Work Text:
"Hey Eraserhead, let's grab some food!"
"I'm taking a nap."
Hizashi sighed deeply after hearing those words while he turned off his microphone. He had expected some non-committal answer being thrown at him, in character with the disinterested persona Shouta liked to play as when he had to make some public appearance, but his supposition didn't even come close to the upfront rejection he received.
Double checking one again that both microphones were muted, he moved his chair next to Shouta's, his partner already dozing off, and put a hand on his thigh. "Baby, please. You need to eat something. This morning you barely finished your breakfast, and you haven't eaten anything since then."
"'m too tired, 'Zashi," Shouta mumbled, barely understandable from beneath the bandages covering his mouth, yet Hizashi was able to identify the gloomy tone in his words. He lowered his gaze, wondering if his over-excitement while commenting had exhausted Shouta, instead of having the uplifting effect he was aiming for. Hearing Shouta complain about how useless his state made him feel, Hizashi thought a nice day sitting in the best spots in the whole stadium to watch and discuss the festival by his side would make him feel included again. Involved. And sometimes it looked like he was succeeding, Shouta's comments being always on point and their usual banter as petty and harmless as ever. Still, he looked- sounded drained. Hizashi wondered if he could help him get some energy back trying something else while he stood up and toyed with the end of one midnight black lock, careful not to tug at it.
"Guess I got too enthusiastic about presenting the festival with you. I'm sorry, love. Rest a bit. I'll see if I can ask the organizers to cover the rest of the transmission solo."
And with a last kiss to his scalp he was sure Shouta hadn't felt over his bandages, he let go of his hair and wandered over to the outsides of the stadium, closing the door to prevent any outside ruckus from disturbing his dozing husband.
Said dozing husband was not, in fact, napping. Dangling between sleep and consciousness, he was about to give into his tiredness when Hizashi's last words had slipped into his mind along with a tender pressure at the top of his head, and had blocked the road he was taking towards slumber. He did enjoy being with Hizashi while he worked. Seeing him flow so naturally during the event and while addressing the audience never got boring. He even managed to make Shouta comfortable enough to slip in important remarks, answer his questions with more than a monosyllable, and finish some of his sentences, when in other cases Shouta would only have spoken had it been absolutely necessary.
On the other hand, yes. He was tired. His arms and his back felt sore, his eyes still burned from time to time, he was both thirsty and hungry —now he could admit it—, he had that very evening a meeting with Recovery Girl to see if they could progress some more with his healing despite his overall exhaustion, and he still had to rely on Hizashi to do almost anything regarding the use of his hands. He couldn't do his buttons or pull his zippers by himself, had to ask him to pour some eyedrops when needed, and the man even stayed with him at ungodly hours of the night correcting papers and tests, writing everything he told him to and only arguing with him because using a red marker will strike as too aggressive, Sho! Let me use another color! Still, Hizashi gave in easily after taking a look at Shouta, his love tense and stressed, practically vibrating with frustration.
Shouta's train of thought would have continued falling into the same resentful feelings that had been wandering around his head since the first time he saw his plastered arms, if it weren't for the sound of footsteps approaching, accompanied by the rustle of paper.
"I'm back!" Hizashi chanted softly, careful not to wake his supposedly sleeping husband. Still, he usually spoke alone to himself or to his cats and Shouta, regardless of whether they were asleep or not, so Shouta allowed himself to be soothed by his voice, diluting the dark feelings looming around him.
Mic settled two bags in front of the controllers, and unclasped and took off his directional speaker. It was placed down with a thud, the metal impacting against the table. Hizashi groaned in relief, and stretched his neck side to side, in rotating motions, bringing up his hands to massage his strained trapezius.
"Geez, that thing sure gets heavy some days," he grunted, eyes tightly shut and spikes of pain shooting from where his fingers dug in his upper back, failing to ease the pressure.
"I really need to learn how to get this tension off. Your hands were always far more skilled than mine at doing this," Hizashi commented, abandoning the knots in his neck and grabbing one of the paper bags on the table to procure a sandwich, instantly biting into it.
Ah. Shouta might just have realized two very important things. One: he was, indeed, starving. And two: Hizashi had brought way too many sandwiches for one person. He was so struck in his spiral of helplessness and self-deprecation he had forgotten that's what they both did. They tended to one other and their loved ones without asking for anything in return. When Hizashi asked him if he could help with his crammed muscles, he never thought about enduring it. It wasn't a chore. It never would be. Rather, it felt good, being a source of comfort amidst their frenetic lives, even without grand, ostentatious displays. Shouta particularly was fonder of the quiet, simple ones.
So. So maybe it wouldn't be too bad letting himself be taken care of, even if he still wasn't able to return the gesture just yet.
"Can I have some?"
Hizashi jolted briefly in his seat, before looking at him; eyes wide and bright, his smile blinding.
"Oh! Hey, baby! Didn't know you were awake. Did I startle you?"
Shouta shook his head no, and attempted to push the bandages around his mouth downwards by moving his neck, to no avail.
"Here. I've got you," Hizashi cut in, moving the cloth aside. He tore a piece of his sandwich with his fingers and brought it towards Shouta's waiting mouth.
"I brought some for you as well, just in case. And some water," he said, producing a plastic bottle from his bag and opening it to introduce a straw. "If you want some, just let me know."
Had Shouta just married Hizashi, he could have swooned at his husband's thoughtfulness. Now, after years and years of carrying his ring in a chain around his neck, he had learned to welcome his unadorned yet caring gestures.
Still, he doubted he'd ever get used to them.
Sleep could wait. He'd be able to get some more afterwards. With the way things were going down there, some damage to the arena's floor was imminent. He would allow himself little catnaps while they tidied everything up in between tournaments. For now, he ate, drank, and listened to Hizashi's chatter, beginning with You wouldn't believe who I bumped into outside the stadium—
"Well, mister, it seems you'll finally be able to take those casts off. Your stamina levels are higher than last time, so it might be possible for me to speed things up a bit."
Seconds later, the numbness around both of his elbows disappeared, Recovery Girls's Quirk as impressive as ever, leaving him slightly drowsy. Less so than the last time with her, when all he had ingested was coffee and jelly. Damn husband of his. Making him eat enough that his health would be improved. How dare he give him enough food and rest to recover almost completely.
"I'll put on a restraint bandage to hold your forearms and your elbows a bit tighter. You'll be able to remove it in a few days."
"Thank you. I'll make sure to do that."
"And don't go around with that gloomy attitude, young man. A good mood is also important while getting better, and I know of a certain someone whose comments during the Sports Festival could have used some charm every now and then."
"Ah. I'm sorry," was all Shouta could say. Recover Girl's motherly scolding together with having his face uncovered made it impossible for him to feign indifference.
"It's alright." She dismissed the topic waving a hand in the air, and sat in front of her computer, beginning to type. "Now go back home and rest. I'm sure your husband misses seeing your face after all this time."
"Oh. Um- Yeah, yes. He'll— Goodbye." Damn lady. Making him stutter and blush like he was one of his students. How dare she.
"I'm home," Shouta announced, toeing off his shoes and crouching to greet Coffee, who arched his back and leant his head into his touch, purring. His chestnut fur felt warm and fluffy beneath his palm, and Shouta wondered how had he survived so long without this.
"Hello, babe," said Hizashi from the living room, knelt on the carpet while he corrected some essays, pink pen in hand while he scribbled something in the corner of a page, so involved in his task he hadn't yet looked up from the coffee table.
Before Shouta could say anything to deliver the news of his recovery, Coffee decided it was a nice time to leap out of Shouta's cradle, jump on the table, and attempt to push off of it the pencil stand Hizashi had set to work with. In a flash, the stand was safe in Hizashi's hand and Coffee was picked up from the table by Shouta. Both men were familiar with the chaotic outbursts of the tiny devil, so Shouta had begun chasing after him the moment he had jumped from his arms. As he rushed to pick him up, he didn't miss the sharp hiss coming from Hizashi and after settling Coffee in his bed near a corner, he rounded the sofa to find his husband with his index finger in his mouth, pulling it out to reveal a thin, shiny red stripe.
"Papercut?" he inquired. Hizashi nodded while taking a tissue from his trousers’ pocket to press on the wound.
Shouta made a beeline to the bathroom to return moments later with a bandaid and a damp cotton pad, and sat cross-legged in front of Hizashi, who still hadn't looked at him properly since his arrival. However, as soon as Hizashi looked up, all he was left with were less than three seconds to take in his newly uncovered face, adorned with a look of concentration, before two rough but gentle hands took his damaged one between them and began to dab around the wound with the pad with far more care than any hero could display towards such an insignificant injury.
"Hold still," he murmured, despite the fact that his husband hadn't moved an inch since he had taken his hand between both of his. The sound of his breathing and the rise and fall of his chest the only things letting him know that Hizashi hadn't left the land of the living.
Shouta lost himself in the motions, carefully inspecting the injury and ensuring it was clean, devoid of blood and that the cut was, indeed, superficial.
"These wounds are easier," he spoke, his fingers as warm as the smile on his lips, setting aside the cotton and placing Hizashi's hand palm-up on his crossed shins. "They're not life-threatening, or too painful. All it takes is a small bandaid," he unwrapped the strip and held his hand again to envelop the cut, "and it's done." He finished smoothing his thumbs over the plaster to ensure it was completely adhered to his skin.
"How's that?"
When all he received in return was a breathy gasp, he turned his head upwards and found Hizashi's eyes shimmering with silent tears. They trembled and spilled the moment Hizashi wound his arms around his waist, pulling him closer to rise and settle over his crossed legs. Hizashi's heartbeat thundered between them as his hands moved along his sides and his back while his gaze roamed over his whole torso. When Shouta settled his hands over his husband's shoulders, forearms resting on his chest, Hizashi looked at them, then up at him again.
"Hey." Teary and fragile.
"Hey." Hushed and warm.
"Welcome home," he said. Stupidly, Hizashi though to himself, because Shouta had not just arrived home. More than five minutes had gone by since he had crossed the threshold. "I missed you," he continued, emotion welling up around his words. "I've missed this," wept quietly against his chest, his forehead resting on his clavicle, Shouta's arms around his shoulders, stroking his hair.
"I've missed this, too." Because Shouta wouldn't have addressed his welcome as stupid. Despite this being the house they had settled in and adapted to their needs, his true home would always be in his husband's arms.
When Hizashi's breath evened out, he lifted his head again to take in Shouta properly, without tears blurring his vision. Shouta, in turn, brought his right hand to clean the damp tear tracks on his cheeks, the left one still busy remembering how smooth and silky his hair felt.
Hizashi's eyes softened while he brought his left hand to Shouta's cheek, cupping his jaw and thumbing lightly the edge of the scar Recovery Girl hadn't been able to heal quickly enough. She hadn't sewed that wound before bandaging it, so the tissue had scarred in a messier way than it would have had he had stitches on.
"It won't fade away, I'm afraid," Shouta said, eyes averting his fond expression, trying to sound unbothered and failing. He had never considered himself an attractive person, despite Hizashi's compliments, slipped in at any chance he got— but a scar like his would surely change things. It was ugly- all scars were. Hizashi hadn't found out yet about the mess of tissue on his elbow, but having this one on the face would mean Hizashi could see it constantly. The information he had tried to deliver as objectively and dispassionately as possible was still stained with the tint of shame such permanency brought. Luckily for him, his husband was able to catch the sorrow seeping in through the words and was completely unperturbed by his new feature.
"It doesn't bother me. You're still as handsome as ever. Getting hotter every day, in fact," he replied, flirty, trying to cheer him up. He guessed, by the dry, empty chuckle Shouta emitted, that wasn't the right way to do so, just now.
"And besides, you're a nocturnal hero. It suits you, having the moon always above you. And now," he added after a brief pause, lowering himself to press butterfly kisses around the mark and to whisper his next words directly onto his skin, "engraved in you."
Unable to break from Hizashi's delicate hold, anchored not by strength but by his warmth, all Shouta could do was hide his face pressing his forehead on top of Hizashi's shoulder.
"Sap," he muttered. A futile attempt to preserve the walls that prevented him from soaking in his words. Who had made his sweetheart feel the need to build those walls, he didn't know, but Hizashi was a man whose voice was able to break through almost anything, and Shouta's forts were an obstacle he could take down even without straining his throat.
"My own moon. My starry night sky. My perfect Shouta," Hizashi whispered reverently, gentle as a summer breeze, and all of Shouta's defences crumbled, blew away with the wind and left his expression uncovered, eyes wide and shiny, jaw trembling softly, reminding Hizashi of the first time he had ever called him beautiful, unbelieving and confused, his precious boy.
They had grown a lot, both of them, but moments like this were impossible to get used to. When Iida had barged into the teacher's lounge a few weeks ago, delivering the news of the USJ attack as concisely as possible while trying to control the tremble in his voice, Hizashi's blood ran cold. He remembered the pressure in his chest. The tight bound around his torso and his throat, which only got worse after arriving there and seeing his darling husband, his beautiful man limp over one of his student's shoulders. Hizashi didn't enjoy intemperate violence, but he could admit he had given rein to his revenge, then. Principal Nedzu had set up an urgent meeting that very night in hopes of analysing the police reports and finding out more about the incident, but Mic never arrived, his seat left empty. He got a few hours of sleep instead, draped over the side of a hospital bed, listening to the soft, rhythmic beeps of Shouta's heart and thankful for Recovery Girl, who allowed him to stay by his side without making any fuss.
So. So having him back— bandaged and exhausted, but back by his side, in their home, caressing their cats, tending to his finger, letting himself be held and praised— was something Hizashi could've only dreamed of a few weeks prior, anxious and scared, dozing off next to a hospital bed.
His train of though was abruptly interrupted by the feeling of strong, deft fingers squeezing the muscles in the junction between his neck and shoulder, tackling the tense knots there just right, and thus suppressing Hizashi's ability to form even the most simple of sentences.
"Holy shit. Sweetheart. Kitten— You just can't—"
"Oh, but I can. I've spent weeks setting aside my duties regarding my husband's physical health, and now I intend to make it up for him to the best of my ability."
"You're gonna ki—ill me."
"And luckily for you, we have two whole days until we return to UA to resurrect you and then spend them however." Kiss. "We." Kiss. "Want."
Laughing, bright and balmy like the last rays of sunshine seeping in through the curtains, Hizashi bound his arms again around his waist and pulled him impossibly closer, nuzzling his neck.
"I like the sound of that."