Aizawa wants to thank David Shield and strangle him at the same time.
The man could've picked a more reasonable flight for Arata and Todoroki. But no, he had to go with one that lands at 3:30 in the morning.
"Eraser Head, from one father to another, I get the urgency to see Arata-chan," my foot.
If that scientist understood, why not book the earliest flight from I-Island? At least then they could've all gotten home before midnight. The sooner he could check on Arata, the better.
Then again, having two teenagers on a flight packed with diplomats, government officials, and all sorts of high-profile people would stand out like a sore thumb. With Todoroki's number 2 pro hero of a father being a public figure, any hint of suspicion would spread like wildfire.
David Shield was probably thinking ahead and being careful. Still, it didn't make Aizawa any less irritated.
So here Aizawa is, slouched on a rock-hard bench in the deserted Tokyo Airport arrivals area, nursing a canned coffee in one hand and instant ramen in the other. He stirs the noodles, sighing as he watches the steam rise. Soggy. Perfect. Exactly the way he hates them.
Cooking? Yeah, not his strong suit. Not even when it's only pouring boiling water.
He can't even remember his last proper meal. Not that he actually cares for meal time, the kid is usually the one reminding him about food.
Funny how quickly she's adapted to life on the surface—her biological clock ticks better than his now. Guess living underground all that time with the Shirayuki made her more sensitive to the light. Or maybe he's just too ignorant to notice.
He slurps a mouthful of noodles, inhaling their slightly appetizing scent, though they're no match for the home-cooked meals he's been spoiled with lately, courtesy of the kid. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he's mid-slurp when a voice cuts through the quiet.
"Uh, excuse me, sir?"
Aizawa glances up, chopsticks frozen in midair, as his view is filled with a splash of bright orange. It's an airport janitor, hunched over a broom, looms before him. The older man's posture is awkward, leaning heavily on the handle, which accentuates his stooped back. There's something off about the janitor—like something doesn't quite fit—though Aizawa can't pinpoint what it is.
"You look like, uh, you've been sitting here for quite a while," the janitor says, his voice laced with concern. "Are you alright?"
Aizawa blinks, barely processing. His gaze settles on the janitor's weathered face. "What?"
"I mean, if you need somewhere to go... we've got a few shelters downtown. Just saying."
Aizawa stares at him, ramen noodles hanging off his chopsticks like they're equally stunned by the situation. "You think I'm homeless?"
The janitor clears his throat, shifting like he's reconsidering his life choices under Aizawa's glower. "Well... you're kind of giving off that vibe."
Aizawa glances down at himself—t-shirt sticking to his skin in the summer heat, humidity making his hair cling to his forehead, and a sole of his sandals one step away from being eligible for retirement. Yeah, okay, fair.
"I'm waiting for my kid," Aizawa mutters, too tired to get offended, though the image of him curled up on this bench like a hobo isn't doing much for his dignity.
"Your kid?" the janitor drawls.
"Yes, my kid." Is that so unbelievable?
Right on cue, the airport intercom buzzes with an announcement. "That's her flight."
The janitor's expression softens, but he's still looking at Aizawa like he might need backup. "Oh, well... if you and your kid need anything—a blanket, maybe some water—just say the word."
"We're good," Aizawa sighs, rubbing his temples. It's not a bluff, damn it. "We've got a home."
The janitor nods, still not entirely convinced, but shuffles off, mumbling something about "always here to help" like he's the pro hero in between them.
Aizawa watches him leave, then turns back to his ramen. He finishes it off in one gulp and chases it down with a swig of coffee, the bitterness giving him a bit of a jolt. With a flick of his wrist, his empty containers sail into a nearby trash can with such precision that'll make people wonder if he's spent years perfecting the art of not actually walking to a bin.
Soon enough, his eyes catch two familiar figures. Todoroki's distinctive split hair and taller frame cut through the crowd like a beacon. Aizawa is on his feet before he knows it, making his way towards them with purposeful strides.
Arata—though she seems a little worse for wear—finally spots him. She doesn't waste a second.
"Aizawa-san!" she calls out, her voice a bit hoarse from the flight but flooded with relief. Todoroki looks up, blinking as he takes in the sight of his teacher.
Despite the obvious toll the flight's taken on her, Arata weaves through the crowd with a speed that would put Iida's quirk to shame, heading straight for him with open arms. Aizawa braces for impact, anticipating her to tackle him with a hug. But instead, she screeches to a halt right in front of him, her arms snapping back to her sides.
Aizawa isn't quite sure what to expect from his adopted kid—she's only been with him for a short time, after all, and there's no manual for this kind of thing. But good grief, that was a real curveball. No need to get his hopes up if she doesn't want to hug him.
Trying to hide his amusement and a touch of annoyance, Aizawa plays off his raised hand as a casual wave. "Arata, Todoroki, it's good to have you both back." It may sound like just another greeting, but for him, it rings a little truer today.
"Aizawa-sensei, thanks for picking us up," Todoroki greets, taking his spot by Arata's side.
While Todoroki stands there, cool and composed as ever, Arata stumbles over her words. Aizawa exhales quietly. A few days away from him and that near-beheading experience must have left her feeling unsure about where they stand. He'd tried to reassure her over the phone, but it could only get him so far.
Maybe he has to initiate; he's the adult. "You've done well holding out, Arata," he tries.
"It... wasn't easy," she admits, her voice trailing off. "It felt like forever."
Aizawa can relate, having experienced his own moments of wandering into the living room, expecting to see her and then remembering she wasn't there. "I get that."
Her voice drops even lower, barely audible. "I, um, missed you."
Shoot him if it isn't the most unpredictable thing he's heard all week. When was the last time someone said that to him?
"I... Yeah..." Ignoring Todoroki's barely concealed smirk in his peripheral vision, Aizawa scratches the back of his head, unsure how to respond to something so... heartfelt. "Well, Kid, you're here now..."
"Yeah, I— I've come home, as promised."
"Home"? Not "back"? Aizawa is not one to read into words, but that one lands differently. He glances around the fluorescent-lit airport, the clatters of luggages echoing off the walls, and the unmistakable stench of stale body odor hanging in the air. This place is as far from homey as one can get.
Home? he grumbles in his head. If this place was home, the janitor wouldn't have tried to sign me up for a shelter.
Oh well...
"Copy that, Arata. Welcome b—" But as the flat of his hand lands on her head, ruffling the jet black strands there, and she finally wraps her arms around his waist, he figures maybe "home" isn't off after all. "— home. Welcome home, Kid."
Home is supposed to be a nest, where its members can always return to. But perhaps, home can be a person.
He shifts his gaze to the other kid.
Or two people.
"Todoroki, thanks for sticking by Arata through it all," Aizawa says, giving the boy's shoulder a solid clap with the other hand. "Sorry for dragging you into all this. Having asked for her to tag along with you, I didn't give you much choice, did I?"
"No, I'm glad I could be there," Todoroki replies sincerely.
"She's lucky to have you around," Aizawa says, acknowledging the boy's role.
Todoroki has been Arata's rock from the start. He is also a student who's shown immense growth and a relentless drive to improve and help however he can.
Truthfully, Aizawa isn't sure he would've made the decision to adopt Arata without that influence. Maybe he would have, maybe not. Either way, this young hero has unwittingly cemented the three of them together.
Not that Aizawa will tell him all that. Honesty's fine and all, but if Todoroki gets spoon-fed with sentiments all the time, his obliviousness might reach new heights. No one needs that.