Chapter Text
It took years for him to admit that it wasn’t his fault. They had fallen in love early, just after he graduated from UA, before his career kicked off. They’d met in a cat cafe, of all places. He’d gone there to use the last few pennies from his first measly paycheck. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he did remember the horrified shriek when the green-haired young woman had accidentally sat on him. To be fair, with cats everywhere and large black pillows, he did blend into the furniture.
“I am so sorry! I didn’t see you there. I thought you were just a pillow—”
There was raucous laughter from the blonde woman standing beside her. “And you call me the rude one. You just sat on the guy! Just apologize and introduce yourself!”
Shouta had ignored her, focusing blearily on the woman who had mistaken him for a pillow. She had flushed a deep crimson, fidgeting shyly, before meeting his gaze.
He had spoken before she could. “ ‘S fine. Didn’t know I was asleep.”
When he had sat up, she had smiled timidly at him. “At least let me buy you a drink, Mr…”
“Aizawa.”
She had captured his attention right away, and his heart not long after. The following months were some of the best in his life. Inko was like a missing puzzle piece he never knew he’d been missing. It soothed something inside of him after the aching void left by Oboro’s death. He began looking forward to coming home, to seeing her green eyes and feeling her soft hair, to the scent of cherry blossoms in the springtime. He was more careful on patrols, and eight months after they had started dating, he began to save up any spare change he could after his measly pay from being a beginning underground hero. He had wanted what they had to last forever.
Shouta had been so sure that she had felt the same way. He had been so sure . Until he came home from a long, hard patrol to find her gone. She hadn’t even left a note.
He had panicked at first, thinking something had happened to her. But there was no sign of a struggle. All of her things had been packed away. He tried calling her, but her number had been disconnected. His apartment which he had been sharing with her felt empty and bare. It was cold without her warmth to drive the thunderstorms away. Had he done something wrong? Why had she left? Was it his fault? Was he not good enough?
Had he been able to think straight, he would have tried to find her and ask. But he felt frozen, trapped, every time he remembered the empty space they had once shared, the sudden loss, like sunlight ripped from his fingers just when he was learning to embrace it once more.
That was why he was shocked when, eight months later, he saw her exiting a convenience store, shopping bags in one hand, the other held over her rounded stomach. He froze, feeling like his feet had been rooted to the ground, even as people walked around him.
She looked every bit as beautiful as she had when they first met. Her dark green hair was pulled into a half-bun, loose strands framing her round cheeks. She hadn’t noticed him, too busy with the bags in her hands. Her warm green eyes were focused on something on her phone, brows furrowed slightly in that way that made him feel fuzzy with fondness. Her hand, which he knew was baby soft, rubbed gently over her heavily pregnant stomach.
She was gone before he thought to chase after her.
That was the last time he saw her.
A month later, he received a letter in the mail. There was no return address, but her name was written in her neat penmanship in the top corner. It was a short letter.
Shouta,
I have had a baby. He’s yours. I want him to be safe, so I won’t tell you his name.
I am changing my last name. There are things I can’t tell you. But I thought you’d like to know. Please don’t look for me. It’s better this way. What we had was real, but not something we could have kept.
Inko
There was a picture as well. A tiny baby, wrapped in a hospital blanket with a sky blue cap on its head. His son. He had a son. But he didn’t even know the name. That crushed him more than her absence had.
He put the picture in his wallet anyway. He had a son out there somewhere. With his whole heart, he wished to be able to meet--to hold--to love the kid.
He didn’t expect that letter to be the last time he heard from Inko.
Five years later, he had been dragged out on a shopping trip by his friends. Why they bothered to bring him along on such trips he’d never know. He watched as they laughed in front of him, pointing to various shop windows and generally enjoying themselves in the crowded plaza. Rolling his eyes, he paused by a newspaper stand and picked one up absentmindedly. Not many people read the newspaper anymore, but he found that sometimes important information was hidden away inside. He’d solved a couple cases that way. He hummed to himself as he flipped through the newspaper’s obituaries. He was just about to put the newspaper down when something caught his vision. He zeroed in on it, then immediately wished he hadn’t.
Her name was listed, right in the middle of the page. His eyes widened slightly, and he looked between the top of the page and the entry several times before the meaning began to sink in.
Inko was dead, killed in a villain attack.
The world fell apart around him. In Shouta’s chest, an aching chasm yawned wide and suffocating. Claws of ice wrapped around and tore out his heart. Everything sounded like it was underwater. The words became blurry before him, the edges of his vision darkening—
“—outa. Hey, Shouta. Focus on my voice. Come back to us, Shou.”
He recognized that voice. That voice was familiar. He--
A hand landed on his shoulder, and the world crashed back all at once. He found himself on the ground, knees stinging, paper fluttering to the floor. Concerned lime green eyes stared into his own, blonde hair falling softly around Hizashi’s face as his best friend pulled him back from his own head.
Hizashi smiled at him, but it was small and filled with worry. “There you are, Shou. Hey, what’s got you so upset?”
Wordlessly he picked up the newspaper and handed it to the blonde, pointing to the spot halfway down the page that was shattering his fragile heart. He knew when Hizashi had found it because his breath hitched and a wounded sound escaped his lips. Shouta found himself wrapped in his friend’s long arms as the man whispered apologies to him. That was the last straw for him, and he broke down right there, sitting in front of the newspaper stand.
He had never loved anyone like he had loved her, and now she was gone.
In that moment, he remembered the son he had never met and sent up a silent prayer that the boy would just hold on until he could be found.