Sometimes, he needs the world to just stop for a little bit.
It’s not exactly a part of his character – Present Mic, loud and proud and ready to take on the world. He in himself is a whirlwind of sensory hell, and usually he can handle it. Usually he has no problem with the loud, the bright, the quick.
Sometimes, though. Sometimes it’s nice to take his hearing aids out, bury his face in a pillow, and enjoy a dark and muffled world. Sometimes everything’s a little too close, and his own racing thoughts overwhelm him, and all he needs is a chance to be still.
It’s that kind of evening. Nothing had been wrong at work – just the usual hustle and bustle of teaching a bunch of rowdy super-powered children. It’s the kind of work that usually energizes him, but the term’s drawing ever closer to an end and Hizashi can feel the dragging feeling beginning to build in him, that slow-building strain that tells him he needs a break, needs a rest, before his usual cheerful extroversion gets worn down to a frayed mess of overstimulation.
So it’s a relief to come home and strip out of his leather, rinse the product out of his hair, and collapse onto the couch in soft sweatpants. Sometimes in these moments he’ll put on music and let himself dissolve into the ebb and flow of the melody, but today headphones feel like too much, so he lets himself exist in the soft, padded silence his ears afford him instead.
He’s not sure how long he lies there – he’s not dozing, not really, just letting his mind drift. Long enough for Shouta to get home, though; Hizashi doesn’t hear him come in, of course, but he knows, can feel the slight weight of Shouta’s footsteps and the way he pushes the door closed behind him. Hizashi doesn’t bother looking up, though his mouth curves into a slight smile against the pillow, until he feels Shouta’s weight settle next to him on the couch. Hizashi extracts an arm, signs a lazy one-handed hello. The fact of his face still being smushed against a pillow precludes the possibility of him seeing Shouta’s response, but he’s not worried. Shouta’s familiar with this sight by now, and Hizashi feels him lean back against the couch, and, a minute later, the sudden weight of Hime jumping up onto his lap.
It’s a good sign, that the brush of Hime’s fur against his hip as she gets comfortable on Shouta’s leg doesn’t send an uncomfortable jolt through him, and in another few minutes Hizashi feels settled enough in his body to turn himself over, fumbling for his glasses on the coffee table and blinking his eyes open for the first time in a couple hours.
He has to admit, Shouta in profile, examining some paperwork while a cat purrs on his lap, is a pretty nice thing to open his eyes to.
He waves to get Shouta’s attention, smiles, and signs a question about how the meetings had gone, to which Shouta gives a dismissive answer in a lazy flurry of hands that Hime tries to chase with her nose. Shouta has to raise his arms higher for his signs to be visible over her. It makes Hizashi giggle. He makes grabby hands, and Shouta, wonderful and obliging boyfriend that he is, leans over and down until Hizashi can reach him. Hizashi presses a kiss onto his jawline, another on his neck, and he can feel the vibration of Shouta’s fond huff through his own lips (so who needs ears, really), and it is pleasant and soft and not at all overstimulating. He thinks he will accept being part of the immediate world again, now that Shouta’s here in it.
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