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It's the week before valentines day, the school halls buzz with excitement and anticipation of the upcoming mother-son dance. The girls had their father-daughter dance last weekend, and it ended up being a total success.
Izuku Midoriya is without a mother. Regardless, he plans to attend, if not only for his friends. They may only get one more of these, and he doesn’t want to miss out. FOMO, amirite? Izuku was not always motherless. He loved his mother dearly, and she loved him somehow even more. Unfortunately, life does not discriminate against who it takes from. Although the boy plans to attend, he doesn’t get too excited. How could he? He hears the boys around him speak of their mothers and how they are excited to do this once more, as many of them did as kids in their elementary days.
Izuku once attended a son and mother dance. Inko took off work for it—something she doesn’t do often as a single mother with a growing son to feed and care for. He remembers that evening vividly. The green-haired boy thinks his mother may be the first person he fell in love with, whom he admired so greatly. He remembered her dress in great detail, now realizing it was likely thrifted so that they could eat that night. Even so, she looked more beautiful than the ever-present galaxy. The boy remembers how gently she loved him, regardless of the diagnosis he got as a child. How she loved him enough to outweigh the number of people who hated him for his quirklessness.
The boy does his best to ignore the excitement from the other students, to push down the nausea that now rolls in his stomach. Pushing down the hurt he feels, the longing, and the jealousy, he continues to class.
Jealousy. Izuku was never a jealous person. Honestly, he was quite the opposite. Most would describe him as selfless and cheerful. He was happy if someone else was happy. These days, he feels it so deeply it almost hurts. Izuku quickly snuffs it out. Buries deep where no one else can see it.
Izuku Midoriya walks into class with a grin.
Somewhere in the auditorium, sits a man with unkempt black hair. Shota Aizawa doesn’t care much for parties or dances or anything of that sort. He is merely here as a chaperone, to make sure his hellions don’t get out of control as they tend to. He is fortunately not alone in this job, though he may be the only one sitting in distaste.
The party has just begun, and students are slowly filing in as the evening picks up. Hizashi Yamada, better known as Present Mic, is the DJ. The man thinks it suits his personality, that he was the best suited for the job. Despite what many think, the erasure hero finds Yamada’s music taste quite nice. He would never, in any situation, reveal that to the blond, though.
It’s about thirty minutes into the dance, and it's lively. Well, to most. Aizawa can’t say he’s exactly enjoying it. What he does enjoy, though, is seeing his class happy. It’s been a hell of a first year for them, one villain attack after another. Even a whole kidnapping. They deserve a break, truly. If that means he has to sit and listen to loud music whilst being blinded by a disco ball and colorful lights, then so be it.
The man didn’t find it unusual when a student arrived without their mother. Many mothers had arrived a bit later than their sons, likely due to work. The boys would just hang out with their friends until then. Because of this, he didn’t find it unusual when Midoriya arrived without his mother. The boy spoke of her fondly many times, about how she worked hard to raise him—how she worked long days and nights to provide for him.
The man can’t help but feel like something is off. As an underground hero, you learn not to question your gut instincts.
Aizawa does not move from where he is seated, as it isn’t a serious issue. That doesn't mean he doesn’t watch the boy closely. Throughout the next hour, he observes. For once, Midoriya has his hair tamed and neatly swept to the side. It’s a stark contrast to the wild curls the man was used to seeing. He wore a clean, black suit with dark green accents. What really caught his eye was the necklace his student wore. It was a dainty chain; at the end hung a flower. He didn’t strike Midoriya as the type to wear jewelry, but what does he know?
He observed the boy as he made his way to each of his classmates. He spoke to their mothers as well, before slightly bowing and leaving. Midoriya never stuck around for long, likely to give the mothers and their sons time together.
Aizawa doesn’t miss how Midoriya avoided Bakugo and his mother, and vice versa. It isn’t the most concerning thing, considering their not-so-friendly history. Regardless, it puts the black-haired man at unease.
Most of the music Present Mic plays is upbeat and fun, since most teenagers don’t enjoy slow dancing. It wouldn’t be a mother-son dance without them, though; it’s like an unspoken rule. Mic saves them for last, knowing how emotional the mothers tend to get. He plays the first slow song of the night, and all the friend groups seem to fizzle out as they find their respective mothers. One boy sticks out.
Izuku Midoriya.
Yet again, he is seen without his mother. He seems to be the only one lacking now, actually. It’s a little over two hours in, and it ends in less than one. Midoriya clutched his necklace for a brief moment.
He watches as the boy steps off the dance floor for the first time this evening, and watches him sit down at an empty table. The expression the boy wears is not Midoriya-esque in the slightest. It’s heartbroken and even jealous. Two emotions the teacher had not yet seen from the boy.
Once the song slows to a stop, he goes to stand up to greet the boy. He is quickly sat again, though, when two unexpected people beat him to it. Katsuki Bakugo and his mother, Mitsuki Bakugo. The mother-son duo looks so alike, it's uncanny. Aizawa doesn’t miss how Izuku looks down and avoids eye contact. He also doesn’t miss how both the Bakugo’s give the green-haired student a sad, knowing look. Aizawa has the feeling that something much deeper is going on.
The man watches as they trade words, Izuku not giving nearly as much as Mistuki. He finds it odd, considering the boy is usually a chatterbox. Mistuki gives the boy what seems to be a much-needed hug from both parties before returning to the dance floor with her son.
Izuku Midoriya looks positively devastated. He looks at the door where his mother should have entered by now with a profound sadness that shouldn’t be felt at a high school dance. With the Bakugos gone, Aizawa figures he should go check on the boy. Before leaving, he lets Vlad King know of his whereabouts and approaches Midoriya carefully.
“Midoriya?” The stealth hero questions the boy, successfully grabbing his attention. His eyes are a little red-rimmed, but not much. You learn to pay attention to the little details when working as a hero.
“Aizawa-sensei? I didn’t strike you as the type to attend these kinds of dances.” The boy's words are quieter, softer than they usually would be. Midoriya gives a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his ears. Aizawa briefly wonders how many of the smiles he’s shared this past year weren’t real. The thought is quickly put on the back burner, as that isn’t the problem at the moment.
“I’m not, but somebody has to make sure my hell of a class stays out of trouble. You guys tend to be a villain magnet,” He debated adding the last bit, but it didn’t go in vain. Midoriya let out a small chuckle. It's quiet, but it’s honest. “Why are you by yourself? I never saw your mother come in.” This seemed to be the right yet somehow wrong question to ask.
Midoriya tenses for a moment before too-carefully responding, “She couldn’t make it.” Aizawa hums in acknowledgement, pulling a cheap foldable chair out from the table. It scrapes against the floor a little, but the sound is mostly drowned out by the loud music and chatter.
“Would you like to talk about it?” The usually stoic man offers, his tone far kinder than the kid had ever heard it. It sounded almost parental, and it made Izuku ache more than it should have.
Midoriya glances back at the door, not willing to look his teacher in the eyes, afraid that he would lose composure. “I don’t know why I came to the dance. I knew she wouldn’t be here.” Aizawa can’t help the piece of his heart that shatters at the defeated tone that the teen managed. It sounds so wrong coming from his most optimistic and strong-headed student. This entire situation feels so wrong.
“How come she couldn’t make it?” The erasure hero made sure to make his voice even more gentle than before, knowing that this isn’t easy for the boy. He still wasn’t prepared for the response, though.
“She died five months ago.”
Five months ago? That had to have been right after the boot camp, maybe even during. How come this is the first time the man had heard of this?
Pulled from his thoughts, he takes another look at the boy. Midoriya is no longer looking at the door, but at the floor. The kid’s hands tremble faintly, fidgeting in his lap, and Aizawa has never felt a stronger urge to protect and comfort before. He has never felt more paternal in his entire life.
Without another word, Aizawa stands up and steps in front of the boy. “Would you like to step outside? It’s quite loud in here.” The boy gives a shaky nod, standing up and following his teacher out of the auditorium. It’s silent outside, save for the muffled music from the auditorium and the cars that pass by occasionally. The hero leads the teen to a nearby bench, setting him down before sitting beside him. They sit in comfortable silence, enjoying the crisp air after being in a stuffy room full of teenage boys.
“It’s dumb of me to go to a mother-son dance when I don’t have a mother anymore.” A watery, bitter voice cuts through the silence, and Aizawa is grateful he didn’t have to start the conversation himself. He was never good at this whole comforting thing; he tended to scare children off instead.
“I don’t think so, kiddo. Everyone grieves differently.” Aizawa keeps his tone soft and understanding. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“I guess,” the teen pauses, seemingly searching for the right words. His words are barely more than a whisper as he stares into the night sky. “I guess I was hoping that we could have one more dance. That she would walk through those doors and laugh and be there for me like she used to.” For a teenager known for being overly emotional, he’s held off from crying quite well. That in itself, though, is concerning to the teacher.
“I know that if she could be in there with you dancing, she would be. She loved you very much, Midoriya.” This seems to be what does it for the boy, because Midoriya finally cracks. Salty tears stream down his face, and it makes Aizawa’s heart clench. Without a second thought, he brings his arm around the kid and pulls him into his side.
“I miss her,” the adolescent voice breaks, “so, so much.” Midoriya leans into the man, not questioning why he is being so kind to him suddenly. Who’s to look the gift horse in the mouth? The boy cries eerily silently; the only signs of him crying are the slight tremble he shoulders carry and the hiccups he has.
Aizawa is unsure how long he holds the boy, but he watches as mothers and their respective sons leave over time. The last people to leave are the staff. Yamada locks the door of the auditorium behind him before walking over to Aizawa.
“What’s going on, Sho?” A quiet, very comforting voice questions. Aizawa looks up at his husband. Although his face is expressionless, Yamada has become an expert at reading him. Being with someone for over ten years does that. And the blond doesn’t like what he sees. Aizawa only shakes his head before returning to soothing the quiet boy.
Midoriya stopped crying a while ago, but Aizawa has made it his mission not to pull away unless the kid wants him to. Who knows how long it’s been since he’s had a hug? Aside from earlier with Mitsuki, of course. Yamada seems to understand this, taking a seat next to Midoriya, sandwiching the boy in.
It’s a while before the boy pulls away, and he sobers his expression to a neutral one yet again. He palms at his eyes, wiping the drying tears off his face.
“Where have you been staying, kid?” Aizawa can’t help but question. The teacher hadn’t seen the boy’s file get updated with a new address, which is more than concerning. The silence is all too deafening. “You can’t live by yourself, Midoriya. You’re still a child; it is not your job to take care of yourself.” The boy only nods, keeping his head hung low. His fingers grip his pants, and he bites his lip to keep it from wobbling again.
“How about some ice cream, little listener?” The usually cheery voice of Yamada is calmed for the sake of the kid. It takes a moment, but Midoriya nods yet again. Yamada stands up with a grin, helping the boy up and to the car. Aizawa follows close behind.
In the car, Yamada makes small talk with the timid boy. He is clearly trying to take the night off Midoriya’s mind, and it's working well. Really, all you have to do is talk about heroes, and the boy lights up like a kid on Christmas morning.
Midoriya and Yamada continue to talk even as they enter the ice cream parlor. The two talk of heroes, mostly limelight ones, but even a few underground names get mentioned, and Aizawa can’t find it in himself to be surprised. The man instead finds himself smiling softly at the two.
He knows that everything will be just fine.