Chapter Text
The alarm woke him with a jolt. Shouta groaned, hand groping blindly to shut up the infernal noise, before burrowing further into the warmth of his bed. It was too early to be awake, especially when sleep had only claimed him a few short hours before. He felt heavy, his head muddled by exhaustion, and it took him several minutes to remember why he had set the alarm in the first place.
“Oh, right,” he grumbled into his pillow. Yamada had asked to speak to him before school. Shouta didn’t know why they couldn’t talk at lunch, or better yet, after school, but Yamada had been sombre when he’d asked, which was so out of character for his chirpy friend that he’d agreed before he’d thought better of it. He was regretting that decision now. Yamada had better be dying.
Shouta himself felt a little like he was dying. He wondered whether Yamada would care if he were late but, as his eyes drooped closed again, his friend’s serious expression seared into his mind’s eye, and he reopened them with a little moan.
“This better be important—” Throwing weighted legs over the side of his bed, Shouta heaved himself upright, shivering as the cold air hit him. As he stood, his foot knocked into a mug he’d left the night before, and he swore loudly as cold coffee spilt across the floor. This— this was why he didn’t do mornings. “Dammit, Yamada.”
Shouta used his foot and an old t-shirt to mop up the coffee, glad that it had mostly been dregs left, the cheap granules not dissolving properly in the water and leaving the bottom couple of inches undrinkable. His mom would kill him if he stained the floorboards.
It was still depressingly dark outside when Shouta plodded silently through the house to the bathroom. His shower was quick and cold—a feeble attempt to wake himself up that was nowhere near as effective as the scalding coffee he downed ten minutes later. He burned his toast and then his fingers as he tried to pick up the blackened bread, tossing it to the work surface and leaving a trail of crumbs his mom would definitely scold him for later.
Burnt toast between his teeth, Shouta quickly fixed his tie in the mirror and then locked up behind him as he finally left for school. He was only running ten minutes late, which wasn’t bad, considering. Yamada probably expected him to be at least twenty minutes behind what they’d agreed.
It wasn’t logical to wonder what his friend wanted when he’d have his answers soon enough, but Shouta couldn’t help it. It had surprised him when Yamada had asked to speak to him alone. They never did anything without Shirakumo—he was the glue that held their little friendship group together.
Shouta knew it would only be for a few minutes, but he hated excluding Shirakumo from whatever this was. He was Shouta’s first friend— ever —and it felt like a betrayal to be meeting Yamada behind his back. Especially lately.
Shouta couldn’t help the twitch of his lips as he thought about Shirakumo. With them both doing their work studies at Purple Revolution Agency, they’d been spending even more time together just the two of them recently. Well, Kayama was there a fair bit, but it was different from how they usually spent their time with Yamada.
Maybe that was why Yamada wanted to speak to him? Maybe he felt left out? Or, maybe he’d noticed Shouta’s growing crush on their mutual friend? Yamada could be very perceptive, after all. Shouta wondered how he’d feel about Yamada knowing. On the one hand, the thought of anyone figuring out his secret made Shouta want to crawl under a rock and die, but, on the other, perhaps it would be good for someone to have his back? Yamada was one of his best friends; he was sure to be supportive, right?
Shouta nearly missed his stop, too absorbed in his thoughts. It was weird heading to school instead of work studies, but His Purple Highness had insisted they go to school today. Shouta wasn’t really sure why—he’d stopped paying attention when it became clear his mentor was going to gush about rubbish. It was for the best, though. Only the super smart people like Yamada weren’t struggling to keep up with their schoolwork on top of their work studies, so a few days here and there at UA helped keep the workload manageable.
Leaving the train station, Shouta hurried up the hill to school. Yamada was waiting at the gate, pacing dramatically like he hadn’t expected Shouta to be late and was frustrated by it. Shouta rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into his pockets as he closed the distance between them, his expression carefully masked as indifference. He didn’t know what Yamada knew, so he planned to act naturally until he had answers.
“Aizawa! There you are!” Yamada’s smile was too bright, his eyes darting behind his ridiculous sunglasses as though he were nervous. Oh no, this didn’t bode well…
“What’s this about, Yamada?” Shouta asked stiffly. “I could have had an extra half hour in bed.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m sorry. I just, uh, well—” Yamada rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, not quite making eye contact.
“Spit it out!” He didn’t mean to come across so rude, but Shouta was panicking a little now. Yamada was acting strange, shifty even. He had to know about Shouta’s crush on Shirakumo, and the uncertainty of how he’d react was terrifying. On the train, Shouta had assumed that Yamada would have his back, but what if he were wrong? What if Yamada didn’t? He had two moms, so he was unlikely to be homophobic, but what if he was against the idea for other reasons? What if he thought it would ruin their friendship? Maybe he would be right. Maybe—
“Aizawa?”
Shouta blinked back into awareness, surprised to find Yamada holding out a small box tied with a ribbon. He looked at it suspiciously, not taking it. “What’s that?”
The box was trembling a little in Yamada’s hand, and, for the first time, Shouta noticed that Yamada’s cheeks were flushed. Huh.
“Um, well, you know what day it is and—”
“Tuesday?” Shouta interrupted, blinking in confusion. What did that have to do with anything?
Yamada faltered slightly, his cheeks flushing even more. “Um, no. Well, yeah, of course, technically, but—Do you really not know?” Shouta just stared at him. Yamada swallowed noisily, pulling a pained expression that almost had Shouta feeling guilty. Was he meant to know what was special about today? It was just a regular Tuesday, right? “It’s, um, well, y’know…” Yamada bumbled. As Shouta watched, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. When he opened them again, his face was filled with heroic determination. “It’s Valentine’s Day,” Yamada said.
“Oh.” Shouta still wasn’t following why that was important, though. He frowned, his gaze trailing back to the box with the ribbon that Yamada was still holding out to him.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
“Uh, Yama—”
“You don’t have to say anything yet,” Yamada cut over him quickly. Was it possible that his cheeks were even redder now? “Just think about it, yo! Maybe on White Day, you could—”
“I don’t feel the same,” Shouta said quickly, his own face feeling heated now. He couldn’t meet Yamada’s eyes, not wanting to see the hurt there.
How had this happened? Had Shouta’s developing feelings for Shirakumo made him blind, or had Yamada just been hiding it well? Maybe Shouta was just dense? Either way, things had just gotten incredibly awkward.
“Right,” Yamada said, his arm still holding the box dropping to his side in defeat. “Yeah, of course. I was just being stupid. This doesn’t have to change anything, right? I don’t want it to affect our friendship, y’know?”
Shouta opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, there was a call from behind him that made him perk up. His attention caught on the new arrival fast approaching from behind, Shouta missed how Yamada’s face fell, shoving the ribboned box quickly back into his bag.
“Shouta! Hizashi! You’re both here already. Man, you should have told me you were arriving early. I’d have walked with you.”
“We just met by coincidence,” Yamada said too casually. Shouta glanced at him, noting how Yamada had schooled his expression into something natural. It was probably for the best. He didn’t want to answer any awkward questions, and Yamada clearly didn’t want Shirakumo knowing what had just happened between them.
“That doesn’t seem right,” Shirakumo chirped. “The Shouta I know only manages to crawl into homeroom thirty seconds before the bell rings.”
“Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d come in early,” Shouta grunted.
“Well, no complaints here!” Shirakumo threw an arm over each of their shoulders and herded them towards the school. “Reckon we’ll get much chocolate today? I’m hoping for at least one box. I’ve got a real craving, y’know?”
“You just want Kayama-senpai to give you a box, don’t you?” Yamada teased, his voice not quite as light as usual. If Shirakumo noticed, he didn’t mention it.
“You bet I do! Come on, can either of you honestly say you wouldn’t be flattered if she gave you chocolates?”
“I don’t want chocolates from anybody,” Shouta mumbled, feeling bad as he noticed Yamada wince. Maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut?
“Oh really? So you don’t want these then?” Shirakumo teased, offering a small pack of dark chocolate truffles with a grin. Shouta felt his heart thud in his chest as he reached out and accepted the bag before he could think better of it. Had Shirakumo just— “Got you some too, of course, ‘Zashi~! Caramel! Sickly sweet, like my love.”
Yamada laughed and accepted his own bag. He was still too tense, but Shirakumo didn’t mention it. “Thanks, man! I’m sorry, I didn’t get either of you anything.”
Shouta frowned at the lie but once again didn’t call Yamada out on it. The sooner they could move past that awkward confession, the better. “Me either,” he said instead.
“I’m wounded,” Shirakumo said, sounding anything but. “I guess I’m the only one with a heart.”
“I’ll get you something for White Day,” Yamada promised.
“You better! You too, Shouta. I want milk chocolate, not that bitter stuff you like, okay?”
“Mm,” Shouta mumbled, staring down at the truffles he still held in his hand. He couldn’t help but wish it had been Shirakumo who had asked to meet him privately before school. He couldn’t help but wish these truffles were special, and not just a gift from ‘one bro to another’.
“I got Kayama a bag of assorted truffles. Do you think she’ll like them?”
“I thought you wanted her to give you chocolates today? Shouldn’t you be waiting until White Day to reciprocate?” Yamada asked, sounding more and more like his usual self the closer they got to homeroom.
“No harm in trying my luck. Why should Valentine’s Day be just for girls to confess?”
“I don’t think Kayama’s the type to give chocolates and confess feelings,” Shouta said, trying to find a sense of normalcy inside himself. He was never sure just how serious Shirakumo was about his crush on their senpai, and the fear that he was serious weighed down on Shouta more than he’d like.
“Way to crush my dreams, man,” Shirakumo joked, squeezing Shouta a little closer to him. Shouta bit his lip, trying to tame his blush. This day had been disastrous enough without outing himself to his crush. It certainly didn’t help that the day had only just begun. Classes hadn’t even started yet, and Shouta might have ruined one of the few friendships he had. He glanced at Yamada from the corner of his eye, but his loud friend had finally perfected his usual smile and was acting like nothing had happened. Maybe his confession hadn’t meant anything? Yamada wasn’t quite as flirty as Shirakumo, but he offered smiles and winks like they were free and was bound to get his fair share of confessions today.
Valentine’s Day. Shouta almost shuddered. He’d completely forgotten, but he’d done so for a reason. He hated how fake it all was. He couldn’t believe that even his friends—smart as they were—were caught up in the commercialism of it all.
“Are we going to the arcade later?” Shirakumo asked as they finally reached 2-A’s classroom.
“Sorry, man, I’m busy,” Yamada said a little too quickly, avoiding looking at Shouta.
The day continued that way, with Yamada trying and not quite managing to behave normally around Shouta. Somehow, Shirakumo didn’t notice. Or perhaps he did but was smart enough not to question it. Maybe he’d put two and two together and realised what it was he’d interrupted that morning. Shouta hated the thought of him knowing almost as much as he hated the thought about losing Yamada over it.
That evening, as he laid awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, his phone buzzed. It was as if Yamada had sensed that he was thinking about him and had messaged accordingly.
Sry abt earlier. Can we pretend it nvr happened?
Relief flooded Shouta, and he quickly typed back. Consider it forgotten.
Cool
A minute went by, and Shouta stared at his phone, wondering whether he should reply. How was he meant to respond to that, though? Then, just as he considered putting his phone down, it buzzed again.
Thnx for not telling Oboro
Shouta frowned, not sure how to reply because of course he wouldn’t tell Shirakumo when it was so obvious Yamada hadn’t wanted him to know but, once again, before he could reply, Yamada was sending another text.
u shd tell him u like him
Shouta stared at that message for a long time. He wanted to deny it, but he owed Yamada better than to lie. Still, Yamada no longer seemed like the right person to discuss his crush with, considering what had happened that morning. He didn’t know how Yamada was feeling about the whole situation, and he didn’t want to risk making things worse.
Maybe, he settled on finally, then put his phone face down on the bed and resumed staring at the ceiling. Of course he wasn’t going to confess to Shirakumo. He wasn’t brave like Yamada, and the risk to the friendship was too much to bear. He was perfectly happy just being friends, and it didn’t seem logical to jeopardize everything when, more than likely, his feelings weren’t reciprocated.
For a brief moment, Shouta wondered what could have been if it had been Yamada he’d developed feelings for. Yamada’s confession still played on his mind and, while he’d promised to forget about it, that was easier said than done.
He hoped it wouldn’t affect their friendship. While he didn’t feel the same, he valued Yamada’s existence in his small world far too much to ever want to lose him. Yamada, Shirakumo and Kayama… They were his only friends. Well, them and Sushi the cat. Shouta was fine with that, liked it even.
So why would he ever risk it all to confess a stupid crush?
It wasn’t like they didn’t have all the time in the world, anyway. They were going to start their own agency together after they graduated.
Maybe then. Maybe once things were settled and their futures were a little more certain, perhaps then Shouta might feel brave enough to risk it.
Right now, though?
Right now, he should be getting some sleep. They had work studies in the morning, and it wouldn’t do to dwell on pointless things.
The next day, Shouta and Shirakumo were patrolling together when Shouta got a text from Kayama that would change everything.
Aizawa! Start evacuating the area, now! We’ve got a nasty villain wrecking the neighbourhood!
The pair exchanged looks before taking off back the way they’d come from. They’d just parted from a bunch of preschoolers, and even if they weren’t heroes in training, protecting the children would have been their first thought.
“Onto the cloud, kids!” Shirakumo called, encouraging the group of children onto his quirk-created cloud where he would best be able to keep an eye on them. The children, unaware of the threat, were happy to oblige. They’d only just safely climbed aboard when there was a loud rumble, finally sparking the first embers of fear inside them. The noise was followed by debris raining down around them, and Shouta spun, jaw-dropping at the sheer vastness of the villain.
It was huge.
Not even remotely humanoid, it looked kind of like a giant blob with arms and legs. Its only distinctive features were the lumps that decorated its back like acne. Taller than all the surrounding buildings, it clumsily ambled down the street like it was simply out for a stroll and if a building happened to get in its way? Well, that was the building’s problem.
“It got here so fast,” Shouta said, gawping up at the monstrosity in all its glory. There was no way he and Shirakumo were equipped to take on an enemy like that. The confidence that had been growing in him over the past few months took a 360 turn, and Shouta clenched his fists, trying to calm his mind enough to think .
Before Shouta’s brain could form even the beginnings of a plan, His Purple Highness was suddenly there in front of them.
“Leave this to his majesty!” he said between the trademark rose gripped between his teeth.
“Boss!”
“You two, get the little ones out of danger!” Even as the instructions left his mouth, His Highness was flying through the air. Shouta watched in awe at the grace of him, already feeling calmer for his presence.
It didn’t last long.
Before His Purple Highness could even land his blow, a familiar yell sent him flying into a nearby building.
“That was… Yamada’s voice quirk?!” Shouta cried, momentarily confused because, while it had definitely been his friend’s voice, it had just as certainly come from the villain. Before he could worry about Yamada’s safety, however, the villain blasted the same wall he’d thrown their boss into, using a new quirk that was equally familiar. Shouta noticed how the lumps on the villain’s back disappeared when he used a new quirk.
“And now… Sensoji’s blast !” Shouta’s mind whirled in overdrive as he quickly figured out what was happening. “So he stores up other people’s quirks in the lumps on his back?!”
Screams stole his attention, and Shouta whipped his head around just in time to see Shirakumo dive forward and create a cloud above the children’s heads, catching the debris that showered down upon them. He was too close to the building collapsing around them, though, and his quirk wasn’t powerful enough to protect himself as well.
Shouta saw it as if in slow motion. The rock hit Shirakumo straight on the head, knocking his goggles flying and sending the boy straight to the ground.
“Shirakumo!” Shouta cried as he started running, eyes caught on how debris still fell, and the children’s teacher had draped herself over them—Shirakumo’s protective cloud had vanished. “No, Shirakumo!”
Another boom sounded behind him, and Shouta stumbled to a sudden halt. He glanced over his shoulder at the approaching villain, then glanced to his right to see his boss down for the count. To his left, Shirakumo still hadn’t unearthed himself from the rubble that had buried him.
Sweat drenched Shouta’s face as he realised he was the last man standing. He was the only one who could protect the children and their teacher huddled near where his friend was buried.
He had to do something.
He had to be a hero.
But what was he meant to do? He couldn’t think. His mind was racing in overdrive, analysing the way the villain was not only stealing quirks but amplifying them. How was he meant to fight such insane firepower? He wasn’t special; his fighting technique was nothing to write home about, and his quirk was almost useless! How could he help? How could he protect anyone when he’d already failed to protect the one person who meant so much to him—
Before the thoughts could overwhelm him, something rolled away from the rubble, and words of encouragement blasted in his ears.
“You got this, Aizawa!”
Shirakumo !
It was the speaker he carried around. He must have managed to toss it over from where he was still trying to free himself from the rubble.
With Shirakumo’s cheers still filling his head, a new resolve filled Shouta. He snapped his goggles over his eyes, quirk already activated.
Something Shirakumo had said to him one lunchtime on the rooftop came back to him.
He wasn’t useless. His quirk was erasure, dammit! That meant whatever powers his enemy brought to the table, Shouta could strip them all away and level the playing field!
With that new fire burning within him, urging him on, Shouta did what heroes do and leapt into action.
The first rain splatters were not enough to stop Shouta as he flew through the air, his capture weapon guiding him towards the villain. He had people he needed to protect, and Shouta wasn’t going to let a little rain stop him.
The villain roared again as it noticed Shouta flying towards it, and released one of the stolen quirks that formed a ball across its back. Shouta managed to dodge but winced as it, instead, exploded near the cowering children. He was supposed to be protecting them, not putting them further at risk.
He had to use his brain and develop an effective and rational strategy. One that the villain wouldn’t be able to fight against. He didn’t have time to stop and think, so Shouta let his instincts and training guide him. Flying through the air, he aimed to position himself above the villain, luring him into sending his attacks where he could dispose of them at a safe distance.
A thrill filled Shouta as he successfully kicked one of the villain’s quirk-balls skyward, where it exploded harmlessly away from the civilians. That thrill left him, along with the wind in his lungs, as the villain swiped him out of the air, sending him painfully hurtling to the ground.
Winded, Shouta stared up at the villain, resolve draining from him. He was too large, Shouta had no hope, no plan, nothing —
“You can do it, Shouta!” Shirakumo’s voice was back, crackling through the speaker and replacing Shouta’s dwindling hope. His heart thudded louder in his chest even as Shirakumo continued to yell exactly what Shouta needed to hear. “You’re the only one who can protect everyone! It’s alright. You can do this; you’ve got what it takes! After all, I know for a fact that you’re strong. You won’t lose, Shouta!”
Shirakumo believed in him. That was enough. That was all Shouta needed. His feet splashed in fast forming puddles as he roared with new resolve. With Shirakumo still yelling encouragements through his speaker, Shouta allowed himself to be swept up in the moment, launching himself back into the air and swinging around the giant villain.
Twisting his body through the air, Shouta spied a large rock and twined his capture weapon around it. Using his body’s momentum, Shouta tugged the rock, sending it hurtling through the air and smashing straight between the villain’s beady eyes. Dazed and furious, the villain retaliated by releasing all its stored quirks at once.
“All at once?” Shouta yelled, his adrenaline fuelling him. “Sure!”
Shouta was ready for them. With practised movements, he bound each of them together with his capture weapon, using his teeth to secure them.
“Have a taste of your own medicine!” With his foot guiding the way, Shouta aimed his trajectory towards the villain’s gaping mouth, depositing the bundle of quirks in his throat. Shouta’s foot tapped down on the flat surface of the villain’s snout, and then he was in the air again, flying up and over, feet touching solid ground just as the quirks exploded from within.
The force had Shouta stumbling forward, where his head hit the ground with a painful thud. He didn’t let that stop him, flipping onto his back just in time to see the villain collapse.
He’d done it. He’d really done it!
“SHIRAKUMO! I DID IT!” He cried out, his voice the loudest it had ever been.
He hoped Shirakumo had freed himself already. He wouldn’t mind that familiar gloved hand reaching out to pull him up right about now. It was like somebody had pulled the plug in Shouta’s body, draining all the energy from him. He just laid there, rain splattering his face as he gasped for breath.
Eventually, a hand did reach to pull him up, but it wasn’t Shirakumo’s. Shouta recognised him as a hero from Yamada’s agency, which made sense seeing as the villain had Yamada’s quirk stored. Briefly, he glanced around, but he couldn’t spot his loud friend. Maybe he was with Shirakumo?
Shouta allowed himself to be guided to the back of an ambulance and sat down. He still couldn’t spot his two best friends, but Kayama was close, hunched over to protect herself from the rain.
“One trainee… took that thing down all on his own?” the hero from Buster Union Agency was saying in awe. “Hard to believe.”
“Nah,” Shouta was quick to correct. He and Shirakumo would be forming their own agency with Yamada soon, after all. Shouta wouldn’t steal all the credit for their first big takedown. “It was a team effort. My partner was cheering me on the whole time. Right? Shirakumo?” Where was Shirakumo anyway? He must have been free from the rubble by now. “How’re his wounds looking, Kayama?”
Kayama wouldn’t turn to face him. Shouta frowned as he saw her shoulders shake. He scanned the surrounding area, finally spotting Yamada. His expression… Despite the paramedic’s protests, Shouta was on his feet instantly. “Wait. That bad? Really?” Shirakumo had sounded fine through the speaker as he’d yelled his encouragements. “Let’s get him to the hospital, quick!”
Shouta still searched the crowd for Shirakumo, but he was nowhere. Something else caught his eye, though. By Yamada’s feet was something familiar, and as Shouta watched, his friend reached down towards it.
“That’s Shirakumo’s speaker,” Shouta said. “We’d better take that with us.” He frowned as Yamada’s fingers hesitated mere inches away from the speaker. Why did his face look like that? Could it be that he was upset because his quirk had caused so much damage?
But no.
Kayama had her hand over her eyes. Shouta could hear her sobbing.
It was harder to tell with Yamada thanks to the rain, but his eyes looked red. He still hadn’t straightened out, his body hunched to pick up the speaker he hadn’t even touched.
Sensoji picked it up instead, frowning as he held it close to his face. “Huh? This thing is totally busted.”
Something inside Shouta cracked. “Th-that can’t be,” he said, voice trembling, though it had nothing to do with the cold rain. “The whole time, Shirakumo was…” He trailed off, doubt clouding him.
He had heard Shirakumo, right? He was sure of it.
“You’re saying you heard him cheering you along until the very end?” Sensoji asked as Yamada’s wide eyes stared hopelessly at the speaker his partner was holding. Shouta could hear the blood pounding between his ears. “Nah, you couldn’t have,” Sensoji declared. “You were just giving yourself a pep talk and imagined it was coming from the speaker. They say that can happen, y’know. When it’s do-or-die.”
Shouta swallowed, giving his head a frantic shake that sent a ripple of pain through his body. He’d almost forgotten he’d hit his head earlier. His shoulder was probably dislocated too. He put a hand to it, wincing as he held it to his side. “No way. No. I heard him. I heard him say, ‘you can do it!’ and ‘come on, Shouta!’. His voice kept me going…”
His denial would have continued if he hadn’t automatically turned his head to watch some movement he’d caught in his peripheral vision.
The blood drained from Shouta. Everything around him silenced except for the steady patter of rain. People were still talking, but Shouta couldn’t have repeated a word of what they said.
There, only a few paces away, was a paramedic crouched by a sheet. A white sheet that was covering something and was soaked red at one end.
The world seemed to freeze. Shouta couldn’t draw his gaze away from that white sheet. The rain had plastered it against whatever it covered, and Shouta couldn’t help but notice how human it looked.
He stared, numbness crawling across him like an insect that burrowed into his flesh and ate him alive, leaving him hollow.
Around him, his classmates argued, but Shouta didn’t hear a word they said. He felt distanced from them, like it was just him and the sheet left in the whole entire world. He felt far away from his body, and the thought occurred to him that maybe he’d died. Perhaps that was him under that sheet.
Because it was a body. There was a body under that sheet.
And the side with the red—with the blood… that was the head.
But it wasn’t Shouta’s head.
No.
It was Shirakumo’s.
Shirakumo was…
Shouta didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t believe it.
But the evidence was right there. It wasn’t logical to deny it.
The sheet. The white sheet that was stained with blood on one end.
The rain had made it cling to the body it covered. There was no mistaking it.
It was a body.
It was his body.
Shirakumo was dead.
Inside Shouta, something shattered, and the world around him began to corrode.
That corrosion continued as days went by. Weeks.
Years.
Shouta’s world slowly decayed without Shirakumo in it, withering within him and expanding out to consume everything he touched.
Yamada tried to reach him, a brightness desperately pushing through the haze, but Shouta refused to drag anyone else down with him. Nobody else should have to exist in such a desolate world.
As soon as they graduated their third and final year at UA, Shouta left.
He left, and he didn’t look back.
“The three of us should start our own agency.”
Yeah, right. Shouta was better suited to being alone anyway.
***
It was Kayama who finally dragged him back. He’d been lonely, lonelier than he cared to admit, and so he’d gotten back in touch with her under the pretence of checking in on Sushi. For a year, they only had monthly phone calls. Kayama would end each call asking him to return, and each time she asked, Shouta longed to just that little more.
He’d kept tabs on them both, of course. Yamada was easier than Midnight—Present Mic had made quite the name for himself. Shouta listened to his radio show every Friday that he was able (most of them, unless he was stuck in a fight with a villain). Hearing Yamada’s familiar voice was almost enough to trick Shouta’s mind into believing they were still close. Almost .
In reality, they hadn’t spoken. Seven years had crept by, and Shouta didn’t know how to close the gaping chasm he’d created between them. He’d phoned in to Put Your Hands Up once but had frozen when he’d heard Yamada greet him. Yamada had laughed it off as a bad connection and swiftly moved on. Shouta wondered if he’d suspected.
Then, a month after his twenty-sixth birthday, Kayama called him to say she had filled out the UA paperwork in his name. Kayama had been trying to talk him into teaching since she’d joined the staff the year before. Apparently, she’d gotten tired of his saying no.
Shouta could have refused. He was planning to. Then, during one of his shows, Yamada mentioned that he was joining the staff of UA as the new English teacher. Suddenly, despite his better judgement, Shouta found himself sitting across from Nezu and agreeing to become a homeroom teacher come the new school year in April.
That gave Shouta four months to set up some kind of life back in Musutafu. Four months to work up the courage to approach Yamada.
Shouta knew teaching with the former best friend he’d walked out on would be awkward, but he missed Yamada. His world was still corroding around him, but Shouta had noticed that the deterioration slowed whenever he listened to his radio shows.
Shouta couldn’t help but wonder whether closing the distance between them would help even more.
For the first time in years, Shouta wanted to try healing.
It was easier said than done, though. January rolled around, and Shouta still hadn’t plucked up the guts to speak to Yamada. He’d made Kayama promise not to tell him he was back, assuring her he’d do it himself when he was ready, but somehow, Shouta never felt ready. He was a hero, not used to being afraid of anything, but Yamada scared him. He scared him because Shouta knew Yamada had every reason to hate him.
Shouta had been a fucking terrible friend. He couldn’t even call himself a friend—that’s how terrible he’d been. They hadn’t talked in years . Yamada had tried to begin with, but Shouta hadn’t taken long to stop replying to his messages and, over time, Yamada had stopped sending them.
Yamada had moved on from high school. Shouta was still very much trapped there, and soon, he would be returning.
Why had he agreed to do such a dumb thing?
When January started to crawl to a close and Shouta still hadn’t reached out to Yamada (or left her apartment for anything other than patrols), Kayama took things into her own hands.
“We’re going for drinks with Hizashi,” she told him. Then, as he opened his mouth to protest, she held up her hand to stop him. “I haven’t told him you’re back. It’ll be a surprise.”
“It’s a terrible idea,” Shouta grunted.
“’Zashi has a spare bedroom, Sho. I need you two to make up already so you can move out!”
“If you want me to leave, just say so,” Shouta said. There was a capsule hotel nearby that would suit his needs just fine.
“I want to bring people home, Shouta,” Kayama said as if Shouta hadn’t just offered to leave. “I have no qualms with you being on the couch while I’m fucking, but my partners probably will, so you have to go.”
“I already said I’ll go.”
“You’re not moving into a capsule hotel,” Kayama snapped, apparently able to read his mind. Or perhaps she just knew where he’d been staying the last few years. She was good at her job; it wouldn’t be that hard to find out that Shouta had checked into multiple different cheap hotels over the past few years rather than pay the lease on a place for himself. He only needed a place to sleep and wash, after all.
“I don’t really care where I sleep,” Shouta said.
“Then you won’t care if it’s Hizashi’s spare bedroom.”
That shut Shouta up. He did care if it was Yamada’s spare bedroom because he was sure that Yamada wouldn’t want him there. What he was less sure about, however, was whether Yamada would say as much. He might feel some kind of responsibility. Yamada was a nice guy—too nice, probably. Shouta didn’t want to put him in a situation he didn’t feel he could say no to.
“You’re overthinking,” Kayama snapped. “Go shower and shave! We’re leaving in half an hour.”
Despite his instincts screaming at him not to, Shouta went with Kayama.
“Wait here,” his overbearing friend demanded once they entered the bar, as her overly made-up eyes swept across the room in a once-over. Without another word she stalked over to a man sitting alone, and for a moment, Shouta thought she’d already abandoned him to flirt with some stranger. Then the man twisted his head to greet Nemuri, and Shouta’s heart found its way to his throat.
The long blond hair pulled into a bun should have been enough to warn him, but it was the glasses and hearing aids that Shouta could spot even from across the bar that did the trick. Them, and the piercing and familiar green eyes that lit up as Kayama kissed his cheeks.
Shouta hesitated in the doorway, his brain screaming at him to run but his body frozen to the spot. He watched as Yamada and Kayama exchanged pleasantries, then found himself trying to swallow past his heart still stuck in his throat as Kayama leaned forward and said something that made Yamada look up sharply.
Their eyes locked across the bar, and once again, Shouta had the urge to run. The decay that had attached itself to him like a parasite started to leak from him, eating away the bar, draining the colour and devouring the noise. It spread further and further until Shouta was terrified that it would consume Yamada and Kayama, too, leaving them husks. Just like himself.
Then, unexpectedly, Yamada smiled, and Shouta’s parasite snapped back inside of him, returning light and noise to the bar. Shouta’s heart still hammered, but he swallowed it down, and it returned to its rightful place in his chest.
Kayama beckoned him, and Shouta’s traitorous feet walked him over without his permission.
“Long time no see, Aizawa!” Yamada said, as if it had merely been a few months and not years.
“Yamada,” he greeted stiffly.
“Wondered when you’d show up. Nezu mentioned you’d taken the open Homeroom position, yo!”
He’d known all this time? Of course he had! It had been stupid of Shouta to think Nezu wouldn’t tell the rest of his staff about the filled position.
“Kayama gave me little choice,” Shouta said. He realised he was still standing awkwardly and took a seat. He didn’t want Yamada to think he expected any sentimental greeting like a hug or anything.
“How have you been, man?” Yamada asked. Shouta wondered whether, despite her promise, Kayama had given Yamada a heads up after all. He seemed way too chill about this unexpected reunion for it to have come out of nowhere. Then again, maybe that was just Yamada. He’d always been too nice a guy. Shouta had often worried it would get him into trouble.
Shouta shrugged. “Well, I’m still alive,” he grunted. If the roar of laughter that followed his words was anything to go by, perhaps Yamada was more nervous than Shouta had initially thought.
Before anything more could be said, Kayama was throwing an arm around Shouta’s shoulder and hugging him close, much to his chagrin. “Shouta here is looking for a place to stay,” she said, throwing subtlety straight out the window. Shouta glared at her.
“I already told you I’ll stay in the capsule hotel,” he said, attempting to keep his anger in check. He’d told her not to say anything to Yamada—they hadn’t spoken in years, so it would hardly be fair to put him on the spot like that.
“No way, man! You can’t stay in a capsule hotel. What about your stuff, yo?”
“I don’t have any stuff.”
Yamada looked at him in horror, shaking his head. “You haven’t changed at all, have you?” he said finally, before offering a small smile. “Look, I have a spare bedroom. You’re welcome—”
“No,” Shouta said, too abruptly. “I don’t want to put you out like that,” he added when he saw the way Yamada’s smile dimmed.
“It’s no problem,” Yamada said. “Really, I’d feel worse knowing you’re sleeping in a fucking pod, man!”
“Then it’s settled,” Kayama said cheerily. “Now, let’s get drunk to celebrate!”
Despite Shouta’s initial trepidation, living with Yamada proved to be a good arrangement, certainly preferable over living on Kayama’s couch. They quickly fell into a routine that worked for them and easily delegated chores amongst themselves. Shouta, who couldn’t cook for shit, became responsible for keeping the house tidy, while Yamada kept the cupboards stocked and cooked all meals. Shouta had told him not to bother, but when Yamada had discovered Shouta practically lived off jelly pouches and instant ramen, he all but insisted.
“I don’t know how you’re still alive, man! You need three well-balanced meals a day.”
Time passed, and the chasm between them healed. Their years apart could never be entirely forgotten, but they moved past them and nurtured their friendship into something new and healthy. They grew closer, spending more and more of the little free time they had together, until, eventually, Shouta realised his feelings had developed beyond those of just friendship. And, once he realised, he was faced with a dilemma. The logical thing would be to tell Hizashi, but it was impossible to forget that Hizashi had once told him the same thing only to be rejected. Twice, actually. Shouta wished he could forget the second time—Hizashi had tried to confess to Shouta just after they graduated, and Shouta had run away.
Just because they had moved past Shouta being a terrible friend, that didn’t mean Hizashi wanted anything more from him. Sometimes, Shouta thought he saw Hizashi staring at him for a moment longer than necessary or putting extra care into the bento boxes he packed Shouta for lunch every day, but it was hard to tell where the lines blurred between being a good friend and wanting more.
Shouta was lucky Hizashi had accepted him back into his life at all. He didn’t want to risk ruining things with something as messy as emotions. Being friends was enough. Shouta absolutely didn’t think about what would happen when Hizashi inevitably met somebody. He didn’t dwell on how it would crush him, on how losing Hizashi would be like losing air. Shouta’s world had only just started to brighten again, and he couldn’t allow himself to dwell on such thoughts. (Convincing himself and convincing his brain seemed to be two very different things, however.)
It was enough. It had to be enough.
It was never enough, though, and it only got harder.
When Valentine’s Day rolled around in their fourth year of living together, somehow, they found themselves both at home with neither patrol nor radio show to occupy their evenings. Kayama had tried to encourage them to go out with her for drinks, but there wasn’t a bar in the world that Shouta would be willing to enter on such an awful day, and Hizashi said he’d rather skip the crowds too.
“Let’s watch a shitty rom-com and drink beer, man!” he said, and Shouta saw no reason not to agree.
The film was terrible, but Hizashi was invested, and Shouta was invested in watching Hizashi. He tried not to, he really did, but his gaze kept being drawn away from the screen, instead focusing on the side profile of Hizashi as he leaned forward, green eyes practically sparkling as he swooned along with the female lead.
It was cute. Hizashi was cute.
Oh crap, Shouta really had it bad.
Hizashi insisted they watch another when the film finished, and Shouta had no will to say no. He was treading dangerous territory when Hizashi decided they should share popcorn and squeezed down next to him on the couch so that they both had easy access to the bowl. As the film progressed, they shifted multiple times, trying to find comfortable positions until Shouta found himself sitting stiffly with Hizashi’s head on his shoulder somewhere around the halfway mark. Hizashi was dozing, not as into the second film as the first. Shouta would have loved to sleep, but he was too aware of Hizashi pressed up against him to relax.
Shouta wanted this. He wanted to be allowed to curl up with Hizashi and sleep without worrying about what it meant. He wanted to be allowed to run his hands through those shining blond locks and pepper kisses across his face. Was it too much to ask for? Hizashi had wanted to be with him once. It wasn’t unreasonable that he might still be open to it, was it? They’d been growing close these last couple of years. The ocean Shouta had created between them was more of a stream now; maybe it was safe to wade through and see what was on the other side.
“You’re staring,” Hizashi mumbled, and Shouta felt his cheeks warm at being caught. He didn’t pull away, though. He liked Hizashi, and the dominant logical part of his brain was telling him now would be the perfect time to find out if Hizashi still liked him back. Instead of answering, he brushed a loose strand of blond from Hizashi’s eyes, observing for any adverse reaction. There wasn’t any, so, with his heart thrumming in his chest, he tilted his head, twisting to press their lips together in a chaste kiss. When he went to pull away, and Hizashi’s lips chased his, Shouta took that as a good sign. His chapped lips softened under Hizashi’s, and he reached up to brush his thumb across the curve of Hizashi’s jawline, following it down and over his Adam’s apple. When his fingers curled softly under long blond hair to cup his neck, Hizashi stiffened and pulled away.
Shouta froze, mind instantly playing back the past few seconds, searching for what he’d done wrong.
“I’m sorry,” Hizashi said, sounding choked. Shouta wanted to reach out, take his hand and squeeze his fingers reassuringly, but Hizashi was still withdrawing, moving further across the couch to create distance between them.
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he said instead.
“I can’t,” Hizashi continued as if Shouta hadn’t spoken. His eyes were wide, and he had two fingers pressed against his lips like they still tingled from the sensation of Shouta’s against them.
Shouta felt something inside of him sink, but he shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said, wanting Hizashi to stop. He didn’t want to hear that it was a mistake, or that Hizashi had just been caught up in the moment, but now that his senses had returned, of course he didn’t want to kiss Shouta.
He was an idiot. He should have known better.
“I loved you,” Hizashi said, almost too quietly to hear. Shouta tensed, his gaze locking on Hizashi’s face though the other man still refused to make eye contact. “And you hurt me so much, Shouta.”
“Hizashi—”
“It’s okay,” Hizashi interrupted. “I don’t hold it against you, but I can’t… I can’t risk being hurt like that again. You shut me out of your life for years . You didn’t respond to my messages, you stopped calling me back, you left me behind Sho, and it hurt. So, it’s not that I don’t want to, but I just… I can’t.”
“I understand,” Shouta said quietly, wishing Hizashi would just stop talking. He got it; he understood completely. Hizashi was right to shut this down before it could go anywhere. He’d been an asshole and a terrible friend. He’d let his own hurt consume him and hadn’t spared a second thought for anyone else.
Just because Shouta agreed, it didn’t make it hurt any less.
Hizashi didn’t stop talking, though. Instead, he said something that felt equal to him ripping out Shouta’s heart with his bare hands and slowly crushing it in front of him.
“I think we should take some time apart.”
Shouta’s mouth suddenly felt parched. He tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come, so instead, he just nodded.
How had he managed to fuck up this badly? He shouldn’t have taken the risk. He was stupid, so very stupid, and it had cost him everything.
He swallowed again, somehow finding his voice in the desert that his throat had become. “I’ll go get my stuff.”
Hizashi opened his mouth, and Shouta wondered whether he would tell him not to leave. Eventually, though, he closed it again without saying anything, nodding his head stiffly instead.
Shouta left the room.
He didn’t have a lot of belongings. Even after living with Hizashi for the past four years, he hadn’t accumulated any more than the essentials. He threw everything into a single backpack and was ready to leave within minutes.
Hizashi was still on the couch when Shouta crossed the room. He wondered whether to say anything, maybe try and fix whatever had just gone so horribly wrong. Shouta knew he never wanted to hurt Hizashi like that again, but logically that didn’t change the fact that he had. Hizashi had every right to be sceptical. Hizashi had every right to want to avoid anything that might hurt him like that again. Shouta could offer him his word, but that didn’t mean his word was good enough.
“I’ll be going then,” he said instead of the thousand things he’d rather say.
“Where will you go?” Hizashi was eyeing the sleeping bag Shouta had thrown over his shoulder sceptically, like he expected Shouta to curl up and spend the night in an alleyway.
“Don’t worry about me,” Shouta said. “I’ll be okay. I’ll speak to Nezu about moving into the staff dorms.”
“Sho—” Hizashi cut himself off. Shouta hated the torment in his eyes. He’d already hurt Hizashi enough over the years, and now, as involuntary as it was, he was doing it again. Shouta had been foolish to think they could be together. He should have known better, but he’d allowed himself to be caught up in a moment of weakness.
Now, he’d ruined everything.
“Look after yourself, Hizashi,” Shouta said before Hizashi could try again and end up saying something he’d regret. Shouta didn’t think his heart could handle false hope. Hizashi telling him to stay if he didn’t mean for Shouta to stay forever was not something he wanted to hear.
So Shouta left, leaving his heart behind, damaged as it was. It wasn’t like he needed it anymore.
It was past midnight by the time he checked into the capsule hotel he’d meant to stay in all those years ago. He found his pod and buried himself into the comfort of his sleeping bag without bothering to clean up for the night. He just wanted to stop existing, at least for a little while. Sleep was the only way he could manage that without doing something extreme. He had too many responsibilities to take such drastic measures, even if breathing felt like knives shredding his lungs with each inhale.
His sleep was restless and not the escape Shouta had hoped for, and, by the time he got up for work, he was more tired than he usually was. Still, he’d never been late for homeroom before, and he wasn’t about to start now. He’d just nap though Iida making the morning announcements.
He was worried about interacting with Hizashi, though. They couldn’t avoid one another at work, and the last thing Shouta wanted to do was make Hizashi uncomfortable. He also didn’t want his colleagues or students picking up on any tension between them.
As it turned out, he needn’t have worried. Somehow, Hizashi, who he usually saw multiple times throughout the working day, managed to cross his path only once, and that was when he entered Shouta’s classroom to take over for English. He burst into the room without a glance in Shouta’s direction, his voice loud as he asked the class if they were pumped for their lesson. It wasn’t unusual behaviour in itself, but Shouta knew he was being intentionally ignored and, while he should have expected it, it didn’t stop it from hurting.
He left the classroom without a word, and when he returned at the end of class, Hizashi had already left.
“Why is ‘Zashi avoiding you?” Nemuri demanded at the end of the day. “What did you do?” The eye daggers she sent him would have been enough to give weaker men nightmares.
“What makes you think I did anything?” Shouta grunted, because he didn’t particularly want to talk about it.
“Because it’s always you.”
Shouta sighed, turning his back on her. “Leave it be,” he said.
“I won’t.”
Of course she wouldn’t. It would be easier on Shouta’s sanity if he just confessed here and now, before she wore him down. Still, it wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. Not that that had ever stopped Nemuri before.
“I kissed him,” he said finally, still not making eye contact.
Nemuri squealed. “This is huge! Why didn’t you phone me straight away? How was he in bed? I always thought he’d be kinda freaky, you know—”
“I only said I kissed him,” Shouta snapped, activating his quirk as he turned to glare at his friend.
“Easy there, tiger. Wait—You didn’t fuck? What the hell? He didn’t reject you, did he?!”
“Yes.” Shouta swivelled his chair away, gathering up his student’s papers that he needed to take home and mark. Home … He didn’t have one of those anymore. Maybe he should just stay late and get it done at UA. It would probably be easier than trying to do it at the hotel.
“No, he didn’t!” Nemuri gasped. “But he’s in love with you!”
Shouta rubbed his nose in frustration. Sometimes he didn’t understand why he was friends with Nemuri. “Leave it be, Kayama.”
“Ouch! Last name, Sho? So it’s that bad, huh?” Shouta had finally stopped calling Hizashi and Nemuri by their last names a year ago—they’d made a whole thing about it, much to Shouta’s chagrin. He didn’t see why it was such a big deal; he didn’t care what people called him. Aizawa was just as fine as Shouta or Eraserhead. So long as he knew the person was addressing him, then it didn’t matter.
Shouta face planted his desk, all his energy dissipating as Nemuri’s words sunk in. It really was that bad, wasn’t it? He’d sure fucked himself over this time, and he had no one to blame but himself.
“Hey now, I’m sure it’ll work itself out,” Nemuri assured him, unusually soft as she laid a hand on his shoulder. “You two are meant for one another.”
“I don’t think it will this time,” Shouta mumbled into his desk, not bothering to think on how she’d sounded so sure when she’d said they were meant for one another.
“Tell me what happened,” Nemuri insisted, sitting down at Hizashi’s desk and swivelling the chair to face Shouta. He grumbled, not really wanting to talk about it, but knowing his friend wouldn’t quit until she got what she wanted. He kept it brief, sticking with the facts and not offering anything personal. When he finished, he lifted his head slightly, trying to gauge Nemuri’s expression. She looked thoughtful, but not like she was angry with him.
“I guess I understand where he’s coming from,” she said finally. “I thought he got over it, but he really was hurt by those years you went AWOL. If nothing else, Shirakumo was his friend too, but he wasn’t allowed to grieve because you seemed to have some kind of claim over it. But it was worse for him because he didn’t just lose Shirakumo. He lost you, too.”
Shouta groaned, burying his head again. He just wanted to zip himself into his sleeping bag and escape this conversation.
“I’ve long since acknowledged that I… mishandled things.” An understatement if there ever was one. Nemuri huffed a laugh.
“You just need to prove you won’t make that mistake again,” she said, but they both knew it wouldn’t be that easy. It was one thing to forgive, but another entirely to forget. That pain would always be around Hizashi while he was with Shouta, and it was completely understandable that he didn’t think he could move past it.
Shouta had ruined any chance he’d ever had the moment he’d turned his back on Hizashi’s second attempt at a confession when they’d graduated. To add salt to the wound, he’d then run away and answered so little of his friend’s attempts to keep in touch that Hizashi had eventually stopped trying.
Shouta ended up staying at his desk long after Nemuri left, though he didn’t manage as much grading as he’d hoped. Mostly he zoned out, trying to imagine his new life—one without Hizashi in it. Considering they’d spent more of their lives apart than they had together, it was a surprisingly impossible feat. In every scenario, Shouta was miserable. It was all he deserved.
This day was already hard enough as it was—the anniversary of Oboro’s death. Now Shouta would always also associate it with ruining his relationship with Hizashi.
Shouta left for patrol early that evening, having nothing better to do. He stopped for coffee at a café at the beginning of his route, and it was as he was leaving that he heard the yell.
“Stop! Thief!”
Scowling at the timing, Shouta tossed his still full coffee cup in the trash and took off at a run, capture weapon at the ready. He caught up with the thief easily enough, trapping him in a fenced-off alleyway to the back of a Teppanyaki restaurant. The scent of grilled meat was heavy in the narrow alleyway, serving as a painful reminder that thanks to the lack of his usual bento courtesy of Hizashi, Shouta hadn’t actually eaten anything of substance all day. He pushed aside his hunger as he activated his quirk and stepped closer to the villain whose back was now pressed against the fence, eyes searching for an escape route.
“You’re trapped,” Shouta said. “Let’s not make this difficult.” Despite his words, he hoped the guy would make a break for it. Shouta could do with punching someone. He had a cocktail of emotions swirling within him right now, and a good fight seemed like the perfect way to vent.
The guy looked panicked, and Shouta guessed he was trying to use his quirk without success. His lips quirked, enjoying the villain’s dilemma a little too much. Why should he be the only one to have a bad day?
Shouta’s hand twitched against his capture weapon, curling it around his fist as he prepared to bind the criminal and cart him off to the police. He was off his game, though, hungry, tired, and suffering from the poor choices he’d made that had subsequently ruined his life.
The guy was fast. Shouta didn’t even see the flash of silver before the concealed knife hurtled towards him. The guy’s aim was good, and if Shouta hadn’t been slightly better, the blade would have found its mark right between his eyes. Instead, Shouta twisted his body at the last minute, getting a nasty scratch from forehead to ear that instantly started bleeding into his eyes. Shouta swiped at his face, blinking rapidly, but it was already too late. He didn’t know what the villain’s quirk did, but he could feel it taking its hold on him.
He felt strange. Dizzy. Tired.
Confused.
Then everything went dark, and Shouta felt nothing.