Chapter Text
“Excuse me, Aizawa-sensei?” It was Midoriya, standing nervously by Shōta’s desk as the rest of the class filed out. “Um, I think someone might have taken your phone.”
It was too early for this. “What are you talking about?” Shōta didn’t bother to check his pockets; he forgot his phone more often than he remembered it.
“So, uh, Present Mic’s radio show has a website, and the website has a forum, and this morning someone posted some pictures of a phone they were saying belonged to Present Mic, but it looks just like yours.” Midoriya held out his phone to show Shōta the screen.
The pictures were undeniably familiar. The scuffed, emoji-covered case that Hizashi had bought on a whim that Shōta had never quite gotten around to replacing; the crack in the glass screen protector from standing too close while Hizashi used his quirk; the picture of a cat sleeping in a flowerpot that was the lock screen. All undeniably familiar, and undeniably Shōta’s. “Give me that.” Shōta gestured impatiently.
Midoriya, ever thoughtful, held the phone out by his fingertips to lower the chances of accidental contact.
Shōta grabbed it and scrolled down. There was text under the pictures.
so i was @ cats eye last nite n there was pms jacket hangin on a chair i cd see his phone on the floor under it so i grabbed it after he left im such a klepto lol its locked duh but i got a buddy w a q that can open it rite up will let u guys no what i find
Present Mic’s jacket, which Shōta had worn on their date to the Cat’s Eye Café. The jacket he had put on his chair and promptly forgotten about. The jacket with the pockets that were too shallow to carry anything securely. The jacket Hizashi had slung over his shoulder without a thought on their way out.
“The mods deleted the post and called the station as soon as they found out,” Midoriya was saying, “but lots of people had already taken screenshots and stuff.” Shōta barely heard him.
will let u guys no what i find
What would they find? Shōta usually memorized contact information for other heroes rather than record it anywhere, but there were a few names and numbers he had saved. The phone had GPS—could they retroactively track his movements? It would be bad if his patrol routes and schedule were made public, even worse if the wrong thug saw it and realized they’d been tailed.
The personal aspects were less immediately worrisome but aggravating nonetheless. His search history, his stupid playlists, his photos.
He paused to consider the last. They were mostly cats, of course, a few entertainingly bad test answers, a handful of pictures and videos of Hizashi. Those were boring and domestic, the kind of thing only the craziest fan would care about: Hizashi making a face while he cleaned the litter box, grading papers on the couch with sunlight in his hair, being rebuffed by a cat they’d found at the park, in lingerie and a ball gag, wearing nothing but a smile, a recording of him moaning “Miss you, Shōta, come home soon” as he—
This could ruin his career. Midoriya’s phone slipped from Shōta’s nerveless fingers.
Midoriya lunged to catch it, fumbled it, caught it again. “Sensei?” His voice was concerned and earnest and painfully young.
If any of that gets posted anywhere, he’s going to see it, Shōta realized numbly. Midoriya saw everything that was posted about heroes. “Get to your next class,” he said. His voice held no tell, thank god. “Thank you for letting me know about this.”
“Of course, sensei!” Midoriya clearly had more questions, but he trotted off anyway, obedient as a lamb and twice as innocent.
Shōta made it to Hizashi’s classroom in record time. Hizashi beamed when he saw him, like he always did. Shōta’s heart squeezed awfully as he closed the door. At least Hizashi didn’t have a class next period.
“Hey, babe.” Hizashi’s smile began to fade. “Did something happen? You look—”
“Someone has those pictures of you,” Shōta blurted.
A beat of silence, stretched thin. And then: “WHAT?” Hizashi shouted in English, probably louder than he’d intended. The nearest windows rattled, and from the hallway there was a shriek, a bang, and a lot of muffled, uninspired cursing
Shōta winced. I could have done that better.
The two of them peered guiltily into the hall. Bakugō, unsurprisingly, was the source of the profanity. He was sitting on the floor holding his bleeding nose. A business studies student was standing beside him with her face in her hands and her membranous wings pulled over her head, several textbooks at her feet. Also at her feet was Kirishima, gathering the scattered books and chattering away.
“Wow, that was really loud, huh? I wonder what’s going on. And your wings are super cool! You got Bakugō right in the face!” Kirishima laughed easily and stood, holding out the girl’s books.
She slowly lowered her hands. “I. . . I hit him? Oh my god, I hit you! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Her wings fluttered nervously before being pressed against her back as she gingerly accepted her textbooks.
“What the fuck is your fucking problem? Why—”
“Yeah, he’s okay,” Kirishima said.
“Is everything all right out here?” Hizashi asked. Shōta did his best to look unconcerned even as he tried to decide if Bakugō’s nose was broken or not.
“Yeah, we’re good!” Kirishima waved. “We just got a little spooked, is all.”
“I was not spooked!” Bakugō spat.
I wab nod thpooked. Definitely broken.
“Kirishima, make sure Bakugō gets to the nurse’s office,” Hizashi said, apparently having reached the same conclusion Shōta had. Next he turned to the business student. “Toriyama, you should get going too. The bell will be ringing any minute now.”
“Yes, sir!” Kirishima and Toriyama said in unison. Bakugō grumbled under his breath but let Kirishima help him to his feet.
“Tilt your head back,” Kirishima said as he steered Bakugō down the hall. “Wait, no, don’t do that, do the opposite of that. I think. Argh, I can’t remember which it is! Just do what feels right, I guess.”
“What feels right is you shutting the fuck up for thirty fucking seconds.”
“That’s the spirit!”
“The whole school will have heard about this by lunch,” Shōta said. If Kirishima and Bakugō knew something, it was safe to assume that everyone in shouting distance knew it too. “Someone stole my phone while we were out last night,” he added.
Hizashi laughed. “You probably should have led with that. Are you sure it’s gone? You know how you are about forgetting it.”
“I’m sure. The thief posted pictures of it to the station website’s forum and said they had a way to unlock it. They seem to be under the impression that it’s yours.”
“They’re going to be disappointed, then.” Hizashi checked his own phone. “Three missed calls from the studio.”
“Hizashi.” Shōta waited until he was sure he had his husband’s full attention. “What are we going to do about this?”
“Well, file a police report, first, and tell Principal Nedzu. I should probably call my publicist, too, give her a heads up before shit really starts hitting the fan. And after that we’ll just have to see what gets thrown at us, I guess.”
“That’s not—” Shōta sighed. “You seem very calm about all this. You’re not upset?”
That, bizarrely, made Hizashi laugh. “It’s not the way I wanted to come out publicly, but at least no one’s going to forget about it anytime soon.” He winked. After a moment his expression softened, and he drew Shōta back into the classroom and closed the door. “This isn’t your fault, you know. You didn’t make anyone steal your phone, and those stupid pictures and videos of us were my idea in the first place.”
Shōta was usually against displays of affection at work, but now he pressed his face against Hizashi’s shoulder and felt Hizashi’s arms come up around him. “I am sorry, even if it’s not my fault. If you lose your show over this—”
“Lose my show? You really think the studio would turn down all this free publicity?” Hizashi kept his tone light, like they were discussing dinner plans or something else normal, but Shōta could tell it wasn’t entirely genuine.
“I should go talk to Nedzu,” Shōta said eventually, even though all he wanted to do was stand there with Hizashi until everything had blown over.
They stepped apart reluctantly.
“I’ll see if I can get Yagi to call his cop friend,” Hizashi said. He reached up to brush Shōta’s hair back. “Good luck,” he added in English.
Shōta smiled for the first time that morning. “Yeah. You too.”
“I think Mic-sensei freaking out has something to do with Aizawa-sensei’s phone being stolen,” Deku announced as he sat down with his lunch.
“Really? Why?” Uraraka asked. Beside her, Iida had begun to look uncomfortable.
“The timing, mostly,” Deku admitted. “Aizawa would have had to have left his classroom right away to get to Mic’s by the time Kacchan and Kirishima saw him there, and I don’t think he would have done that if Mic-sensei weren’t involved somehow. Also, isn’t it kind of weird that Aizawa had Mic’s jacket at a cat café?”
Iida fidgeted, jaw tense.
Deku frowned at him. “Iida? Do you know something?”
“Nothing!” Iida began to shovel his lunch into his mouth.
“Uh, okay.” Deku decided to leave him to it for now.
“You said he dropped your phone, right?” Sero said, leaning across the table. “Aizawa never loses his cool like that. If you add Mic flipping his shit and assume the two events are connected, then Aizawa must have something on his phone that they really don’t want anyone to see.”
“I bet it’s porn,” Ashido said confidently. “What?” she said as the others gaped at her. “It’s why I would freak out about someone having my phone.”
Kirishima leapt to his feet. “It’s so obvious! Ashido, you’re a genius!” Ashido stood, and they stretched precariously over the table to high-five.
“It’s not obvious, and she’s a fucking dumbass, just like you,” Bakugō snarled, pulling on Kirishima’s jacket. “Sit the fuck back down.”
“I agree with Kacchan,” Deku said. “Only the first part, I mean! If it were. . . that, I don’t think Mic-sensei would have been so bothered by it.”
Ashido shrugged. “So it’s a sex tape.”
Iida choked on his rice. Uraraka thumped his back helpfully.
“That. . . seems a little far-fetched,” Deku said as diplomatically as he could. “We’ll keep the idea on the table for now, but why don’t we brainstorm some other options?”
“I’m sure he has a lot of information regarding his hero work on his phone,” Todoroki put in. “Maybe he and Mic-sensei are working on something together that would be jeopardized if it were made public.”
Iida wheezed, though he was no longer choking on his lunch.
“Working together? On what?” Uraraka asked thoughtfully. “It could be anything, I guess. They’re both pro heroes as well as teachers, and I think they’re friends. I saw them together at the grocery store once.”
Iida bent double and smacked his face against the table. He stayed there, vibrating. The others all stared at him.
“Iida. . . ?” Deku ventured.
“Nothing. Nothing! It is absolutely not my place to tell you that Aizawa-sensei and Mic-sensei are married!” Iida sat up and clapped his hands over his mouth, horror written all over his face.
The rest of the table erupted into noise.
“What? No way!”
“Don’t be stupid!”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“How would you even know that?”
“Iida,” Deku said gently, “it’s not that I don’t believe you, but, well, do you have any proof or anything?”
“I attended their wedding,” Iida said miserably. “I was nine.”
“That’s fucking bullshit,” Bakugō said. “Why the hell would they have invited some random kid to their wedding?”
“They’re both good friends with my brother. I’ve known them since I was a child.” Iida was slowly sinking in his seat.
Deku knew that Iida was much younger than his brother, so it wasn’t entirely ridiculous, but. . . “You don’t really act like you know them.”
Iida sat up straighter, apparently revitalized. “Of course not! All three of them have taken great pains to keep their connections secret. I would never do anything to jeopardize that!”
“Isn’t that what you just did, though?” Kirishima asked.
Iida slumped again.
Deku patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, you didn’t mean to. I’m sure they won’t be mad,” he said, even though he was sure of no such thing.
“So it’s definitely a sex tape, then.” Ashido turned back to her lunch like the matter had been settled.
“It’s not!” Iida insisted.
Sero laughed at him. “Yeah? You know something we don’t? Something else, I mean.”
“Well, no, but surely it’s something less, less scandalous!”
holy shit guys its not pms phone but this is so much better then i expected