At the beginning of the year, after Sports Festival time.
It's like seeing a ghost.
TW: Mild mentions of blood and gore
Class for the day ended. Finally. The last of the problem children were leaving the room. Yamada and Aizawa were both talking in the front of the room when they overheard a quote all too familiar.
"Imagine how cool it would be if we could run a hero agency together! If someone messed up the others would have their back!" Kirishima said to Denki and Bakugou as they were leaving the room.
Hizashi and Aizawa stopped right in their conversation. By now, the three had left the room.
"He reminds me of..." Yamada said, trailing off at the end, the tension in the room suddenly rose. Aizawa felt the need to say something.
"Yeah, he really does." Aizawa agreed, looking away from Hizashi to avoid adding more tension to the room. "To be honest, their whole trio does."
"I'm imagining younger you with spiky hair and anger issues. Fits." Yamada laughed, trying to ease the tension in the room. He earned a light chuckle from Aizawa.
"Younger you and Kaminari, the same person. No one can convince me otherwise." Aizawa added on, realizing who would be Kirishima then. The tension rose quickly after that. Fortunately, Yamada decided it was time for him to take his leave and go run some errands.
It was evening. Normally, grocery shopping didn't take more than an hour but Yamada had a feeling that after that awkward encounter with his husband, it would be best to spend some time apart. Currently, it was 7:30 PM. Yamada was getting off the subway train but then he heard another quote, all too familiar.
"We need to get in quick! The rest of the squad is waiting for us! Come on!!" Kirishima yelled to Bakugou and Kaminari. As soon as the three got in, the doors shut and the train started moving away. Hizashi was just staring at the spot the three got in.
God.
His heart ached.
He reached the apartment. A three-bedroom, but only one room was taken up. Oboro, Shouta, and he had been saving up to live here since they became friends. Of course, they planned they'd all sleep in separate rooms and all three would be taken up, but that wasn't the case. He opened the door to find Aizawa with Hitoshi, sitting at the dinner table, the kid had a mostly-eaten bowl of pineapple, the fruit that Aizawa hated with every fiber in his body.
That's why he told him to get it.
He and Aizawa shared a look; they needed to talk.
"That's enough for today, Hitoshi," Aizawa said looking at the student. "You can come back tomorrow if you like, you're always welcome here, just let me know."
The kid looked shocked at the last words that came out of his mouth but gave a sincere thanks and left.
"You hate pineapple," Yamada smirked. "You really like this kid."
He put down the grocery bags on the kitchen countertop and went to go sit with Aizawa at the dinner table.
"So, what happened," Aizawa asked folding his arms. "You looked like you saw a ghost when you came in."
"Might as well have," Yamada muttered.
"Oh," Aizawa replied.
Days went on. The more and more similarities they saw.
The more painful it was.
MILD BLOOD AND GORE IN THE NEXT PARAGRAPH
One day, Aizawa and Yamada were showing them a mandatory, high-end lesson that even the teachers couldn't watch before showing it to their students because it was so violent and gruesome the teachers would even get shocked and one specific news clip decided to show up. The two instantly stared at the screen in horror as their students looked at it in shock. The photo was a blue-haired, blue-eyed, U.A hero in training's head crushed. Red surrounded him. Him and the concrete were as red as Kirishima's hair.
BLOOD AND GORE ENDED.
Aizawa and Yamada paused the clip, breathing heavily. Tears were whelming up in both of their eyes. It had to take maximum strength to hold them back but of course, Kirishima, the spitting image of the guy in personality, and if you inverted the colors, made Kirishima's hair a bit different, looks too, had to say something positive and encouraging.
"That won't happen to any of us! As long as we have each other's back we'll be fine!" Kirishima yelled in a positive manner, then turned to look at Aizawa.
"Right Sensei?"
Tears.
The room went silent, the only thing that was heard was the two teachers' sobs. Kirishima's face embodied instant guilt.
"I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-" Kirishima started apologizing but got cut off by Aizawa.
"Class is over," Aizawa announced, cutting Kirishima off, half sobbing.
"It's not your fault kid," Yamada told him, also through sobs. "You're just so much like him."
Aizawa grabbed Yamada's hand as he started walking out, signaling that they should leave.
The duo, which once upon a time, a trio, walked out of the room, hand in hand, tears still pouring down their cheeks.
The class just stayed at their places, in complete shock.
"What did I do?" Kirishima muttered, "Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!" He continued, tugging on his hair. Bakugou placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Stop doing that, Present Mic said it wasn't your fault."
"We should all go to our dorms," Iida said getting up, Momo following.
One by one, the students started leaving, till it was only the Bakusquad left in the classroom.
"I'll give them some space and then go apologize," Kirishima said, still engulfed by guilt.
"We should all probably go to our dorms now," Jirou said.
"It wasn't your fault, Kirishima," Sero said trying to comfort his friend.
"Yeah, Present Mic said so," Mina added on.
"It's okay, Kiribro," Denki said trying to also comfort hs friend.
"Let's go back to the dorms like Jirou said," was the only thing Kirishima said. Like that, the classroom was empty.
Present Mic opened the door once again, but this time the first things he saw were their cats, looking at them with concerned faces. The two flopped on the couch, their faces were smashed together so closely that could feel the other person's tears.
"Out of all people, why'd it have to be him!" Aizawa cried, the cats moving to sit under the couch. "He was so full of life!"
"I know, it's not fair," Yamada muttered angrily.
God, the amount he wished that villain was suffering-
It should have been the three of them here, watching movies and playing board games. Instead, it was two of them, crying on their couch.
"It's been years, why can't we get over him?" Aizawa cried out.
"I... don't know..." Yamada answered sadly.
Just then the doorbell rang. Both of the men got up to open the door, it was Shinsou who was carrying a box of cat macarons, pineapple, and these chips that Yamada liked.
"I heard about what happened today, I just wanted to come by and give you these," Shinsou mumbled and handed Aizawa the box. "I'll be out of your hair now, I hope you feel better..."
"Thanks, kid, you can always come to us for anything, we're here for you too," Aizawa said, giving a small actual smile.
"Yeah, kiddo," Yamada agreed.
Shinsous eyes sparkled for a second but that sparkle soon left, he gave a small smile almost exactly replicating Aizawa.
"I should get back now," Shinsou explained, they waved goodbye and the door shut.
"Can we adopt him?" Yamada said, only half-joking.
"I've actually been thinking about something like that, I haven't gotten him to tell me much about his current and past foster families, but they don't seem ideal..." Aizawa revealed, "We'd have to see if he'd want that too."
"Yeah, poor kid-" Yamada agreed but got cut off by the doorbell again.
This time it was Kirishima, as soon as they opened the door he started going on an apology tangent.
"I AM SO SO SORRY FOR MAKING YOU GUYS CRY. I SHOULDN'T HAVE SAID ANYTHING, I'M SO SOR-"
"Woah! Calm down," Present Mic interrupted, "It's not your fault, you just act remind us so much of him!"
"Of the blue-haired guy?"
"Yeah, he was our best friend, we were actually with him at the place when he... passed on," Aizawa added on, "To be honest we kind of have been seeing teenage selves in you, Kaminari, and Bakugou, and the rest of the class, but mainly you guys."
"That's so manly!" Kirishima cried out. The two shared a look trying not to laugh at his sweetness.
"I also got you guys some pineapple, Hitoshi said you guys like it," Kirishima said, pulling out a box of a lot of pineapples.
"Thanks..." Aizawa said, looking at the box.
Kirishima decides he should leave and the two went back in.
"I think we're going to be having a lot of pineapple in our home," Yamada said, getting out two forks and handing one to Aizawa.
"This isn't half bad," Aizawa said, putting the pieces in his mouth.
"Is it not because Hitoshi and Kirishima gave it to you," Yamada smirked.
"Shut up..."
The blonde of the duo laughed, what was supposed to be a trio was a duo. He's gone. Now, they only have each other.
A/n: WOWWW It took me FOREVER to write this boi! But its probably one of my best works so far! Hope you all enjoy, like, and reblog this because it would really mean a lot! Anyways love u all and enjoy!!
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It's not fair really…
Falling in love, was absolutely the one thing you didn’t want. But here you are, sitting snug under his wrapped arms as the tv droned on about hero news and he didn’t bother changing the channels. Countless times in the thirty, goddamn, minutes you had been home he didn’t bother even talking to you as his raven black mane rested ever-so lazily against the couch.
“Dabi,” You heard a hum emitted from him. Was he angry at you? Or better yet, is he angry at you? “Are you okay?” Instead of watching the news, your eyes ever so shifted to the fog outside the closed frostbitten windows. “It’s none of your business.” Although he hasn’t been sleeping as much as he did before, the undertone of his hoarse voice was louder than usual. It was like he was bored with something…
It probably was you.
.
.
.
With the progress of nightfall coming quicker than usual, you leaned forward as a hazy memory in the wake of his mind. Dropping your feet to the floor, the male scanned your body language - clenched hands, stiff shoulders, a closed body expression- you didn’t bother looking back at him when getting off the couch. “What are you doing?” The tables had turned. he asked the questions; you gave the answers now. Like bad cop versus good cop.
Little did he know, something had switched inside of you. “It’s none of your business.” (y/n)’s voice turned bitter and cold, just like the frost climbing onto the window, your words nipped at his own feelings. Was it the shallow throwback to his dismissive comment that made him dig his nails into the silky skin of your hand before you left that escalated the chaotic snowstorm internally of oneself?
“If you even dare—” Ripping your hand from his grip, you cut him off “do what, you fucking prick?” You sliced any sort of co-operation with him. “Whenever I do my own shit, you have a problem with it.” He couldn’t disagree with you, “Fuck off.” Gracefully placing your hands on the same hips, he grips dangerously in the early mornings, those eyes of yours carefully challenged him to say another word.
“See? You’re not denying it.” Pivoting on one of your heels, your form went to the kitchen.
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The silence of the early morning was broken by a zipper echoing in the numbingly cold bedroom. Dabi however couldn’t feel it. The warmth on his bed lulled him back to this illusion of a different reality.
His reality.
He’s trapped in it, not the regret and sadness he is trapped, instead, it’s the thoughts that wrangle the epitome demon that he keeps under many chains and locks till the time is just right. Faintly though, even if he wasn’t already half-asleep once the zipping had stopped, the male lifted his head to see one or two suitcases lined up and your figure rolling them too close to the bedroom door.
With one sinister shadow rolling onto the floor and up the close white curtains, it looked him dead in his eyes like it had been watching him all this time. “Where are,” He yawned, “you headin’?” From this distance, he couldn’t tell if your whole body was shaking or if it was just your hands gripping the two suitcase handles way too tightly. You thought you were being as quiet as possible- packing (more like stuffing) most of the clothes and essentials you owned into two medium-sized suitcases- but the moment Dabi had woken up, there will be no fathomable doubt that you would have to lie to him.
The longer you stayed here, it felt like you were more like his tool for pleasure rather than to hold and cherish.
“Just go back to sleep, Dabi.” A pregnant pause ensued till it was clear of what you meant. Dabi has seen this scene far too many times to believe what is happening- Suitcases, a cold behaviour, and the singular word sleep- you were abandoning him weren’t you? Just like his Mother did to his Father.
Sure, the flaming pile of shit that is supposed to be a hero has his Mother stuck in a mental hospital, but he knows the familiar word abandonment loves to roll off his tongue. “Your leaving, aren’t you?” Don’t think he didn’t notice the slight flinch in your shoulders. “Go to sleep,” Biting on the bottom of your lip, (y/n) breathed in and then out, “there’s nothing to see here…”
“If there’s nothing to see,” his feet were planted on the chilly cold floor, “then why are you holding two suitcases?” The zipper to your mouth was closed. You both knew the word was going to slide off his tongue soon. He was prepared for whatever might happen and the force he might have to take just for you to stay.
Why is that deathly silence warped around the two individuals? Freedom seemed so bittersweet in this scene. It’s the traditional scene out of a sitcom: Mother is leaving the house with a bag, or two, in tow and the child watches from his bedroom doorframe as she twists the handle and---
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Here you are now. Most of his body was covered with a blanket where small drops of a smooth river flooded the red hills of your cheeks.
If he could cry; He would do it out of pure joy.
It was just a dream; he was happy it was a dream.
“A-are you okay?” Dabi is okay now that you’re here. But he’s not okay with the waterworks. “There’s no need to cry, doll.” It was rare to hear his soft voice. But here he is, using that same soft voice that makes you feel closure and that profound comforting feeling. “You scared me…” Placing a, similarly to his own, clammy hand on his cheek and staring straight into those ocean blue eyes that showed a long lost torment where those reassuring words he spoke out was something nobody would repeat once more.
At long last, even if the demons of both of their minds wouldn’t rest, the couple still found comfort in each other.
