[ Despite the events of the war, the hero once known as Eraserhead, aka Shota Aizawa, refuses to give up. Unfortunately, this always puts you in an anxious position. Always hoping that he would return home safely, but it appears that you have had enough of waiting. Although it is difficult for you to comprehend the things that have been eating away at him, you may find that a compromise is the best approach tonight. ]
You’d been pacing for the last half-hour, phone pressed tight to your ear, heart in your throat, and stomach in knots. The sense of anxiety and panic thick in the air, which only echoed with your steps. “Come on, come on…” You hissed. You had been trying to reach Shota for the last hour, but his phone was going to voicemail each time. You gasped when you finally heard the call connect. “Shota!” you shouted. “Where are you? You should’ve been home by—”
The sound of hinges echoed through the apartment, and the front door swung open. Your next words caught in your throat, your phone slipping from your hand when you saw him standing in the doorway.
His hair was a tangled, messy mop, sprawled across his face. His scarf hung loose and frayed, one end trailing across the floor behind him. His hero suit was stained with dirt and patches of dried blood. In his free hand was his phone, the screen illuminating his face.
You gasped, noticing the cut on his cheek and how the corner of his mouth was a mixture of black and blue, splattered with blood. The skin of his knuckles was chipped, colored a dark red, and bruised like his face.
“Hello,” he said, his voice raspy and his lips tugging back into something that resembled a smile.
“Shota!” You stumbled forward, grasping his arm. Your eyes scan over every bruise and cut. Your breathing staggered, heavy and shallow. “D-don’t just…‘hello’ me like that!” you scolded him. “You look…t-terrible, what happened? W-who hurt you? Did—a-are you?”
“I stopped them,” he said, lowering the phone. His thumb pressed the end call button. He took a breath, coughing slightly. “It wasn’t easy, but…I didn’t let them get away.”
“You didn’t…” You sighed, relief and frustration swirling inside your chest.
He briefly closed his eyes, swaying lightly on his feet.
“Shota…” you hissed, tightening your grip on his arm. “You can barely stand…” You swallowed thickly. “Sit down…for a minute.”
“Heh…” he gave a weak smile but didn’t protest as you helped guide him inside.
“Careful…” you warned as you helped him settle down in a nearby chair. Then you closed and locked the front door before turning back to him, hands on your hips.
His scarf slid off his shoulders, pooling to the floor as he leaned back with a sigh. His head tilted to stare at the ceiling, his hair pooling over the edge of the chair. He pressed one hand against his forehead, feeling the soft ache that coursed through his bones.
When you looked at him now, you didn’t see the famed underground hero or the stern teacher. To you, he was just Shota. Bruised, battered, beaten, and undeniably human. You crouched in front of him, gently cupping his cheek, feeling the rough texture of his stubble. “You still insist on doing this, even though you’re quirkless now,” your eyes drifted to his eyepatch and the scars that littered his face.
“Someone has to,” he replied dully.
You sighed, biting your lip. The urge to continue scolding him was strong, but right now, he needed help. “You’re going to get cleaned up, and I’m going to help you,” you said sternly. “Now come on, let’s get you to the bathroom.”
He looked at you but didn’t fight it. He groaned as he pushed himself off the chair, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, helping steady him as the two of you navigated to the bathroom.
“Now stay still, and lean against the counter,” you instructed as you helped peel away his ruined uniform. You made a mental note to throw it away later. For now, you were more preoccupied with the scars and bruises that marked his skin. He had a lean build, fit and somewhat muscular, but not too overpowering. “Hold on,” you said, walking over to the tub and turning the water on. Then you fetched a small washcloth and ran it under warm water before pressing it gently against his jaw, wiping away the dried blood.
He hissed faintly as you went higher, pressing the cloth against the corner of his mouth. It left behind a sting, but he clenched his jaw, trying to bear it for you.
“Does it hurt?” you replied, noting the way he winced.
He took a long, drawn-out breath and reached up, lightly wrapping his fingers around your wrist, leaning into your touch. “It’s fine,” he replied, his eyelashes fluttering as he tried to fight off the drowsiness, a clear sign that his adrenaline was wearing off.
“Mm…” you didn’t believe him but made quick work of cleaning the worst of the dirt and blood, being careful with his knuckles and the remaining cut on his cheek. After throwing the towel in the sink, you leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple.
His breath hitched, a lump forming in his throat at your simple gesture of affection. “You…don’t have to do that,” he muttered.
“I want to,” you replied, your voice soft and low. “Don’t argue with me,” you warned, “after making me worry so damn much about you.” Your lips brushed against his cheek next. “If you insist on being a hero and protecting everyone. Then I get to take care of you after.”
A quiet exhale left him, and his posture loosened. His heart seemed to beat just a bit faster. He knew what he was risking when he decided to continue being a hero after the war. But so many people depended on heroes, and so many of them abandoned the profession when things got hard. So, he needed to fill the space, to continue making heroes shine.
You turned off the water in the tub, gently skimming your hands across it to test the temperature before helping him over. “Take it slow,” you warned him, grasping onto his arm as he lowered himself into it.
He sighed as the warm water enveloped him, easing the tension in his body. Closing his eyes, he sank further into the water, letting his head rest against the edge of the tub.
You smiled, happy to see him finally relaxed. You turned, ready to give him some space, when his hand caught yours. “Hm?” you turned, meeting his gaze.
Silence drifted between the two of you before he murmured, “Stay.”
You raised your eyebrow, your eyes wide. Even after years of being together, it was rare to see him this unguarded, this vulnerable.
“Please. Stay close.”
Your heart tightened, acting as a reminder of just how well he could pull at the strings. You took a deep breath. “Well…I was going to give you some privacy,” you replied, “but if you insist,” you knelt beside the tub. “I’ll stay.” You smiled, brushing the damp hair away from his forehead.
He sighed, finding comfort in your touch before closing his eyes again.
Grabbing another washcloth, you dipped it into the water, wringing it out carefully before gliding it down his arms and across his shoulders.
His body loosened under your touch, melting the remaining tension away.
You smiled as you continued to lean over him, gently gliding the cloth over his chest before pausing. The way he leaned against the tub, his eyes closed, and his face absent from emotion. It was almost like he was sleeping, and frankly, you enjoyed seeing him at peace.
“Hm?” he peeked one eye open.
You noted the way he was looking at you before leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips. “I'm happy to see you like this. Relaxed and...safe,” although you knew he'd just do it all over again. Risk his life, come home injured for you to take care of. Still, you took some assurance in the fact that he was still alive, that his heart was still beating, and he was in one piece.
He let out a low hum, his hand coming to cradle the back of your neck. Droplets fell from his skin, creating a soft rhythm as they hit the surface of the water. He sighed, “I lost almost everything before and after the war,” he muttered quietly against your mouth.
A slight shiver ran down your spine, his hot breath against your lips making your heart quicken and yet sink at his words.
“My quirk, my leg, my eye,” he continued, “Shirakumo.” That one left the biggest sting. “Those things, they used to define me, my skills, my relationships. The way I failed to protect others.”
Your frown deepened, but there was some truth to his words. His quirk was considered unique, and without it, he was at a disadvantage. Shirakumo might have been what drove him to where he was now. Feeling as though he failed to protect an old friend might be the source of why he pushed himself so hard now, even at the risk of his own life.
Doesn’t he realize that he didn’t fail to protect anyone?
His leg and his eye were proof of that, proof of the price he sacrificed to ensure everyone’s well-being, including his students and yours.
“So, I must try. I won’t fail to protect anyone now,” he pressed his forehead against yours, his fingers tightening in your hair. “To protect you,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly.
You swallowed the lump in your throat, tears stinging your eyes, but you smiled. “Shota…” you said, kissing him more firmly. “You haven’t almost failed. You still have me. You’re still here, your students are safe. That’s not going to change,” you assured him. “What happened with Shirakumo...wasn’t your fault, it was just...unfortunate circumstances driven by a villain who can no longer hurt anyone.”
The silence stretched between you, and the gentle splash of water as he shifted his position.
Then he exhaled, the sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh. He couldn’t deny there was some truth to your words. In this moment, while he had lost some things he couldn’t get back, and it may have felt like it was his fault. He had you, he had his friends, he had his students. Maybe that was enough.
You gave a faint smile and continued washing him. Pressing soft kisses to each scar you saw until the lines of exhaustion disappeared from his face.
The steam that once lingered from the water, making the air warm, had disappeared, and you noticed how the temperature changed.
“The water is getting cold,” you said after a moment, looking over his body to ensure you had properly cleaned him. “I think it’s time you got up. I’ll patch your wounds.”
“Mm, alright,” he replied.
You smiled, grasping onto his arm as he rose from the tub. The pellets of water falling from his body created a frantic rhythm, and his hair clung damp to his face.
Carefully, you helped him step out of the tub, noticing how his body trembled, but you weren’t sure if it was from the pain, exhaustion, or the cool air hitting his skin.
Regardless, he leaned into you, his arm securely around you once more, using you as an anchor. Something that acted as a reminder that he trusted you completely.
“Lean against the counter again,” you instructed before patting his chest and arms dry. Then you moved to his legs.
He watched you in silence, his gaze heavy, unreadable.
You could feel his stare and slowly tilted your head up. “What?” you asked, your cheeks slightly flushed under the intensity of his stare.
He watched you a moment more before his lips curled into a smile. His voice low and husky, “Nothing.” Honestly, he had trouble showing his emotions, but now, he was reminded how lucky he was to have you.
“Heh, right…” You replied before tying the towel around his waist. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” You kept one hand on his arm, the other securely on his hip as the two of you slowly wandered into the bedroom. Once there, you guided him to sit on the edge before grabbing the first aid kit. You had learned by now to be prepared.
He watched as you pulled out the disinfectant, and his jaw tightened at the antiseptic sting; however, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he brushed his fingers against yours whenever you leaned close, grounding himself.
After a few minutes, you leaned back and grabbed some bandages. Carefully dressing the cut on his cheek before moving on to the rest of his body. Once you were satisfied that every wound was covered, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, another to his forehead, and finally one to his lips.
His eyes widened, and his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His lips pressing against yours, slowly, deliberately. Like a quiet fire that spoke louder than any words he could possibly muster. Gratitude, love, kindness, all poured into a single passionate kiss.
Your eyes widened, and your hands immediately pressed against his chest. Your heart pounding as you noted how fiery his kiss was, the way his lips worked against yours, and the gentle wetness of his tongue swiping across your mouth seeking entrance. It was almost too much. You gasped when he finally pulled back. Your cheeks flushed, and your lips were slightly swollen. “S-Shota…” you whispered, hand now pressed against your chest. “T-that was…”
“Heh,” he chuckled lowly and gently cupped your face, pressing his forehead against yours. His voice was rough, but steady, “I thought I’d lost everything that made me who I am, but tonight.” His thumb brushed across your cheek. “You reminded me that I still have things worth living for,” he said, his eyes sparkling with determination. “Which is why I’ll try to get stronger, build myself up so I can come home to you at the end of the day with fewer bruises and cuts.”
Your throat tightened, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, slowly dribbling down your cheeks. “Shota…” you chuckled, sniffling quietly. “You don’t have to…you’re already strong, you’re already enough.”
Another moment of silence lingered between the two of you, filled only with the sound of your breathing.
His eyes softened, and he gently brushed your stray tears away before leaning closer, pressing his lips against yours again. Gentler this time, and when he pulled away, he gave a faint smile. “Stay close to me tonight,” he lightly demanded.
You chuckled, your tongue sweeping across your lips. “Okay,” you replied, “let me help you into bed.” Grabbing a loose shirt and boxers, you helped him get dressed before pulling the covers back. Once you had guided him the short distance to the head of the bed, and made sure he was secure, you slipped in beside him.
He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you firmly against him. His breath was warm against your ear as he whispered, “Thank you.” And for the first time since the war, he allowed himself to drift to sleep—not as the hero Eraserhead, but as a man who had everything he truly needed right in his arms.