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Let it be known that Aizawa Shouta is a man of will. He is a strong believer in many things, has gone face to face with villains from every walk of life–some worse than others, and stands strong in the face of adversity. He is not a weak man. If he were, he would have crumbled, crashed, and burned years ago during his second year of high school. He’s picked himself up, dusted off his knees, and continued on living in spite of it all.
Aizawa Shouta is not a weak man.
However, when Hizashi greets him this morning with his smile not quite reaching the corners of his eyes, his voice not quite reaching the ear-grating level he usually does, and his posture just this side of too stiff, Shouta falters. Just a bit.
Shouta is not good with comfort, doesn’t quite know how to be open and vulnerable in the way his best-friend needs when he’s down in the dumps. Vulnerability isn’t something Shouta can give freely, it’s an uphill battle he fights just to croak out an “I appreciate you,” to Hizashi, despite everything in him that cares and does appreciate everything the man does for him. Even if he is loud and obnoxious and everything Shouta usually hates.
Shouta could turn to Hizashi, ask about his obvious down trodden mood, and offer a listening ear and a pat on the back. But after so many years as friends, Shouta knows that his friend would rather have a shoulder to cry on and receive as many hugs as he could get when he gets like this. Usually, he would sic Nemuri on Hizashi until he was feeling better about whatever it was that he was sad about. However, Nemuri was gone on a field trip with her homeroom class over the weekend, and therefore would not be able to play therapist. Unless he pretended not to notice Hizashi’s immediate distress and waited it out until Nemuri got back on Wednesday…
Chancing a quick look at Hizashi across the room, hunched down in his seat like the weight of the world were on his shoulders, Shouta immediately sighed.
Shouta may not be good with touchy-feely things, but what he could do was give Hizashi a distraction, band-aid his poor heart until Nemuri could come back and fix him. Yeah. He could do that.
“Hey, Zashi,” Shouta called out. Said man perked his head up from where he was hunched over spinning a red pen and reading through last minute papers.
“What’s up?”
“You want to get a drink after work?”
The tense line of Hizashi’s shoulders slightly loosened, and he gave a crooked smile that looked more real and genuine than when he walked in. Shouta knew that Hizashi could read between the lines and hear the underlying message of “I know you’re not doing so hot right now, and I want to help.” Going out to get drinks of his own free will without having to be pressured by both Nemuri and Hizashi was his own way of trying to make Hizashi feel better, and have him not feel too alone.
“Of course! Why would I ever turn you down?” Hizashi sent a wink and a grin, which had Shouta feeling slightly flustered and hiding his mouth in his capture weapon. He rolled his eyes and focused back on the papers in front of him.
The bar they usually convene at, Bee’s Knees, is a rather well regarded bar that Hizashi stumbled upon years ago after a day of one-after-the-other villain encounters. It was a rough day, that day. Something Shouta would rather forget.
They walked in through the wooden doors and beelined for a booth in one of the far corners to their right, out of the way of a majority of the crowd. It was only 6 p.m, just after happy hour and the crowd of patrons was loud over the speaker playing some generic pop song that Shouta couldn’t bother to care about. It was warm and moody in the bar, with the lights dimmed and people congregating at the bar and around tables littered about the establishment.
“So, what’s been eating you?” Shouta asked as soon as they were both seated with a round of drinks in front of them. Blunt and to the point. He brought the mug of beer to his lips and took a sip while Hizashi groaned into his own mug, slumping down onto his elbows.
“It’s just, y’know how I have a public email for fans to send fanmail to? Well, last night I was reading through some, and I came across one from a kid who has a mental quirk that’s voice activated… He wrote about how he’s been heavily discriminated against, and has been in the foster system for some time.” Hizashi stopped to take a breath as his voice became slightly unsteady.
“He—” Hizashi cleared his throat, “He’s been muzzled before, like I was. And after reading that email, it brought back a lot of what I went through before UA.” Hizashi stared into his beer, and brought a hand up absentmindedly to trace over faint white scars on the side of his face, unnoticeable unless you were searching for it.
Hizashi sighed, “I can’t believe how things like this are still happening in this day and age! Calling someone a villain, purely based on their quirk, muzzling them, I just—” He cut himself off with a frustrated groan and took a large swig of his beer.
Shouta listened intently as he watched his best-friend of 11 years simmer and stew in front of him with a sullen look on his face. He observed the way Hizashi played with his fingers and stared at the table, obviously in his own mind, somewhere far away.
Shouta wished he could reach out and pull him back to earth. He left Hizashi to come back when he was ready.
Hizashi rubbed his face and sighed defeatedly, immediately downing the rest of his drink. “I just wish I could help him in some way.” He pillowed his head in the crease of his elbow as he laid his head down, his freshly washed hair spilling around his shoulders in golden waves, caressing his arms and the contours of his face.
Shouta hummed and brushed his foot against Hizashi’s own foot under the table in a show of support and comfort. The blonde man looked up through his lashes and crooked glasses, giving a tilted smile.
Shouta stared into his mug as the conversation trailed off, thinking about ways he could help Hizashi bounce back to his regular boisterous self.
An idea popped into his mind as the song playing came to an end and a new one began playing, one of Hizashi’s favourites. Shouta sighed and grappled with himself, already feeling second hand embarrassment from the thought alone. Clearing his throat, “Did you, uh. Want to go dance?”
The dance floor in the middle of the bar was packed with people already dancing, jumping, and grinding. The song playing was a fast beat, fast paced, and perfect for dancing, just what Hizashi needed to help him get his mind off of the weight of another child going through what he had, all those years ago.
Shouta grimaced and followed in Hizashi’s steps, beginning to dance in place, feeling awkward. He never liked being too social, and going dancing in a crowd of people wasn’t on his list of fun activities. But, he would do anything for the man in front of him, who has sacrificed himself countless times, and has been there for Shouta through any and everything that’s come their way.
He couldn’t deny the slight fluttering in his chest, whether it be from anxiety from being surrounded at all angles, or if it was the way Hizashi looked in his element, jumping in place and singing along to the song blasting from the speakers. He was finally looking like he was relaxing and coming down from the dark place in his mind.
His face was flushed from the dancing and singing he was doing, coupled with the heat from all the bodies surrounding them, his hair swishing around him. Shouta couldn’t help but stare at him and feel the way his heart beat in his chest. Shouta shook his head and pushed away the soft thoughts that began surfacing.
Not tonight.
Later that night, after Hizashi had thoroughly drank himself into a stupor and was feeling marginally better, Shouta called them a cab and carried Hizashi into his apartment, which was closer than Hizashi’s.
“Shooouu,” Hizashi whined, “Have I ever told you just how much I love you?”
Shouta sighed and set the blonde man on the dingy couch he bought back when he was 18. “Yes, you have.” There have been plenty of times before, like this, where Hizashi has gotten just as drunk and subsequently told Shouta he loves him.
“Hmm…” Hizashi hummed, laying his head on the back of the couch, his eyes hazy. Shouta could see the gears turning in his mind.
“It’s nights like these where I’m reminded why I love you.”
Shouta stopped breathing for a moment, his breath caught in his chest. He could hear something in Hizashi’s voice, something that’s just this side of too affectionate, too intimate. Time seemed to slow down as he stared at Hizashi’s eyes, half lidded and gazing at a spot on his ceiling. It couldn’t be… Right? No.
Out of all the times Hizashi had told him he loved him, this was the first time he sounded so…
Loving?
Snapping himself out of his thoughts, Shouta sighed and walked into the kitchen, grabbing theTylenol and leaving it on the counter in view of the couch, and two water bottles for Hizashi; one for now, and the other for tomorrow’s inevitable hangover.
“Down this before you knock out,” Shouta called out, throwing one of the bottles onto the couch beside Hizashi’s hip.
Hizashi rolled his head over and grabbed the bottle, opening and drinking a third of it in one go.
“Thank you for being there for me tonight, Shou…” Hizashi stared at him, his hair framing his face, accentuating his features. His eyes were unbearably soft.
Shouta had to look away. Something in his chest ached.
“It wouldn’t be logical for me to blatantly ignore how you were feeling,” Shouta breathed in deeply and sighed out, you’re my best-friend on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t bring himself to voice the words, feeling his throat get choked up and his face heat up.
Feeling his frustration with himself start to mount, Shouta turned and walked to his bedroom. He called over his shoulder, “You know where everything is. Wake me if you need anything.”
He could feel eyes on his back the whole way down the hall.
In the morning, when Shouta walked into the living room, he was greeted to the sight of the blonde menace he calls his friend laying on the couch with a grimace on his face as his hand cards through his hair.
“Morning.”
“Not so loud.” Hizashi groans, his voice groggy and hoarse from sleep and all the singing he had done the night prior.
Shouta raises an eyebrow and walks into the kitchen to make two cups of coffee for him and Hizashi, one black and the other sickeningly sweet. “Coffee?” He calls back into the living room. The returning groan and grumble is all he gets before feet slowly shuffle across the floor to the counter behind him.
“Thanks, Shou.” Hizashi mumbles to him as he delicately blows on his coffee; more cream and sugar in it than there is actual coffee. “I don’t know how you can drink that monstrosity,” Shouta feels his nose crinkle.
“Hey! Not everyone enjoys suffering.” Hizashi looks pointedly at Shouta’s own cup of black coffee, still steaming as he drinks a mouthful. Shouta ignores his comeback, and sets his mug down on the counter he was leaning on. “How are you feeling?”
Hizashi’s face turns from slightly amused to resigned. “Aside from my hangover and aching back, I’m doing better than last night. Thank you,” He looks up from where he had been examining his cup of coffee. His face lights up with a small smile. “Really. It was nice to go out and have some fun with you. It’s been a while since we’ve been out.”
It had been a while, hadn’t it? Shouta’s been so swamped with work, both as a teacher and as a hero, he hasn’t been spending too much time with anyone else. In fact, last night was the first night in weeks he’s fully had off.
“I know, that’s on me,” He sighed, “It’s been a rough couple of weeks.”
“Well, hey, if you need anything you can always call me.”
Shouta hummed and finished his coffee. “I know,” He stood up and sighed, “Now, get out of my apartment. I’ve reached my monthly quota for social interaction, and on my list of duties today is not hanging out with an overgrown cockatoo.”
He turned around before Hizashi could see the grin forming on his face. “Hey!” Hizashi squawked.
He walked back down the hall into his room to get ready for the day.
He felt eyes on his back all the way down.
—-
Shouta grunted, pain spreading from his arm all the way to his shoulder. He was caught between four villains, all of them with a mutation type quirk, which his own quirk, Erasure, wasn’t effective on. The one who had just attacked him had spikes and mounds all up and down his arms and knuckles, one to the left had the lower half of a goat, a man with the head of a shark was on his right, and a man with a bird head and talons was just behind the three in front of him, keeping watch for any sirens.
Shouta’s back was pressed against a wall, his nose was bleeding, and his left arm was tender and smarting every time he moved it. It was just after 8 p.m and he had just started his shift when he caught these guys and a group of other men exchanging duffel bags. The other group of men were down on the ground, all unconscious. The five in front of him weren’t unscathed either. Fish head had a gash on his face from Shouta’s knife, Goat boy had a broken nose, and he was sure he had at least dislocated the arm of the Bird.
Shouta reared back and struck out with his left leg, knocking the man in front of him back, crashing into the back of the Bird. As he landed with an ‘oof’, Shouta whirled to the guy on the right, striking with his elbow and ducking down as the Goat from his left came at him with a kick.
Shouta kicked back, knocking the Goat off his feet, and turned around with his capture weapon ready to knock the guy down, when from the entrance behind Shouta came a shout he would recognize anywhere.
“YEAAHHH!” Hizashi yelled, knocking the Shark down and out. Shouta turned back to the Goat and made quick work of using his capture weapon to fling the man into the wall on his right, effectively knocking him out. Mound guy came running at him, but before he had to do anything, Hizashi was by his side, using his quirk to disorient the man, which gave Shouta the opportunity to do to him what he did to the Goat.
“Eraser! You okay?!” Hizashi turned Shouta gently by the shoulder to face him, fretting over his appearance. “Your nose!”
Shouta raised an eyebrow, “I’m fine. It isn’t broken.” His voice was slightly nasally, and he could taste blood in the back of his throat. He spit a glob of mucus and blood on the ground, grimacing.
Just then, he heard the telltale sirens and a parade of police cars and an ambulance pulled up to the curbside.
Finally, Shouta sighed. He stood straight as an officer and an EMT came strolling forward. “Eraser, come see the EMT and then we’ll get your statement.” The officer nodded at him, and began to round up the criminals along with the other officers that had come out.
Shouta grunted and allowed himself to be looked over.
“Why are you around here anyways, Mic?” Shouta asked as the EMT began treating his cuts and bruises.
“Ah, I was going to get a snack from the convenience store,” He jerked his thumb behind him, “I heard fighting and came to check it out.”
“We’ll need your statement too, Mic.” Called the first officer who talked to Shouta.
Hizashi gave a thumbs up and walked back over to the entrance of the alley, “Sure thing!” He looked back at Shouta, “Catch you later, Eraser!” His eyes peeked out over the top of his sunglasses and he gave a wink.
Shouta rolled his eyes, ignoring the fluttering in his chest.
Not tonight.
Shouta gets home at 4 a.m and crashes into bed. He aches, down his chest, across his back, his arms… His everywhere, actually. He groans and resolutely does not think of the day he’s going to have later when he wakes up. He’s bone deep exhausted, feeling the weight of his day in his limbs, weighing him down into the black sheets beneath him.
And yet… He can’t help but let his thoughts wander to the man who keeps making his heart flutter and his chest tighten in fear. He thinks back to a few weeks ago, when he and Hizashi had gone out, and he had gotten too drunk and started spewing about his love for Shouta again. How in a drunken haze he had sounded as if he meant it, as if it was the easiest thing in the world to say.
It scares him.
It makes him freeze, the weight of his past a boulder on his shoulders, dragging him down.
He gazed into those unabashedly soft eyes, and felt his world tilt, felt himself trying to realign to the world he assumes he knows, and the world he now knows.
He doesn’t know what to do, he’s left floundering on dry land like a fish fresh out of water just to be thrown back to the currents. Thinking of those eyes Hizashi had leveled at him makes him feel like he’s drowning.
In what, exactly?
Shouta ruminates on this for the better part of an hour where he’s supposed to be sleeping, his eyes closed, ignoring the world around him and pretending to be anywhere but here.
He falls into a restless sleep feeling phantom eyes on the back of his neck.
When Shouta wakes up, it's to a pounding headache and dry, crusty eyes. He feels like shit, and knows he looks like shit.
He has permanent bags under his eyes these days, but he’s sure they’re worse than usual. As he walks into his bathroom, he’s greeted to the sight of a man who’s barely surviving. His scruff looks scruffier, his bags deeper and more purple, his lips cracked and red, and a bruise is blossoming on his right cheek and nose.
He gingerly washes his face and showers, trying to feel just a bit more human than the walking zombie he’s sure he looks like.
After his first cup of coffee, a light breakfast (read: jelly pouch), and some cuddles from his cat, he feels… Marginally better.
Maybe.
Shouta’s head still feels cluttered by blonde hair and soft, green eyes–
Shouta rubs across the front of his chest, willing the residual panic to subside. He’s fine. He has to be.
As Shouta walks into the teacher’s lounge, he’s greeted by an enthusiastic and loud voice, “GOOD MORNING!” Shouta’s eye twitches.
A red eyed glare being sent Hizashi’s way immediately makes the man quiet down with a chuckle, “Hey, mister grumpy pants, what’s got you in a mood?” He slides his rolling chair closer to him, elbowing Shouta lightly in the arm. “You look like you got run over.”
Shouta grumbles out a response, “And I feel like it.” He hides his face in his scarf with a sigh, “Last night was… Rough.” Exhausting, awful, almost too much. It wasn’t just the first group of villains he had faced last night. It felt like it was a near endless battle, one after the other, only a couple minutes of respite before he was back at it again, this time with different criminals to chase.
Hizashi pats him on the back, careful to not use too much force. “Yeah, man, I get it. You need anything?”
Shouta bites his lip to stop himself from blurting out, “A break. For you to stop looking at me like that.”
“No. I’m okay.” His voice is clipped and low.
Hizashi’s eyebrows furrow, and his eyes narrow slightly. “Are you sure? Y’know, I–”
“Drop it, Yamada.”
His voice comes out harsher than intended, colder than he means, and he immediately knows he’s fucked up. The ambient noise of the other faculty members conversing peters out, and he can feel Nemuri’s eyes on him from across the room.
He hasn’t snapped like this in years, let alone called Hizashi by his last name. The last time he called Hizashi by anything other than Mic or Hizashi was years ago, when he begrudgingly friended the loud blonde. He didn’t mean to snap, words coming unbidden from his mouth. Shouta’s jaw clenches, frustrated. With himself, and the world.
Shouta knows he fucked up, can feel the hand on his shoulder tense before being removed. He chances a glance over at Hizashi and can see the hurt lingering in the way his eyes look anywhere but at him, in the way his smile is tight at the corners and closed lipped.
“Haha, sorry, sorry!” Hizashi scratches the back of his neck, obviously feeling awkward. “Well, I’m going to head to my class now. I’ll catch you later.”
Before Shouta can apologize and say it was just his lack of sleep and stress, Hizashi is out of the door and turning towards his classroom.
Shouta feels his insides turn cold with guilt, feels his chest tighten and the weight of his limbs increase. His eyes burn. He shuts his eyes tight and brings a hand up to rub at them. He lets out a defeated, frustrated sigh that sounds more like a groan. Nemuri is still staring at him in concern and disappointment in equal measure, but he ignores her for the time being. He can’t do this today, or any other day for that matter.
Shouta will apologize and beg for forgiveness later. For now, he has his class to teach.
When the lunch bell rings, Shouta is glad. He’s been looking forward to the 45 minute nap all day. However, as he turns the corner to go to his private office, he spots HIzashi talking to a second year student.
Fuck, he thinks.
And then Hizashi looks up at him when the student takes their leave, his smile turning tight in the corners.
Fuck, he thinks again.
Hizashi waves at him and turns to leave, but before he can disappear, Shouta speaks, “Wait, Hizashi–”
Shouta is cut off by the loud speaker above them crackling and the voice of Nedzu comes through, “Mr. Aizawa, please report to my office, thank you.”
Hizashi looks over his shoulder and gives him finger guns, “Better get on that.” Then he turns and walks away. Again.
Shouta shouldn’t feel so cold by Hizashi turning his back on him and walking away like he did, but he does. He feels a pit in his stomach as he turns and walks the other way towards the rat’s office. He huffs out a sigh, so much for a nap.
Shouta opens the large mahogany doors without knocking, sure that Nedzu had already spotted him through his little stalker cameras littered throughout the school.
“Aizawa, please have a seat.” The stout greets him cheerfully, gesturing to one of the seats in front of his desk.
“What do you want from me?” Shouta slumps into the chair, crossing his arms. He’s grumpy and irritable, and not in the mood for whatever the rat wants from him.
Nedzu clasps his paws in front of him, getting straight to the point. “Well, I heard from one of our staff members that you had a bit of an outburst this morning in the staff lounge. Are you doing alright?”
Shouta’s eyebrow twitches, his jaw clenching, “Just peachy.”
“You and I both know that’s not the truth, Aizawa.”
Shouta remains silent in response.
“Okay, well, if you would like to do this the hard way, we shall. You have been acting a bit unusual lately. One of our staff members has expressed concern for your wellbeing, and as a teacher and hero here at UA, I expect everyone to be functioning at their best. I would like you to take a few days off to recoup and recover, and if you are interested, to take a few therapy sessions with Hound Dog.”
Shouta’s eyes narrow slightly, and his hands tighten around his arms. “Are you forcing me on leave? Over me snapping at Hizashi this morning?”
“As I stated, you have not been acting like your usual self lately. You have been standoffish, and going harder on your students than normal. I understand if you are under more stress at the moment, such is the life of a hero. I care for my staff, and want the best for them, which is why I want you to take a few days to relax, so you can come back at a hundred percent.”
Shouta felt his jaw muscle tick, so he took a moment to gain his bearings. Letting out a deep breath, he recounted the past few weeks. He has been going harder on his students than normal, and he has been a bit more rude than necessary. He can’t deny it. Especially after this morning. He’s felt awful, easy to bark. So far he’s done a decent job at reigning himself in, stopping before fully snapping, but he’s reached his limit now, the final straw dropping.
Shouta feels the tightness in his chest and shoulders lessen slightly as he relents and relaxes his arms. “Okay.”
“Do not worry, Aizawa, it will just be for the remainder of this week. I will have a teacher sub in for your classes.” Nedzu shuffles a few papers around and signs one with a pen, “And… Please, try to get some more sleep. You look like you’re about to pass out any moment now.”
Shouta huffs a dry laugh, I wish. Any time he’s tried to sleep the past week, all he can dream of is blonde hair and green eyes, taunting him. He almost wishes that his nightmares dreams of blue, wispy hair dyed red were to come back, so he could at least stand on familiar ground, instead of walking blindly in the fog of his emotions revolving around a certain blonde man. Then, he would know how to handle it. But this, he doesn’t know how to navigate.
“Would you be interested in seeing Hound Dog? He can help you try to manage your stress.”
Shouta shakes his head, already standing up, “No, thank you.” He walks to the large mahogany doors, about to walk out when he hears Nedzu speak up once again.
“And, Aizawa? Please apologize to Mr. Yamada.”
Shouta rolls his eyes and nods his head, already walking out the door and making his way to his personal office, wanting to get at least 10 minutes of some shut eye before he has to go to his afternoon heroics lesson.
When Shouta gets home after work, he immediately crashes into his bed, an act reminiscent of earlier that morning. He feels bone deep tired, still aching and sore, his limbs laden with exhaustion. Laying in bed felt like heaven.
He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but when he opened his eyes again, the sun was set, the twilight of the night peeking between his curtains. His eyes peered out into the darkness, feeling crusty and irritated. He felt crusty and irritated.
There was a knocking at his front door, echoing through his living room and into his bedroom. He could hear his cat, Bastard, meowing at the foot of his bed. Shouta groaned into the pillow his face was smooshed against, reluctantly sitting up slowly. He would rather rot in bed for the next few days than do anything else.
He sat on his bed and stared down at Bastard, a grey persian mix he found in the alley behind his apartment building. The cat meowed at him again, flopping onto his side on the floor and curling up. Shouta huffed in amusement, standing up and walking to the front door, hearing the knocking get louder.
He unlocked the door and yanked it open, “What.”
Nemuri stood outside his door, dressed in her civilian clothes, and holding a bottle of white wine. “Let me in.”
“No.”
“Come on–”
Shouta closed the door on her face, locking it once again, and went to turn back to his soft, warm bed, determined to keep sleeping, when she started talking through the door.
“Shouta! Come on, you can’t keep running, and I know something is up! Open the door!” Her voice was muffled, yet he could still hear the concerned tone in her voice that made him hesitate.
He stood for a few seconds, debating on ignoring her.
“I know it’s been about Hizashi,” He could hear her shuffling her feet and shifting her weight.
He yanked the door open again, feeling his eye twitch. “You don’t know shit,”
Nemuri’s thin eyebrow raised, her hand placed on her hip. Her lips pursed, “Then do you want to tell me about what’s been going on?”
Shouta glowered at her.
“You can’t run from your problems forever. You know how that ends up.”
“I’m not running–” Flashes of his past, in his second year of highschool pass through the front of his mind, “Just–” Shouta shut his eyes tight, forcing himself to forget, push them away. Blue hair and wisps of a cloud still lingered at the forefront of his mind.
He sighed in defeat, feeling the fight leave him. “Whatever… Just, come in already.” He waved his hand and left her in the doorway, pinching the bridge of his nose. He fell into a heap on the couch, Bastard jumping to sit in his lap.
“Thank you,” She took off her shoes and waltzed into the kitchen like she owned the place. She grabbed two glasses from his cupboard, filling them with wine.
“Now,” She hands him his own glass and sets the bottle of wine on the coffee table. “Tell me what’s been up with you.” She sits with her body facing him at the end of the couch, her leg folded under her and her other leg propped up.
Shouta took his glass and began to drink in order to stall for time. He didn’t know how much he could allow himself to share. How deep he wanted–could go. How far down could he dig without completely breaking, both himself, and the worldview he has so painstakingly kept up to protect himself?
It felt like a slimy snake, slithering through his stomach, these feelings. It slithered through his stomach, up his esophagus, and coiled around his throat. It felt like venomous teeth, resting against his jugular, ready to strike.
He downed what was in his cup, and poured another.
He could feel Nemuri’s worried gaze on the side of his face, but he couldn’t bear to look at her and see her eyes, ripping his walls down and staring into his soul. She's an incredibly emotionally intelligent woman, always knowing when something is wrong, able to somehow see into your soul and bring light to the darkest parts you would rather keep hidden.
Shouta doesn’t know if he’s ready to expose that part of himself yet. Doesn’t know if he’s ready to be so vulnerable.
But… He thinks back to the frustration he’s been feeling with himself lately.
If not now, when? When will he ever be ready? This slimy feeling that coils in his chest whenever he even thinks about letting someone in, letting them see the part of himself he keeps hidden behind walls of apathy, it suffocates him.
He feels like he’s drowning on land, in a 3 foot deep pool. All he has to do is sit up.
Could he try? Could he extend an olive branch, let one of his closest friends help him?
The bigger question is: will he?
Shouta opens his mouth and closes it repeatedly, the beginnings of a word stuck in his throat, on the tip of his tongue, choking him.
And Nemuri, bless her, sits and waits patiently, not rushing him and letting him do this on his own.
“I… I’m scared,” Finally makes its way out of his throat, sounding choked and warbled. “Of letting people… Get so close to me. Of being vulnerable.”
Shouta takes a deep breath, grounding himself by burying his hands in his cat’s soft fur. The purring helps bring him down from the grip of panic sparking in his chest. As the words come out of his mouth, he finds it easier to continue speaking.
“There’s a fine line, with you and Hizashi, where I can keep you guys close, without feeling this,” He grips his shirt over his chest, “This panic, that overwhelms me. It’s like I'm drowning.”
Nemuri keeps quiet, a gentle presence beside him, encouraging him.
Shouta takes a minute to gather his thoughts before he continues.
“Two weeks ago, when Hizashi wasn’t feeling great, we went out for drinks. And when we got back, he had this look in his eye, and he sounded–It made me panic. And I don’t… Understand.”
Shouta finally turned to look at Nemuri, feeling out of place and floating, “I don’t understand, Nem. I don’t–What is wrong with me?” His feelings, bubbling up in his chest, felt ready to implode and take him with it.
Nemuri’s face softens, her eyes understanding. “Oh, Shou…” She murmurs, reaching her hand out to grip onto his own that was still clutching at his chest.
“It’s okay. Nothing is wrong with you. I think… You just need to let yourself be okay with feeling how you feel, without pushing those feelings away. The first step is being okay with being scared, and acknowledging it.”
Shouta took a deep breath and sighed heavily through his nose. “How do I stop feeling so scared?”
Nemuri sighed and tilted her head, thinking. “Well, first, do you have any clue about why you feel so strongly about intimacy?”
Shouta clenched his jaw and looked away once more. Images, memories, of a smile so bright he had to look away, and bright blue wispy hair filled his sight. Oboro. The first person he had ever let get as close as he did. The first person he had truly opened up to, about his home life–or lack thereof. He opened up to him, loved him and then…
He was just gone. In an instant.
And he was right there. He watched it happen, and could do nothing about it. It haunted him for years after the fact, seeing his face in his dreams.
Losing him, it broke Shouta, had him crumbling and isolating alone in his dinky apartment. He was a husk of himself for months, throwing himself recklessly into training and work studies, until Hizashi finally got through to him and helped him get back on his feet. He’s forever grateful to Hizashi for bringing him out of the darkest point in his life thus far. He was at rock bottom, with the light at the end of the tunnel nowhere in sight. Only the clouds.
In a single moment, he lost his best-friend, his confidant. The way he felt in the aftermath, he doesn’t think he could ever let himself feel like that again.
He doesn’t want to break again.
Shouta felt a hand wiping the side of his face, bringing him back to the present. He reached up himself and felt the wetness on his cheek, his eyes widening.
“Sorry,” He cleared his throat as he furiously wiped at his eyes, the flow of tears never ending. “I–” He cut himself off.
All he has to do is sit up. Extend an olive branch.
The walls around his heart cracked, bit by bit.
“Oboro… He was my best-friend and the first person I ever allowed to get so close to me. I loved him.” Nemuri gasped slightly.
“He… Was everything to me. I told him everything,” Shouta looked at Nemuri through watery eyes, “I don’t know if I can handle that again.”
Nemuri threw her arms around Shouta, holding him close. He brought his hands up to hold onto Nemuri, letting himself be held. Allowing it.
When was the last time he let himself be held like this?
Shouta feels raw, exposed, his insides turned out. His heart clenches in his chest, but he forces himself to relax and bask in her warmth, telling himself it’s okay to let himself enjoy this.
“I’m sorry, Shouta.” She whispers to him. “Me too.” He replies back.
Nemuri lets Shouta be the one to pull back first, his eyes red. He feels mildly better.
“What do I do?” He asks, his voice rough. “How do I just… Get over that?”
Nemuri studies him for a few seconds, staring at him. He feels like his soul is being bared for the wolves. She pushes her hair out of her face and rests her head on her hand. “You don’t. Get over it, that is. Oboro was an important figure in your life, and you can’t just forget that. What you can do, however, is try to accept that life will be like this, where loss is imminent. Maybe not tomorrow, or next week, or next year… But that’s just how things are, you know? People live and die, or leave, and you can’t change that,” Nemuri tilted her head at him, understanding in her pinched eyebrows.
“It’s okay to lose someone and grieve. It’s okay to want to protect yourself. But what’s not okay is holding everyone around you at arm's length.”
Shouta stared at her, processing what she said. He doesn’t want to fall apart again.
“What you’re doing now, you’re limiting yourself socially and emotionally by not letting anyone get close to you, and shutting people out. It isn’t a way to live.”
Shouta’s brows furrowed, his jaw clenching. He can’t…
“It isn’t fulfilling, is it?” Nemuri’s voice goes soft as she speaks, squeezing his arm.
“I…”
“You can’t spend the rest of your life, running and shutting people out. It’s not healthy. It isn’t a way to live.” To be alive.
Shouta placed a hand over his eyes, crossing his arm across his chest. “I know, I know, it’s…” He gives a frustrated sigh, “I’m–” He cuts himself off. He was going to say he’s trying, but is he really? Is he actually trying?
He doesn’t think so.
“I will try. I’ll try to… Let people in.” Shouta rubs his hand down his face, feeling resigned. He doesn’t want to fall apart again, but that doesn’t mean it will happen. He can pick himself back up, he’s stronger than this.
“That’s all we ask of you, Shou.” Nemuri smiles at him.
Later that night, after Nemuri had left, and Shouta had finally eaten real food, he laid in bed staring at his ceiling. Bastard purred away on his chest, comforting him. He was contemplating all that had happened a few hours ago, feeling a heavy weight in his chest, yet he felt somehow lighter than he had a few days ago. It was contradictory, the clashing of his emotions. He was tired of drowning on land. He wanted… What did he want?
For one, he wants to stop feeling so panicked and choked up whenever he thinks of Hizashi from that night. He wants… To let himself feel. And not be afraid.
He doesn’t want to keep choking down the soft feelings that emerge whenever he sees Hizashi in his element, shining and bright as the sun. Whenever his hair falls, drapes over his shoulders, and frames his face in a golden halo. His bright, green eyes, practically glowing with mirth when he cracks a lame joke he knows Shouta will sigh at. His eyes, unbearably soft…
The warmth fluttering in his chest and face make him feel like a school girl kicking her feet. The tightness in his chest makes him feel like he’s drowning.
He sits up.
And breathes.
He won’t let this hold him back for the rest of his miserable life. He’s 27 years old, a Pro Hero, he is Eraserhead, and he won’t let himself sabotage this. Not this.
Not tonight.
Shouta lets his hair fall around his face, holding his hand to his chest as he feels his heart thump, thump, thump against his ribcage like a roaring drum, the beat thunderous in his ears as he fights with himself to allow this, to let his fear go and accept it. He’s okay. He will be okay.
He’s pulled from himself as Bastard ‘mrrp’s and bonks his head against Shouta’s own, bringing him back down from the panic attack he was working himself into.
“Sorry, buddy.” He runs his hand down the length of the furry back, enjoying the soft touch of the fur, breathing deep and long to settle his poor heart. He scratches under Bastard’s chin in thanks, gently picking him up and depositing him beside himself. He gets up and strides across his room to his dresser, grabbing his phone and turning it on.
No new messages
Although it stings that Hizashi hasn’t messaged him yet tonight, he knows it’s all his fault. He can’t blame the loud blonde, Shouta was awful to him today. He pursed his lips and sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment, gathering himself.
Shou: Are you free tomorrow afternoon? I want to apologize properly.
It takes a while for Hizashi to respond, 30 minutes of anxiously waiting by his phone while distracting himself with Bastard.
Zashi: yea, i’m free after 6 what r u thinking
Shou: Ok. Meet me at Ishihara Park around 6:30.
Shouta flops onto his back, staring at his phone as it lights up with Hizashi’s last message.
Zashi: ok! it’s a date ;)
He feels his face burn, tingling with the rush of blood. His stomach flip flops, and he feels a rush of warmth in his chest. This is okay. It’s okay.
He allows himself to bask in the warmth, feeling like a 16 year old girl with a crush.
Oh.
Oh.
He has a crush. That’s what this warmth is. In hindsight, it was obvious, the way he flushes and his chest lights up, feeling like a warm summer afternoon spent sunbathing. Some part of him did know and understand that, a detached voice whispers in his head, but he chose to push those feelings down, deep into the depths of his soul where he wouldn’t have to feel it. He wants to let it free, wants to revel in its beauty and heat. He doesn’t want to be afraid of it anymore.
This feeling that erupts in his chest when Hizashi gazes at him makes him feel like he could do anything, it’s a rush of endorphins straight to his head, making him giddy of all things, at his grown age.
He’s scared. But he’s so determined to move past this phase in his life where he sabotages himself. He wants this, needs to move past it. It won’t be an overnight change, but he’s willing, and ready to try.
He falls asleep with the image of Hizashi’s face in his mind.
The next day, at 6:28 p.m, Shouta is waiting on the sidewalk right next to Ishihara Park, checking his phone every few seconds to see if Hizashi messaged. It was starting to cool off come nightfall, and his fingers were beginning to get cold.
Shouta sighs, sticking his hands in his pockets of his jumpsuit when he hears a voice call from behind him, “Yo! Shouta!”
Said man turned around, spotting Hizashi walking up to him in his casual clothes, waving. His hair is up in a half-bun, wearing a white t-shirt with a black leather jacket over top. The setting sun lights his hair up, giving him a golden halo, the reds of the sky bringing out the green in his eyes. God, please, I’m asking for one thing.
Shouta rubs a hand over his chest and takes a breath, fully turning towards Hizashi, “Hey.”
“Hey.” He gives a lopsided grin, his hands in his jacket pockets. He stops a few feet away from Shouta, his posture relaxed, head tilted to the side as he studies him. Shouta stared for a moment longer before, just bathing in the sight of Hizashi, looking breathtaking with the deep red sunset behind him.
“I’m sorry,” He blurted.
Hizashi raised his eyebrows, his eyes filling with mirth. “I accept your apology. It’s okay, I know you’ve been stressed lately.” He scratched the back of his head with a sheepish chuckle, “I know I can be too much for you sometimes, I’m sorry for trying to pry.”
Shouta shook his head and looked down at the ground, staring at Hizashi’s boots. “No, don’t apologize. I was out of line, I know that. I… Have been pretty stressed lately, but I shouldn’t have snapped at you like I did.” Shouta took a deep breath, fighting with himself. The choking in his throat increased, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. It’s okay. I’m ready. I’m okay.
“You’re my best-friend,” It came out stilted and awkward sounding, but he tried this time. Shouta felt the slimy feeling in his chest return, but charged on. “I appreciate you, and all you do for me.”
Hizashi stared at Shouta with his mouth opened in a small ‘o’. His eyes turned glassy, roving over Shouta’s own face, which was burning. He could feel his ears catch fire. He was half tempted to shove his face in the birdbath across from them.
Hizashi’s face broke out into a blinding grin, and he strode forward to swing his arm across Shouta’s shoulders, side hugging him. “Aw! I love you too, Shou!” He chuckled and leaned against him.
Shouta’s face was on fire. Burning into ashes. He brought his hand up and covered his eyes. His chest felt tight, and it was still kind of hard to breathe, but maybe it wasn’t all from fear. Part of it was having Hizashi so close to him. A lingering part of him basked in the sun that was Yamada Hizashi, that filled him with golden, bright light, warming him to the bones, chasing his darkness away. It was almost enough for him to ignore the snake in his chest.
“Okay, enough.” He reached his limit, feeling raw and flustered. Shouta wiggled his way from under Hizashi’s arm, standing a few feet away from him.
Hizashi didn’t look ruffled by his sudden detachment. In fact, he looked more amused than anything. “Alright, alright. Let’s go.” He began walking off, turning to the street Shouta was originally facing.
“Go? Go where?” Shouta’s eyebrows furrowed, yet he followed obediently behind Hizashi.
“This is a date, isn’t it?” He looked back at him with a smirk and winked, hands back in his jacket pockets. “We’re going to a sushi place down the road.”
Shouta short-circuited. It was all he could do to keep up with Hizashi without stumbling over his own feet.
A date? I didn’t think he was being serious, Shouta grimaced and looked down at his regular old jumpsuit, scarf, and scuffed boots. His hair wasn’t even combed, let alone how rough he looked. He looked back up at Hizashi, looking like he walked out of a magazine. He groaned inwardly.
“Don’t worry,” Hizashi smiled at him, “It won’t count as our first date.”
Shouta buried his burning face in his capture weapon, crossing his arms. “Whatever…”
He feels eyes on the side of his head, and he doesn’t mind one bit.
Maybe Aizawa Shouta is a weak man after all. At least for Yamada Hizashi.