Chapter Text
Hitoshi knew he wasn’t going to get any sleep before he met up with Yamada. So, he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, making shapes with the popcorn patterns until the apartment grew quiet. Eri, only being six, went to bed way before he did, and there was a lax rule around his bedtime, especially with his insomnia. Hitoshi tried to follow a regular bedtime, his body naturally seeking sleep after eleven o’clock. Whether it came or not was something Hitoshi never knew until he spent the night with his thoughts jumbling inside his head, dreading the sound of his alarm in the morning.
He glanced over at his phone and touched the screen so it came to life, reading that it was past three in the morning. Aizawa should have retired to his room an hour ago, but Hitoshi hadn’t heard his foster father move. There was a loose plank in the corridor between their rooms that Aizawa never failed to step on while retreating to his bed. It had always come as a source of comfort for Hitoshi, knowing that Aizawa was never far away. He felt pretty childish needing to know that he was safe inside his own home, but it was a feeling that was new and foreign to him.
But tonight, the house was silent.
Slipping from his bed, Hitoshi quickly changed into a hoodie and joggers. He hesitated at the spools of his capture weapons looped around his desk chair. A flicker of doubt and then guilt coursed through him.
‘Yamada would never hurt me,’ he thought, threading the fabric of the weapon between his fingers. And then froze as the thought vanished and his brain quickly provided him with his answer. ‘But he has.’
Before he could change his mind, Hitoshi wrapped the weapon around his neck, sighing as the comforting weight pressed down around his shoulders. Even if Yamada didn’t attack, there were plenty of other villains who would happily hurt a U.A student.
It was an excuse that even he knew was weak. There was no doubt that Yamada would know exactly why Hitoshi brought a weapon to meet with him. A part of him thought Yamada deserved it, deserved the hurt that the weapon would bring him, but he’d always found it hard to wish ill-will on those he loved, especially people like Yamada and Aizawa.
Taking a large breath to steel his nerves, Hitoshi slid open his bedroom door. There was a glow coming from down the hall, and when Hitoshi looked across the space between his room and Aizawa’s, he found his foster father’s door wide open and the bed vacant.
Cursing under his breath, Hitoshi crept down the hallway, tiptoeing past the creaking floorboard until he was at the edge of the living room. He peered around the corner, squinting at the warm orange glow of the lamp, hoping, praying that Aizawa wasn’t awake.
A soft snore soothed his worries. Aizawa was fast asleep, his face buried into a pillow and Jelly curled between his stomach and the back of the sofa. Hitoshi hesitated, watching the soft rise and fall of Aizawa’s chest, and the peaceful expression on his face. He almost looked like a stranger. Hitoshi couldn’t remember the last time he saw Aizawa without stress eating him alive, carving worry lines into his face.
Hitoshi swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew what he was doing was stupid. Meeting with a villain, even if it was one he knew and had once shared a roof with, was not one of his best ideas. A million things could go wrong; he prayed it wouldn’t, but with the past two years, the game the heroes and villains had been playing had changed, the rules no longer the same. His earlier worries came to him in a flash, a warning that this was perhaps a trap, a way for the League to grab another student to kidnap.
A quick buzz inside his hoodie pocket spooked him from his thoughts. Pulling it out, he saw a text on his screen.
Yamada: ‘I hope you come tonight.’
And like that, all his worries were shoved into the back of his mind. He needed to do this. He needed answers, and sitting here missing Yamada and fretting about his family weren’t going to give him any.
Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Hitoshi made for the front door and slipped on his shoes. The door unlocked with a quiet click that had Hitoshi wincing and glancing back at Aizawa. The man hadn’t stirred, but from behind the back of the sofa, two green eyes popped over the edge, eying him. Jelly chirped as she jumped down onto the floor and strode over to Hitoshi, stretching mid-way before she bumped her head into his leg.
Hitoshi crouched down and scratched behind her ears. She looked up at him expectantly and chirped again.
“I know it’s stupid, but I have to see him,” Hitoshi whispered as he stood, closing the door at Jelly’s round eyes. “Sorry.”
--
The skatepark wasn’t far from home. It was often packed with teens and kids, some learning how to skate or ride bikes, while others sat on the ramps drinking and eating, laughing with their friends. It’s how Hitoshi found himself on most weekend nights, surrounded by Denki and the ‘Bakusquad’ as it was dubbed.
Sometimes he brought Eri there, along with Yamada and Aizawa. So much of her childhood had been stolen from her, and if he could provide even a tiny bit of it back, he’d do so. Teaching her to ride a bike was the least he could do. Not that Shinsou had any idea how to ride a bike. It was something both Eri and he had in common, along with the rest of the missing pieces of their youth. But it was something they could do together, to learn all the things that weren’t taught to them in the first place, with Yamada and Aizawa watching fondly from a bench.
The park was empty. It felt all sorts of wrong to see it so desolate and for what it really was. A heap of concrete and metal in contorted shapes.
He glanced down at his phone, reading the time and the last message Yamada had sent him. Guilt bubbled deep inside his gut, almost drowning out the nerves that fizzled inside his chest and mind. A part of him wondered if it was too late to turn back and pretend he’d never left. A bad dream that he’d woken up too early from to find out how it ended.
And then a flash of yellow from under the glow of a streetlamp stopped him. His feet moved without him even thinking so. It was as though something was pulling at him towards Yamada as if he was under his own quirk.
Yamada turned, and a soft, wobbly smile greeted Hitoshi, and every bit of anger he felt towards the man melted. Instead, his chest heaved as a silent sob escaped him. Yamada had only been gone a day, but it felt as though it had dragged into a century-long silence.
Hitoshi threw himself into Yamada’s arms, pressing his face into his leather-clad shoulder. Long fingers slid through his hair, cradling his head. He didn’t know why he was crying, it was as though it was all he could do for the past two days. Like something was pushing behind his eyes, and piling inside his chest, suffocating him.
They stayed like that, Yamada rocking them side to side softly, murmuring words Hitoshi didn’t understand with the roaring in his ears. There was dampness in his hair, wet along his roots and scalp as though someone had been crying into it.
“Why?” Hitoshi whined, balling his fists into Yamada’s jacket. “Why?” He shook him with the little energy he had, not that it did anything but shake the man. There was no real effort in it. Instead, Yamada continued to sway him, the hand in Hitoshi’s hair running down between his shoulder blades where they grounded him, circling his back in soothing motions.
“I want to hate you so much.” Hitoshi didn’t know what he was saying. Only that it tumbled out of him, true and hurtful. After all, it was what he was good at. Getting at the core of people. But this? There was no game to be won like with his quirk when he trained with his class, or when he fought against villains. The hurt wasn’t aimed at Yamada, how could he? No matter what Yamada had done, no matter how much it was tearing his family apart, he was the one who had saved him. He, along with Aizawa, had found him, alone and scared (no matter how much he denied that to himself), and took him in as though it was nothing, when to Hitoshi it was everything. They had brought home a broken and angry person and softened him into their son. It saved his life.
No. The words weren’t thrown to cast hurt, even if that’s what they did. But they were almost wild, untamed things that spilled out of Hitoshi. Everything that he’d been keeping as a simmer was now boiling over and leaking down his cheeks.
“I know,” Yamada said, and Hitoshi could feel his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he spoke. “I hate myself too.”
It was as though something shoved him from the inside, and Hitoshi was crying into Yamada’s shoulder’s again, almost wailing like a lost child into the leather. He could hear Yamada sniffling above him, his head buried into Hitoshi’s purple locks.
“Deep breaths, kiddo.” Yamada’s voice was the same as before. Soft and unyielding. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’ Hitoshi thought bitterly at himself before taking a deep breath. “And another.” Hitoshi did. It pained him something sharp, but he took another, and another until his lungs felt like he couldn’t take any more oxygen. It was only then that he pulled away from Yamada, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands and wincing when they stung. Yamada took a step back but stayed within arm’s reach. He gave him a lopsided smile, but it barely held any of the joy it once did. So much had changed in the last forty-eight hours, but Hitoshi didn’t expect it to be so drastic.
“I’m glad you came,” Yamada said.
“I almost didn’t.” Hitoshi kicked at a stone, willing the green shape of his shoes to stop blurring with the ground. “Aizawa is going to be so mad when he finds out.”
Yamada’s face pinched into a pained frown before he tried to smooth it, running a hand down his face before smiling at Hitoshi again.
Being the foster son of two pro heroes meant that Hitoshi saw both sides of the hero world. The glitz and glamour, the praise, and the highlights of being a celebrity. He basked in it, as did most children, his eyes wide to capture any bit of it. But there were people behind the masks and white-teethed smiles. There were nights where Aizawa would come limping home, his capture weapon stained red, and his eyes glazed as though still on patrol. Yamada would always whisk him away into the bathroom before Eri could see. They would be in there for hours, and if Hitoshi listened carefully enough, he could hear the sobbing and broken words. Sometimes Yamada would return home on a Friday morning, his shoulders hunched, and mouth pressed into a straight line. It was as though he was on autopilot. The week of three jobs finally catching up to him, and he’d spend his day off asleep. Whenever Hitoshi asked him about it, Yamada would always plaster on a smile and say he was just tired, but Hitoshi knew all about fake smiles.
“How is Sh-Aizawa?” Yamada asked, carefully.
Hitoshi only gave him a straight look.
“Stupid question,” Yamada said, twirling a piece of his hair.
“None of us are doing that great.” Hitoshi let the bitterness into his voice. Just because he wanted to hate Yamada and couldn’t, didn’t mean he wasn’t angry. “Eri keeps looking for you, and I don’t know how to explain to her that you’re not coming back.”
“Hitoshi…”
“What am I supposed to say to a six-year-old? That the man who’s a father to her just left her behind. Aizawa won’t tell me Eri’s history, but it’s not hard to figure out that she hasn’t had any good male role models in her life, and you were one of the first. You were someone she trusted- still trusts, and you threw it all away, for what? To keep her safe? To protect her? You’re doing a good job of it, Yamada. Really.” Hitoshi scoffed, the words tumbling out. “She thinks you’ll come back. That all you have to say is sorry because that’s what you taught her. That whatever mistake she made could be fixed by one simple word because you love me no matter what.”
Harsh pants echoed through the skatepark as the words finally crept up on Hitoshi. He froze, trying to suck in the desperate breaths as he looked up at Yamada between the hair that had fallen over his eyes. He shouldn’t have been shocked, but a gasp escaped him as he watched tears fall down Yamada’s cheeks.
“Hitoshi.” He took a step forward.
But Hitoshi took one back.
“You lied to us. You lied to me.” His voice wobbled as he struggled to speak. “I thought I’d finally found a family, one that loved me, one that would champion behind me while I worked towards being a hero.”
“Oh, hunny, you did.” Yamada kept the space between them.
“Then why did you break it?” He growled.
Yamada sighed, his shoulders sagging, “I didn’t want to. I didn’t mean to. When me and Aizawa were in school, we lost our best friend. He was killed during our internship, and U.A and the Hero Commission board did nothing to stop it from happening again. It was as though Shirakumo didn’t exist anymore. It broke me and Aizawa. We almost fell out over it. It was a hard time, and I don’t think either of us got over it. We buried Shirakumo just like the school and board did. And then I was offered to help bring them down.”
“By getting revenge against All Might who had nothing to do with it?” Hitoshi snapped.
“You don’t understand, Hitoshi. We were kids. Aizawa had to watch Shirakumo die. He was never the same after that. He changed. I changed. I wanted to make sure that no one suffered like we did.”
“You fucked up there. I’m sure Class 2-A had the best first year being targeted by villains.”
“I know. Nothing I do will make up for that. I put you, your friends, Eri and Aizawa in danger. I never meant for that. I never meant to hurt you.”
“You did.” Hitoshi sniffled as he clenched his hands into fists.
“I just wanted hero society to change. I wanted heroes to mean something again.”
“They meant everything to me.” Hitoshi wiped his hand against his nose. “I waited for one to save me for so long. I used to wish for it on every birthday until the foster parents stopped giving me cake.” He let out a breathy laugh. “And then you and Aizawa came. Society didn’t need to change for you to save me.”
Hitoshi didn’t stop Yamada as he pulled him into a hug. Nor did he cry, or wail like he did moments ago. Everything felt like it was fading away, the glow of the streetlamp above them muted in grey. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep, hoping that tomorrow would be the same as yesterday before his whole world broke in two.
“I’m sorry, Hitoshi. I’m so, so sorry. I never meant for this,” Yamada whispered into his hair. Hitoshi nodded, the lump in his throat too thick to speak. He just let Yamada hold him, whispering apologies, murmuring comforting words to him.
He wished for the night never to end. He knew that when it did…that was it.
Yamada pulled him closer, realising the same.
This was the last time.
The sun began to peek over through the city buildings. Hitoshi held onto Yamada tighter. Yamada pressed a kiss to his crown.
“I think it’s time to go home,” a familiar voice said from behind them.
Hitoshi pulled back, gasping as he spun around to face the voice. Aizawa stood only a few feet away, arms crossed as he leant against the neighbouring lamppost. His expression was non-existent. As though he was gazing at two strangers, rather than his son and husband.
“Aizawa, I can-.” Hitoshi stumbled through his words.
Aizawa raised a hand.
“Let’s go, Hitoshi,” he said, plainly. There was no strictness or comfort in his voice. Just as though he was reading instructions from a pamphlet.
“Sho-Aizawa.” Yamada took a step towards Aizawa, his face twisted and bottom lip trembling.
For a second, something dark and painful flashed in Aizawa’s eyes as they landed on Yamada, but just as quickly as it came, it was gone.
Hitoshi swallowed hard as he slunk over to Aizawa, who stood frigid next to him. He’d never seen Aizawa like this before. Sure, he’d seen him angry, seen him disappointed and tired. He’d even seen him laughing, his stiffness abandoned as joy overwhelmed him. But never like this.
“Come.” Aizawa turned, and Hitoshi followed behind his shadow, casting a long last look back at Yamada, who stood with his eyes hallow and mouth set. Hitoshi’s own heart broke at the look.
“I’m sorry, Shouta,” Yamada called out as they walked away.
And Aizawa stopped. His gaze locked forward.
“I know.”
__
Returning home was quiet. Overwhelmingly so. Aizawa said nothing to him as he led through the streets. Several times Hitoshi tried to say something, anything to break the silence between them, but nothing he could think of could fill the space.
Hitoshi buried his fingers into his palms, his nails digging into the skin. How could I have been so stupid? Hitoshi cursed at himself, worry gnawing inside him. He’d sacrificed Aizawa’s trust in him for someone who had broken all forms of it. Over what? Answers that didn’t satisfy the burning pain he felt? Frustrated tears flooded the corners of his eyes before he could swipe them away.
He hadn’t felt so useless since the Sports Festival.
He sniffled hard against the threat of his nose running, willing his eyes to stop blurring for one second. It was only then did he realised that Aizawa stopped. and Hitoshi had to halt himself before crashing into him. He glanced up at Aizawa and instead of the passive face he wore when he’d seen Yamada, disappointment was thick on his features, his almost black eyes bore down on Hitoshi.
“I’m sorry,” Hitoshi said, his voice cracking on the vowel. The weight of his capture weapon sat heavily on his shoulders, almost engulfing him whole in white fabric. He must’ve looked like a child playing dress-up compared to how it sat almost proudly on Aizawa’s shoulders. He tugged at the fabric, weaving it between his fingers.
“I know,” Aizawa said.
“I don’t know why I went.” Hitoshi ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. “I just thought if I could talk to him, it’d stop it from hurting, you know? I thought if I confronted him, I’d feel better.”
“And how do you feel?”
“W-worse.” Hitoshi swallowed the lump in his throat. “How were you so calm back there with him? The moment I saw him, I felt like I was four again. I couldn’t help but go to him. But you just stood there as if he was nothing to you.” Hitoshi knew, somewhere deep down, that this was the wrong way to go about things, but he needed to get the words out. “I don’t understand.”
“I wasn’t calm.” Aizawa sighed heavily. “I was scared.”
Hitoshi frowned.
“Scared?”
Aizawa nodded, “I thought that I’d let him back into our lives if I saw him again. I love him, Hitoshi. I’ve known him for half of my life. He was half of my life.” Aizawa crouched until he was in Hitoshi’s line of sight. “But so are you and Eri. That’s why I was scared. I didn’t want to let my selfishness hurt you or her by letting him back into our lives.”
Hitoshi blinked back the tears and failed as they ran down his cheeks. He closed his eyes as everything inside of him came crashing down again. He trembled as he let everything out in quiet gasps, not caring if anyone was around to watch him. As long as Aizawa stayed near, he knew he was okay.
“How did you know I snuck out?” Hitoshi asked once he found his voice again. “You were asleep.”
“I wouldn’t be a very good Pro Hero or father if I didn’t know when my kids had snuck out.”
Hitoshi flinched, glaring at his shoes. And then ever so gently, he felt the curve of Aizawa’s finger on his chin, bringing them eye to eye.
“We need to work on your stealth skills,” Aizawa said, a smile soft on his face.
“Now?” Hitoshi asked.
Aizawa only smiled again before he stood. And then, without warning, he shoved Hitoshi in the shoulder before casting his capture weapon up onto the fire escape of their building. Hitoshi stumbled, gawking as he watched Aizawa vanish over the top of the roof.
The grin that came over him was uncontrollable as he flung his own capture weapon out and followed Aizawa, who stood waiting on the ledge of the building. He gestured forward with a nod of his head before he swung onto the next rooftop, and then the next.
Hitoshi gave chase.
There was nothing like flying past the city to brighten Hitoshi’s mood. It wasn’t an instant thing, and it didn’t dispel all the emotions whirling inside of him. But if some people turned to drugs or alcohol to curb the ugliness in the world, then Hitoshi’s came in the form of his shadow passing underneath him as he flew over rooftops and bustling traffic. The morning was still early enough that the streets were empty, but it still held true.
Aizawa turned as he jumped to a neighbouring rooftop with a cocked eyebrow. It was a challenge. A taunt. Why haven’t you caught me yet?
Hitoshi gritted his teeth as the capture weapon slid between his fingers and wrapped around a telephone pole. With all his momentum, he slung himself forward, his knees tucked into his chest before extending out into long strides as he rolled onto a rooftop. And then he was airborne again, feeling the wind drying the tear marks on his cheeks.
There was nothing like the sense of euphoria coursing through him as he glided over the city.
Except maybe capturing Aizawa.
With a final swing, Hitoshi wrapped one end of his weapon on a fire escape, while the other looped around Aizawa’s ankle. Hitoshi tugged hard and his body whipped forward, colliding with Aizawa in a jumble of limbs. He felt a hand brace against the back of his head as they crashed down onto the rooftop, and rolled, the wind almost knocked out of him. It didn’t matter. He clung to Aizawa, his fists buried into his mentor’s weapon as he pinned him down, pushing his weight down onto Aizawa’s chest.
“Gotcha.” Hitoshi panted, a slick grin on his face.
Aizawa grinned back, an almost ungodly sight. It was unnerving the first time it was beamed at Hitoshi, but now he knew better.
“Oh yeah?” Aizawa cocked his eyebrow.
“Yeah.” Hitoshi pushed down on Aizawa.
And before Hitoshi could even blink, Aizawa had slipped from his grasp and had flipped him over, his cheek smothered against the concrete of the rooftop, a boot in the middle of his back. He bucked and wiggled, but to no avail.
“Nice try, kid.”
“You couldn’t have let me have that one?” Hitoshi snorted, glaring up at Aizawa.
“And where’s the logic in that?” Aizawa smiled before he released him. And then caught the fist Hitoshi threw his way. “Almost.”
“Next time I’ll get you,” Hitoshi said.
Aizawa grunted in response, before he pulled gently at Hitoshi’s arm until he was braced against him, his face pushed up against his chest. He could hear the loud thundering of Aizawa’s chest against his ear.
“I know this isn’t easy, but we’re going to do this together from now on, okay?” Aizawa said.
Hitoshi nodded, closing his eyes as he felt Aizawa’s arms circle around him.
“Okay.”