunlight beam down against his skin, a gentle sea-laced breeze wafting by. It’s cozy. That screaming voice in the back of his head that always nags tells him that this isn’t real. But how could it not be, when he can feel the warmth around him, in the sun, in the sand, in the breeze? How could it not be, when just nearby, he hears street performers playing song after song, the music going and going and going, with hardly a pause between each track…?

“What’s ..‘s song…?”

The slurred question drags Yamada back to reality. He sniffles. “....Huh?”

“The song…” Aizawa repeats, voice so brittle and small, the slightest breeze would snuff it out. “...What is it?”

Yamada blinks himself back awake, forcing himself to listen. Against the shrill of the wind, he hears music. When had music played? Was it always playing? He can’t quite remember. He has to focus, has to remind himself that music is in his blood, that he could identify any good song in the world, no matter the language.

The song is in Japanese, that much is easy to deduce. The words are familiar, as are the beats of the music. Electronic instruments in the background, but with some electric guitar, as well. Somehow, Yamada can tell that it’s an actual electric guitar being played instead of a synthesized one from a computer. And the voice…

It’s his own.

He’s never been good at singing. No one has ever come up to him and told him he should pursue a career in the music industry—at least not as an actual performer. And Yamada is okay with that. He sings because he enjoys it; he’s never once cared if he was off-key. His computer at home is filled with thousands of recordings of himself, because he’s not shy about his voice, not shy about performing.

Most of his recordings are covers. But this one is more personal.

“Oh— I- I wrote this song…” Yamada admits after hours of contemplating. “I wrote it… I’m n-not very g-good, but… I-I wanted to t-t-try it…”

His own filtered voice floods the cave, echoing off the cavern walls, caressing his ears unlike any pair of headphones ever could. It’s a lovely acoustic. It’s a shame Yamada will probably die within it.

“It’s not bad…”

It takes an eternity for Yamada to realize that he’s just been handed a compliment. It doesn’t sound quite right in his ear, or maybe his brain just isn’t processing what he hears. ‘Not bad’ doesn’t equal ‘bad’. It doesn’t equal ‘good’, either, and yet somehow it feels like ‘it’s good’ is what Aizawa actually said. Yamada’s thoughts aren’t making sense to him anymore: he knows that’s a bad thing.

But Aizawa telling him that his song is “not bad”? Somehow, that sounds like a good thing.

“...Oh?” Is the only thing Yamada can think to say. The song fades out into its final chords, soft vocalizations turning to static. Yamada closes his eyes—suddenly, he is so exhausted, and he can’t quite place why—and he wants to rest them for just a moment.

He feels something squeezing his hand. Hears a drowsy voice asking him, “...Play it again?” before whatever weight that rests against him goes deathly still.

Yamada gives a nod. Though he’s not really sure what he’s agreeing to. “Okay…” he says with a smile. Because for some reason, Yamada feels like he should be smiling.

He’s so tired…

There are voices around him.

They don’t sound like Aizawa’s, nor even his own. Yamada thinks they sound worried, but why anyone would be worried, he has no idea. He, himself, feels so weightless, like he’s floating amidst clouds. His body won’t respond when he tries to move, insensitivity flooding his veins even as someone moves his body for him.

Someone tells him to open his eyes, and he eventually does. Everything is glassy, and Yamada wonders when he took his shades off. It’s still dark, but he thinks he can see the forms of four people. Two of them are smaller than the others, though the two taller figures look oddly identical. The doubles share the same white cloak, the same pupiless stare, the same pearly rows of teeth. They look peculiarly similar to their new mathematics teacher, Ectoplasm…

Upon closer look, one of the doubles seems to have Aizawa tucked into their arms, the white cloak draped over his unmoving form. Aizawa’s head hangs limply over the person’s arm.

The sight makes Yamada buckle, push past the numbness in his limbs and try to claw his way to Aizawa. Aizawa, who was at one point pressed against him. Aizawa, who is still dressed in Yamada’s clothing. Aizawa, who was depending on Yamada to keep him alive. Aizawa, who lies motionless in a stranger’s grasp.

Judging by the way the world shifts and spins around Yamada and from the way everyone has suddenly grown a foot taller, he supposes his attempt to reach Aizawa didn’t go very well. He continues to try and tear his way forward, fingernails digging into the ice and never making a scratch. He tries, and tries, even though he can’t feel anything.

He has to reach Aizawa. He has to.

Something envelopes him in a warm embrace, pulling him off the frozen cave floor. Yamada feels a thick material being draped around him, bundling him up tight. It’s not exactly a soft covering, but its presence makes Yamada feel safe, like he’s wrapped up in a cozy blanket fresh out of a drier, watching cheesy action flicks. Ones that end happy. Ones where the main character finds a family in their oddball gang of friends, and the person who used to be their most irritating adversary is now the love of their life.

As the wind is gently shielded from his face, Yamada feels the safety to rest his eyes again. He does.

There may have been an ambulance. Yamada honestly can’t remember. Even though he continues to fade in and out of consciousness, all he can really recall are warm lights and panicked voices warbling around him.

The gentle, rhythmic beep of a heart monitor is what wakes him up entirely. It’s distant, muffled, like his hearing aids have been turned to their lowest setting. Something warm drips into his blood, seeping through his body. Had he the energy, he’s probably complain in vivid detail about how gross it felt.

Yamada forces his eyes to crack open, and is greeted with a dark, sterile room only illuminated by the setting sun’s rays streaming through the windows. Everything’s blurry, but as Yamada recognizes the absence of weight resting against the bridge of his nose, he knows it’s just because he doesn’t have his glasses on.

He turns his head, trying to gauge just where he is. Not a hospital: the place is a little too small, and he keeps seeing figures passing through from his room to the next. Perhaps UA’s infirmary, then.

There is someone sitting in the metal waiting chairs next to his bed. Or at least, a second ago, they were sitting. The next time Yamada looks, the person has gotten up and walked next to him, fiddling around with items by his bedside table. One of which is his glasses: he knows as much when they’re suddenly slipped onto his face. He blinks, and nearly jerks away when he feels those same hands caressing his ears, adjusting something within. Whatever they are, they’re warm. A second and a high-pitched noise later, and suddenly he can hear.

Yamada blinks, and takes a deep breath. Respiration felt like such an impossible task before, but now with his senses restored, his lungs are finally unchained. He analyzes the room a bit more to recollect all of what is happening.

He’s definitely in the infirmary; Yamada has been confined behind these gray walls and bleached curtains enough times to recognize them anywhere. He’s been buried under a mountain of blankets, each hand and foot covered in two layers of socks and gloves. The person who gave him back his eyesight and hearing was his teacher, Daybreak, who now hovers over his bed, waiting for something—perhaps a response.

“Did you hear me?” Daybreak asks him, slow and enunciated. Her lip movements are clear, exaggerated, even. Yamada may have heard a voice saying something to him earlier, but his foggy thoughts didn’t quite register it.

“No,” he admits. “...Could you repeat it?”

“I asked how you were feeling,” Daybreak tells him.

Yamada breathes, gauging how he feels. What he feels. He’s surprised when he feels everything. When he twitches his fingers, he gets a response; when he rolls his ankles, his ankles roll. His muscles feel strained, but at least he feels them.

“Cold,” he answers, a small smile pulling at his lips. “But I don’t feel numb.”

His teacher nods, then reaches for something else from the bedside table. It’s a mug, and when Daybreak hands it to Yamada, he notices it feels warm in his hands.

“Drink this,” she orders him. “It’s just tea, but… it’ll help.”

Yamada nods, then gulps it down. The tea isn’t piping hot like he was expecting, but more of a pleasant warmth that spreads throughout his body. In reality, it’s probably lukewarm, but it thaws him out all the same.

He keeps sipping at the mug as Daybreak drags the chair she was sitting in earlier closer to the bed, and drops down into it. Her eyes never leave Yamada. “Do you remember what happened?”

Yamada swallows his sip after letting it linger in his mouth, trying to recall. Obviously, he landed in the infirmary somehow. But his memories are so hazy, he can hardly remember what he even had for breakfast this morning. He considers the context clues around him to try and piece it together: the blankets, the warm tea, his previous frigidity and numbness…

He blinks. They had an assignment, didn’t they? Something to do with the cold. “Not really…” he admits with a furrow in his brow. Why is it so hard to recall? “I just remember it being cold…”

Daybreak sighs again, but it’s more of a saddened sigh than an irritated one. “We went to the Unforeseen Simulation Joint today, do you remember that?” she asks. Yamada ponders for a moment, then nods, because that name sounds strikingly familiar. “The class was split up into groups of four, and sent into one of six disaster zones. Do you remember that?”

Yamada nods again. The information sounds so familiar, and the more he hears, the more things come back to him.

“Do you remember who you were with, what zone you were sent to?” Daybreak asks.

“The blizzard zone…” Yamada answers. Even without recalling exactly what happened, that much is obvious by the treatment he’s being given. “And I was grouped with… Kikuchi, Tokimune, and…”

The last person escapes him. Yamada’s gaze trails around the room as he thinks, eventually landing on the bedside table. Both pairs of his clothes—his school uniform and his hero costume—have been folded up and placed neatly upon the table. Even his directional speaker is there, his mixtape still inserted in the slot.

Yamada gasps. The mixtape. Beside him, the heart monitor goes crazy.

Aizawa.

“Aizawa! Where is he?! I-is he okay?!” His back springs off the bed, his eyes wide, searching for Aizawa’s mess of black hair. Yamada doesn’t see it anywhere.

A gentle hand rests upon his shoulder, guiding him back to the gurney. He hears a soft, shushing noise.

“He’s resting in the other room.” Daybreak glances to the room behind her.

Resting, resting… that doesn’t mean dead. Or it could, Yamada panics. But Daybreak had said it so softly, like she was trying to be quiet. And the other room has a hospital bed, as well. Aizawa’s alive. He’s alive…

Yamada looks over Daybreak’s shoulder, trying to peer through the curtain separating him and his classmate. The other room is silent, except for another monotonous beep from a heart monitor. Yamada lets out the breath he was holding, relaxing against the cushions. He’d like to see for himself that Aizawa is alright, but a heartbeat is enough to qualm his anxiety for now.

“Half the class have been bedridden,” Daybreak explains. “All the kids who were in the fire zone are being treated for burns and smoke inhalation, and I’m worried the kids in the storm zone are gonna come down with pneumonia. But I think you two were the worst off.”

Yamada blinks, turning his attention back to her.

“Ectoplasm told me how out of it you were when he found you. Your other teammates were mostly fine, so when he saw you two...” Daybreak grimaces, frowning down at her lap. She shudders. “Aizawa had me worried... You weren’t doing well, either, but Aizawa needed CPR by the time they found you two.”

Yamada feels ice running through his veins. Had he not already known Aizawa was alive and recovering in the other room, Yamada might have burst into tears right then and there. He grips at his blankets, limbs trembling. He tries to keep his breathing steady, but his chest constricts, forcing out irregular breaths.

“Hey.”

Daybreak gives Yamada’s shoulder a squeeze.

“You did a good job helping him,” she reassures him. “I know you two haven’t been getting along recently. But it’s good you put your feelings aside to help. If you hadn’t gone out to find him...” Daybreak goes quiet. Yamada can see the anguish in her eyes. He feels it, in his own heart. “I don’t think he’d still be here...”

Yamada lets that sink in. He looks back towards Aizawa’s room.

In the silhouette behind the curtain, he can see the moving form of Recovery Girl, and the slightest bit of motion from against the hospital bed’s pillow.

Once Recovery Girl deems him ready, she has Yamada take a lukewarm bath. Daybreak moves on to check on the other bedridden students, leaving Yamada with the information that she’ll call his folks (as well as the rest of the 1-A students’ parents) and let them know of the situation while he is away.

Aizawa is beginning to rouse from his slumber by the time Yamada passes by his room. Yamada wants to wait for him, to ask how he’s doing and nurse him back to health as best as he can, and apologize again and again. But Recovery Girl is waiting for him, ready to tend to Aizawa once she’s done setting him up. And Yamada knows the most he can do for Aizawa is to stay out of the way.

Not to mention, Yamada promised Aizawa he wouldn’t bother him anymore once they got out.

He sinks into the warm water until he’s submerged up to his nose. The low heat floods through his bones, melting his core and thawing his soul. It would be comforting, if he could keep his mind off of Aizawa. Hearing just how close to the brink of death Aizawa was had sent him in a panic, and he can’t stop thinking about the what-ifs.

What if he had convinced Aizawa to stick with the group?

What if he had gone along with Aizawa, and they split into pairs?

What if he had gotten there sooner?

...What if he had gotten there too late?

Strands of Yamada’s blonde hair hang in front of his eyes and caress his cheeks. He touches a hand to his up-do, trying to determine what it must look like, without a mirror. About half of his hair has fallen out of its style, and Yamada can’t help but cringe at the mental image. He dunks his head into the water to rid of the last remnants of gel holding it up.

He has more hair gel stuffed in his backpack. But the moment Yamada is drying himself off and rubbing the water droplets out of his hair with a towel, he doesn’t feel the desire to set it back. He’s just going to head straight home, anyways. If any of his classmates see him, he isn’t going to stay and chat, but rather pass them by on his way out.

Besides… As Yamada examines the dark circles under his eyes and the dreary way his shoulders slump, he realizes he isn’t in any shape to put on a happy facade. After how he treated Aizawa today and the past weeks, he doesn’t really feel like he deserves to.

So down his hair stays.

Daybreak and Recovery Girl almost don’t recognize him when he walks out of the bathroom. But they finish whatever last-minute treatments they believe Yamada requires, then move on to tend to the rest of the students.

As Yamada is calling his folks to ask them to come pick him up (Recovery Girl insists he doesn’t walk home today, and with the tone she uses, Yamada is afraid to disobey), he spots Aizawa being led into the bathroom he was just in. Recovery Girl is probably setting up another warm bath for Aizawa to soak in, just like she had for Yamada. He contemplates calling out to him, to say hi or tell Aizawa he’s glad he is all right. But again, Yamada forces himself to remember:

He promised he would leave Aizawa alone.

Once he receives the okay to leave, Yamada is out the door. He takes his time, still feeling the dregs of exhaustion clawing at him. The students still in the school for whatever reason don’t recognize him with his hair down, and as such, don’t call out to him. He’s glad for it; for once, Yamada isn’t really in the mood to talk.

He can see through the windows that the sun’s rays just barely peak over the horizon, and by the time he reaches the outside, it’s completely submerged. Yamada adjusts his glasses and pulls his blazer a little bit tighter as the nightly winds pick up.

Up ahead, Yamada can see the empty driveway, his folks having yet to show up. He sighs, slowing his lethargic walk even further. He takes out his phone, preparing himself for the wait. Of course, the moment he powers it up, the low battery notification flashes on the screen. He sighs, then slips it back into his pocket.

‘Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap…’

Yamada frowns at the odd sound. He looks around, but spots nothing in front of him that could be making it. Unless the cicadas have taken to making a new sound to scare him with, he doubts it’s any nearby animal. And the sound only seems to be getting louder.

On a whim, he turns around, hearing it approach from behind. Yamada can’t help the small gasp at what he sees.

It’s Aizawa. Clothed in his school uniform, blazer unbuttoned and tie stuffed in his pocket, torn messenger bag bouncing off his leg each time his foot hits the stone walkway. He’s running toward Yamada, arms flailing without coordination but eyes focused on his destination. Yamada stops in his tracks to watch, and it doesn’t take long for Aizawa to close the gap and stop right in front of him.

Aizawa leans his hands upon his knees, panting. For a while, he doesn’t even look up at Yamada. The one time he does, he looks into Yamada’s eyes, his own focusing, and it takes a moment for Yamada to remember that he looks so different with his hair down that it’s sometimes necessary to do a double take. Once Aizawa confirms in his head that the person he chased down is indeed Yamada, he hangs his head again.

His eyes are looking better, Yamada notices in the quick glance. No longer are Aizawa’s sclera infused with such an angry red. And once Aizawa finishes catching his breath, one of his hands reaches up to massage his neck, which looks uncomfortably stiff. Yamada grimaces for a second, knowing that aftereffect from wearing his directional speaker all too well. Aizawa’s skin is pale, but it’s the normal pale that comes with never going into the sun, and not the blueness stained from death's grasp. Aizawa’s fine. A bit more sluggish and unsteady on his feet than usual, but fine.

Yamada gives an awkward smile. “Aizawa,” he finally greets. When Aizawa doesn’t immediately respond, Yamada continues. “I’m no doctor, but I don’t think you’re supposed to be running so soon after almost freezing to death.”

The line of Aizawa’s mouth twists into something of a determined pout. Finally, he lets go of his knees and stands up to his full height. His hands come to wring the life out of his messenger bag’s mangled strap. At first he makes eye contact with Yamada, but after a few seconds Aizawa averts his gaze to the ground.

“Thank you,” he says, as straightforward and to the point as he can sound.

He doesn’t follow up with anything else, so Yamada nods and hoists up his backpack’s straps. “Of course,” he responds, casting his own gaze away. He combs his hand through his ungelled hair. For some reason, he feels so… timid... to be talking to Aizawa. “It’s what a hero’s s’posed to do, isn’t it?”

Aizawa is gnawing on his bottom lip, looking for all the world nervous. Like he didn’t plan what he wanted to say, and this was much farther than he thought he was ever going to make it. To be honest, Yamada doesn’t really know what to say, either.

So he begins to shuffle away. “I’m, uh… I’m heading out. So…”

“I wanna change one of my answers.”

Yamada blinks. “Huh?”

“The questions you were asking me before,” Aizawa clarifies. “I gave you an answer, and it was wrong. I wanna change it.”

Yamada didn’t think Aizawa would remember the endless questions he lobbed at him, let alone care enough to talk about them. The smile of surprise pulls at his lips before he even realizes it. “Oh? Which one?”

“My favorite color.”

An… odd choice. But if Aizawa ran down all this way to tell Yamada his correction, he may as well humor him. “Not feeling pink anymore?” Yamada asks, raising a brow. “Alright—lay it on me.”

If Aizawa’s death grip on his messenger bag strap gets any tighter, he might tear another hole in it.

“...It’s yellow.”

Something about that simple answer sparks such a lovely feeling in Yamada’s chest, causing him to feel rosy and tingly inside. He smiles wide, pushing his glasses back up his nose, too focused on the lovely feeling to notice the scarlet blush that spreads across Aizawa’s cheeks.

“Yellow’s one of my favorites, too!” Yamada exclaims, practically bouncing on his feet. “I mean, my favorite color’s red, but yellow is the perfect highlight color, don’t you think? Honestly, I think your goggles would look badass if you painted them yellow. And I got some spray paint at my house, if you wanna bring ‘em over some day and do it—”

He stops himself. But before Yamada can begin to apologize for his excited outburst, Aizawa mutters an, “Okay…” under his breath.

That shuts Yamada up real quick.

While he’s still recovering from the shock of a non-negative answer, a car pulls up to the driveway and gives a couple short honks. Yamada and Aizawa both turn, and Yamada’s heart leaps in relief at the sight of his folks. Not that he is in a hurry to leave the conversation, but he just can’t wait to be home. He waves, then signs to them to give him a minute.

Yamada turns back to his classmate. “That’s my ride,” he says. “You got someone picking you up?”

Aizawa startles at the question, averting his eyes yet again. “I’m taking the bus.”

Yamada frowns. Surely Recovery Girl gave Aizawa the same don’t-walk-home-today lecture as she gave him. And Yamada knows the bus stop isn’t for another block. Who knows just how far away Aizawa’s house is from the stop; gauging just how shitty his parents and aunt seem to be, Yamada wouldn’t put it past them to make him walk a ways.

Well, if Yamada managed to convince Aizawa to come over to paint goggles of all things, maybe he can convince him of something else. Might as well give it a try. “You want us to give you a ride? I’d ask if you’d wanna sleep over, but I’m sure you’ve had enough of me for one day.”

Aizawa startles again, ducking his head sheepishly. His hair tussles and hovers as if he is using his quirk, but again Yamada can’t feel any tightness in his throat. It’s… honestly kind of cute. “I, uhm… I-I shouldn’t…”

Yamada tsks his tongue and rolls his eyes, placing a gentle hand to Aizawa’s wrist. He pulls him along with a light grip. “C’mon,” he says. “My folks won’t mind.”

Aizawa’s voice is near silent as he slowly follows him to the car. “Okay…”

When they reach the car, Yamada lets Aizawa climb in first before hopping in, himself. “Who is this?” his mother asks with a warm lilt to her tone.

“This is my pal, Aizawa,” Yamada introduces him.

Aizawa bows his head, his hair falling in tufts in front of his face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, audibly but yet a little shyly.

“And to you,” his mother replies. “Always a pleasure to meet a friend of Hizashi’s.”

Yamada doesn’t know if they’re exactly ‘friends’ yet, but Aizawa doesn’t detest the term, so neither does he. “We can give him a ride home, right?” Yamada asks.

“As long as he doesn’t live overseas or something,” his father jokes. The car shares a small laugh, the barest hint of a smile gracing Aizawa’s lips.

Aizawa tells Yamada’s folks his address, and soon, they’re off. Not even two minutes into the long drive, Yamada finds the courage to start up an actual conversation with Aizawa. And to his surprise, not only does Aizawa listen and nod along, but he occasionally even responds, too. His replies are often confined to one sentence, mostly no more than five words each, but it’s more than Yamada could ask for. And he’s so agreeable, too. In a matter of minutes, they’ve already made plans for study sessions, the arcade, and lunch at a local cat cafe.

Halfway through the drive, Aizawa begins to doze off. Not because he’s bored of what Yamada is saying, but because today has just been so long. The warm air being filtered through the car’s heater does wonders, as well. As the road hums below them and the streetlights provide a pleasant glow, Yamada pats his hands against his knees, humming and eventually singing the song they were listening to before in the cave. The one Yamada wrote himself, the one Aizawa said he actually liked.

They both end up dozing off with contented smiles upon their faces.