Hitoshi knows that his time with Aizawa and Yamada is over the moment they step aside to introduce him to the girl.
"This is Eri," Aizawa says, with a voice softer than anything Hitoshi has ever heard and he rests a careful hand on her head, more protective than forceful and Yamada practically beams, though he's trying his best to hide it.
Why, Hitoshi doesn't know, because he knows how this goes.
He has experience.
"She's going to stay with us," Yamada tacks on, clearly smitten with the girl who hides herself practically away behind Aizawa's legs and Hitoshi doesn't trust his voice, doesn't trust anything anymore, so he simply nods.
"I'm going to show her the apartment and introduce her to the cats," Aizawa says, his eyes barely flicking up to Hitoshi, his gaze captured by the tiny girl now in their care. "Why don't you prepare dinner with Hizashi?"
Hitoshi nods, again, because he knows how this goes. Yamada will explain the circumstances to him, he will lay down the rules that are now in place for him and then he'll leave him with nothing, once again.
Hitoshi knows how this goes.
And the first part plays out exactly like he knew it would; Yamada explains how they came to care for Eri, where she comes from and what happened to her, though Hitoshi is smart enough to realise that he leaves out a lot of details.
So many in fact, that Hitoshi knows without a doubt that she's been abused, just like he has, maybe even worse.
She deserves a nice home with nice people, that much is clear but—once upon a time, Hitoshi did, too, and it's unfair that she gets what he so desperately wishes for.
"Listen, kiddo, I know this is not ideal and it's not going to be for forever but—do you think she could sleep in your room for now? We have a bed for her that we could cram in there, and I promise it's not for very long, but—we couldn't leave her at the hospital for any longer, either. She needs a home and we thought—"
Hitoshi clenches his jaw shut so hard that his teeth hurts but he doubts blurting out that he needs one too is going to go over very well right now.
He knows his place.
"Sure," he forces out when Yamada looks at him with a little furrow between his brows and Hitoshi already knows that he's not going to sleep in that room anymore.
She needs to get used to her new space and it's best if she does that with as little distractions as possible. Plus he won't be allowed to speak to her anyway and if they break out a muzzle to make sure of that she might get frightened and Hitoshi still has nightmares sometimes so—no.
He can't sleep in her room but he knows from experience that the couch is comfy enough and Yamada said it wouldn't be for too long.
They must have already contacted CPS to dissolve whatever kind of fostering contract they have for him and it will only be until that's done.
Hitoshi can spend a few nights on the couch, he slept way rougher for way longer after all.
"Shouta will tell you a bit more about her circumstances later, and what actions to avoid with her, seeing as she's had it—rough for most of her life."
He winces when he says it and it only helps a tiny little bit to know that he's not being replaced for nothing. At least she really does need nice people in her life.
It's a hollow comfort.
"'s fine," he mutters, getting back to cutting up the vegetables just like Yamada wants them and a distant part of him wonders why he's even still trying.
It's already a done deal after all.
~*~*~
Hitoshi manages to avoid detection for two nights. He sets his alarm super early to erase every trace of sleeping on the couch and by the time Yamada comes out of the bedroom he's already pouring over what will be on the next exam even though he won't be there to take it.
He knows that he won't be allowed to stay in the hero course or at UA at all—the fact that he got in and his previous family allowed him to was a fluke and there's no way in hell Hitoshi gets that lucky again.
He'll probably be moved too far out to attend this school again, possibly even by design so that Aizawa and Yamada don't have to look at him any more and that's—Hitoshi will live.
It was a pipe dream to begin with and he always knew that.
He doesn't get so lucky on the third night though, because Aizawa stumbles out of the bedroom half an hour before Hitoshi's alarm goes off and Hitoshi is a light enough sleeper that he wakes up to find Aizawa staring at him in apparent shock.
"Why are you not in your room?" he asks, clearly confused and Hitoshi bites back the instinctual correction.
It's her room now; he doesn't know why Aizawa pretends otherwise.
Hitoshi doesn't have a good answer other than that though so he simply shrugs and Aizawa shakes his head as if he needs to clear it.
"Hitoshi, if you don't want to share with her for the time being you could have said," Aizawa goes on as he shuffles towards the kitchen. "We could have cleared out the office in that case, we just figured it would be too much work to do that now and then pack everything up again when we move. But if you're not comfortable with her in your room, then you can say that."
Aizawa isn't looking at him as he speaks, so Hitoshi has no chance to look for the tiny tells Aizawa has when he's lying but—
He knows he is anyway.
"It's fine," Hitoshi says, fiddling with the blanket in his lap because he hadn't even considered that they would move.
Maybe he isn't being transferred too far away and they want to make sure that he doesn't know where they live anymore because they wouldn't want to see him again after they got rid of him.
"Doesn't seem fine to me," Aizawa says, leaning against the counter, his arms crossed in front of his chest and even though the apartment is still the same comforting home, it's no longer home.
Not even the by now so familiar gurgle of the coffee machine can change that.
"I should start packing soon," Hitoshi says, doesn't quite dare to make it a question anymore because rules change with tiny children in the house.
Aizawa and Yamada might have been lax before when it came to that but with her in the picture now—he's nothing more than a threat.
"You can but it might still take a while," Aizawa says with a sigh and Hitoshi notices the displeased line around his mouth.
CPS is not working fast enough to dissolve this placement or maybe they can't find another home that would take him. Hitoshi probably should tell him that they need to contact a group home because otherwise they'll never be rid of him, but he can't find his voice to do that.
If they don't know that, he gets a few more nights here and Hitoshi is selfish enough to take them.
"Okay," he nods and resolves to start packing as soon as she's out of her room.
He should have done it the first day she arrived, but Hitoshi has been hurting and it's made him stupid.
He didn't know that a reprieve as short as this would make his pain tolerance that low and he already fears what it's going to take to build it up again.
Hitoshi used to be better than this, he used to be indifferent to new placements but then again—no one has been as nice to him as Aizawa and Yamada have so maybe it's just normal that he forgot all about how to not get attached.
But it's undeniable that he is and it's only biting him in the ass now.
He should have known better. He was stupid to trust, to believe, to hope.
But his new family will make sure he remembers, Hitoshi is certain of that. Aizawa and Yamada have been the first outlier in ten years and Hitoshi doesn't have another ten years in the system to find another.
~*~*~
He finds them studying house listings one evening and it's stupid, it's so fucking stupid but it just blurts out of him because he's a dumb kid who never learns.
"Please don't make me go," Hitoshi says, begs them almost, and he knows it's stupid, it's so goddamn stupid because CPS is already informed and there's nothing that can be done about that anymore but—
He doesn't want to go, he likes this apartment, these men who were kind to him and he hoped he could have—well.
A family has never been in his life, he knew that since he was six and it's so incredibly foolish of him to not have learned his lesson but that's just him.
Stupid, till the end of times, and it's no wonder that everyone is so eager to get rid of him.
"Go? Hitoshi, kiddo, you're not going anywhere," Yamada says and for a moment, for a split second, Hitoshi dares to feel reassured and then reality hits him.
They are going to leave him here, like an unwanted piece of furniture you don't want to bring into your nice, new home and really, Hitoshi should have expected nothing less.
CPS is working too slowly after all and the girl needs a stable home, so it's just logical to go and leave Hitoshi behind.
It's—almost nice, in a way, because at least like that he still has some familiar walls but then he realises how stupid he's being yet again because—
"I can't afford this apartment," Hitoshi mutters and he's pretty sure that no one is going to employ a stupid sixteen-year-old with no experience and this apartment can't be cheap.
There's no way he's going to be able to get enough money to pay for it, even for a month.
"Afford this—kid, what are you talking about?" Aizawa asks and Hitoshi keeps his gaze on the floor because it's safer than to look at them.
"You just said it, I'm not going anywhere, and it's nice of you, really, that you don't want to drop me on the streets but—I don't have the money to pay for this."
He doesn't even need to look, he can practically hear the long look Aizawa and Yamada are exchanging and he wonders what they could possibly be trying to communicate.
They all know what's going to happen, and soon, and there's no need to beat around the bush anymore.
Yamada already said that Hitoshi is not going to go with them, after all.
"Kid, sit," Aizawa says and it's not an order at all.
In fact, his voice is just as soft as when he speaks to the girl and instantly Hitoshi's eyes burn.
He would really rather have them yell at him, because this last act of kindness might just break him once he gets to his new family.
Still, he does what Aizawa told him to do because what else is there for him to do but obey and for a moment, there's a terrible silence in the room.
"Why don't you tell us what you think is going on, and then we tell you what we think is going on and then we can all be on the same page again, huh?" Yamada says, and he too is kinder than Hitoshi probably deserves, so the least he can do is answer his question.
"You're taking in a new kid and that means I have to go. You're looking for a new apartment so I won't be able to find you again and you're just waiting for CPS to dissolve this foster agreement. They are working too slow though, so you're going to move without me so you can start your family as soon as possible," Hitoshi dutifully rattles off and he doesn't let himself be deterred by the pained gasp he hears.
"That is not at all what's happening," Aizawa says, his voice as steady and reassuring as it usually is but it's not reassuring to Hitoshi at all right now because what he says makes no sense.
"You brought home a girl," Hitoshi mutters. "A girl with a quirk that isn't—mine. I know how this goes."
It's the third time it happens after all and Hitoshi might be stupid, but he's not stupid enough to not see the pattern.
"Hitoshi, has this happened before? That a family found another kid they thought was better than you?" Aizawa wants to know and Hitoshi shrugs.
"Well, found is—not quite right. My parents just waited until my sister's quirk came in to decide who to keep."
There's a deafening silence in the room after that and Hitoshi rushes to go on.
"But the second time—yeah. That foster family wasn't quite so bad and I thought it could—well, they found a sweet little girl who was nothing like me and gave me back."
"Gave you back?" Yamada repeats as if Hitoshi hadn't been clear but he feels the need to explain anyway.
"To CPS. They dropped me off at their doorstep, but it was a weekend and there wasn't anyone to deal with me. And I'm grateful you're not going to do the same, I really am, but like I said, I can't pay for this apartment," he brings them back to their original point though he knows it's useless when Aizawa lets out a long, measured breath.
"Hitoshi, will you look at me?" Aizawa then asks and Hitoshi blinks a few times to make sure that he's not going to burst into tears the moment he does but eventually, he raises his head.
Aizawa looks almost crestfallen and Hitoshi doesn't even dare to look over to Yamada because he can hear him sniffle and this is not right, this is all not right but he doesn't know what to do to fix it.
"Hitoshi, we're not going to give you back," Aizawa says and his voice is strong and firm and he's keeping eye contact and there is none of the tells he usually has and Hitoshi is confused.
"But you brought a girl with you," he mumbles because her presence in this apartment is undeniable even if he did his best to stay out of her way, so she wouldn't notice a difference once he's gone.
Kids with trauma need a stable environment, he heard that somewhere before or maybe someone said that to him, and he wanted to give her that despite everything.
"And we should have discussed that more with you but we were pressed for time and then we simply fucked up," Aizawa sighs out and Hitoshi blinks because Aizawa never swears. "You're both going to stay with us. We're going to be your parents and we're going to be Eri's parents. We're not going to choose between you two, you're both going to be our kids."
Hitoshi knows that adoption was a consideration for them because they asked him if he would want that but that was before the girl and Hitoshi hadn't dared to think about it again, but this—this sounds as if they still want to do that.
"But that's not—how that goes," Hitoshi weakly argues even though he desperately wants that to be how it goes and Yamada leans forward, into Hitoshi's line of sight.
Just like he feared, there are tears in his eyes and Hitoshi doesn't know how to fix it.
"Kiddo, we love you and we're not going to simply drop you. I'm sorry that happened to you before, I'm sorry you had to go through that two more times than any kid really should, but we're not going to do the same. You're our son and Eri is going to be our daughter and neither of you is going to be more important than the other."
"Right now, Eri needs a bit more of our time because everything is so new to her, but that doesn't change the fact that we love you, too. We love you the same amount and nothing is going to change that."
"But—I'm not like her," Hitoshi tries to argue, though he's not sure why.
"No, you're not," Aizawa agrees. "And she is not like you. And both of these things are okay, kid."
"I don't—understand," Hitoshi admits because this is not how this goes and Aizawa leans around the table to pull him into a loose hug.
"I know, kid, and we're sorry. We really should have talked this over with you more, that's on us, and we apologise. But you're going to stay with us. We're not choosing between you and we're definitely not giving you away or back or simply leaving you here. None of that is going to happen."
"The new apartment—"
"Look," Yamada says and pushes the laptop more towards Hitoshi. "We're looking for four bedroom apartments or houses. One bedroom for us, one for you and one for Eri and one we can use as an office. You both deserve to have your own space after all and we will need to work from home more."
"You planned for me?" Hitoshi's voice comes out shaky and weak and Aizawa tightens his arm around him.
"Of course we planned for you. We're always planning for you because you're our son and you're a part of this family."
It's enough to make the tears spill over because it's everything Hitoshi has ever wanted and was sure he wouldn't get once Eri showed up but Aizawa sounds so certain and there was zero hesitation to his answer and maybe, just maybe for once in his life Hitoshi can be lucky.
Lucky enough to keep this family and maybe even get to know what it's like to have a sister.
(And he does. He understands Eri better than the grown-ups sometimes because even though their experiences were different, a fucked-up childhood is a fucked-up childhood and it helps, that he can relate to her.
He gets to be an older brother to a little sister he comes to adore, with parents who love them both equally and really, that's all Hitoshi ever wanted.)
After having an anxious day, Hitoshi succumbs to a panic attack in the midst of preparing a bath for himself.
Lucky for him, he has two of the best dads he could ever hope for.
word count: 2k
ao3: link
Hitoshi wouldn’t consider himself a germaphobe on any normal day, but when his bad nerves start to flare up in a sudden attack like this, an overwhelming sense of discomfort and germophobia are a common symptom he often can't avoid. Strange of all, it affects his perception of things that would never usually bother him, and the more triggers that are thrown at him, the more and more intense his physical reactions can become.
Upon doing his own research, warm baths are said to help ease tension and anxiety. Shinsou prefers a quick shower compared to a hot, soapy bath, but on days like today when his nerves are especially rattling him, he’s willing to try anything to find some semblance of peace within himself.
Hitoshi doesn’t announce that he’s going to run himself a bath, nor does he ask his parents like he usually does before taking a shower; just the polite ask if either of them needed to get in before he occupied it for the next fifteen minutes or more.
Unfortunately, though, the bathroom is down the hall and in direct line of sight to the living room where Aizawa and Hizashi usually sat, lights dim as they watched the evening news over tea or coffee depending on whether they have a long night ahead of them. Hizashi is quite the air-head by no means of insult; it’s just that his demeanor is always so floaty and energetic that he rarely ever tends to pick up on much unless it’s spelled out directly in front of his face.
His companion, on the other hand, is nothing if not a direct contrast, which is why Shinsou finds himself locking eyes with Aizawa in momentary pause as his hand remained pressed against the light-switch that just illuminated his presence.
Shouta always had this… stare, as if he wasn’t looking at Hitoshi, but straight through him. Shinsou has seen that look on his face a great number of times - this unreadable, nonchalant expression yet with the most piercing, serious, laser-beam eyes - but for some reason, there was always the slightest difference in it when aimed towards Hitoshi specifically, which unfortunately happens more often than not. Perhaps it’s because he knows him well enough by now to realize that Shinsou is the type to keep things to himself or even lie just so he could burden his issues on his own, and as time continues to go by living in this family unit with them, the swifter Aizawa is at catching on when something was off.
No matter what Shouta thinks or doesn’t think, however, that didn’t make Shinsou any more willing to come running to him and spilling his guts, especially when he was overreacting over such pathetic little things or merely overcome by these bad feelings for no reason at all. It was stupid, it was weak, and it was Hitoshi’s burden to bear alone, it always has been.
He downcasts his eyes, flicks on the shower fan, and steps inside the bathroom, closing the door behind him. When he opened the cabinet door, Shinsou sighs through his nose when he saw there were no clean towels. They were probably thrown haphazardly into a laundry basket on his parents’ bedroom floor to be folded and put away later this evening, and while it would only be quick and easy to go out and fetch one before he got into the tub, his skin crawled at the thought of passing Aizawa again, feeling that suspicious gaze burning into the back of his head.
Hitoshi sucks a deep breath in, murmuring an, “Okay,” under his breath as if to calm himself down and reassure his own mind and body that they would make do. There were still some other towels poked away in the back, and while they are smaller than what Hitoshi would normally use to dry off with, they would have to make do for the night; a little towel is better than no towel, right?
And then came the part that Shinsou dreaded the most of all, the part that made him cringe at the thought of taking baths: having to try and rinse and wash out the tub of any stray hairs or dirt. Normally, he would ask Aizawa to do this part for him whenever he did announce that he was getting a bath or shower, and that tended to keep his cool; he trusted Aizawa’s judgment and sense of cleaning far more than his own inexperience, plus he always looked like he knew what he was doing. Hitoshi wasn’t even sure if he knew how to do it right, as he got down on his knees in front of the tub with a random hand towel in hand.
He flicked on the shower head and scrubbed at the base of the tub with as much vigor as he could manage, and yet the most noticeable little pecks of dirt, dust- something, wouldn’t dare scrub off and it only made him grit his teeth in further frustration. The hairs he tried to catch in the cloth kept losing its grip and clinging back onto the smooth surface of the tub, there were still places he couldn’t make clean enough to his liking, and of fucking course he didn’t have a strong enough grip in his nails to pull the suction cups attached to the bottom of the bathmat up so he could wash underneath there too like Aizawa always did. He just couldn’t fucking handle this after the horrible day he’s had already.
So Hitoshi does what he does best, right? He gives up. He turns the shower head off so the tap can run properly and goes searching for a bath stopper from the cupboard underneath the sink so the water could start to fill up. He kept playing with the temperature scale, not liking his bathwater too hot or too lukewarm, but once he deemed it good enough, he pressed it in and patiently waited for the water to fill up.
Of course, though it’s never happened before for whatever reason, Shinsou’s clothes managed to get wet from the spray-back of the shower head, which made him feel uncomfortable as hell, as if someone had spilled their drink all over him. There were only a couple of wet patches; the back of his right shoulder and a couple of pecks at his lower back, but what was worst of all was the wet patch that managed to form at the front of his head, making his already greasy hair feel that much more fucking awful.
So with the on slot of such sudden feelings of intensifying discomfort, Shinsou strips off every thread of clothes until he was left in only his socks, the part of any outfit he always preferred to take off last for some reason. He sits on the floor besides the tub and waits for it to fill, loving the slow, patient course compared to the rush of a shower. At least here in the bathroom, the door was locked and no one could disturb him, nor did they expect anything of him or even tried talking to him unless it was something urgent. In here, alone and in the silence entirely by himself, he could let his guard down and just exist for a few extra minutes, not having to brave a mask of indifference to the whirlwind of pain and feeling clenching in his chest.
These days, for some reason, the rare bath he takes seemed to fill all the more faster than he remembered. He hated that. He tried to procrastinate getting in right away by making the excuse that the hot water would need some time to cool down, but even that felt far too gone. Hitoshi doesn’t even like getting in the bath, he quite disliked it, but it was loneliness and silence for an extended pass of time, and that was too precious to just pass up for such stupid reasons that made no sense to begin with.
He placed one foot in first, testing the temperature and deeming if it was safe to sink in yet or not. It felt really hot on his feet when both made contact with the soapy water, but as he gave in and slowly lowered himself into the bath, the heat felt especially mediocre to the rest of his body. Which could only mean one thing, really…
He wasted too much time. The water had already gone lukewarm, and now so as not to waste so much water, Hitoshiwould have to just sit here and deal with it.
By this point, Shinsou’s anxieties had forgone the point of frustration to the extreme of downright sad, cursing every flaw and fault this day dealt him as if he somehow deserved it. He knew it was stupid and pathetic to ‘cry over spiltmilk,’ so they called it, but when you’re consecutively hit by punch after punch after punch of little mishappenings, it hurts so much fucking worse than having to brave out what is considered actual bad news.
Things started to take a turn for the worse from there, spiraling so far out of Hitoshi’s control that he couldn’t suck in the panic for any longer. The bath water felt so fucking dirty, even though he knows his parents keep this place clean and tidy on a regular basis, but like sitting in a cup of tea too cold to drink was suffocating his entire mind and body. The bath stopper also made this ungodly noise, and while Hitoshi twisted and turned it, inspecting it with his eyes and nails alone, the condition looked perfectly fine so why was the bath water already lowered to the point of his ribs and already making this monstrous growling noise like something he pulled straight up from hell.
That was when his breath began to quicken, quicken, quicken to the point that, despite having sat in the tub for a meager two minutes at the most, he felt he needed to get out. Even his body felt so dirty, legs and thighs stained by suds that the water he splashed refused to wash off without just adding more.
In, out, in, out, in, out, Hitoshi struggled like a bitch as he placed one foot after the other upon emerging from the tub. The bath mat felt soggy beneath his feet and everything felt so fucking gross, even his own skin as he scrubbed the flesh as hard as he could muster with the little towel he left out for himself. He had the overwhelming urge to scratch at his own skin until he tore every inch of flesh off from his body, because every single inch of him felt like it was beyond the hope of cleansing and he had no clue why . It was the germaphobia, the germaphobia that didn’t exist until Shinsoufell into a frantic state and no longer felt comfortable in his own body.
He dried himself off with more vigor than he normally would use, and yet he still didn’t feel dry enough when he forced himself into the fresh change of clothes he left on the counter. Hitoshi had the tendency to get ansty on a normal day over the weird and uncomfortable feeling like he could never dry his crotch off enough to not feel soaking wet in his underwear and pants, even though the skin felt dry to the touch. He kept tugging and pulling at his sweats as if that could help, and the tag of his sleep shirt was rubbing and scratching at the back of his neck so fucking bad-
“Hitoshi!” There’s a light knocking on the door, a gentle action that contrasted the concern and urgency in his dad’s voice. “What’s going on?! Are you okay in there?!”
Shinsou isn’t sure when he ended up sliding down onto the floor, arms hugging his knees as he curled into himself, but he must of cried out or screeched something for Aizawa to appear so suddenly. The floor felt so fucking disgusting, why would he sit on it, it just made everything feel a million times more worse, he’s getting his clothes dirty and it’s going to smell like that imaginary stench that he breathed into his lungs.
His chest still felt so sweat, the fabric of his shirt was practically sticking to him. Shinsou had to squeeze his hands into the tightest balls of fists so the sting and pressure of his nails gauging into his palms could alleviate all of these pent up emotions that were forcing themselves out of his body in one form or another.
“I don’t know, I don’t know, it just came over me!” Shinsou’s voice is a broken sob called from his own side of the door, pressing his nose and mouth to his knees as he rocked back and forth, back and forth, unable to get that imaginary stench out of his system. “I c-can’t… I can’t b-breathe, Dad, I can’t-!”
With a forceful kick to the door, Aizawa was able to get it open with an impressive show of ease. Normally, he would of just demanded that Shinsou ‘open the door right now’ if he had rushed off mid-conversation to cry in the bathroom or if he heard traces of sniffles to accompany the tears Shinsou fought to hide from them behind the lock on the bathroom door. But it would seem Shouta understood the severity of the situation even though Hitoshi himself couldn’t comprehend anything beyond the overwhelming feelings taking over his nervous system.
Hizashi stands where Aizawa once stood when the latter drops to a crouch and crawls over to where Hitoshi trembled and cried on the floor. For once, Hizashi was at a loss for words as he stood with his hand pressed over his mouth, expression a mix between pity and his own urge to cry. His eyes did begin to fill up with tears of his own when he finally got a look at his boy, and this is what Shinsou hated more than anything; hurting those closest to him over these stupid little attacks of his.
“Come on, Toshi, don’t do that, please,” Shouta’s voice is a whisper, hurting but still so full of control as he coaxed the hands that Shinsou violently pulled at his scalp in a mantra of shushes. “Shhhh, shhhh, hey, it’s ok, it’s ok. Look at me?”
Why Aizawa, the man with a mind and integrity made up of stone cold steel, would reserve such a painfully gentle tone of voice for him of all people is something Hitoshi doesn’t think he will ever understand, nor ever deserve. Meeting his gaze and seeing such tenderly genuine affection and warmth that his gaze usually lacked, it was almost too good to be real.
“Everything’s going to be alright, ok?” Aizawa utters like it was the most casual promise; like it was so certain that Hitoshi had no choice but to believe it. He brings a hand to his son’s cheek, brushing a thumb along the pocket of tears still pooling and building at his eyelids. “Believe me. You’re the most resilient kid I’ve ever met, not to mention so keen and quick as a whip to catch on to anything you set your mind to.”
But that didn’t mean he sobbed any less when he lowered his head and accepted the loving touch of his dad’s hand to smooth the purple hair at the back of his neck, the skin of his fingers always so warm and dry to the touch.
God, he loved his parents so much…
“If you didn’t have a little bit of vulnerability left in you, I’d worry I turned you into a machine. My training regimens sure are bullet-proof enough to make that happen, but I’m not sorry, kiddo; not when every second I drill into you keeps my son one step closer to evading death and emerging victorious. You feel me?”
When Hitoshi nods his head vigorously, mouth pressed shut and tears still streaming down his face at a steady force, Aizawa whispers an, “Alright,” before slipping his arms through the bed of Shinsou’s knees and bringing him up to a carry, grunting at the crack and pops of his old knee joints.
As his old man turns around and prepares to make for the bathroom door, Hizashi crosses the threshold and approaches his mini family, eyes aglow with his own unshed tears as he caresses the creases in Hitoshi’s forehead with his thumb. Hizashi, too, has this seriously loving expression about him that only made Shinsou want to cry even harder. There was no one who could hug like Hizashi can; if he could melt and cry into that embrace forever, Shinsou would never feel cold again.
“I love you, baby, you know that, right?” Hizashi whispers, his voice quiet and straight-laced as if he could break down crying himself with a single waver of his own. Shinsou absentmindedly presses his forehead further into the warmth of Hizashi’s palm following the silent nod he expressed in return, his own voice hoarse and croaky when he expresses an, “I love you too, pops,” of his own.
Hizashi’s lips manage to stretch beyond it’s reassuring, tight-lip smile that fought to hold back cries, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to Hitoshi’s forehead before following at Aizawa’s heels towards their bedroom.
Hizashi quickly passes them to push the laundry basket out of their path before Aizawa is placing Shinsou in the middle of their king sized bed, the mere scent of the comforter and pillows smelling of a home Shinsou never thought he would ever have once upon a time.
Still in their casual down-time clothes, Aizawa and Hizashi move in on either side of him, what has become the routine for nights when Shinsou’s panic attacks are a little too much for him to bear.
Hizashi drops his head on the pillow beside Shinsou’s shoulder, gazing up at his face as he used his own sleeve to wipe away at the snot staining his upper lip.
Aizawa buries his face into the crook of Shinsou’s neck on his other side, emitting a deep breath in and out of his own before stretching his arm across the waists of both members of his family, holding them both close like he’d risk anything at all not to lose them. Shouta might not be especially skilled at physical combat, but when Hitoshi snuggles into those arms, he feels as if he is in no safer place in the world.
“We love you, kid. So much,” Aizawa’s voice is a grave whisper, face still hidden in Shinsou’s shoulder. Hizashi can actually manage the smallest of smiles at his words, lifting an arm to wrap around Aizawa’s own shoulders before gently caressing his fingertips across his shirt.
As if to emphasize that point, Hizashi lifts Shinsou’s other free hand to his lips and presses another kiss to his kunckles, squeezing his hand firm and seriously.
“And that’s something that won’t never, ever change. You can come to us, about anything and everything at all. It’s our job to protect you, and that it always will be.”
Trying to fight a second onslaught of tears he could feel already burning at his eyes, Hitoshi nods his head vigorously with an even wider, softer smile, returning the pressure of the squeeze in their joined hands.
It didn’t take long for Shinsou’s parents to drift off; Aizawa first, and of course the two cats that were already asleep at the corner of the bed before they even walked in here. They continued to hold each other close, Shouta’s arm still thrown around his middle and Hizashi’s hand still holding Hitoshi’s with no intentions of letting go.
Finally, Shinsou can manage a deep breath in of his own, his body finally allowing itself to deflate and settle down. This, right here, amounts to any amount of peace Hitoshi could ever want…
A fic based on this post I made about how I believe Mic would do drag. It has since turned the gears in my brain, so there will be an AU coming (eventually). Crossposted to my ao3 here.
Not proofread, I stayed up late to write this. Enjoy!
“Absolutely not.”
Shouta likes going to drag shows, that much was hardly a point of embarrassment for him. He can appreciate artistry for what it is, and the shows are fun. There’s nothing better than seeing his husband and his best friend up on stage having the times of their lives. He had a similar approach when Nemuri introduced him to burlesque last week, in preparation for the theme of the drag show for this week. It’s fun, it's entertaining, and the people are more fun, despite his social battery being all but nonexistent.
He never once considered being in a drag show.
“Come on! It’s amatuer night soon, so there won’t be any pressure to do anything too crazy! You can even go up with me or Nem if you’re so worried.” Hizashi turns around in his chair, pouting over at Shouta. He twirls his eyeshadow brush in his hand, sending glittery dust falling onto the ground. He chose a red eyeshadow today, which made his green eyes stand out even more. One side of his face had intricate, swooping lines that ended off in little hearts around his cheekbones.
Shouta was draped across the velvet couch in one of the shared dressing rooms, hoping against all odds to go back to his nap. It’s a favorite spot of his after his shift at the workshop, and the showers they have here are almost as good as his own back home. Washing off the engine grease, motor oil, and seventeen different mystery smudges is always exciting with the odd soaps people leave for everyone to leave. Tonight, it was candied apple. Next week, who knows?
He’s spent many afternoons in here, napping on the couch while he waited for his friends to get ready. The other performers never bothered him, either. He’s woken up to steaming mugs of coffee or tea next to him late at night, blankets draped over him in the winter, and snacks placed on the table next to the couch. This is his home as much as it is Hizashi’s.
It’s where they met, after all.
“I don’t have any desire to go on stage, Hizashi. That’s it.”
“Don’t you think it would be fun, though?” Nemuri stands up from her own chair, her makeup completely done. She somehow made it look like hearts have been airbrushed onto her face, and her lips were done in a red and white checkerboard pattern, the centermost square containing a red heart in the middle. When she talks, it’s a little awkward, since she’s clearly attempting not to smudge her lips before it fully sets.
They must be matching tonight.
“Whether it’s fun or not, it isn’t my thing.”
“But you’d look so good, Sho’. Come on! Just once, and if you don’t like it, I’ll never ask again!” Hizashi practically whines it out. “Pinky promise.”
“I’ll think about it.”
That seems to be as good enough an answer as any for him, because those green eyes light up and blonde hair whips around with the force of how fast he spins in is chair.
“You two! Hurry up!” The sound of Ivy, the owner of Club Revolution is firm when they enter the dressing room. They’re a sweet person, but they can be scary when it comes to keeping a schedule. Their brown eyes settle on Shouta, the clear culprit of slowing Hizashi down.
“Shouta, stop distracting my openers right before they go on. Out, out, out, out!” They shoo Shouta out, something he knows better than to resist. He can talk to Shirakumo instead.
Shirakumo works as a light and sound tech pretty much everywhere they’ll let him: high schools, dance studios, local cabaret theaters. As long as he’s backstage, he’s happy. Shouta met him in tech school. When he was getting his auto mechanic certification, Shirakumo was getting his welding certifications. He easily could be doing something that pays way, way better, but he chooses to do this. He even helped create an irrigation system for the community gardens (with scraps of materials Shouta provided from his shop). The community rewards them both for it. Shirakumo’s landlord is the owner of Club Revolution, and they never make him pay a dime. One of the patrons owns three of the restaurants in town, and if anyone is in need of a hot meal, they can come. It was a massive help to Shouta when he was living out of his car and devoting all the money he had to running his shop. Since meeting Hizashi though, money troubles were a thing of the past.
He can’t believe he landed a model, of all people, but he’s certainly not complaining.
“Hey, Shouta.”
“Hey Shirakumo.”
“You look especially worried today.” He laughs. “Did they ask you to–”
“Yes.” Shouta sits down at his regular table near the back. Not a lot of people like to sit directly next to the sound booth, and since it’s the furthest spot from the stage, it’s unpopular. It allows him to blend into the dim lights and talk to his friend while in between acts. A win all around.
“And?”
“I don’t think drag is my thing.”
“How do you know that if you’ve never tried?”
“Are you going to try?”
“Yeah! I think it’ll be fun!” Shirakumo grins, sure as ever. “I work the lights at all these shows, so it’s not like I can really do it any other time than ametuer night. I’m always told to keep the light shows to a minimum, if they aren’t someone who will draw a crowd.”
“Oh.”
“If you don’t wanna do it, can I ask you to man the light booth then? It’s kinda all autonomous now, unless something breaks, but I should have everything fixed by then.”
“I…I’m still thinking on it.”
“We’ll talk after the show. I just got my cue.”
The lights fade out and the intermission music cuts. Shouta shuts up.
A spotlight shines on the stage, revealing the owner of the club, in their own costume. It reminds Shouta vaguely of Cher in the movie Nemuri showed him a few days ago, Burlesque. Judging by the theme of the performances tonight, he was probably spot on.
“You know them, you love them, welcome our first performers of the night, Present Mic and Midnight!”
Shouta doesn’t care what anyone calls him for it, he’s hopelessly in love with his husband. Seeing him all dolled up on stage, a big grin on his face is all he needs to be happy. Shirakumo has described Shouta as looking like he has hearts in his eyes when watching Hizashi perform, and tonight would be no exception. He and Nemuri seemed to have gone for a “cupid” theme, their costumes looking straight out of a renaissance painting. Hizashi had a fake quiver full of heart-tipped arrows, and Nemuri had glittery wings that shimmered in the light. The song they do is in French, a language he does not know, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s entranced, eyes locked onto his husband. Shouta isn’t even sure he blinks until they both step into the crowd, doing the thing they do best: audience interaction.
Nemuri spins around, collecting tips and sampling people’s drinks while Hizashi makes a very clear journey to him. Shouta feels like he’s being hunted in the best way possible, totally still when Hizashi circles Shouta’s chair, a hand dragging across his chest. The only break in his lip synching is when soft hands push his hair out of his face and even softer lips press a kiss to his forehead. Shouta felt his heart explode when Hizashi made eye contact with him, winked, and lightly tapped the tip of one of the arrows to Shouta’s chest before quickly sauntering away.
He gets to go home to that flat ass every single night.
~
That night, Shouta stays awake thinking. It’s not an uncommon thing for him to do, with his numerous issues sleeping. He’s lucky Hizashi is such a heavy sleeper, because his nights wandering around would have definitely led to divorce by now. Right now, there were no dishes to wash, no floors to scrub, no laundry to fold. Instead, he would go into the basement to clear his head.
Hizashi seemed genuinely upset at Shouta’s immediate refusal to try drag with him. Shouta knows that his husband would never actually force or pressure him into doing something he doesn’t want to do, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be sad about something. It’s less about Shouta not wanting to do drag and more about him not knowing how. Hizashi and Nemuri have explained time and time again that rules are not the purpose of drag. Uniqueness and individuality are the things he’s heard them and the other performers say to new, fresh faces. Subverting societal norms and expectations is the heart of it, but to Shouta, that’s easier said than done.
Shouta Aizawa never was the most ‘artsy’ kid in school. He didn’t do musical theater, he didn’t do marching band, he didn’t participate in any of the art competitions his high school hosted. He wasn’t well connected, he didn’t do any sports, he just kept to himself until he graduated.
He did, however, have an intense, unshakable interest in aerial arts.
It was born of a silly desire in middle school to run away and join the circus. His parents didn’t exactly approve of his sexuality when he started to question it. He still has nightmares about asking what he thought was an innocent question at dinner one night: was it possible for him, as a boy, to also like boys?
He was grounded for three months.
He made another mistake in high school, when they found out he was writing love letters to another boy in his class. They nearly sent him to a conversion camp for that.
Shouta held onto the idea that, if by some miracle, he got good enough to join the circus, he could do that, rather than ever having to deal with his parents again. He read all the books his local libraries had on it, hoping to at least train his body for the time he could take classes. His muscle gain pleased his parents enough for them to leave him to his own devices come high school. Shouta didn’t really “reach for the stars,” as it were, for fear of picking “the wrong thing” and being retaliated against by his parents. He tried his best to fit in, but it never quite worked. Something was different with him, and he never had the freedom to explore what.
Being a mechanic was the only compromise they could ever hope to come to that led to him being left alone. It was ‘manly’ enough for his father and profitable enough for his mother. Shouta does like working on cars, though. The feeling of fixing something that’s broken and knowing it will hold, the feeling of doing something with his own two hands is immensely satisfying.
Shouta never did drop his fascination for the aerial arts though. He took classes wherever they would let him, community centers, workshops for performing troupes, private lessons when he could afford it. Even now, decades later, the basement of his and Hizashi’s house is home to a sturdy set of hooks for him to practice with his silks.
It always did the trick for clearing his head.
Being up in the air, tangled in his silks, with nothing but his own strength and skill to keep him there helped the rest of the world fall away. There was nothing but him and the cloth he wrapped around himself.
What could he possibly perform in front of a crowd? He’s awful at lip synching, Nemuri told him that. Voguing looks like something that would give him head trauma if he tried it, and god forbid someone asks him to sing. He saw someone last year do a puppet show in veggietales themed drag. The audience loved that, but Shouta is nowhere near that bold. He isn’t all that creative or skilled, either. He can’t exactly show people how to change their brake pads on stage.
He sighs, slowly sliding down from his perch near the hooks in the ceiling. He really should get to bed before Hizashi notices he’s gone. He gets grumpy when that happens. In the middle of his descent down, a voice makes him stop, upside down and still suspended in the air.
“Sho’?”
He stops in his tracks, hands gripping at the silks to still his motions. Hizashi’s hair is a mess of blonde, falling out of what Shouta can’t tell was a bun or a ponytail. His red rimmed glasses are crooked on his face, slipping down by every nod of his head. Clearly, his husband is barely awake.
“What are you doing down here? Come back to bed.” Hizashi steps closer, careful not to stay directly under Shouta. Soft hands grab at his face, tilting his head up–or down, since he’s flipped–and green eyes shine at him. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.” He sighs softly, readjusting his grip and leaning his face into the touch. “Just thinking.”
“Oh yeah, ‘bout what?” Hizashi places a gentle kiss to Shouta’s lips, mimicking the beloved ‘Spiderman kiss’ Hizashi loves so much. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was very aware of how he’s dangling, Shouta would have hit the ground. He nudges his head free from Hizashi’s grip and slides the rest of the way down. When he gets back on his feet, he’s a little wobbly, from the headrush or the kiss, he isn’t sure.
“I…think I want to try drag. Just once.”
“Really? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”
“Really. I mean it.” Shouta rests one of his hands on Hizashi’s waist and squeezes reassuringly. “I have some questions, though.”
~
“No.”
“It’s really not that bad–”
“I am not tucking.”
“Are you sure? You have, like, a lot to hide.” Hizashi’s grin is lecherous and accompanied by a shameless flicker down to Shouta’s crotch. A couple nearby performers whistle lowly and laugh amongst themselves at the comment.
Shouta’s face flushes red in record speed. “I didn’t shave, so that’s going to be a no.”
Hizashi grimaces, as if remembering the agony it was when he missed a spot and tucked anyways, years ago. “Fine, fine, no tucking. At the very least put on these.” Hizashi holds up a pair of skin tone panties. “They’re tucking panties. I used them when I was just starting out and way, way too scared to tuck.”
“Oh.” Shouta was aware such a thing existed, but he never really connected the dots. He did his best to mind his business when anyone was talking about their groins.
“Here, I’ll help, okay?” Hizashi ushers Shouta into one of the only changing rooms with a door–one he and Hizashi have rendezvoused in a handful of times over the years–and gives him a reassuring squeeze. “Just remember, pretty hurts, but pretty isn’t agonizing.”
Drag isn’t his thing. He said it over and over again in the days leading up to tonight.
Yet, looking at himself in the mirror, twirling around and watching the skirts of his costume–because that’s what it is, really–he can barely recognize himself. Hizashi outdid himself with the makeup, covering up all his “mannish” features and softening all the sharp edges of his face. He even managed to cover up the bags under his eyes. Dark, smokey eyeshadow outlined his eyes, and intricate lines of eyeliner connected his eyes to his black lips.
They went for a mummy sort of look, to match his otherwise bland color palette in his day to day and performance style of choice. While he couldn’t properly rig the place to do aerial silks, he could do something with an aerial hoop, since that didn’t require suspension from the ceiling. The bandages were a nod to his art of choice.
His costume looked a lot like actual bandages, up one leg, around his hips, barely covering his midriff and chest, before curling around his arms. Nemuri added little trails of fake bandages that loosely resembled the shredded frills of a skirt. It was tame, all things considered, but it was all he could handle at once. This isn’t his thing.
Hizashi picked the name “Eraserhead” for his stage name, a vulgar, embarrassing name that he absolutely could never have dreamed up. If it was only for one night, then he would deal with it. Shouta turns around, careful as he can be in the heels another long time performer lent to him. He wasn’t sure how the audience would receive it, but he knew one thing for sure.
He looks damn good.
Shouta has never actually performed in front of a crowd before. The silks classes he took at a local community center had monthly recitals, but he never partook in. As an adult, work got in the way. As a teenager, he was scared of his parents finding out. They thought he was taking swimming lessons.
Club Revolution is somewhere his parents would never dare go. He remembers passing by it, when it first opened. He remembers seeing all the patrons dressed to the nines in all sorts of unique, outrageous, eccentric styles he’d never even imagined before. He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, but he was awed. He didn’t know people could dress like that at the time. He didn’t know there were so many ways people could look. He got so distracted by the bright lights and pretty clothes that he lost track of his parents. He immediately–since he was a child–burst into tears right where he stood. One of the lined up patrons stepped out of line, crouched down to his level, and calmly talked him through his tears. He doesn’t remember a lot about them, except that they vaguely reminded him of a peacock, with their bright costume and dark braided hair full of intricate beads, gems, and feathers.
It didn’t take long at all for his parents to realize their kid wasn’t with them. When they backtracked, they all but snatched Shouta up into their arms and barked profanities at the person who was kind enough to check up on a lost kid. He remembers distinctively watching his father spit at this person before turning on his heel and rushing away. Despite that, the person smiled at Shouta as he was carried away.
That stuck with him, even though it took him five years to realize why his parents acted like that.
Now, he’s in his thirties, dressed up in an outfit he never would have dreamed of being in, in that very same club he wanted so, so badly to see the inside of as a teenager, getting ready to perform. He has his husband giving him a thumbs up from behind the curtain, Shirakumo grinning over at him from the soundbooth, and Nemuri pushing him forward in those way too tall heels. There’s an audience of people just like him, or maybe not at all like him, just gathered here, unsure like he was the first time he came. People sure of themselves, people confused, people somewhere in between. A strange little picture frame of people just looking for a place to call home, a place to get away from it all, a place to just be. They don’t care if he’s amazing or if he sucks, so why should he? The three people he cares about most, his own little family, think he looks fantastic. That he is fantastic. And he believes them.
For once, Shouta thinks that everything will be okay.
Is this what freedom truly means?
Is this what he’s been chasing all his life?
~
“So?” Hizashi sits next to him at his spot backstage. The performance was a blur from the moment he stepped out. Shouta couldn’t remember a damn thing he did, whether from nerves or excitement. He did know one thing though.
“It was fun.” He admits, leaning his head on Hizashi’s shoulder. An arm wraps around his own.
“Would you do it again?”
“Absolutely not.” His response is met with a loud laugh.
“You did wonderful out there, you know. I’m very proud of you for trying.”
“Thanks, ‘Zashi.” Shouta’s voice cracks, and an unexpected wave of emotion hits him all at once. Before he knows it, he’s sniffling and feeling tears run down his face, stinging his eyes on account of all the makeup. He doesn’t know why he’s crying. He isn’t sad, quite the opposite. The last time he felt this happy was on his wedding day.
“Is my baby crying?” Hizashi sounds worried, moving down to kneel in front of Shouta.
“Only a little. They’re good tears.”
“Those are the ones I like to see.” Hizashi kisses each one of his knuckles individually, before trailing up, up, up his arm, his shoulders, his neck, his jaw, and then finally to his face, where rather than kissing the tears away, Hizashi presses the flat of his tongue to Shouta’s cheek and licks them away.
“You’re so fucking weird, ‘Zashi.” Shouta laughs, tugging his husband up off the ground.
“You love it.” Hizashi stands up fully and offers a hand to Shouta. He stumbles a bit, wobbly on his feet. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to walking in heels, and quite frankly, he hopes he never has to again. Not ones this high, at least. “Wanna keep those heels till we get home, handsome? They’re doing something to me.”
“These aren’t mine, remember?”
“A shame.” Hizashi pouts. “We’ll have to get you some.”
• Fluent in JSL, Japanese, and English. Knows enough French to get by and is learning Greek and Italian.
•Loves to travel! Learning about new cultures and people has always been an interest of his.
• Hizashi is a workaholic ((duh!))
• Has a horrible sleep schedule. Worse than his husbands since Aizawa actually takes naps! Zashi has gone 50 hours awake with just coffee, sugar, and pure determination. Midnight had to knock him out with her quirk and Aizawa had to strap him to the bed
• Headcannon suggested by @shouta-light -- mic likes to be on the same level as his students and keep up with what is "cool". He doesnt like being seen as old or having a big disconnect with his students
• still nervous of parents and rarely attends parent teacher conferences. He sends out detailed and colored reports to the parents instead
• if given a choice, hizashi would rather be cold than hot. When cold it's easier to bundle up!
• Loves to run and do yoga in the morning. He considers it "me time" and gives him time to think and clear his mind ((though sometimes it becomes us time when Shouta comes in to watch his husband work on his flexibility and poses))
• shouta and Hizashi have been living together since UA
• hizashi loves American music and often sings in perfect english! His favorite songs are (Hey look mom I made it by Panic At The Disco)(Walk me Home by P!NK)(Hero by Skillet)(Stars by Skillet)(wasting all these tears by Cassidee Pope)
• He is a mother hen. Helping others and brightening their day is what makes hizashi happy. Sometimes he Pampers and oversteps but his heart in always in the right place
•He carries medical supplies on him at all times. Sometimes just a few bandaides and stitching supplies and other times the full first aide kit. After fixing up shouta so often, he has picked up this habit
He got so good at patching himself and other up due to 2 reasons. 1-> his crappy home life with his bioparents forced him to become better at self care and wound treatment. 2->shouta gets into a lot of scraps as an underground hero and has always hated hospitals. So ever since they met I. UA, hisashi has been patching the other up and watching over his health
• he wants to offer Kyoka Jiro a place at his hero agency and Radio show after her graduation because of her love for music and her style. Yuga Aoyama is also being considered by Hizashi as a potential hero in his agency due to his positivity and abilities.
• Mic is lean muscle and toned! He has a rocking body but doesnt show others unless he truly trusts them (like shouta). He has scars and marks on his body from childhood abuse that makes him self conscious. The battle scars dont worry him as much since it is a part of the job
• Shouta has a cat and Mic has a salt water aquarium with many fish and two seahorses which are his "babies"
• Hizashi is a clinger. If you are a loved one, a friend, or someone he trusts then you will be cuddled, hugged, jumped on, and constantly touched throughout the day
• Loves birds (had a pet cockatiel as a child when his mothers first adopted him) but pigeons are weird and he is slightly terrified of them
• His favorite color changes with his mood ((but his favorite color combo is black and yellow -- wink wink --))
•Loves to swim. If there is a body of water nearby, sunglasses come out and his inflatable tube is ready.
• Hizashi doesnt mind being badmouthed or insulted or belittled (maybe a bit), but do any of the following to his family or loved ones and you're in for a world of hurt from the voice hero
• Hizashi seriously considered the hero name "The Yell Man" until shouta managed to talk sense into him
Thank you Loyal Listeners~
Let me know if you would like a part 3! I have so many more cute and quirky headcannons.
I'll be basing my future fanfictions off them.
Also! I have many Erasermic AU ideas. Would anyone be interested if I posted them? Along with their headcanons?
