Work Text:
Yamada Hizashi has never been very good at first impressions.
No matter how hard he tries, it seems that something always goes wrong. Honestly, he’s starting to think that maybe fate just has it out for him, especially when the first time he meets his new neighbor – his very hot new neighbor – all he’s wearing are very tight boxer briefs and a whole lot of glitter.
Also, it’s almost three in the morning.
He’s really regretting deciding to do laundry right now. Then again, he’s pretty sure his pants and shirt would be permanently stained otherwise. As much as he likes his job, he could do without the drunk people spilling cocktails on him. Also, he’d assumed that no one else would wander into the apartment complex’s laundry room, considering it’s three in the morning.
Really, it’s just his luck that such an attractive guy would happen to walk in on him doing laundry in his underwear at this hour.
“I promise I live here,” Hizashi blurts out, before his brain to mouth filter actually kicks in.
Hot Guy stares at him for a very long moment. Then, he says, “What apartment?”
“303,” Hizashi replies, and Hot Guy’s face contorts into a strange expression he can’t quite interpret. “You?”
“338,” Hot Guy grunts, bringing his laundry basket over to an unoccupied washer, two down from Hizashi’s own.
Of course Hot Guy lives across the hall from him. Of course he does. Hizashi crosses his arms over his bare chest awkwardly and resists the urge to nervously pick at the glitter underneath his fingernails.
“I’m Yamada Hizashi,” he finally manages, extending a hand out to Hot Guy. Hot Guy stares at it dubiously for a moment, before accepting it.
“Aizawa Shōta,” Hot Guy replies. He unsubtly wipes his hand on his sweatpants, leaving a streak of glitter in his wake, and Hizashi has to suppress a grimace.
“Nice to meet you,” Hizashi says, crossing his arms over his chest again. “I promise you I don’t normally do laundry at three in the morning. I mean, I just got off of work and my pants are brand new, so I didn’t want them to stain.”
Hot Guy – Aizawa – blinks at him slowly, an indecipherable expression on his face.
“Do you work nights, too?” Hizashi asks, a little desperately. He needs some form of conversation to take his mind off the fact that he’s standing here in his underwear.
(Well, his underwear and glitter. Really, whose bright idea was it to sprinkle glitter all over the club tonight?)
“No,” Aizawa answers simply. Hizashi waits for him continue, but he doesn’t offer any more information. Hizashi’s half tempted to ask what he’s doing up at this hour of the night – well, morning, technically – but before he can muster the courage to do so, his dryer shuts off with a dull clunk.
Honestly, Hizashi’s never been happier for his laundry to be finished.
Of course, as he drags his pants and shirt out of the dryer, he realizes that he’s going to actually have to put them back on, which is how he finds himself hopping around as he tries to tug his leather pants back up over his hips. Not for the first time, he bemoans his workplace dress code. As much as he likes leather, he’d prefer wearing pants that don’t risk cutting off his circulation.
As he turns back around to pick his shirt up off the top of the dryer, he catches Aizawa quickly averting his eyes. Hizashi fights a blush and hopes that Aizawa isn’t internally laughing at him. Thankfully, it takes much less time to pull his thin, black t-shirt on over his head, and it only takes another moment to lace up his boots.
“I guess I’ll see you around,” Hizashi says, trying to sound casual, like this isn’t one of the most embarrassing moments of his life so far.
Aizawa makes a vague noise in response, and normally Hizashi would find that discouraging, but he hightails it out of the laundry room before he can dwell on it too much.
He sincerely hopes that he’ll leave a better second impression.
---
It’s not until Hizashi gets back up to his apartment that he realizes that, in his haste, he’s forgotten a condom packet on the top of the dryer that he’d found in his pocket before throwing his pants in the wash.
He’s definitely not going back for it.
---
Unfortunately, the second time Hizashi meets Aizawa isn’t much better.
Once again, it’s three in the morning and Hizashi’s managed to lock himself out of his apartment. Or, rather, he forgot his jacket back at the club with his keys still in one of the pockets. The worst part of the situation is that the trains stop running at three, so he really is up shit creek without a paddle.
“Fuck,” Hizashi groans, slumping against his door with a dull thud. “Fuck.”
He supposes he could call Nemuri. She has a car, and there’s a fifty-fifty chance she’s still awake at this hour (granted, what she’s doing right now probably isn’t something Hizashi wants to interrupt). Still, he’d owe her big time.
Hizashi sighs and pulls out his phone, bringing up Nemuri’s number, but before he actually call her, the door across the hall from him swings open.
“What are you doing banging around at three in the morning?” Aizawa snaps, fixing Hizashi with a glare.
“I locked myself out?” Hizashi replies, shrinking a little under Aizawa’s gaze.
Aizawa’s silent for a very long moment, but then he sighs and says, “Come on in.”
For a moment, Hizashi thinks he heard Aizawa wrong, that his tired brain had somehow imagined up that dialogue to go along with the image of Aizawa illuminated by soft yellow light, clad in low slung sweatpants and a worn shirt.
“I’m going to close this door in ten seconds if you’re not interested in sleeping on my couch instead of out in the hallway,” Aizawa snorts, and Hizashi scrambles forward. He’s not about to miss his opportunity to both get some proper sleep and maybe even learn a little bit about Aizawa.
However, when he gets inside, he finds himself hovering awkwardly in the entryway, wondering how exactly to proceed. Sure, he’s been in this apartment before, back when old Mr. Yamamoto needed help replacing his lightbulbs, but he’s certainly never been invited over to anyone’s apartment at three in the morning – well, not without the expectation of ending up in that person’s bed.
(Not that he’d mind ending up in Aizawa’s bed. Hizashi bites his lip as Aizawa brushes past him, his eyes drawn immediately to the curve of Aizawa’s ass under his sweatpants.)
“Do you want tea or something?” Aizawa asks, and Hizashi stiffens a little, wondering if he’s been caught staring.
“Uh, sure,” Hizashi answers, stepping fully into the kitchen. As Aizawa starts boiling the water, Hizashi finds himself looking around the space curiously, frowning slightly as he notices a stack of papers and a half-full mug of tea laid out on the small kitchen table. He’d assumed that Aizawa had been annoyed at being woken up at such an hour, but it certainly doesn’t look like he was sleeping.
“How’d you manage to lock yourself out?” Aizawa asks, breaking Hizashi from his thoughts.
“I forgot my jacket at the club I work at. My keys were in the pocket,” Hizashi replies, grimacing slightly. “I would just go back and get it, but the trains stop running at three and I don’t have a car. I promise this isn’t a usual thing, though.”
Aizawa makes a noncommittal grunt in response, and Hizashi can’t quite tell if he believes the story or not.
“I thought you said you didn’t work nights,” Hizashi says when Aizawa hands him a fresh mug of tea, before taking a seat at the kitchen table. Hizashi hesitates for a moment, but then sits down across form him.
“I don’t,” Aizawa snorts, gathering the papers spread out on the table and shuffling them into a neat pile. Hizashi peers at them curiously, trying to interpret the sloppy writing on them, underneath copious annotations, written in red pen.
“What do you do, then?” Hizashi asks, curious.
“I’m a teacher,” Aizawa answers simply, and Hizashi isn’t entirely able to keep the surprise off his face.
“What level?” Hizashi questions, taking a sip of his tea.
“High school,” Aizawa replies.
“That sounds tough,” Hizashi says, trying for his best sympathetic tone. “You know, I considered going into teaching, but then I started actually looking at college tuition prices. I have a pretty sweet gig now, though.”
“Are you saving up to go back to school?” Aizawa asks, and there’s a certain weight to his tone which Hizashi can’t quite interpret.
“Not really,” Hizashi answers, shrugging. “Like I said, I have a pretty good job at the moment. I mean, I’m popular enough that I only have to work a few nights a week, even if the hours are kind of weird. I could do with less drunk people, though, but I guess that comes with the territory.”
“I suppose those are valid reasons,” Aizawa replies, studying Hizashi carefully.
“What about teaching?” Hizashi asks. “Do you like it?”
“It has its pros and cons,” Aizawa snorts, and Hizashi can’t help the way his eyes linger on the almost alarming amount of red ink dotting the papers Aizawa was presumably grading before Hizashi interrupted him. “I end up expelling at least one student every year.”
“That’s a little harsh,” Hizashi replies, his eyebrows rising up towards his hairline.
“They always deserve it,” Aizawa huffs.
“If you say so,” Hizashi tries to say, but the end of his sentence is interrupted by a yawn.
“You can crash on the couch now if you want,” Aizawa says. “I’m going to stay up a little longer, but you look like you could use some rest.”
Part of Hizashi wants to point out that Aizawa probably looks like he’s even more in need of a good night’s sleep, if the dark bags under his eyes are anything to go by. Briefly, Hizashi wonders if Aizawa has some sort of sleep disorder.
“Thank you so much for letting me stay here,” Hizashi replies, standing up from the table and stretching a little. For a moment, he thinks he catches Aizawa’s eyes linger on the strip of skin that’s exposed as his shirt rides up, but that’s probably just wishful thinking.
“The socially acceptable answer is probably ‘any time’ but next time you lock yourself out, you’re on your own,” Aizawa snorts, but there’s the ghost of a smile on his lips.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hizashi laughs. “Goodnight.”
“’night,” Aizawa replies lazily.
Even though Aizawa’s couch is a little too small for someone of Hizashi’s height, it only takes him moments to fall asleep, thinking to himself that maybe tonight wasn’t a complete disaster.
---
When Hizashi wakes up the next morning, it’s because something lands heavily on his stomach. Hizashi flails a little and almost falls of the couch, but as his vision comes into focus, he discovers that the heavy thing lying on him is, in fact, a chubby black and white cat.
The cat blinks at him for a moment and then yawns widely. Hizashi has to resist the urge to follow suit.
Reluctantly, Hizashi drags himself up into a sitting position, forcing the cat off his stomach, who gives him a disgruntled look. Hizashi finds himself absentmindedly stroking the cat’s head in apology as he checks his phone, discovering that it’s almost noon. Aizawa probably headed out to work hours ago.
After a few moments, Hizashi manages to pull himself up off the couch. He should be able to go get his keys now that the trains are running again, and he desperately wants a long, hot shower.
However, when he goes to get his shoes from the entryway, he finds a set of keys and a note lying next to them. The note says: Use the key to lock up when you leave. You can return it to me sometime after five tonight. Also, if you steal anything, I know where you live.
Hizashi blinks at the note for a long moment, and it occurs to him that Aizawa technically let a virtual stranger crash on his couch – and Hizashi’s hardly left the best impression the two times they’ve met. Aizawa might look like a grouch, but it seems he has a secret nice streak.
Hizashi smiles to himself and pockets the keys.
---
When Hizashi returns the keys that evening, he also gives Aizawa a plate of homemade cookies. They’re pretty much the only thing Hizashi can bake reliably, but according to various sources, they’re delicious.
Aizawa looks a little bewildered when Hizashi presents them to him, but he accepts them anyway. Maybe it’s because Hizashi stops by right before heading to work? Even he can admit that tight leather pants and homemade cookies don’t generally go together.
Still, as Hizashi turns to leave, he catches a glimpse of Aizawa taking a tentative bite out of one of the cookies. He’s calling this a success.
---
Apparently the cookies go over fairly well, because Aizawa actually greets him now when they pass each other in the hallways, primarily when Hizashi’s headed to work and Aizawa’s just coming home. In fact, Aizawa even enlists Hizashi to cat-sit when he’s away one weekend, which Hizashi is pretty sure is some sort of high honor.
(Aizawa’s cat’s name is Pudding. Hizashi can’t help but find it strangely cute that a grown man would name his cat that.)
In fact, Hizashi’s actually starting to wonder if maybe, possibly, he should try asking Aizawa out. He’d thought he was imagining it at first, but he’s not completely oblivious to his own appeal, and he’s noticed Aizawa’s gaze lingering for a moment too long a couple of times. As much as he hates how tight the leather pants he wears to work are, they do wonders for his ass.
So, maybe he should just take the plunge.
Unfortunately, he hasn’t quite gotten up the courage to do so yet, when Aizawa knocks on his door one evening.
“Aizawa,” Hizashi sputters as he answers the door, feeling woefully underdressed in a pair of pink sweatpants and an old t-shirt. His hair’s not even gelled to its usual perfection, instead falling softly against his shoulders.
“They accidentally doubled my takeout order,” Aizawa says without preamble, holding up a plastic bag. “Do you want any?”
Hizashi blinks at him for a moment. Honestly, this sounds like some sort of rom-com scenario, where the love interest purposely orders too much food as an excuse to bring some to the main character, but, well, Hizashi can’t imagine Aizawa, of all people, actually doing something like that. Still, it’s a nice gesture.
“Uh, sure,” Hizashi replies, stepping aside to let Aizawa into his apartment.
Vaguely, Hizashi realizes that he probably should have suggested eating over at Aizawa’s place instead. This is the first time Aizawa’s actually been inside Hizashi’s apartment, and the place is a bit of a mess right now. Honestly, what is it with him and bad first impressions?
Granted, Aizawa isn’t all that put together himself, with his messy hair and sweatpants and t-shirt getup. Still, he looks annoyingly good, and Hizashi can’t help the way his eyes linger for a moment on Aizawa’s biceps, exposed for once by a short sleeved shirt. Aizawa’s remarkably fit for an insomniac high school teacher.
“Sorry about the mess,” Hizashi says with a slightly awkward laugh. He has to suppress a grimace as his eyes land on his kitchen table, completely covered in junk, from unopened mail to coffee mugs. “We can eat in the living room, I guess. Make yourself comfortable – I’ll get plates and such.”
Belatedly, Hizashi realizes that he doesn’t actually know what they’re eating, so he just grabs a menagerie of chopsticks, spoons, and other utensils. When he gets back to the living room, Aizawa’s curled up on one side of the couch. Hizashi settles down next to him, their knees knocking due to the small size of Hizashi’s couch.
“Wow, that’s a lot of gyoza,” Hizashi says as he peers into the containers that Aizawa’s spread out on the small coffee table.
“Now you see why I need help eating them,” Aizawa snorts, picking a pair of chopsticks out of the small mountain of utensils Hizashi had brought over from the kitchen.
Well, technically Aizawa could have just saved the leftovers for another day, but Hizashi doesn’t point that out. He’s definitely not complaining about Aizawa bringing him food and eating with him.
“Well, thanks for the food,” Hizashi replies, digging in.
For a few moments, they eat in silence, Hizashi’s mouth too occupied by trying the different types of gyoza to try to make small talk for once. Aizawa seems content to eat his own slowly. Hizashi tries to watch him subtly, and frowns slightly, wondering if the bags under Aizawa’s eyes have gotten darker recently.
“How’s work going?” Hizashi finally asks. “You look kind of stressed.”
“Work is work,” Aizawa snorts, picking at his food. “I have a good class this year, but they’re a handful. Also, a friend of mine keeps trying to drag me out clubbing with her.”
“Hey, clubbing’s pretty fun,” Hizashi says. “It might even be good for you to get out for a bit. I mean, you’re up anyway, right?”
“I don’t like crowds,” Aizawa huffs.
“You know, the club I work at is less crowded on Sundays,” Hizashi replies. “I might even be able to sneak you in for free, if you wanted.”
Aizawa stiffens up a little, and Hizashi frowns, wondering what he could have said to produce such a reaction.
“I’m not sure that’s the sort of clubbing my friend had in mind,” Aizawa says slowly, not quite meeting Hizashi’s eyes. His cheeks are a little pink, and while it’s an adorable look on him, Hizashi has no idea what brought it on. Granted, the club Hizashi works at does tend to cater to a slightly younger, wilder demographic, but Hizashi’s sure Aizawa wouldn’t look out of place if he just wore something a little more form fitting.
“Well, when you finally decide you wanna have some fun, just tell me,” Hizashi replies. It comes out a little flirtier than he’d intended, but, well, he did tell himself that he was going to try to ask Aizawa out at some point. Might as well start working his way up to it.
“I only think it’s fun if both participants are having fun,” Aizawa says, and there’s a certain sharpness to his tone that makes Hizashi frown.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Hizashi apologizes. “I’m not trying to force you or anything.”
Aizawa’s quiet for a very long moment, picking at his food.
“You said your job pays well and you don’t have to work that often,” Aizawa says slowly, breaking the silence. “But do you actually like it?”
“Yeah, absolutely!” Hizashi replies, and Aizawa gives him an assessing look he can’t quite interpret. “The music thumping around you, people cheering you on – it’s pretty thrilling. I get that it’s not for everyone, though. It can get kind of draining sometimes. That and the glitter is a pain in the ass. I’m starting to think that my boss has a glitter fetish or something.”
Aizawa looks like he’s just sucked on a lemon when Hizashi finally finishes his rambling.
“Hey,” Hizashi says, his voice going soft. “This is nice too, a quiet night in with good food and good company.”
“I think I prefer this to going out,” Aizawa mutters, his expression relaxing a little.
For a moment, Hizashi’s captivated by how good he looks like this, soft and a little sleepy, eyes dark and hair tousled. Before he can think about it too deeply, he finds himself leaning forward until his lips press against Aizawa’s. For a moment, Aizawa stiffens, but then he melts into it, his mouth going slack against Hizashi’s.
However, when Hizashi starts pushing him gently down against the couch, Aizawa abruptly pulls away and says, “I can’t do this.”
“What?” Hizashi asks, a little breathless from the kissing.
“I don’t want this,” Aizawa replies, and his harsh tone is like a slap to the face. Hizashi finds himself all but shoved off of Aizawa, and he only barely manages to avoid falling off the couch. “I should leave.”
“Wait, Aizawa – ” Hizashi starts as Aizawa stands up and starts toward the door. “I’m sorry, I just thought – ”
The apartment door swings shut behind Aizawa before Hizashi can even finish his apology and Hizashi finds himself staring blankly at it for a long moment.
Then, he collapses back against the couch and mutters, “How do I always manage to fuck things up?”
---
Hizashi doesn’t see Aizawa for almost a week straight. Aizawa seems to have somehow adjusted his schedule so that the time he comes home from work no longer matches up with when Hizashi leaves for work. It’s frustrating beyond belief, because Hizashi just wants to apologize properly, but Aizawa’s made it all but impossible.
At least Nemuri had said that she was going to bring a friend of hers to the club on Friday to help cheer him up. Nemuri knows his type to a T, so hopefully whoever she brings will help take his mind off of Aizawa for a little while.
“Hey, Hizashi!” he hears Nemuri’s familiar voice call over the pounding bass of the music. He removes his headphones and turns to face her, a grin on his face.
“Nemuri,” Hizashi replies, greeting her with a light kiss on the cheek. She laughs and swats at his backside playfully.
“Shōta, come on over! This is who I wanted to introduce you to,” Nemuri says, waving someone over.
However, the grin slides off Hizashi’s face as he makes eye contact with Nemuri’s friend.
“We’ve already met,” Hizashi says shortly, and Nemuri gives him a curious look. “We’re neighbors.”
“You’re – ” Nemuri starts, and then she bursts out laughing.
Hizashi watches on in bewilderment, and then glances towards Aizawa for clarification. However, when his eyes land on Aizawa, he’s surprised to find that Aizawa’s face has turned beet red.
“What am I missing here?” Hizashi asks, looking back over at Nemuri.
“Nemuri – ” Aizawa starts, and his tone almost sounds a little desperate.
“Oh no,” Nemuri says, finally managing to stop laughing long enough to catch her breath. “I’m letting you explain it to him. You boys have fun!”
With that, she abandons the two of them.
“I’m sorry,” Hizashi says after a long, awkward moment. Aizawa gives him a look that’s equal parts surprise and confusion, his brow furrowed and lips turned down into a frown. “You don’t have to explain anything if you don’t want to. I promise I’m not going to try to come onto you again or anything – ”
“No,” Aizawa interrupts suddenly. “I should be the one apologizing.”
“For what?” Hizashi asks, frowning. “I was the one who – ”
“I thought you worked at a – different sort of club,” Aizawa says, the words coming out of his mouth in a rush.
“A different sort of club?” Hizashi repeats, completely lost. Aizawa’s cheeks flush an even darker shade of red, but Hizashi can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or frustration.
“I thought you were a stripper,” Aizawa mutters, not quite meeting Hizashi’s eyes.
For a moment, Hizashi stares at him, convinced that he heard wrong.
“You thought I was a stripper?” Hizashi finally blurts out, his eyes wide. “How the hell did you come up with that?”
“The first time we met, it was three in the morning and you were in your underwear,” Aizawa says, and the flat, slightly annoyed tone of his voice is comfortingly familiar. “Also, you were covered in glitter.”
“I – okay maybe I can see how that would have given you that impression,” Hizashi replies, his cheeks heating a little. Vaguely, it occurs to him that he can’t actually recall ever specifically telling Aizawa that he works as a DJ. Suddenly, all his talk of clubs, late nights, and not going to college because of money issues takes on a decidedly different spin.
“I’m sorry,” Aizawa says, still avoiding Hizashi’s eyes. “I jumped to conclusions.”
For a long moment, Hizashi’s quiet. Then, he says, “Last week, when I – when you were over at my place, you said that you couldn’t do – what we were doing. What did you mean by that?”
“I didn’t want something casual,” Aizawa replies, finally making eye contact with Hizashi. “And I didn’t want a business transaction.”
“So,” Hizashi says slowly, “if I were to kiss you again, now that you know that I’m not a stripper, would you run away?”
“Only if you don't let me take you to breakfast tomorrow morning,” Aizawa answers, and Hizashi can’t quite keep the grin off of his face.
Then, he leans in and kisses Aizawa. This time, Aizawa doesn’t pull away.
---
(“I like how you thought my ass looked so great in leather pants that I had to be a stripper.”
“Shut up. There were other factors.”
“But my ass was a factor?”
“Are you ever going to let this go?”
“Nope. Never. We’ll be in our nineties and I’ll be telling the nurses at the nursing home about how you thought I was a stripper when we first met.”
Aizawa sighs.)