Archive of Our Own ^beta

Prologue

He knew it was a bad day to go home. 

Usually, it wasn’t that bad, okay? If he stayed quiet (and he knew how to stay quiet, despite what people might think) he would get muzzled and that was it. Or, maybe yelled at too, but it wasn’t a big deal, it honestly wasn’t even that loud since his hearing aids sucked. 

Today, though… Today he knew his foster parents would be hounding their TV, watching and betting on horse races that they would inevitably lose, Hizashi was sure of it. Recently, some guy from their job convinced them to bet on this one black mustang named “The Wind of the North Sea” (ridiculous name, if you ask him) and Hizashi happened to overhear just how much money they bet on that damn race– to put it simply, a stupid, irrational amount of money. And of course with every loss comes the inevitable anger from losing their money. No, thank you. Hizashi’s good.  

So now, he’s hoping to find literally any excuse to avoid going home to that mess. He and Shouta are currently leaving school together, sans Oboro since he was visiting his grandparents for a week. It’s just the two of them, a peaceful silence between them that juxtaposes the heavy pound of his heart in his chest, increased by both the way the soft wind flows through the black waves of Shouta’s hair and the nerves of going home. Shouta looks so effortlessly beautiful, Hizashi just wants to scream. He doesn’t want to leave. 

“Hey, Sho?” He finally manages to ask, smiling at Shouta. His boyfriend lifts his tired gaze, looking at Hizashi to show that he is listening. “Can I stay at yours tonight, please? We can cuddle and everything.”

“I can’t, sorry.” Shouta’s face turns slightly pink as he pouts in embarrassment. “It’s my Mom’s birthday tonight, so her sister is coming over. The plan was to go to some restaurant or whatever.” 

“Oh.” Hizashi simply says, trying to stifle the overbearing weight of dread at the thought of going home that washes over him. Without Sho as an excuse, he has no choice but to go home. And it’s not like he can even tag along with Shouta’s family, he doesn’t even have a nice suit. 

He’s sure if Shouta knew about his foster parents he wouldn’t hesitate to invite him along– suit or not. But Shouta has no idea about his foster parents, and for now Hizashi plans to keep it that way, so he plasters on a happy smile. “I got it, no problem. Happy birthday to your mom, though. Be nice to her.”

“I’ll tell her.” Shouta scratches the back of his neck, reaching over to take Hizashi’s hand in his. “You can stay until it’s time to go to the restaurant. If you want to. My parents are still at work for another hour.”

Relief washes over Hizashi so quickly he’s nearly lightheaded with it– he’ll take what he can get, and delaying the inevitable by staying with his boyfriend sounds perfect. “Oh my, how bold, Shouta! You are inviting me over when your parents are not home? Scandalous!” He gasps dramatically, causing Shouta to let go of his hand and speed away in the direction of his house. Hizashi giggles, following his boyfriend and flopping down on the floor of his bedroom fifteen minutes later. If he gets a beating tonight, at least he can distract himself with the memory of spending the afternoon with his cute and adorable boyfriend.

It’s been almost a month since they started dating and Hizashi has never felt so happy in his life. He gets to study at UA, he has two great friends and a cool boyfriend too? That was insane luck in his books.

It wasn’t long before Shouta curled up at his side, half asleep, while Hizashi was playing on his Playstation, heroically finishing the mission his boyfriend was complaining about. After Hizashi finally won, he received a gentle peck on his lips and a toothy creepy smile from Shouta. Hizashi couldn’t help but smile back at him, but all too soon, it was time to go. 

Hizashi has just shoved his shoes on in the genken, his hand paused on the front doorknob as he turns to his boyfriend, “See you tomorrow, Sho. Bring the leftover cake with ya, will you?”

“I will. See you tomorrow, Hizashi.” 

He tries to save the picture in front of him in his mind, memorizing the black and white cat socks on Sho’s feet, his soft purple sweatpants and an oversized dark blue sweater. Shouta waves at him from the front door before going back inside the house. As Hizashi went down the street, he brainstorms how else he could spend his time before having to get back home. There was another couple of hours before the curfew and the less time he would spend at the house, the less beating he would get. 

Hizashi stopped next to the river, plopping down on the grass and getting his notebook out, working on a design for his merch. It was an old notebook he got at one of his foster homes about four years ago and now the pages were scribbled with sketches of Shouta, his and his friends merch. While he is drawing, his hands are shaking a bit, but Hizashi is going to be a hero, he can deal with this. This fear is nothing. So when it’s time to go home, he dutifully packs his stuff and goes straight ahead with a smile on his face. 

He stops to pet a cat, helps a grandpa cross the road and he smiles brightly, squeezing his backpack straps in his hands. 

His smile falls down as soon as he steps inside the house. The air is heavy and Hizashi reaches over, putting his muzzle on before his foster parents can force him to do that. Their methods usually result in scars on his face, and he has a reputation as a future hero to uphold. That and he doesn’t need anyone at school finding out about this, since he hasn’t even told Shouta yet. The metal of the muzzle is cold on his skin, and the leather straps pull a bit too tight because Hizashi is quickly outgrowing this muzzle and no one cares to ever change it, but there's no bloodshed getting it on.

“Boy, get your ass in here!” Hizashi feels a cold sweat gathering on his back, but he makes himself take his shoes off and head to the living room, only to run into his foster mother, Uzume, in the hallway. 

“You should’ve been home hours ago!” She snaps, angrily stepping toward him, “If you were here, we could’ve used your brain and not lose our money, where have you been?” 

“Use his brain” she says? Even if he was here to tell them that it was a bad idea to put all the money on that horse, they would’ve beat the shit out of him for being a smartass. Hizashi can’t respond even if he wanted to, so he receives the first slap on his face anyway. His face stings, his foster mom’s ring leaving a bruise on his forehead. 

“Boy!” Kusakabe, his foster father, continues to yell for him from the living room. Hizashi doesn’t know what to do– obey Uzume or Kusakabe’s call– until Uzume makes the decision for him and drags him by his hair into the living room. She lets him go, tossing Hizashi into the wall with a rough shove. He can barely hear them arguing because one of his hearing aids fell out with a slap, so he turns his head to read their lips, only to be hit in the stomach. He doubles over in pain, Kusakabe yelling something but Hizashi can’t understand over the static noises in his hearing aid. 

Kusakabe is probably telling him to stop ignoring them, which is ironic, because he’s deaf and mute right now, but that’s how it always goes. Uzume grabs his metal muzzle, pulling it so he is forced to look at her. She continues yelling words he can’t hear directly into his face, but Hizashi is too focused on the way his jaw is being clenched shut by the muzzle, and then the way it painfully crashes into his nose when the woman lets go. 

They are both drunk, going by the scattered bottles around the living room and the smell of Uzume’s breath, and they are both very angry– not a good combination. One of them strikes at his hip and it takes all of Hizashi’s power not to fall down. He can’t close his eyes, it will piss them even more, so he goes somewhere else, imagining Kayama caressing his cheek instead of the cold metal of the muzzle. When the taste of the iron in his mouth becomes warm blood, he remembers the feeling of Shouta’s lips on his. They haven't kissed with the tongue yet, but Hizashi thinks it will be nice. He thinks about Oboro’s tight, all encompassing hug when his ribs erupt with pain.

He snaps out of it, unfortunately, when two of his ribs are broken and the pain is so bad he can’t focus on anything else, but they do not stop. Hizashi weakly tries to cover himself, to block the painful blows, but he is so dizzy he can’t think, and they are not stopping. 

It hits him then, in his pain-wracked daze. A spark of a revelation. They are going too far this time. He is going to be killed tonight. 

He makes a panicked sound and Kusakabe pushes Hizashi away, covering his ears, afraid his voice will get through the muzzle. It doesn’t. 

Hizashi trips, falling backwards and feeling the glass table shatter under him. He probably has a concussion, so he doesn’t realise it quickly, but one of the glass pieces cuts a deep wound on his neck. The blood begins to rush from the cut and his foster parents just stand there. 

Please. I don’t wanna die. Please, help me.

His trembling hands find a gash on his neck, trying to stop the blood, but he is too weak. He can feel hot blood leaking through his cold fingers, trailing down his neck and soaking into the carpet under him. 

Hizashi begs. Obviously, no real noise comes out from the muzzle, but he begs them to help. He doesn’t want to die, not when everything in his life has just started to get good. Not when he just started dreaming. His one month anniversary with Shouta is in three days, he was planning to ask his boyfriend for a real-real kiss. Oboro comes back soon, so they can try out new levels in his game and maybe convince Kayama to join them at the arcade. His first video on the channel has been stuck at 98 views for a week, but he knows he can get a hundred. 

Hizashi has dreams and goals. Hizashi wants to become Present Mic: a hero whose smile never wavers, who is loud and confident and never afraid. Present Mic would die in battle, looking at the starry sky and smiling. Hizashi Yamada, an afraid little boy, dies with tears in his eyes, looking at an old, water stained ceiling and pleading desperately for help that will never come. 

14 years later

If someone asked Shouta what his biggest regret was, he would probably curl more into his yellow sleeping bag and snore in response. It wasn’t a difficult question, the answer was always on his mind, haunting him day and night, but it wasn’t anybody’s business. At least that’s what he thought before.

“Sensei?” Kirishima says, standing in front of him with a small pout on his face as his slightly hardened fingers knead the paper in his grasp nervously. His quirk is pretty weak right now, but Shouta can see the potential and determination still lingering in the boy. After five years of teaching at Nabu middle school, Shouta has seen enough of his students graduate and go to UA, so it’s safe to say he knows potential when he sees it. He’s proud of every single one of them, even if the name of the school was sitting heavy on his tongue.

Now that winter is ending, the sun shines brightly through large classroom windows and lights up the room, highlighting the uncertain pinch in Kirishima’s brow. Shouta can’t handle the pang of worry in his heart seeing one of his students so unsure. It’s been a month since Kirishima’s incident with a villain he ran into on the streets, alongside a girl from another class named Ashido. After the incident, Shouta watched as Kirishima’s confidence weakened and crumbled and Shouta was struggling to figure out a way to support the boy.

Or, that was until the boy brought his high school choices survey to Shouta, asking for a new one and filling it up with an application to UA. Shouta wasn’t sure what caused the second flip in confidence, but ever since, he’s seen the black-haired boy train harder than ever to prepare himself for the UA entrance exam next year. Shouta made sure to reiterate to Kirishima that he supports him and his goals, and that he was there if he ever needed to talk.

“Yes, Kirishima.” Shouta responds, his voice carefully even. 

“Uh.” The boy looks around the empty class and lowers his voice. Shouta suspects that maybe this is his student deciding to take up his offer and open up to him about something. He relaxes his shoulders, trying to look as open as possible. He hopes he can help whatever is troubling Kirishima. “I saw a bruise on one of the student’s neck that looked… I wasn’t sure if it was bullies or... Well, I wanted to tell someone, because you always say that you don’t tolerate bullies at this school and...” Kirishima continues to ramble, his voice a nervous and quiet rumbling, but Shouta got the main point and he swirled a pen in his fingers, straightening his back.

“Who?”

Kirishima blinks at him, surprised out of his rambling, “Huh?”

“Who had a bruise on their neck?” Shouta calmly reiterates, “Do you know their name?”

“Oh. Shinsou. He’s a tall guy with purple hair from class D.” Kirishima scratches his cheek, nervously looking at Shouta, like he didn’t want to bother him, but his “chivalrous spirit”, or whatever the boy was always talking about, seemed to have won against his fears. 

“Okay. I will handle it, you did a good job with telling me about it, Kirishima. Thank you.” He pauses, nodding to the paper that the boy was still holding, while his mind is trying to remember the boy by description and his name. “You can put your homework down and go if that was all.”

“Ah, sure, sorry. Can you... can you tell me if he is okay, afterwards? I mean, we didn’t really ever talk properly or anything, but he seems like a good guy and I’m a bit worried.”

Shouta sighs, standing up and taking Kirishima’s paper, shortly patting the boy’s shoulder, trying to provide some comfort with the gesture. 

“I will update you on the matter.” He relents, watching as the boy’s face relaxes slightly. Shouta can’t help the fondness he feels for the kid, Kirishima is a good boy with a soft heart and far too much insecurity. “Now, please, go home. It’s getting dark soon.”

“Yes, sensei.” 

He finds the right folder pretty quickly. Shouta doesn’t personally teach the boy, but when he looks at the photo, he recalls seeing a tall lanky boy with eye bags under his eyes and messy purple hair in the hallways every so often. 

Shinsou Hitoshi. Age: 14. 

Shouta goes through the papers, pausing at one sentence in particular that makes his heart stop for a second, dark thoughts swimming out to the surface. His brain connects two threads of information and dread pools in his stomach. 

Shinsou is in foster care and Kirishima said he saw bruises on the other boy. Oh, doesn’t the thought make him sick. He can’t make assumptions, there are good foster families, but he’s biased, sue him. Shouta needs to find out more information– the sooner the better. God, he hopes those bruises were left by bullies Shinsou’s age and not his foster parents, because he is not sure if he can stay sane if it’s the latter.

Shouta locates the house easily, crouching at the top of the roof. He is not a hero, far from it, but it doesn’t mean he lost his form. Physical exercises and midnight parkour through the city are a good way to get rid of ghosts, but it doesn’t help him now. 

The house is old, but it’s nothing unusual for this part of the town. Shouta has seen a house like this before, he is seeing a house like this in his nightmares. They don’t exactly look alike, but the atmosphere is the same and it’s enough for Shouta to have a draining heavy feeling in his stomach.

14 years ago

It was the first time that Shouta came to this house and he was worried. Hizashi hadn’t been answering any of his messages, his voice messages had been left ignored and his calls just continued to ring and ring. His boyfriend wasn’t one to ever skip classes, not even when he needed to– hell, the year before, Hizashi came into class with a broken arm because they had a test that day. This length of complete silence from Hizashi was unheard of. It was unusual for Hizashi to just disappear, so the logical decision was to ask a teacher for an address and visit Hizashi after school.

Shouta lifted his free hand to knock but stopped halfway, noticing that the door was ajar. The sight made him pause, but he knocked while peeking his head through the doorway anyway.

“Hello?” He called, only to hear no response. 

The house, to be frank, smelled gross. Just from the genken Shouta could smell the stink of trash, alcohol, cigarettes and rusty iron. He waited a little longer for a response, but at the thick sound of silence he pushed further inside, pulling the old wooden door open. He took a step inside, calling out a bit louder while looking around, “Hel–” Shouta’s voice cut off, his eyes immediately landed on the hearing aid lying in the middle of the hallway. He zeroed in on it, taking his shoes off and picking it up. 

Hizashi wasn’t the type to just leave his hearing aids lying around, as a matter of fact they’re the only items the boy is slightly overprotective of. The fact that it was just lying there in the middle of the floor begging to get stepped on was blaringly unusual. Alarm bells started sounding in his head then, confusion and worry spilling over him so fast it was dizzying. 

“Sorry for intruding.” Shouta muttered under his breath, carefully putting the device in his bag and continuing further into the house. It was hard to imagine Hizashi, his sunny and kind boyfriend, living in such a sullen, trashed place like this. He never talked about his foster parents, but this situation was definitely out of control, judging by the trash around the floor and the abandoned state of the house. 

Shouta stopped next to the kitchen, still looking for signs of literally anyone in the house, until something caught his eye to his right, just through the open door of the living room. He slowly turned his head, looking at the picture in front of him and blinking a few times, his legs bringing him inside the room without his brain acknowledging it. There was something wrong with his eyes.

Hizashi was laying down on the floor in the middle of the shattered glass, a big dark spot starkly contrasting on the grey carpet under Hizashi’s blond hair. Shouta’s eyes jumped from the boy's chest, his pale hand laying there covered completely in dried blood, then to his face, half of it covered in some kind of metal muzzle. One of Hizashi’s legs was turned in the wrong direction, a piece of glass sticking out of his thigh. Finally, Shouta’s eyes darted back up and landed on his boyfriend’s closed eyelids, numbly studying the long blond eyelashes touching the boy's blood and tear-stained cheeks.

“Zashi?” He lifted his now trembling arm, harshly slapping his own cheek, trying to wake up. 

Pain bloomed sharply across his cheek and jaw. Shouta was not sleeping.

Suddenly, a song cut through the thick silence of the room from the depths of his pocket. Next thing he knew the song stopped and his phone was in his hand, pressed to his ear. His eyes couldn’t stray from Hizashi’s pale face. 

“Hey,” Oboro’s voice echoed in his ear, though he could hardly register it then, “You promised to update me when you meet up with Hizashi– or are you too busy kissing?” There were kissing noises and Oboro snorted in his ear. “Shoutaaa.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing left his mouth, not a breath, not a word. He realised, too late, that he couldn’t breathe, Oboro saying something in the background. Shouta lowered himself on the floor next to Hizashi’s feet, crawling over to his face and wrapping fingers around his blood-covered wrists. 

“Shouta!”

“..no pulse.”

“Don’t scare me like that! What did ya say?”

Shouta dropped his phone on the carpet, ignoring Oboro and putting his shaking hand on his boyfriend's chest, slightly pushing him. “Hizashi, hey. Wake up.” 

He lowered his head, ignoring the tears burning his sensitive eyes and carefully working on the leather straps of the muzzle. His mind was all fuzzy and he just wanted Hizashi to say something. He wanted Hizashi to breathe. 

Hizashi doesn’t respond. 

“J-just a second, Zashi, I’ll take it off. Why are you wearing it? Your hearing aids fell off too.” His body shook violently with a sob as he mumbled under his breath, taking the muzzle off and flinching. Hizashi’s face was covered with blood– all over his mouth and where the muzzle cut into his skin. “It’s okay.” He promised wetly as he took Hizashi’s face into a shaky hold. He gently tried scrubbing dry blood off the unnaturally cold skin, “You’re gonna be just fine.” 

He weakly grabbed his phone, lifting it to his ear again. Oboro’s words were lost to deaf ears as he rattled off Hizashi’s address, his voice shaking and his vision blurry from tears.  “Zashi needs an ambulance. Please, Oboro.”

Shouta curled himself into Hizashi’s side, like he did just a day prior, closing his eyes and muffling a sob in his boyfriend's shoulder.

Now

Those times are blurry, especially the aftermath, but Shouta will never forget two things. The house where he found Hizashi without a pulse and was later confirmed dead on scene, covered in bruises and with broken bones all over, was the first thing. He will remember the smell of that house, that old door knob, that ugly carpet stained with Hizashi’s blood and alcohol for the rest of his life. The names “Kusakabe Ren” and “Uzume Fumiko” were the second thing, their faces saved in his memory with pure hatred and rage. If he was just angry as a teenager and Hizashi’s boyfriend, then now as an adult and a teacher, he was furious with the desire to kill those people for abusing and killing a child. Hizashi was just a kid; he was kind and strong, with a pure heart and big dreams. And those people took it all away from him. 

He is taken out of his thoughts when Shinsou shows up on the street. He is walking slowly, not really hurrying to go inside, stopping before the door and tugging on the strand of his hair. Shit if that isn’t a good sign. Shouta creeps closer, hiding in the shadows and trying to find a place where he can see inside of the house. 

Even better, he finds an open window, easily slipping inside of the house without any sound. He looks around a small room, seeing a spare school uniform and realising that it’s Shinsou’s room, which isn’t helping a sinking feeling in his gut. The room is bare: a small futon rolled on the floor, an old table in the corner and some clothes in neat piles. No posters, no toys, games or books, except for school ones. Nothing about this room says “teenage boy”, it’s as bland as a storage closet. 

There’s a noise downstairs and Shouta quickly leaves the room, following the voice and finding it coming from the living room. He hides behind the wall, peeking inside the room and keeping himself from flinching, because there is trash everywhere mixed with beer bottles, and that disgusting smell that brings him back to the past. He takes a breath and shakes himself out of it, he can’t be distracted right now, he needs to focus. 

He silently pulls out his phone and starts recording a video from his spot behind the wall, capturing the living room in the frame. He quiets his breathing, listening hard for any more noise. He only saw people in the room for one second, but he noticed Shinsou’s tense posture and his heart was pounding with fury. Adults should make children feel protected, not scared. 

“I thought I told you to clean shit up yesterday. Didn’t I, honey?” The man on the sofa burped and there was a sound of heavy walking.

“You did, boo.” As Shouta saw, there were three people in the room, presumingly Shinsou’s foster parents, as it said on the boy’s folder with documents. The second voice must be the foster mother. 

“Do you remember what you get for not cleaning shit up properly, boy?” Man’s voice sounded closer to the doorway, meaning closer to Shinsou. 

“Yes, sir.” Shouta clenched his teeth, because Shinsou sounded more like a robot than a child. He needed to stay seated and get some video confirmation for the police, but it was so damn hard. 

“And what is it?”

“The muzzle, sir.”

Shouta froze in his place an image of Hizashi’s dead body in front of his eyes, that metal muzzle strapped tight onto his deathly pale face. He came to his senses from a sound of a slap, more words being said, but Shouta couldn’t hear it over the pumping blood in his ears. That was enough. 

When he came out of his hiding, he barely registered Shinsou, holding his red cheek, before he grabbed the man by the back of his mullet, tugging him backwards. Shouta changed the grasp, turning the man face to face with himself, landing a nice crunchy punch to his nose. It was definitely broken now. Good. His knuckles burned a bit, adrenaline rushing through his body with rage. He felt his quirk being activated, eyes burning and hair floating, his jaw clenched tightly, preparing for another punch.

He saw the woman jumping to her feet and going in Shinsou’s direction, so he pushed the man and stepped back, standing in front of the boy and shielding him. Shouta needed to get it together. No matter how much he wanted to kill the couple, he couldn’t lose it in front of the kid. And Shinsou’s safety came first.

Think rationally.

“You better stay where you are and wait until I call the cops. You are being recorded.” He pointed at his phone, standing next to the wall, his other hand clenched tightly in the fist. “One step closer and I will punch you again. Feel free to go ahead and step forward though, I have no issue punching you again.” 

The man started to scream bloody murder, cursing Shouta, but he turned his head to the boy behind him, making his voice as calm as possible.

“Can I take your phone so I can call the police, Shinsou?” He looked at the boy's face, stopping at his bright pink cheek and noticing the bruise on his neck that Kirishima mentioned. Shinsou took his phone out, staring at Shouta as if he saw a ghost, but passed the device to him without a word anyway. “Thank you.”

“Behind y-” Shouta shifted his balance to the tip toes of his right leg, going for a high kick, adding some weight with a spin and landing his boot into the man's cheek. It was a good kick, the man was out in a second, his body sprawling on the floor. Shouta opened Shinsou’s flip phone, looking straight at the woman as he called the cops and reported the situation. He gave the phone back to Shinsou and looked at the boy. 

“Do you need immediate medical attention?”

“Huh?” Shinsou’s gaze snapped from the man on the floor to Shouta and he answered, before he could repeat. “No, sir.”

“You need to put something cold to your cheek, but I don’t want to leave you or them alone, so let’s wait for the police.” 

It doesn’t take long. The police arrive, receive Shouta’s video and pack them in the car. Shinsou and him are escorted  in a different car than the foster parents. They sit in silence, Shouta looking at one particular contact on his phone and hesitating. 

Rationally, he knows that Oboro would be a big help in the situation, being a pro with reputation and good old connections that Shouta, as a teacher, didn’t have. But his heart wavers with guilt, almost 15 years of ignoring the guy and dodging his calls and texts, just to ask him for help on random Friday.

But it was for the kid. Oboro will get it. He was there when Shouta lost himself in grief and nightmares.

If they can save this kid together, would Hizashi forgive them for not saving him that day? 

14 years ago

He fell sick a week after finding Hizashi’s body. There was an ash urn staying on his table, because he begged his parents to pay for a proper cremation process. His body was burning with fever, curled up in a thick blanket, eyes burning and his mind was fuzzy with the lack of sleep. 

Shouta knew he wasn’t okay. His parents were worried, one of them staying at home with him while the other went to work. They force fed him some soft food and some jelly packets, keeping him hydrated. His friends were there too, Kayama softly talking to him, while Oboro wrapped his blanket cocoon into the bear hug. Shouta didn’t remember what his friends were saying, nor for how long he stayed like that. 

Some time later he started going to the therapist and back to school. It all didn’t really matter anymore. The question in his head, repeating itself over and over, Hizashi’s dead body appearing in his dreams every night. 

How can I call myself a hero?

He went to school, to the agency, therapy and home. His grades fell, because he couldn’t concentrate on the lesson, falling asleep more and more. He ate food at the rooftop with Oboro, feeling a cold chill on his left side where Hizashi used to lean into him.

“Shouta.”

He blinked, following the voice and meeting Oboro’s eyes. He changed too. Oboro’s hair seemed darker, a small wrinkle between his brows from constant frowning. The boy still joked around with their classmates, forcing their attention onto him instead of Shouta, which was nice of him. But Shouta saw bloodied bandages around his friend’s knuckles, he saw Oboro beating the shit out of the punching bag. While Shouta’s grief turned into depression and exhaustion curdled together with guilt, Oboro’s turned into determination and anger. 

“You don’t need to take it, but I thought you would want it. I was going to ask you, if I can.. have one too.” Oboro was holding a small box in his hand and Shouta reached over, opened it and saw a small dark red cylinder shaped container with a black cap. He opened it, seeing that the thing was hollow inside, but it was attached to the necklace. 

“What is this?”

“A holder for Hizashi’s ashes.”

Shouta’s hand twitched, the object in his fingers suddenly getting cold and very heavy. 

“Like I said, you don’t have to take it. But I have another one for myself and I was wondering, if I can have.. some of Hizashi’s ashes for myself.”

“You would… want that?” His mouth was dry’ as he remembered a simple urn in his bedroom. The thought of having Hizashi that close to him, terrified him and made him feel lighter at the same time. 

“He was my friend too, Shouta.” Oboro says, his voice so soft it nearly wafts away with the slight breeze on the roof, “I loved him too.”

Shouta’s gaze snapped to Oboro’s face, his lips turned into a frown and his blue eyes staring right back at him. 

“I know. I’m sorry.” He lowered his eyes back to the necklace, putting it back in the box. “You can come over after school.”

That day, Oboro helped him transfer Hizashi’s ashes into two containers and Shouta gave the urn to his friend, saying that Kayama can have it. She only knew Hizashi for two months, but he knew that they clicked immediately. 

A couple of months later, the school year ended and Shouta left UA without telling Oboro. Oboro tried to keep contact after he left UA, but Shouta’s answers were short and dry, and the other boy was busy with hero work, getting his license and planning his future. With time, their status changed from ‘best friends’ to ‘acquaintances’. 

Now

Shouta looked over the last message from Oboro, a month ago, when he left the man on read. It didn’t matter how hard it was, this wasn’t about him. He squeezed his necklace in his palm, sending a short message. 

Me

>> Need help with cops. Are you free? 

Shirakumo Oboro

>> ???? Are you alr? Did you kill someone??

>> Send me the adress 

Me

>> Yes. And no. See you there. 

Shouta sent the number of a precinct, glancing over to the boy at his right from the corner of his eye, who was holding an ice pack to his cheek. Shinsou looked a bit lost, clenching his bag to his chest and following objects on the street with his eyes. 

It’s going to be a damn long night. 

They are taken to a separate room, him and Shinsou sitting on one side of the table with an empty chair on the other. The boy is still hugging his backpack like it’s his life support, his leg jumping up and down with nerves. 

“You didn’t do anything.” Shouta says calmly, hoping to ease the kid’s mind, even if it’s just a tiny bit, “You are here only because you were a witness.” Shinsou stares at him, but he is distracted again by the opening door and a police officer. 

“Ah. Aizawa. Long time no see.” Yamamoto-san, a woman in her late 40s and the captain of this precinct– and who, by pure coincidence, happened to be one of the first responding officers at Hizashi’s foster house 14 years ago. She was the street cop who had to pry Shouta’s hands from the cold body of his boyfriend. She saw him every time Shouta was arrested for fighting at the street, only to be later bailed out by Oboro. So, it was safe to say, they were familiar with each other. Too familiar. 

“Been a while.” Shouta shrugs, while Yamomoto-san takes her seat on the other side of the table. 

She talks to the boy first, asking about his foster parents and Shouta has to admit, she does a pretty good job gently questioning the kid, but Shouta dissociates after a while, thinking about his own problem. He knows he’ll be asked why he was there in the first place and he is not sure he can lie, not without dragging Shinsou into that too. Shouta knows the kid will probably go along with his lie, but it’s not exactly what he wants. 

“And what about Aizawa? Why was he at your house?” Shouta tenses up, preparing to talk, even though Yamomoto-san asked Shinsou, but the boy speaks first. 

“Aizawa-sensei brought me my bag. I forgot it at school. The door was ajar and he heard screaming… I think that’s why he came in without knocking.” Shinsou looks to the side, meeting his eyes and squeezing his school bag on his lap. Shouta must admit, the lie was pretty convincing. 

Before he can say anything, there is a knock on the door and an officer lets Oboro in. 

“Sorry for interrupting, Loud Cloud is here and wanted to come in– he said he knows you, Yamomoto-san?” The younger officer, seemingly in awe from seeing a famous hero, blushes when Oboro shoots him a smile and comes inside. 

“Hey, Yamomoto-san, Shouta, how is it going? And you, kid, though we haven’t been acquainted yet. I’m Oboro Shirakumo, nice to meet ya, buddy!” He reaches out a hand and Shinsou shakes it, mouth a bit open, obviously aware of who Oboro is. Not surprising. 

“Shinsou Hitoshi.” Shouta chimes in, introducing the boy. “He’s a student at my school.”

“Ah, I see.” Oboro’s gaze finally stops on Shouta and he is fully aware he would be pulled into a bear-hug if they weren’t in the middle of a police precinct. There is a red and black ash holder hanging around his friend's neck, a twin to Shouta’s. His eyes quickly dart away as soon as they spot the necklace. 

The conversation goes easier from there, because Oboro’s status lets him do much more than Shouta could imagine. Half an hour later, the two of them are waiting outside the precinct, waiting for Oboro to join them. As soon as the hero exits the precinct, he walks over to them, holding papers out for Shouta to take. 

“That's information for Shinsou’s caseworker. Ya have a foster license?”

“I do. Got it a couple of years ago.”

“I’m sorry.” Shouta lifts his eyes from papers, looking at Shinsou in question. “You know, you don’t have to do that. Or… You didn’t have to do any of that. I mean, I… am grateful, but why were you there? What...” Shinsou freezes for a second and Shouta sees a slight panic in his eyes, as he stutters. “Y-You were inside my house.”

Shouta has read the kid’s folder. His quirk was activated by question and Shinsou was clearly terrified of asking something, which raised another wave of anger in him, but now was not the time. 

“I don’t mind you asking questions. If you are trying to understand why I was inside your house, I can answer that. Kirishima, a boy from my class, noticed a bruise on your neck and told me about it. He was concerned for you.” Shinsou blinked at that, his eyebrows flying up. “I’ve read your folder and the ‘foster care’ part gave me suspicion about your abusive household.”

Oboro steps aside then, lighting up a cigarette. It’s a habit he picked up on shortly after school and never managed to get rid off. Shouta watches him take a deep drag before releasing a cloud of smoke. Guiltily, Shouta has to remind himself once again that he is not the only one with grief on their shoulders.

“Why do you care?”

Shouta is returned to the present by the simple, rational question. Why does he care? There are so many reasons why he cares, but the easiest one is:

“You are a child and I’m an adult. My student raised a concern with me and I promised to solve the problem. This is me, solving the problem, kid.” 

“But you didn’t have to... do all that illegal stuff. I only covered for you because I didn’t want you to get in trouble, but you really didn’t have to. It's not that serious.” Shinsou scratches the back of his head, looking to the side and Shouta feels his eye twitch. Was this how Hizashi felt? That it ‘wasn’t that bad’, so he never told anyone? Shouta never knew. He took a shaky breath in, covering his necklace and tugging on it.

“Kid. They were putting a muzzle on you and beating you.” He can feel the weight of Oboro watching them. “This is that serious.”

There is silence and Shinsou breathes out. The kid is uncomfortable, but Shouta isn’t sure what to do. He was always better at comforting touches then talking it through, but abused kids rarely wanted to be touched by a stranger.

“Kiddo.” Oboro came back, stopping on Shouta’s side, but looking at Shinsou. “Do you know what happens next?”

“I presumed I would get a new foster home. That’s what usually happens. Sir.”

“No need for ‘sir’, Oboro is just fine. And, no, not exactly. We will be searching for the foster house for you, but it will take time, because we are not trustful of your caseworker as of right now. Your previous foster family will go to court and then, when convicted for their abuse, to prison.”

“If it works out well, your caseworker will go to jail too for negligence. They were supposed to watch over you and they clearly didn’t do a very good job.” Shouta adds and his friend nods, turning back to Shinsou. Oboro grew up. Not only in a literal sense, now that he was two meters tall, but mentally too. Standing behind Oboro was calming and safe, and, to be honest, Shouta missed that feeling of a protective cloud, saving you from the fall.

Oboro changed so much, at the same time not changing a single bit. He came when Shouta ignored him for months, smiling softly and putting a warm big hand on Shouta’s shoulder. He can remember those arms wrapping around him and Hizashi, hiding them from an entire world. 

Maybe, if Hizashi stayed in Oboro’s arms, behind the clouds, he would still be shining, as bright as the sun. 

Maybe, just maybe, Oboro can keep Shinsou in the safety of the clouds.  

“The point is, Shouta can take you in until we find you a proper foster home. I would do it myself, but my lifestyle is not the best for the kid since both me and my girlfriend are heroes.”

Shinsou looks at Oboro with an open mouth and then at Shouta. 

“That’s true. If you like, you can stay with me. I am not going to force you, obviously, but it’s only rational. And it’s the best decision I can think about for now.”

“I mean... You don’t have to do all that, Aizawa-sensei.”

“I know.” Shinsou is looking at him with a small frown on his face, tugging on his own long fingers. Shouta takes a glance at Oboro, getting an idea. “You can come with me, only if you don’t have a cat allergy.”

It works. Shinsou’s eyes shine with interest and his lips are forming a pout. 

“I don’t.” Shouta can read the question in a kid's mind. Do you have cats? 

“I have three.” He simply answers an unasked question and both him and Oboro are looking at the boy for an answer. 

“If I... can stay with you… um... It would be really nice. You don’t need to...” Shouta heard enough. 

“Let’s go.” Shouta moved, but Oboro patted his shoulder, pointing out a jeep parked next to the precinct. 

“I can drop you off and see what needs to be bought. I don’t believe your apartment has changed too much since the last time I was there, so you need some stuff. I’ll buy it for you, since I’m such a good uncle. Call me uncle Boro.” He wrapped an arm around Shouta’s shoulder, carefully putting his other palm on Shinsou’s shoulder and leading them to the car. 

“Nobody is calling you that.”

“Aw, shucks!”

It’s late at night, when Oboro leaves after having dinner in Shouta’s living room. Shinsou looks around Shouta’s bedroom, scratching his neck and looking back at him. 

“I am not trying to be rude, but even my foster house bedroom was more… filled.” 

“Brat.” Shouta mutters under his breath and rolls out a futon, taking out a sleeping bag from his closet. “Just go to sleep. I am going to be in the living room if you need anything.” He is tired, but he has work to do and Shinsou is supposed to sleep at that time. 

“You’re sure that it’s okay... that I’m taking your room and everything.” Shinsou is wearing his pajamas, rolled up pants and shirt sleeves, but Oboro promised a special delivery for the boy tomorrow. 

“It’s fine. I prefer the sleeping bag anyway. Go to sleep, Shinsou. I will see you in the morning.”

Shouta receives a short nod and quiet “good night”, before getting out and closing a door. He breathes out and goes to make himself a cup of coffee, but he can’t escape what’s coming. 

At 2 AM, Shouta gives up putting the inevitable off and goes inside the room. It’s supposed to be a guest bedroom but there is no bed there, instead the room is filled with boxes of Hizashi’s things. It’s not a lot, just his clothes, hearing aids, some printed at school posters, an old notebook. Shouta never got rid of anything. 

He picks everything up and quietly brings boxes to the door of his bedroom, not looking at the stuff inside. The ash holder burns his skin under the shirt and in a selfish way, Shouta wishes that Shinsou will be afraid to ask questions so he doesn’t need to answer them. 

He cleans up, as much as he can without making a lot of noise, leaving the room bare but clean. Oboro told him he would buy a bed, so even after Shinsou moves out Shouta can have a real bed. 

Shouta leaves the room and flops onto the couch in the living room, crawling into the sleeping bag and closing his eyes. 

The last time he slept on a real bed, it was the bed he and Hizashi were kissing and cuddling on. It was a bed in his parents house, where he spent days weeping in his pillow after Hizashi was killed. 

He falls asleep on the couch and dreams of deadly pale hands reaching for him in the silent plea. 

Shouta wakes with a weight on his chest, a real, tangible weight, not a psychological one. Orange is sitting on his chest, fluffy butt pushing at Shouta’s chin. He sighs, gently pushing the cat away as he sits up, rubbing his dry eyes. His eye drops are in his bedroom and Shouta looks around to find an apartment empty of one teenager. One glance at his phone said that it’s well after noon, since Shouta didn’t set any alarms yesterday, so even if the kid was sleeping, it was time to have at least breakfast. 

He stands up, cracking his bones as he goes and heads toward his bedroom door. The boxes taunt him from where they sit in the hall, and his eyes remain glued to them as he knocks on the door. There are quick steps and Shinsou opens the door in two seconds, blinking at Shouta. 

He turns back, taking in the sight of Shinsou looking very much awake, “You weren’t asleep?” 

“I don’t sleep too much. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to leave the room, so I stayed here.” 

Shouta blinks at the kid, trying to understand if he is serious, but Shinsou just looks at him.

“Of course you are allowed to leave the room, kid. Do whatever you want.”

“Okay. Sorry.” Shinsou dives under Shouta’s arm and disappears into the bathroom, leaving Shouta in the hallway, scratching his chin. He probably will need to set up some rules for the house and explain to the kid that the house is not a prison. It will take some time, but he can manage. He is really taking care of a kid now, huh? What would Hizashi think about that?

Shouta moves the boxes into his bedroom, hiding them in his half empty closet and going to the kitchen next. He feeds three loudmouths that are begging for food and goes to heat up leftovers from yesterday for him and Shinsou. The kid comes into the kitchen, watching the cats (Shouta’s glad to learn that the kid is just as big of a fan of cats as he is) and tugging on the strand of his hair. 

“Sit down. Breakfast will be ready in a couple of minutes. I don’t have any drinks except coffee and water, so we need to go shopping soon.” Shouta stands a glass of water and makes himself some coffee, rubbing his eyes and putting hot plates on a kitchen table. 

“I don’t mind coffee.” Shinsou says, but Shouta gives him one look over and the kid looks down at his food. “Or the water is fine.. I guess.”

“Eat.” They sit in silence, eating until there is a knock on the door. Shouta stands up first, opening the door and sighing loudly. He is swiped into the hug from Kayama, who is too strong for a woman her size, but then Oboro joins and Shouta is struggling to breathe. They let him be after some time and bow Shouta can see a car downstairs, two big bags on Oboro’s shoulders and Shouta regrets, just a bit, letting them help. 

“You were right! He does look like a mini-Aizawa.” Kayama snorts, moving to Shinsou behind him and smiling at the kid. “Hey, Shinsou, I am your auntie Nem, call me that.”

“Nobody is calling you that. She is Kayama Nemuri.” Shouta rolls his eyes and he forces his face into a pout to hide the urge to let a small smile creep onto his face. It’s nice and nostalgic to have his friends here. Can he still call them friends after he left them? 

“I know you. You’re pro-hero Midnight. It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.” Shinsou bows a little and Shouta can see that neither Oboro nor Kayama like it. It’s too formal and they already accepted this kid as their nephew, even though Shouta was his temporary foster parent. And they are not Shouta”s siblings. Not that they cared about all that. Ever.

“Just Kayama is fine, honey.”

“And Shirakumo is alright too.”

It’s scarily easy to move in the same rhythm with them both, Shouta notices. Just like back in high school, before Hizashi’s death, it was easy to be with his friends, no matter how different they were. Shouta feels guilt pooling in his stomach, but he pushes it down. They bring Shinsou’s new bed, installing it in the corner of the room. Next goes a table, then some bookshelf that Oboro puts on the wall. Kayama brings in a couple of flowerpots and puts blue sheets with yellow stars on Shinsou’s bed. By the end of the day, the kid’s room looks much better than anything else in the apartment. Apparently, his friends also brought some cat trees and toys, food into Shouta’s fridge (including simple frozen meals and jelly packets), but they didn’t bring anything for Shouta himself. He feels grateful.

Before they leave, Oboro catches Shouta alone in the kitchen and helps him wash the dishes. 

“Here.” When they are done, Oboro puts a credit card on the table and Shouta raises a brow in question. “It’s for Shinsou and whatever he needs to buy. I know you can handle it, but I want to help, you know? Since we can’t have a kid in our place, it’s the only way I can..”

Shouta interrupts Oboro’s rumbling by patting his biceps. “I will take it. I know what you mean.” He scratches his stubble and lets out a quiet sigh, looking to the side. “I saw you on the news about donations you are making toward orphanages and stuff like that.”

Oboro straightens up and nervously swirls a ring on his finger. “Ah. Ya did?”

“I... I think Hizashi would be grateful. For what you are doing.” Shouta scratches his wooden table, not daring to look up and see Oboro’s face. It’s hard, getting words out from his mouth, saying Hizashi’s name like that and talking with Oboro. “I know I am.”

There is a loud exhale from his left side and Shouta can see Oboro crouching down and hiding his face in his knees. He doesn’t get any smaller, even that way Oboro’s head is almost on the same level as Shouta’s hip, but there is a muffled sniffle and all Shouta can see is his teenage friend wailing over Hizashi’s ashes. 

He always forgets that he is not the only person grieving Hizashi.

Oboro and Kayama leave with a big hug and red lipstick stain on Shouta’s cheek. He leans on the door for a second, drained from the active day and emotions burning inside his chest. 

Oboro and Kayama were always people who were too energetic, but in high school Shouta had Hizashi. His boyfriend was energetic, but different from the duo. Shouta only understood why when he found out more and more about Hizashi’s foster family. Hizashi wasn’t always bright and shiny, but he learned quickly, adapting to other people, which made him a perfect middle between Oboro and Shouta. It was hard to exist without him. 

Shouta sighed, walking past the cat under his legs and stopping by Shinsou’s door, knocking first and not receiving an answer. 

“Shinsou?” The kid was okay just a half an hour ago, when he left the group to take a shower and get ready for bed, so Shouta took his chances, peeking inside the room. “Shin...” 

Shinsou was sitting on the bed and his head snapped to the open door, hands flying up to take the headphones off. Shouta knew the boy was saying something, but his eyes were focused on an old Walkman with a cassette inside. It was Hizashi’s and Shinsou was holding it in his hands. 

“Aizawa-san.” Shouta’s gaze snapped to Shinsou’s face, the kid blinking at him with a look of confusion. “I am sorry, I found it inside the bed drawer. Sorry, I touched it without your permission. I swear, I didn’t break it or anything. It… it has nice songs on it.” Shinsou quickly got out of bed, coming to Shouta and carefully returning the player. Shouta looked at his hands, feeling a slight shake under the weight of the Walkman and the vibration of the headphones. 

He remembered Hizashi once said that he can feel the vibrations without his hearing aids and that was why he loved the beat and loud clear music. Shouta can barely hear the words, but he recognised the song. It was ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’ by Guns n’ Roses. He knows the mixtape too, song by song, made by Hizashi specifically for Shouta. 

“It’s fine.” He croaked out and swallowed hard, trying to return his voice. “Didn’t take you for… a rock kind of guy.”

“I didn’t take you for one either.” Shinsou smirked, looking relieved that Shouta didn’t seem angry. He would have gotten angry, not because of that, but because Shinsou was scared of his reaction, all that potential anger seeped out of him. He wished Hizashi was here. He always did. 

“It’s not mine. My… it’s my friend’s mixtape. The player too. I thought I cleared out everything yesterday. Sorry.”

“Oh.” Shinsou definitely stopped himself from asking what happened to Shouta’s friend, but that time none of them said anything. Shouta was relieved he didn’t have to talk about Hizashi right now, so he turned the music off, trying to remember why he came to Shinsou in the first place.

“Do you need to buy anything else for your room? We should buy you some clothes tomorrow, but tell me if you want anything else.” Shouta looked the kid up and down, stopping at his eyes. “Do you have any medical issues that weren’t met, because your previous foster parents didn’t want to pay for it? Bad eyesight, bad hearing, anything of that sort?”

“No, not really.” Shinsou shook his head and Shouta decided to believe it, since he didn’t see the kid struggling with reading or hearing anything, but there was another thing.

“What about sleep? Do you have problems with your sleep?” When he was a kid, before Hizashi died, his own eye bags were mostly genetic. He got a full night of sleep and he took a lot of naps, but the eyebags stayed there. After Hizashi was killed, his sleep became a problem, nightmares leaving him exhausted. 

“Uhm.. well. I usually can’t fall asleep for a long time, but that’s not a problem, really. It’s been like that for years now.” Shinsou scratched the back of neck, nervously looking at Shouta, which made him sigh.

“It is a problem. I will contact my doctor and we will see, okay? And if you have any other health issues, I expect you to tell me. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Aizawa.”

“Yes, Aizawa-san.”

“Good. Now, I’ll give you some melatonin gummies and you try going to sleep.” There is a grumble from Shinsou, but Shouta has already left. 

It’s easy to fall into the routine with Shinsou. The kid acts like Shouta in a lot of ways, which makes the deal pretty simple. They don’t go out, instead buying all the stuff Shinsou needed online, even if the kid protests a bit. 

The next monday they go to school together, taking a train and separating next to the school entrance. Shouta has to deal with fidgeting Kirishima all class period, who quickly darts toward his desk as soon as everyone else is gone from the classroom.

“If you want to ask about Shinso–” Kirishima shuts his mouth with a snap, before he can say anything. “It’s been dealt with. He will be okay.”

Kirishima blinks and loudly sighs out, holding a hand to his chest. 

“I was so worried the whole weekend. Thank you, sensei. You’re a hero.” The kid bows to him and Shouta hides a grimace on his face, looking to the side. 

“If you didn’t say anything, I wouldn’t have known, Kirishima. I think you will make a good hero. Thank you. ” Kirishima looks up to him with shining eyes and Shouta hopes that the shine won’t disappear. 

He sees Shinsou talking with Kirishima a couple of days after. Both of them are on a lunch break, standing next to the vending machine. Shinsou is probably thanking Kirishima too. Shouta leaves them alone.

Shinsou’s foster parents are taken to court, together with his case worker. The situation is resolved pretty quickly, thanks to Kayama and Oboro, and all three guilty people are sent to prison for abuse and neglect. Kayama, meanwhile, is searching for the perfect family for Shinsou, even though she always mumbles something about Shouta being a perfectly fit dad. With time, that thought gets its way into Shouta’s mind, when he feels himself getting attached to the kid.

He can see Shinsou and Kirishima together pretty frequently, which is kinda surprising, but Shouta isn’t the one to talk about friendship between completely different people. He is pretty sure the two boys are not that different, actually, since it seems like they are both unsure about their way as future heroes. Shinsou becomes more relaxed with every day and his eyebags fade away slightly with the right medication. If Shouta says so himself, Shinsou likes it here. 

And this whole friendship story with him and Kirishima leads them to that night. 

“Aizawa-san.” They just finished dinner and Shinsou is looking at him with a bit of nervous expression, spinning a chopstick in his fingers. “Can I… sleepover at Kirishima’s place?”

It takes a lot of willpower for Shouta to not drop his jaw and his chopsticks, leaving his expression unreadable as usual. This is the first time Shinsou asked him a question, while they were alone. 

“When?”

“Ah...” Shinsou blinks, gathering himself and straightening his shoulders. “Friday after school.”

“Did Kirishima’s guardians allow it?”

“Y-yeah. He brings his other friends over sometimes, so it’s alright.”

Shouta nods, rapidly thinking of what other questions the responsible adult is supposed to ask a child going on a sleepover. “Then I don’t see why not. I have their number already, so they can call me in case anything happens. Don’t forget to take your pills and a phone charger. And text me if you need anything, I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night. If I don’t answer..”

“I will call Shirakumo-san or Kayama-san. I know, dad, I got it.” They both freeze and Shinsou is gaping at him like a fish, getting paler with every second. “I… I mean... I am so sorry! I don’t even know why... I... I never called any of my foster parents that, I swear, I didn’t! I’m...”

“Shinsou, it’s okay.” He stands up, going around the table and turning the kid’s chair, crouching in front of it, so he can stop towering over the panicked child. “It’s fine. You didn’t do anything wrong. Just breathe, okay?”

Shouta catches a cat that passes by (by coincidence, Shinsou’s favourite) and shoves it into the boy’s hands. Shinsou nods and makes a shaking exhale, petting the cat on his lap. It takes him some time to calm down, Shouta’s knees hurting from the crouching position, but he stays there, carefully watching the kid. 

Shinsou is doing much better now, here. It’s been a few months since Shouta took him in and he will not say that he didn’t think about adopting the kid. He is great. Kind, smart, a bit insecure and traumatised, but still hopeful about his life. His friendship with Kirishima definitely helped to restore his confidence and start asking questions, like today, which amazes Shouta. He wasn’t sure when Shinsou would start asking questions, but he couldn’t feel the proud swell in his chest when the kid finally did it. He would love to give Shinsou a loving home, if he wants to stay here. But. 

Shouta must admit, taking Shinsou in helped him too. He started talking to Oboro and Kayama again, keeping in touch now, since they wanted to be in their ‘nephew’s’ life. His days were not quiet anymore, his apartment not bare, filled with everything Shinsou brought to his life. More so, Shouta felt greedy, helping the kid and playing a hero he couldn’t be when Hizashi needed him. 

Shinsou’s story was a rewritten version of Hizashi’s and it filled Shouta with relief and sadness. Laying late at night and looking at the ceiling he was wondering if Hizashi had visible bruises that Shouta didn’t notice. He couldn’t remember now. 

Was taking Shinsou in, adopting him, a right decision? How could he be that selfish, when all he does is heal his own trauma with that kid? 

He reassures Shinsou that it’s not a problem, ruffling his hair and sending the kid to get some sleep. 

Me

>> Are you free Friday night? Can you come over?

Oboro Shirakumo

>> I have a girlfriend and she is very gorjus, sorry :3

Me

>> Gorgeous.

>> I need to talk about something

Oboro Shirakumo

>> I’ll be at your place at 5pm, buddy

Shouta gets into the shower, leaving his phone out and sighing with relief under hot water. When did he start asking advice from Oboro again? 

Oboro is at his place at 5.30pm, because the guy was never good at being on time. Which is fine. They eat dinner and drink some beer, Oboro filling in the silence with talking, while Shouta gathers his thoughts. 

“Do you think..” Shouta interrupts, but Oboro immediately turns all of his attention to him “Do you think I can adopt Shinsou?”

There is a silence stretching out between them, before Oboro speaks, his voice gentle and warm. “I do. But you don’t think you can, right? Why so?”

Oboro is reading him like an open book, huh? Well, no, actually that’s a bad metaphor since Oboro is dyslexic.

“I think I’m.. using Shinsou as a possibility to soothe my guilt for what happened to Hizashi. Like.. uh.. like I can cover the mistakes I made in the past when I’m helping Shinsou.”

“And why do you think it’s a bad thing?” Shouta’s head snaps up and he looks at Oboro with a raised eyebrow. 

“He is a human being. A child. I can’t use him like that?”

“He is using you too, Shouta. He is using you for comfort that he never had and for help. And it’s not a bad thing. I use those orphanages, donating money, doing charity work and everything to soothe my grief and make it up to Hizashi. It’s not bad. If it’s helping people, it’s not bad. You provide Hitoshi with comfort and love. You give him food, support and you will continue to give him what he needs most, because you are a kind person, Shouta. You may not have a hero license, but you will always be a hero at heart. It’s not something that just goes away when you decide you don’t want to go on patrols or fight villains. It’s in your mindset and in your heart. If you want to adopt Hitoshi and he wants the same, you should do it. If you fuck up, and you probably will, me and Muri will be there to support you and Hitoshi.”

Shouta breathes out, looking towards Shinsou’s room and thinking it over. There are too many things he needs to say. He needs to apologise for his avoidance of Oboro and Kayama through all those years. He needs to say thank you. He needs to tell Oboro that the kid called him dad. He needs to say that ‘the kid’ turned into ‘my kid’ a while ago. 

“Do you think... I should tell him about Hizashi?” That’s what comes out. Shouta isn’t sure why. 

“You don’t need to, but I think it would be a good opportunity to open up to each other. I don’t think Hizashi is something you should hide from him, but you don’t need to push yourself either.”

Shouta sips on his beer and lowers his head on the table. His thoughts are buzzing around, but there is a big warm palm covering the back of his head and soothing the noise. 

It’s Saturday afternoon when Shinsou comes home. Shouta hears a small “I’m home” and peers down the hallway just in time to see the kid kneeling down to greet the cats.

“Welcome home. Everything went okay?” Shinsou looks up at him and nods, hiding a smile in the red fur of one of the cats. “Hungry?”

“No, Kirishima’s moms fed me before I went home. Oh, they also packed me some leftovers for you.” Shinsou digs out a lunchbox from his backpack, standing up to give it over.

“Huh.” Shouta takes a lunchbox with dinosaurs on it and smirks. “Sure.” 

Shinsou takes off his shoes, finally coming through and stopping next to Shouta, looking at the boxes in the living room with raised eyebrows.

“It’s some old stuff that was in your room, before I moved them out. I was… wondering if you mind helping me go through it?” For the first time in forever, Shouta feels nervous. So many emotions clinging to him through those years, but nervousness was a really rare guest. 

“Oh. Sure, yeah, I can do that.” Shinsou looks at him and then back at the boxes, before they both land on a couch. Shouta pulls one of the boxes closer, feeling his palms covering with nervous sweat and opening a box. There is no turning back.

“This stuff belonged to my boyfriend.” Shouta sees the kid’s head snap in his direction and he suppresses a chuckle. “No need to be so surprised, yes, I had a boyfriend. We met in high school and dated for less than a month in our second year.”

“Why do you..” Shinsou stops himself, but Shouta can see his curiosity winning over fear to ask questions and he is prepared this time. It’s okay. “Why do you have so much of his stuff, if you only dated for a month?”

“He was killed and he didn’t have any relatives, so all the stuff he owned went to me. There is nothing really valuable here, so it wasn’t very hard to get it from the police.” Shinsou looks at the boxes and furrows his brows in thoughts, debating the next answer.

“He was in foster care, wasn’t he?” God, his kid was smart.

“Yes.” Shinsou reaches over to the box and takes out a small box with cassettes that belonged to Hizashi. Some of them were gifts from Shouta, some from Oboro and Nemuri. He can’t remember songs from there, but he can remember a bright smile Hizashi gave them when he received his first cassette ever.

“That… How did he die?” From the tone of his voice, Shouta suspects that Shinsou already has an idea or a couple at this point, but he promised himself to answer all the questions Shinsou was willing to ask.

“His foster parents killed him.” Shinsou covers his mouth with his palm, looking at the cassette in his hand. 

“I am sorry for your loss, Aizawa-san.” Shinsou says after a minute of silence, putting both of his hands on a mixtape. Shouta silently nods, because after so many years he is still not sure what to say to that. There are so many standard reponses, but none of them ever felt right. Not when it was about Hizashi. “That information actually explains a lot.”

“Like?”

“Like the way you defended me that first day, against my previous foster parents. Or the way you act. Or... why you are not a hero, when both of your friends are. You went to UA, didn’t you? And your boyfriend too?”

“Yeah. I quit after the second year. And his name was Yamada Hizashi.”

Shinsou nods and takes out some notebooks from the boxes, sorting them out. 

“What was he like? Can you tell me?” 

Hizashi has been dead for years– long, arduous years full of tentative, awkward conversations with people about his dead high school boyfriend, and not once has someone ever asked Shouta to talk about who Hizashi was besides a dead hero hopeful who died too young as a result of being dealt a shitty hand in life. Before he knows it, words start to spill from his mouth, and it surprises him just how easy it is. The more of Hizashi’s stuff is out of the boxes, the more stories Shouta has to tell. 

He talks until his throat hurts, but his head is surprisingly clear. 

That night Shouta dreams of warm palms on his cheeks and fresh wind on his skin.

Epilogue

Hitoshi’s adoption process is finished by the time the boy is accepted into UA. Oboro throws a big celebration in his and Kayama’s house. Kirishima is there too and Shouta blinks a couple of times when the kids come together from a sleepover, their hair gelled up and Kirishima’s dyed red. Shouta makes a remark to ask Hitoshi about it later. 

It’s a nice party and both boys blush under compliments thrown at them, together with congratulations. Kirishima is, apparently, a big fan of the Loud Cloud, which causes him to be a bit more energetic than usual, but it doesn’t disturb Hitoshi as Shouta thought. It is the exact opposite, because a couple of times Shouta catches his kid staring at Kirishima with a soft smile and slight blush. When Hitoshi looks at him, Shouta hides his grin behind his drink. 

Kayama, obviously, starts up some karaoke and Shouta escapes as soon as Oboro starts to sing, Kirishima soon joining him. His ears burn with second hand embarrassment, but as long as all of those people are happy - it’s alright. He can live with that. 

Shouta stops in front of the door, taking a deep breath before coming inside and sitting down on his knees. 

“Sorry, I haven’t visited you in a long time, have I?” His voice is barely a whisper, when he lights up a candle and puts it next to Hizashi’s picture. There are fresh flowers carefully put around the room, a couple of flower pots and Hizashi’s favourite snack next to his urn. This room existed since the couple bought a house, but Shouta never visited it before. The last time the shrine was still in Kayama’s old apartment, which was much smaller, but just as nice. “I have a lot to tell you, but I am sure Kayama or Oboro already said everything for me.”

Shouta rubs the corners of his eyes to stop them from burning and huffs a small laugh. 

“I am doing better, Hizashi.” It seems important, so he lets a soft smile slip onto his face. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore. I think.. I will be alright.”

There is a knock and Shouta turns around to see Hitoshi quietly sliding the door open, looking at him for permission. Shouta just nods and turns back to Hizashi, waiting for Hitoshi to sit next to him. 

“I am sure they already told you, but I have a kid now. This is Hitoshi and he is, apparently, also a fan of hair gel, just like you.” Shinsou huffs next to him, but bows his head in greeting, murmuring something under his breath. 

“Kirishima had some leftovers and I just wanted to try, that’s all. I’m sure Yamada-san would think I’m cool.”

“He was a bad judge of character.”

“Oh, I thought we are supposed to say nice things here.” Hitoshi pouts and reaches over to light another candle. He breathes out and Shouta sits in silence, letting his kid gather his thoughts. “Do you think Yamada-san would like me?”

“Yes.” There is no hesitation, because this is not even a question. He thought about it before, imagining grown up Hizashi meeting his kid. Laughing at the similarities between Shouta and Hitoshi, staying up with the kid at night when they both can’t sleep, and helping him with homework. Those thoughts are bittersweet and they sit heavy in Shouta’s mind, but he is sure. “Hizashi would adore you.”

Hitoshi looks at the ground and nods with a small smile on his face. Shouta reaches over to ruffle kids hair, scrunching his nose at the feeling of hair gel. 

“Did I already tell you, Zashi, that Hitoshi has a big crush on his friend?”

“Hey!”

Yeah, they will be okay.