Third person pov

Growing up, Shota Aizawa didn't have the best home life. With a mother whom he'd never met and a father too tired and too busy to give him any form of positive attention, his childhood wasn't the greatest. He acknowledges that it could have been worse. His father was never abusive. Tired, snappish, and maybe a bit short: but never abusive. The man worked three jobs to keep them well off enough to be somewhat comfortable, so Aizawa understood. He didn't resent his father for it. In fact, though he'd never dare to say it aloud, he'd even say he was proud to have a dad who worked so hard just so Shota could grow up in a decent neighborhood. 

Though they were few and far between, there were moments where Shota's dad was just that— a dad. Late at night, after his shift, he'd sit down on the end of Shota's bed, right near the very edge. At first he wouldn't say anything, no, he never did, and he and Shota would both sit there in a comfortable silence. Sometimes Aizawa would have to fight to keep his eyes open, though over time, his anticipation was enough to keep him from drifting off. Before long, his father would close his eyes and exhale deeply, and allow himself to lean back against the wall.

These were the times Shota cherished most, because anytime his father did those things specifically, he knew he was going to hear about the merfolk.

Shota really didn't believe in them now. Not really, anyway. There was no solid proof of any mermaids or mermen existing, and he was a rational man. Still, there was a part of him still enamored by the idea. Perhaps it was left over from his younger years. As a child, he'd been convinced. 100% sure that there were creatures half fish and half human out there, flitting through the sea with shimmering, powerful tails that would glimmer like polished jewels when the light hit them. He drew pictures, wrote out theories, and daydreamed constantly what it might be like to meet one.

His obsession with them didn't come from nowhere. His father, when he'd exhale, and lean back against the wall with his eyes shut, would spin glorious tales. He'd talk about how beautiful and ethereal the oceanic creatures were, with souls of sea-salt and kelp, and a type of magic so age old it could be traced back to before quirks ever even existed. How they were best friends with the dolphins and sea turtles, the octopus and squid, even the brainless jellyfish that mindlessly drifted through the waves. He'd tell Shota all about their ability to tame sharks and how they'd share secrets with great, hulking whales older than time itself, almost as though recalling a fond and distant memory.

He talked of colorful coral, tended to by the tailed creatures. The shells they'd collect and create tools out of, and the rarity of their very existence. And though his father insisted they were real, he also claimed that there were few left, if any at all. He spoke spitefully about hunters who'd track them down and capture them for their beauty. Those stories, the ones where mermaids and mermen were killed, always angered Shota. So much so that sometimes his eyes would gleam red and his hair would fly up. His father never failed to chuckle when it happened, proud. He too thought merfolk should be cherished. Protected, preserved, and maybe even looked up at for their abilities and stunning appearances. 

Shota wasn't sure when he grew out of it. But at some point, maybe in the beginning of high school, his father stopped sitting at the end of his bed. He stopped exhaling, and leaning back against the wall, and closing his eyes. Even though he was about to enter adulthood ten, Shota still missed it. He clung to the stories, jotting down everything he could possibly remember in a notebook. A notebook that he still, to this day, has. Even if he can't quite believe the tales within it anymore, he knew he'd never get rid of it. Sometimes on particularly bad days, he'd flip through it, letting his fingers ghost over the scratchy writing of his passionate young self. The belief entwined with his writing made him wonder where his spark for the merpeople had gone.

Merfolk were held close to his heart, even now. The highlight of his childhood. They brought wonder and imagination into his life, and the fondness he holds for them to this very day sometimes shines through. Sometimes even still he'd imagine meeting one. What he'd say, all the questions he'd ask. Shota had never been social, but if there was a merman or mermaid, he'd stop at nothing to befriend them. At least, that's what he likes to think.

Hizashi and Nemuri used to tease him for it, but he'd never mind. Him liking mermaids was something he felt nearly proud of. He wasn't one for home decor, but everything he did have was themed after the ocean. The painting above his couch depicted a coral reef full of life, the most vibrant thing he's ever owned aside from the hot pink sweatpants Mic once bought him. His shower curtain is a tidal wave, a plethora of blues conjoining into a single mass that springs up, white foam at its front as it prepares to crash down. In the mornings, Shota will smile a small smile at it.

The ocean itself is something he's fond of too. The smell of sea-salt feels almost as though its intertwined itself with his very being. On the days he wished to get away, he'd go to an old dock his father had once showed him on very few occasions. It was abandoned: a rickety structure that was in no way stable or safe to walk on. He'd go to the very end and sit anyway, taking off his shoes and socks, and rolling up his pants so he could let his feet dangle in the water. The soft waves would slosh against his calves, and above him, seagulls would call curiously. The rush of the stretch of aqua never failed to soothe him.

There was something different about the ocean. The golden sands coating its floor and the mysterious life that slept beneath the vibrant surface had always intrigued him. If he hadn't become a pro-hero, Shota was sure he would've gone into the marine biology field. Sometimes he'd wade up to his waist and stand there, letting the waves push his body back and forth, holding him upright while simultaneously trying to knock him down. The sound there was loud, but not deafening. The breeze and seaweed that would brush against him somehow brought it all together.

Shota did collect shells. If he'd been resting on the dock too long, sometimes he'd get up and walk barefoot along the vast stretch of sand and hunt for them. He did this mostly during the colder months. While his dock spot was entirely secluded, tourists and people seeking some relief from the heat would litter the ocean's bank. Aizawa wouldn't mind so much if they didn't litter. Some nights he'd find himself returning with a trash bag, the moon acting as his guide as he fished pieces of garbage from the silky golden grains.

So yes, maybe Shota's life did still somewhat center around mermaids, but he didn't mind. As a thirty-year-old man, maybe he should've been ashamed to some extent. But he couldn't find it in his heart to be. He loved the ocean too much, and the idea of merpeople was too thrilling for him to just give up. Thinking about it would give his heart a cheerful lurch, and his mind would wake up, springing to life just for that. While napping during the few breaks he got at work, his dreams would shift and mold into vivid fish and the silhouettes of people with long, flowing fish tails in the distance. 

He read books on it, of course. The mythology on them was astounding, some works calling them peaceful, while others painted them as beasts. He heard them described as sirens, as kelpie, as naiads. Stories of a lost colony named Atlantis that towered beneath the waves, unseen by humans, but serving as a home and refuse for mythical sea creatures of every kind. Warriors and healers and inventors of every kind were painted out for him to see. The ocean dwellers, whether shown in a good or bad light, were always said to be strong. That, at least, Shota could believe.

In just a few months, Aizawa would be getting a fresh class of hero hopefuls. Kids who were young and naive, with expectations of heroes and visions of heights they could never realistically reach. He could only hope they'd have potential. He was worried he'd see nothing in them-- no spirit or hope of ever becoming the fighters and defenders they needed to be. It was a stress he never shared with anyone. One that was easily washed away by the sounds of lightly crashing waves. Today, the Ocean was calm. Shota could be calm too.

His secret spot was hidden by jagged rocks that rose far above the height of the average house. The distinct scent rushed past him as he approached the dock he'd been coming to for several years now, content with the idea of sitting and allowing the breeze to whisper secrets too quiet for him to catch. All the tension that had built up over the past few days left him. A breath of air escaped him, the sigh of relief drowned out by the water's constant rhythm. A small smile formed on his face. This was exactly what he needed.

The two friends he actually had didn't actually know about this place, or how often he came here. He never did talk about his love for the sea or merfolk with them. It wasn't that he was embarrassed. This was just something he wanted to keep to himself. Something he could appreciate. His. It was a relief he selfishly didn't want to share. That, or maybe he was simply afraid they'd coax him into ranting about the mythical, finned creatures. If they did, Aizawa wasn't sure he'd actually mind.

The sun wasn't too overbearing today. Even if it was, Shota would still sit. He allowed himself to plop down and relax, leaning back and propping himself up with his arms. His face upturned towards the sun, allowing the warmth to wash over it. Nemuri was always asking him how he managed to be so tan when all he seemingly did was sleep and work night patrols. Aizawa always found that vaguely amusing. She and Mic both thought he was someone who never went outside and who hated being out in nature. If they knew the truth, they'd surely gawk.

Time always seemed to fly past when he was at peace. Things were just cruel like that, Aizawa supposed. Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes to hours. The sun was setting after what felt like only an hour, when it had in reality been several. Aizawa had pulled off his boots and his socks at some point, and his skin had long since begun to prune in the salty water below. He was laid out on his back down, his knees bent over the edge and his arms spread out on either side of him. The clouds above were swirling. It would storm, soon.

Aizawa considered moving by the ocean. It wasn't the first time he'd thought about it. The idea got more and more appealing. The sea was something he felt he could never get sick of. It was a refuge. Beach houses in Japan were expensive due to their general rarity, but he didn't need a big one. It could be nothing more than a one room shack, and he was sure he'd still revel in it. Falling asleep to the lull of the waves every night sounded like heaven redefined, and waking up to the same sound was even more appealing.

That being said, Mic and Nemuri would have questions if he suddenly moved. His apartment was nice, close to UA, and close to the hero agency he worked out of. It wasn't in his patrol area, but it was close enough to it that it could still be considered convenient. If he did end up on the sandy shores of one of Japan's beaches, he'd have to share the ocean with his two friends. That being said, if he literally lived next to it, maybe there'd be enough to share.

Before he could further debate the pros and cons of moving to a sandy, sea-salt scented abode any further, something brushed his leg. Normally this wouldn't be an issue. He'd been to the ocean plenty of times, and had felt all sorts of things glimpse by his legs. Seaweed, curious fish, and even the occasional jellyfish. But this? It was none of those things. He wasn't sure he'd ever sat up so fast in his entire life, his peace disrupted and his heart beating erratically in his chest. His normally stoic demeanor was for once missing, his eyes wide. Aizawa couldn't be sure, but he'd thought that was a hand that just touched him.

His eyes scanned the water. The racing of his heart dropped just as fast as it had risen, his gaze flitting about in search of what possibly could've brushed against his leg. He was sure he hadn't imagined it. His chest felt tight, but not with fear, or even with anxiety. Anywhere else and he would've risen his guard entirely, ready for a fight. Now, all he did was narrow his eyes, not even bothering to remove his legs from the water. Though spooked, he remained in his spot.

Today was a day like any other. He'd been to this exact spot by this exact body of water plenty of times. He had certain routines he performed here, and never had this happened in all his years coming here. It was heart-stopping in the best way, though he knew it was probably just nothing. His mind jumped to the immediate conclusion it always seemed to find: mermaids. He almost scoffed at himself for the irrational thought, but resisted. He knew himself. This wasn't the first time his brain had tried to work out the possibility of them being real, and it wouldn't be the last.

"Who's there?" He checked. If it turned out someone was by chance under the waves and messing with him, the bravo. If not, then there wasn't anyone else here to witness him talk to thin air. He continued to gaze intently at the ocean's surface, the familiar blues and greens rippling. The water here was quite clear all things considered. He could see the floor, though it vanished as the sand sloped further and further down, becoming deeper and eventually dropping off. He looked straight down rather than out.

Peeking out from under the deck was the top of someone's head. They drifted vertically beneath the waves, just their eyes and up visible. Aizawa's breath hitched in his throat, his entire body tensing. His legs, previously relaxed and moving with the ocean's flow, froze up and became stiff as poles in the cool water. He prepared himself for a fight, his eyes locked onto the alluring seafoam green pair gazing back at him. The only thing stopping him from hopping up was the raw curiosity shown in the eyes of the man staring up at him from beneath the water.

Aizawa felt like he was dreaming. His breathing slowed as the younger man's head popped out further from beneath the pier. His hair was inky black, though the ends faded into a blue-ish green color that matched his eyes to an extent. He had soft features, with high cheekbones that made him look foreign. English, maybe, with a nose bridge that curved delicately and a rounded jawline not as sharp and bony as Aizawa's. Shota swallowed heavily as the man's eyes went back to Aizawa's legs, which remained tensely submerged. Everything in him screamed to pull them out. To hop up, and maybe flee, or at least obtain his capture weapon, which he'd left coiled at the start of the dock itself. But he didn't. Against everything in him, he sat.

More of the man appeared, looking at Shota's legs curiously. He'd shoot glances up at the stunned man as his bare torso was revealed, emerging hesitantly from the deck. Just looking at the man in the water, Shota could tell he was nervous. The dark-haired man couldn't find it in himself to really care, his heart pounding heavy in his ears, only speeding out when he spotted something on the man's neck. Gills. A part of him sparked to life. The belief that he'd pushed back and that had fizzed away sprung into action with glee as though it had never left. It was like receiving a breath of fresh air. 

This couldn't be real, could it? Everything felt hazy. One moment, he'd been doing what he always did. When at the ocean, he always thought of merpeople. And now, here was a shirtless young man with gills, poking out from beneath his favorite spot and gazing at his legs as though he'd never seen a pair before. The man twisted expertly to get a better look at his feet, revealing a glimpse at a delicate blue fin protruding from his back. Aizawa's heart skipped a beat. He forced himself to relax, but kept his fists clenched. His quirk burned behind his eyes. He was ready to act, but couldn't bring himself to quite get.

This was a risk. He did not know who this was or what they were doing. They alternated between backing back under the deck, glancing up at him unsurely and with clear nervousness in their eyes, and gazing at his legs in absolute awe. Aizawa could only gape at the man, catching a glimpse of something blue when the man came out just a little further. He could simply lean out further to get a better angle, but felt stuck in place, barely able to breathe as memories from his childhood forced his way to the surface. He cursed himself internally. Letting his guard down wasn't like him. This wasn't like him. But he couldn't-

Aizawa's leg moved, maybe a bit too much, and the man startled. Shota felt the air get knocked from his lungs as the man flinched away, twisting back and further out, emerging from the deck and drifting a bit further from it. In an instant, by some coincidence, Shota Aizawa's childhood came to life completely in a burst of turquoise blues and greens. Those fables of shimmering tails that shone under the sun resurfaced, spinning into somewhat of a reality. The words now had an image to go along with them as the top half of the nervous man's head breached the surface, his tail lazily swaying beneath him as his eyes broke the water. Aizawa's breaths stuttered, his eyes wide and still on the oceanic man's. Rather than his quirk stinging his eyes, tears did. He didn't allow them to fall. 

Hesitantly, the merman smiled, head raising a bit more when Aizawa made no moves to attack. A tentative hand came up and offered a small, shy wave.

He didn't know if this was an illusion. Maybe he was having a weird, lucid dream where he only thought he was awake, but in reality he'd jolt to life in his bed, sheets tangled around his legs and sweat pouring down his face. He couldn't even begin to think about it right now. All he saw was a strong, beautiful tail, and gills that flexed as they were exposed to open air. Black hair that faded to blue, dripping wet. A pair of hopeful, hesitant, and curious seafoam eyes that sparkled like gems, the ocean swirling inside of them in a way that could only be described as ethereal and alive. It couldn't be real.

And yet, Shota Aizawa found himself breaking out into a grin and waving back anyway.