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“Come on, let’s get you home,” Yamada says softly over the roar of the rain. Yamada doesn’t speak softly; he’s not the gentle type. He is smiles and noise, like the sirens still ringing in Aizawa’s ears. Like the tinny shouts from a speaker that had to have worked, it had to.
Aizawa is made for teamwork; isn’t that what Shirakumo said? He couldn’t have done such an accomplishment on his own.
“Aizawa, look at me,” Again, there is softness in the blond’s words, but all Aizawa can see is blackness. All he can feel is cold and some sort of steel box that’s inserted itself in his ribcage. There’s something locked away inside him; did he put it there? Did someone else? He can’t remember.
“C’mon, we promised Kayama we wouldn’t get sick.”
Too late. Aizawa was sick before the rain started. Sick and in pain and barely breathing. These are imaginary things because while his skin is riddled with cuts and bruises, he can still think. His heart is beating, and – though his breaths are small – there is air moving in and out of his lungs.
It could be worse, Aizawa thinks, sirens growing louder in his head. His eyelids feel glued shut, unable to see Yamada, the rubble, and the blood that’s being washed away. The last proof of life is going, going, gone.
“Aizawa, wake up.” Yamada’s voice is simultaneously closer and farther away. Aizawa is sinking into something, though he’s not sure what. If he’s moving, he can’t see where he’s going. If he’s falling, all he can feel is that steel box. “Aizawa, please.”
He must be falling because Yamada, the rain, and even the sirens join the blackness behind his eyelids.
Aizawa wakes to the sound of hushed bickering.
“I can’t believe you snuck him into school!” Yamada snaps.
“He was snuck into school all the time before I took him home! I don’t see what the problem is!” Kayama hisses.
Small bits of pressure push against Aizawa’s chest and some sort of hard, unfamiliar object inside. The pressure moves along his rib cage and up his sternum before one of the pressure points is on his collarbone. He feels something cold and wet on his cheek.
“That’s different! You can’t just bring – ”
“Sushi,” Aizawa opens his eyes to see a small cat sniffing at his face. His voice is rough and cracked, though he doesn’t remember why it should be that way. “Hi there,” He whispers to the cat, reaching up with bandaged fingers to run them through the cat’s fur. He wishes his fingertips weren’t bandaged; he wants to feel the softness. Feel anything, really.
Right now, though, he just feels numb. Worse than before he met this cat as a kitten. Back then, he felt powerless. Now he’s not sure he feels anything at all.
“GOOD HEAVENS, YOU’RE AWAKE!” Yamada shouts. Aizawa doesn’t spare the blond a look, eyes solely on the cat. There’s something important about it, something other than being the one thing in the world that’s supposed to bring him joy.
“Shut up, Yamada! This is an infirmary!” Kayama chastises as she slaps Yamada. The sound catches Sushi’s attention. The lack of the cat’s gaze makes Aizawa look around the room, confirming – yes – he is, in fact, in the infirmary. He doesn’t quite remember how he got here. Maybe that flashy idiot in class 2-B. He doesn’t know, doesn’t really care.
“You scared us there!” Yamada all but runs to Aizawa’s bed. Sushi hisses, and Aizawa agrees. That’s too much energy to be coming at him all at once. He’s only been awake for a minute and is already desperately wishing to be asleep. At least unconsciousness will grant him a reprieve from Yamada’s excitement. “How’re you feeling?”
Sushi pushes his head into Aizawa’s hand. He can feel the pressure, including the soft vibrations of a purr riding from his fingertip and up his arm, towards that uncomfortable object in his chest but nothing else.
“Don’t know,” Aizawa admits as the cat purrs louder. Purring is a strange feature of a cat. They purr when they’re happy and purr when they’re in pain. There is no in-between. Except, well, when they purr because someone else is happy or in pain.
Sushi looks healthy. Kayama must be taking good care of the cat, so no reason for pain. But they’re in an unfamiliar space, no reason for the cat to be happy. The more the cat settles into Aizawa, snuggling his head firmly into Aizawa’s palm, the more he realizes the cat is purring because of him.
He’s not happy; he doesn’t feel much of anything, really. Is Aizawa on such powerful medications, he can’t feel the pain he’s under?
Aizawa takes stock of his body, no casts, no I.V.s, just light bandage wrappings as far as he can see. Not terribly wounded, so where is the pain?
Somewhere illogical, probably. Like that hard spot in his chest – how long has that been there?
“It’s okay not to know,” Kayama walks up slowly, a hand resting on Aizawa’s covered foot. He doesn’t feel that either. “Yamada wanted to drag you to a hospital, but with everything going on, Recovery Girl recommended you get care somewhere familiar.”
“What does that matter?” Sushi curls upon his chest, the purr rattles Aizawa’s bones, trying to dislodge the odd pressure inside him.
“Do you,” Yamada reaches out, hand on Aizawa’s shoulder. There is pressure, his brain acknowledges, but it’s too distant to feel anything. “Remember anything?”
“Clearly, I don’t.” Aizawa turns his gaze to the windows and the bright blue sky filled with sparse clouds. The pressure in his chest expands. “This is such an illogical way of tiptoeing around the issue. Stop beating around the bush to see if I have any triggers and just say it already.”
“Aizawa, you might not want to know,” Kayama says.
“I’m going to find out anyway, aren’t I?” He turns back towards the teens with a flat glare. “Just tell me, waiting won’t change anything. Where’s Shirakumo? He doesn’t beat around the bush.”
Ah.
And there it is.
Aizawa doesn’t know how everything fell into place so quickly, but it does. The importance of Sushi, the bandages, Yamada and Kayama’s careful treading, and that pressure is refusing to dislodge itself. He now knows what the pressure is labeled:
Trauma, Shirakumo Oboro
Contains: Grief, Regret, happiness, shattered confidence, questionable sanity, traces of koi no yokan, and an anchor in ‘what if.’
He pushes Sushi from his chest, earning a startled glare from the cat and an indignant protest from Kayama. He normally wouldn’t treat a cat so roughly, but Sushi was trying to break him. The cat was trying to unlock the trauma Aizawa has securely locked away, and he’s not feeling enough of anything to open the contents inside.
If he dares to open it now, it’ll be a cascading flood that will drown Aizawa. He refuses to drown where others can see.
“Thanks for looking after me,” Aizawa says, more out of habit than anything else. He clambers out of bed and towards a change of clothes in the corner. He starts gathering the fabric, dropping his shoes twice. “I’ve got it from here.”
“Your fever just broke!” Yamada cries. “Aizawa, c’mon! Talk to us; we’re your friends!”
And look where friendship got Aizawa.
One dead, two worried. If Aizawa hadn’t befriended Kayama, he wouldn’t have been on that internship. Maybe Shirakumo wouldn’t have been standing in that exact spot. Maybe if Aizawa didn’t make friends, he wouldn’t feel this numb.
Ah, Aizawa pauses. It looks like that box has a crack in it; the ‘what if’s’ are slipping through. It’s illogical to point fingers and blame, especially when the world of heroes demands putting his life on the line at any given moment. Aizawa was more than prepared to die on the field. Was Shirakumo? If Aizawa had just taken his place…
Aizawa glares at the cat behind him, and Sushi stares back with a look that says, ‘if you had saved me first, maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess.’
He stops short, dropping his shoes once again. Aizawa is projecting onto a cat. Aizawa is losing his mind. Aizawa is –
“Grieving,” Kayama says gently, helping pick up the shoes Aizawa – for some reason – can’t stop dropping.
“That’s impossible. I don’t feel anything.” He holds his clothes close to his chest.
“Maybe that’s part of the grieving process.”
It isn’t. That’s not how grief works. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Those are the stages of grief, not some sort of weird nothing. It’s not denial because Aizawa knows Shirakumo is dead – he remembers blood and a head that snapped back too sharply. It’s not anger, though he’s ready to punch Kayama and Yamada if they say more nonsense about grieving. Not bargaining either.
But he would bargain his life with the heavens if given the chance. Isn’t that what heroes do daily? Bargain their lives to save others? This is no different. It shouldn’t be any different.
So why is it different?
It takes the third drop of water dripping from his nose for Aizawa to realize he’s crying. His jaw aches, and his mind is setting off all sorts of red flags. He is crying, doesn’t know why he’s crying when the trauma is packed away. Some imaginary worker in his brain is checking over the fuse box for what tripped to spring the waterworks, frantically flipping switches, so his eyes stop crying. Instead, his chest attempts a purr of its own to stop the pain. What comes out are hiccups and sobs.
The shoes fall again, then his clothes in a messy pile.
“Aizawa,” It’s Yamada with a hand on his shoulder. When had the blond come so close?
“It’s the shoes,” Aizawa sobs, “They won’t stop falling.” Like debris from an unstable building.
“Aizawa, it’s not the shoes.”
“It’s the shoes!” He insists, gesturing at them, stomping his feet on tiled floors.
“It’s the shoes,” Kayama agrees, kneeling to pick up the clothes. Aizawa watches through bleary eyes as she folds the unraveled clothes neatly before placing them on the bed. She takes the shoes and puts them out of sight. “Okay, the shoes are gone.”
So is Shirakumo.
Aizawa doesn’t push away until after the funeral. It’s surprisingly easy since everyone thinks he’s in some random stage of grief. No one wants a punch to the face; no one wants tears; no one wants to keep an eye out for a teen with depression.
Grief doesn’t come easy to Aizawa. Or maybe, he’s so used to grieving about mundane things; his body no longer believes he has something to grieve about. A Peter cried wolf situation.
He hides in the rafters of the auditorium during the school-wide memorial service some weeks later. He watches students and teachers cry and wonders if they deserve such an action.
There is no limit to grief; his mind supplies in retaliation. The emotion is irrational, and therefore it has an endless supply and nonexistent thresholds.
But why do they cry if they never knew Shirakumo? They mourn the loss of a random student, a face in the hall, someone they’ll forget about within the next week. Some who cry, Aizawa recognize as gossips. They raced between the hero course and other departments telling an embellished story that made Shirakumo seem careless and every bit deserving of his end. It’s precisely why Aizawa is up in the rafters, instead of punching fake-outs for crocodile tears.
The people who don’t cry are almost worse. To them, this is just some school obligation. It’s a show for the school, proof U.A. cares, but all it shows Aizawa is that no one is actually looking.
Aizawa can count a handful of people below who deserve to be in the presence of Shirakumo’s memory. Most of them are from class 2-A. Yamada is there, the main presenter of the service, guiding the school through some good and goofy moments from the sports festival. There are better and more private ones he has the decency to keep close to his chest.
Kayama is there too with Sushi in her arms. No teachers spare the cat a glance.
When Principal Nedzu takes over the service, Yamada steps back and looks up at Aizawa, like he knew Aizawa was there all along. The blond’s eyes glisten with unshed tears.
Cry, Aizawa silently urges. Yamada deserves to mourn more than anyone else in the room. Though based on the barely wavering speech Yamada gave earlier, the tears are not for Shirakumo. If not for the dead, then who?
Tears streak down Yamada’s face, causing the teen to turn his head away suddenly and burying his face into the sleeve of his blazer.
He is mourning Aizawa, then. Yamada is mourning someone who might as well be dead because Aizawa is practically living like a ghost.
Come back; he thinks he hears Yamada say as the students disperse. Aizawa shakes his head, climbing further into the rafters for a rooftop exit. He’s not listening to voices he can’t verify, not again.
“You’re going to have to talk about it sometime,” Kayama corners him on the rooftop one lunch. Aizawa stares at the blue sky that’s startling free of clouds.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“That’s not how it works.” She huffs, sitting beside him.
“Maybe I did it all when you weren’t looking.”
“That is also not how it works.”
Aizawa thumbs through his memory of rescue courses. There were segments on shock, trauma, grief, and how that can all be delayed by the fight or flight response.
“Maybe I don’t think it’s safe enough.”
“You’re at U.A.! You’re training to be a top hero, one of the best protectors in the world. There is no safer place to be!”
Aizawa glances at Kayama, whose arms are thrown wide as if to say U.A. students are the strongest people on earth. If that were true, Shirakumo would be talking about his latest crazy idea.
“Maybe that’s the problem.”
“Kayama says you’re dropping out,” Yamada blocks Aizawa from leaving the classroom.
“I never said that,” Aizawa huffs. “You’re being nosy.”
“Talk to me, tell me how you’re feeling.”
“I refuse.” Aizawa glares.
“Fight me, then!” Yamada glares back.
“No,” He muscles past. Aizawa manages to get half a classroom away before he’s yelping at the sharp pain in his back. He stops, turns to look at the headphones clattering to the ground, and Yamada, who’s still in a pitcher’s pose.
“FIGHT ME,” Yamada demands, voice vibrating the glass windows.
Aizawa feels his eyes turn red as he moves to punch the blond.
It’s a little bit overcast, clouds rolling through the sky, threatening rain. Aizawa wants to join them. Maybe Shirakumo’s up there playing a trick. If not, maybe Aizawa can look for him from up above because surely Shirakumo is simply anywhere but gone.
“I’m not enough,” Aizawa announces one day, stopping mid-step as the U.A. gates loom in the distance. Yamada stops just as quickly, turning to look at Aizawa with concern.
“What are you talking about?”
“To be a hero,” Yamada doesn’t seem to find the explanation sufficient. “I’m not enough, okay? I’m powerless. All I do is surprise. I’m not a fighter; I’m not a hero; I’m not anything. I just let it happen. I couldn’t protect anyone. Not the city, not those kids, or Shirakumo, or myself. I’m not good enough. Not strong enough. Everyone knows it. He even said I wasn’t good unless I was working in a team. I’m not – I’m not anything. I can’t save anyone. I can’t, Yamada. I-I – ”
Yamada wraps Aizawa in a hug. The sensation is warm.
Aizawa feels his eyes close at the comfort and tears pricking at the edges. It cuts through the cold numbing sensation he’s had for months, like that night’s rainstorm never left. But it’s ebbing away under Yamada’s sunshine embrace.
“You’re saving me,” Yamada holds tight. Aizawa tentatively reaches up to grip Yamada’s blazer, too afraid that hugging him will sign the blond’s death warrant. “Every day I see you, I know I’m not alone. You’re saving me by being here. I don’t know what goes on in your head, and I’m not all that sure what’s going on in mine, but you are here. That’s the best rescue I can ask for.”
Aizawa leans into the embrace as Yamada continues, “I’m not alone in this, and neither are you, okay? We have to take this one day at a time. We loved him so much, and it’s not fair, and by All Might, this fucking sucks! But he had us, and we still have each other, so don’t go anywhere I can’t see you.”
Aizawa can’t make that promise. Every day is a danger; Shirakumo was proof of that. He dares himself to hug Yamada. He holds on, trying to believe Yamada is proof Aizawa is worthy of being a hero. He tries to believe in a world filled with warmth and doesn’t know if he succeeds.
“One day at a time,” Aizawa promises instead, holding tighter when his hands begin to shake. “One day at a time.”