Family (Or Something)

Not the Conversationalist

Within the living room of the dorms stood Aizawa, surrounded by his students. Hiking his shoulder bag up higher, he finally addressed the anxious teens.

"Someone is moving in here." The class grew a buzz with excitement muttering of possible exchange students moving in.

Snipping the growing misconception in the bud, Aizawa gave a low but solid "quiet.", effectively silencing the students.

"He's not a transfer or anything. He's younger than you and I'd like to ask of you not to bother him. He isn't a student. More like a long term guest currently." Grumbling, he turned to a practicality vibrating Midoriya, a curious and excited grin on his face, an expression shared throughout his classmates, (save for a few select students).

Shoving his hand into the air, he patiently waited to be addressed.

Sighing, Aizawa nodded his way.

"If he isn't a student, why is he living here? Will he be joining us in class? What's his name? What's his quirk like? What--" he trailed off into a fit of conspiratorial mumbling, digging out his notebook, somehow managing to try and write down info despite knowing absolutley nothing of his new housemate, all of this illiciting a "Shut the hell up, Deku!", from Bakugou.

"Think of it as an Eri situation, but he's older. He's staying here because he needs supervision. His name is Dazai. Leave him alone and he'll probably leave you alone. He's staying on the same floor I am. And by leave him alone, I mean no practical jokes on him. No bugging him at odd hours. No nothing of that nature. Period." The class nodded more gravely, but he knew as soon as they met Dazai they'd lighten up. He already had some clues as to who he'd solidly mesh with, and if his hunch was correct, things were about to get much louder here.

"I'm going to pick him up now. Do not burn the place down." He grumbled as he walked towards the door, doing his best to ignore the excited chatter starting up once again behind him.

He knew Hizashi and Nemuri would be waiting at his car for him, and he hoped to Christ the class could handle the new addition with at least a little grace.

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With his wrist now still in a cast, he stood between three adults. They'd positioned themselves in such a way that they blocked escape from all viable angles. His skin was beginning to crawl again from the caged feeling, and he couldn't help but dig his nails into the top of his arm, clenching the bandaged skin and squeezing till he could feel the distracting burn arise from the appendage.

None of the three seemed to have noticed yet, busy chatting and gossiping, minus Aizawa who simply kept his eyes ahead as they walked their way through the mall to the chosen clothing store.

He was currently wearing a white button up that Ango had so graciously donated to his cause, that didn't really fit him, the coat Mori had gifted pulled taut across his body, and thankfully properly fitted dress pants.

Going to pick out clothes was going to be strange. He'd never had that choice, not with Mori, nor the previous Boss, so he doubted the clothes he'd choose would be acceptable in their eyes, and frankly he was unsure he really would know how to pick them out at all.

The tall blond and the dark haired woman had tried speaking to him but received very minimal response to their efforts. To their credit though, they never gave up in their endeavors of simple conversation, but he really wasn't feeling talkative. This wasn't where he wanted to be. In all crippling honesty he would prefer being with Mori than here, because then he'd probably be able to lock himself up into a room for a good degree of time instead of being dragged around a mall.