Shouta's taught enough years to be more than familiar with the mortifying uncertainties of the first day of school. He never knows what he's walking into. He has a list of names and footage from entrance exams, but beyond that he's typically blind. There's always a wild card, and when nerves are high from first day worries, students' quirks tend to go haywire. It's safe to say it isn't the most enjoyable of experiences.

This year, already a week into the semester, he feels woefully under prepared.

It's only been half a day of classes and he's already locked himself in a closet, contemplating how beneficial it would be to just stay in there and never come out.

It's been a long time since he last stepped foot in Yuuei. He remembers it like it was yesterday, could depict the setup of every classroom and where the most inventive graffiti is hidden, but there's a mental block preventing him from doing so. He can remember Yuuei like that, in its peak, but he also remembers it in its collapse. This morning when he stood outside the building, feet heavy as led, he didn't see the golden arches but rather walls marred by blood-painted pleads.

He'd shoved his hands into his pockets and urged himself to take the first step into the school.

The truth about the heroics course is that it's near impossible to not form attachments within it. Take twenty students and one barely functioning adult and shove them into situations meant to simulate life or death experiences and you're bound to come out caring for a handful of them.

Shouta walked into class that day and was hit with the remembrance of how he'd cared for this batch - his first group of students. Now in the supply closet hours later, he's able to get a brief breather from their familiar faces.

Yanagi, who sits front and center of the room, is exactly the same as she is in the future though her hair is a little shorter. Takano has yet to gain the courage to speak despite his lisp at this time. Brave and eager, Lola can't control the sonic blasts that rupture from her feet, and even though she gets better at it in the future, he can't help but shake his head knowing in her twenties she still blasts herself out of her seat.

It was inevitable that he'd have to face those he once knew, he just hadn't expected to be left reeling from students. He hates that he can scan over their faces and know who makes it a dozen more years and who is six feet under, lost to the ways of heroics or the effects it deals out to the mind.

At least, he thinks to himself, he didn't have a run in with any of the staff.

The silence in the closet is shredded as the sound of buzzing fills the air. Shouta groans to himself as he pulls his ringing phone from his pocket. He takes one look at the caller ID and wastes not a second in answering.

"What do you have for me?" he demands.

"A hello would be nice," Tsukauchi chides. He hears the detective sigh through the phone and could envision him running his hand through his hair. "The tests we ran on the warehouse evidence came back."

Shouta sat a little straighter, interest piqued. "And?"

The other end of the line is silent for a moment. When Tsukauchi does speak, Shouta almost thinks he doesn't have to. Silence only means one thing in the future, weighed down by a name they all avoid and implications of cruelty not prevented. He knows what they're investigating - is aware of where this case will likely lead and yet he finds himself dreading his theories being proven regardless.

"We found blood samples in one of the back rooms, by a set of ties and heteromorphic restraints," Tsukauchi says. He pauses, then - "The lab confirms it's the boy's."

Shouta does his best not to react, to think of how the child's fate has been twisted, and asks, "How old?"

"A couple of days. A week at most."

They'd just missed him. If they'd arrived a few days earlier - if they'd tracked his location faster. If something, anything, had been done just a little better then maybe they could have saved him. He wonders if in a few years he'll have to face that boy again and look into his lifeless eyes knowing he could have ensured he made it home to his family. If one day Midoriya will look in his eyes and know as well.

"We did find a few other interesting leads which may prove our theory on who the kidnapper is," Tsukauchi pushed on. There's the sound of papers rustling on the other end, the static of a phone being transferred to speaker. "We found cash and burner phones on the head of the group. When we tried to force our way into the phones, they exploded. Further, none of the arrested could tell us who it was that hired them, only that they were told to get the kid and wait for someone to come collect him."

"So amateurs acting as pawns?"

"Yes, but get this. When we interviewed the arrested and did background checks we found one thing linking them together. All of them are quirkless."

Staring at the wall before him, Shouta felt his blood turn cold. He'd guessed as much, and likely so had Tsukauchi. This was the game, the plays and moves they'd seen laid out before. It starts with the quirkless, then the ambitious, and then the powerful.

He's never felt worse about being right.

"We're on the right track then," Shouta settles on saying, at a loss for all other words.

Tsukauchi sighs, more rustling coming from his end. "We're on the right track."

They both so clearly cling to it like a lifeboat. Maybe they failed to help the boy, but if they keep going as they are, hopefully they'll get the chance to save millions of others. Setbacks are expected. They're logical. Sometimes, Shouta wishes logic didn't bring his chest to squeeze and his hands to clench.

There's always the possibility this is a coincidence. Maybe they're wasting their time chasing a dead end. In ten years, the work they've done might not matter. The world will still succumb to ashes and heroes' names will be something of the past, only printed across graves and warnings to keep one's head down.

"Aizawa."

Shouta huffs in response. He says it the same way Yagi does when he used to find him getting lost in thought. That remembrance along yanks forth the urge to hang up.

"Trust the notes, okay?" He halts, as if to let that sink in. "You know better than anyone how sound our source is; he's not usually wrong. Have some hope."

Hope. Perhaps their affiliation for so-called inspiring words is what made Tsukauchi and Yagi such good friends. Then again, there's some logic to what he says. This is the most trustworthy source out there.

"What's our plan moving forward?" Shouta says.

"I hadn't thought that far yet."

"Of course not."

Tsukauchi sighs. "How about this? We both sleep on it and tomorrow we bounce around some ideas together, okay?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Shouta closes his eyes. "Fine."

"Great. Take care, Aizawa."

The line dropped with a buzz, leaving Shouta in the silence of the closet. He let his head rest in his hands, forcibly ignoring the tremor in his legs. He tells himself to trust Tsukauchi and the others who had organized this all. He tells himself it will turn out for the better, even as fear grips his chest just at the thought of facing the man behind all of this.

He takes a moment, then pushes himself to his feet. There's enough time before class for him to grab lunch. Lord knows he hasn't eaten a good meal in a few days.

After brushing the dust from the closet off his clothes, he reaches for the door. As he pulls it open, the breath is ripped from his lungs, eyes wide and heart racing at the man on the other side of it with their own hand raised as if to knock.

Ringing erupts within his ears, echoing into the back of his skull as the rest of his senses numb. There is no longer a closet, nor a school hallway or even the sound of students shuffling around the cafeteria a few doors down. Blonde hair and blue eyes is all he sees - the sculpts of a face he's not looked at for years.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sor-

"Oh," Hizashi Yamada says. The surprised tilt of his features slowly morphs into a smile. "I knew I would find you tucked away in here."

Shouta's mouth is dry. It's near impossible to focus on Hizashi's words whilst his mind tries to grapple with the reality that he's truly here; standing before him with a lack of scars and a voice the works so beautifully again, like he'd never left.

He's younger, his youth showing in the roundness that clung to his cheeks this last decade and the golden locks that still don't stretch past his shoulders. Even his mustache, the one Shouta had grown to begrudgingly accept, was wiped from his face. In its place was a small and admittedly weak stubble dotting his jawline. It rocked Shouta, slamming into him like a freight train.

There's a time, somewhere in the universe, where this man's eyes are tired and weighed down by dark circles that rival Shouta's. The skin around his throat is a rubbed red, his hair greasy and messy, his mustache hidden by the rest of a beard grown without the resources to maintain it. Shouta hadn't realized how much of Hizashi's image had been consumed by the dark times around him till he saw him now without those pressures and manicured like a model. Nothing wrong or sad or worn down - just charming and dolled up in hero gear.

"Um, Shouta?" Hizashi's voice tears through his thoughts. "You alright?"

It's only from years of practice that Shouta is able to pull himself back into a composed state, shoulders pulling back and expression evening out. He responds, "I'm fine."

He's always just fine these days it seems.

Hizashi's smile stretches wider, body swaying towards him. "Wow, grumpy so early in the day? I didn't think your students were that bad."

They aren't, from what he can remember. Many of this group he remained in touch with after their schooling, even calling on them for joint patrols. For once, it's not his students he's hiding from, but rather the other teachers he can't bear to see. Including, ironically, the one staring at him right now.

"It's just been a long day," he grunts.

Hizashi's smile softens, dipping dangerously into the comforting looks Shouta was once privy to. He says, "Well, guess you picked the right place to relax then. Can I join you?"

The request is only a formality. That's how it always was with Hizashi. The reaching out, the refusal to leave even when Shouta turns him away, choosing to stick with him while he drowned in pity and aches like scars on his mind. Sometimes making jokes, sometimes saying nothing at all as he collected his favorite blanket and draped it over his shoulders or cleaned the mess around his apartment after he's passed out.

Shouta doesn't answer and simply stands still in the doorway. If he let him in - if he encouraged this interaction then he'd have to face the thousands of memories he's running from. This time, his comfort would do more damage than healing.

"Shou," Hizashi pushes. His hand lifts to rest on his shoulder, warm though Shouta's senses scream with the reminder that they could be cold and frail. "Come on, let's sit."

In his daze, he doesn't resist as he's maneuvered into sitting on the floor with Hizashi settling beside him. Shoulders pressed together and knees brushing, Shouta's vision blurs. Distantly, he's aware of the water gathering in his eyes, of the shake in his hands, but it's all drowned out by the deafening pound of his heartbeat.

"I. . . I know you're having a hard time right now," Hizashi murmurs quietly. "You get distant when you're feeling down, y'know. Since the fire, you haven't answered our calls, won't come hang out. You haven't even given us the address of your new place. I just. . . I worry, Shouta."

Shouta's not listening. There's screaming in his ears, a plea on his lips as he shouts to the heavens.

"I get it, you need some space. But I also get that this is a lot. The apartment, first week of teaching, Nemuri's accident. I'm struggling and I like being around kids. If you're having a hard time, none of us will blame you for it."

Blood stains his hands, dark red and sticky as it coats the skin on his palms, his arms, his hero suit.

"We understand, and we're here for you."

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sor-

"Anything you need, you can lean on me."

Everything slips through his finger as he desperately claws at it, begging it to stay, to not leave him, to give him one more chance.

"I'll always be here."

Shouta scrambles away from Hizashi with fire-lit nerves. His friend startles, mouth falling open in surprise as Shouta drags himself to his feet. For a moment, he hesitates, he lets his words sink in, then in a flash tosses it out the window with a clench of his teeth. This is not the reality for him. Hizashi doesn't understand, couldn't possibly begin to imagine what he's going through. He can't have his help, nor does he need it.

"I have to go," he snaps.

He doesn't wait to see what his reaction is as he storms out of the closet, slamming the door behind him in a way that makes two of the lurking students flinch. Ignoring them, he marches on.

A minute more, another touch or word aimed his way in that closest and he wouldn't have been able to pick himself back up again. It's for the best that he left, limbs shaking and mind racing with the memories he's tried to banish.

He has a class to teach and a part to play in fixing the world. Distractions aren't going to help that. Not even ones that were once pleasant.

He doesn't look back.