Chapter Text
The heart rate monitors chimed in a symphony while Shouta clutched Hizashi’s long, musician’s fingers. Palms grew colder with each breath. Bloodstains speckled thin hospital sheets. Wearing a plastered smile, Hizashi coughed into his fist. White petals cascaded toward the ground.
Shouta pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He fixated on the way the coarse fabric of his eyepatch scratched against his cheek. Half-hearted attempts to distract himself and keep the flood of tears walled behind a dam. His efforts were in vain. Hacking up blossoms, Hizashi stroked the waterworks off Shouta’s face.
“Don’t cry, Shou. Your dry-eye is bad enough as it is.”
“Why does it have to take you dying to say something sensible for once in your life?”
“HEY! I’m perfectly sensible.”
Upon his indignant cry, Hizashi curled over. Bile spilled onto his hospital gown. Retching, he picked up the lily and cast it into the bin beside his bed. Shouta dabbed the corners of Hizashi’s mouth with a tissue. He eyed the stem drenched in saliva. Extended leaves evoked incense in an urn.
“Because using your quirk is so sensible?”
“Whatever you say, Mr. voice-of-reason.”
Shouta stood up from the rickety plastic hospital chair. Sunlight spilled into the room as he pulled aside the curtains. A futile attempt to make Hizashi’s withering cease. An echo of the limelight Hizashi had always run towards, and Shouta avoided like the plague.
“Sorry, that I didn’t feel the same way.” With more time, I could’ve loved you back.
Fabric bunched together in Shouta’s fist. In his mind’s eye, he dug through the cavity of his chest – searching for the missing puzzle piece. A fracture to confirm that he was broken. Any explanation for why he couldn’t return the unrequited devotion for the man who understood him better than anyone else.
“I never expected you to.” Lungs hitching, Hizashi placed a hand on top of Shouta’s. “And stop talking in the past tense. I’m not dead yet.”
“True.” I’m not ready to lose you .
Shifting his weight off his metal leg, Shouta could taste the bitter irony. Even though Hizashi had emerged from encounters with Nomus and battlefields mostly unscathed, he was destined to become yet another tally mark for the list of heroes who died too young.
Shouta passed Hizashi a glass of water, yet no matter how much Hizashi downed, everything came back up. Shouta steeled his expression into a poker face, not wanting to burden Hizashi with more tears. He hadn’t deserved Hizashi in his life. The flowers rooted in lungs were proof. If only he’d been more approachable, then Hizashi could have entrusted him with the truth. Instead, Shouta had become the shadows suffocating a songbird.
“Shou, could you pass over my MP3 player?”
With a nod, Shouta placed the device in Hizashi’s palm. Amid the soft instrumental, Hizashi sang to the lyrics with lilies pushing against his teeth. “ Long handwritten note, deep in your pocket. Words, how little they mean, when you're a little too late… ”
“That song again?” I won’t be able to stand listening to it without you.
“What? It’s a classic. Besides, some calm music can only improve the odds of the surgery going well.”
As if such a depressing song would set the right tone. “You’d be a horrible doctor.”
“Yeah, I’d end up mangling the poor patients.”
Laughter that Shouta considered obnoxious as a teenager resounded through the hall. Breathing in the citrus aroma that lingered on the hospital walls, Shouta cherished every second he had left to hear that laugh. He considered recording the chuckle only to find his phone absent from his pocket. Stop worrying. The surgery will go fine. You can hear his voice a million more times.
Swaying with the beat until he stilled, Hizashi shut his eyelids. Once the chorus sounded through the room again, Shouta tapped Hizashi on the knee. He rolled his eyes while suppressing a wide grin. “How many more times can you listen to this on loop?”
Silence. Save for the piano keys reverberating from the speakers.
“Zashi?”
Shouta reached out for Hizashi’s wrist. Frigid and motionless. As the song’s final note hit, Shouta’s soul shriveled up like the ruined garden at his feet.
The changes hadn’t been a red flag. Not at first.
Tucked in a sleeping bag, Shouta surveyed his students. Stones crumbled. Embers rose toward Gym Gamma’s ceiling. Unfazed by the rumbling walls, Shouta began to tug the zipper over his face. He stopped mid-motion as a tall girl ensnared the corner of his eye.
Yaoyorozu’s nose scrunched together as an iron baton protruded from her elbow rather than her midriff. No trace of a red leotard. Instead, a loose shirt hung around her frame. Standing in athletic shorts, she let Matryoshka dolls roll off her skin. Taking in the absence of a flashy costume, Shouta bit back a satisfied smile at the sight of attire as simple and practical as his own.
A grieved sigh ricocheted as he emerged from his comfortable position. Fragments of rubble rained through the hall as he approached Yaoyorozu. Refusing to let a ripple of emotion cross his expression, he cleared his throat.
“Pragmatic choice with the costume, kid.”
Obsidian eyes stared back at him. No youthful shine in sight. Expression tranquil and doll-like, Momo folded her hands together. “Thank you, Sensei.”
Shouta mentally skimmed the specifics of her quirk, recalling how she had to address exposure while donning UA’s sports uniform. Yaoyorozu was bright – the kind of student whose essays Shouta felt tempted to pin to a bulletin board. But Yaoyorozu was far from a quick thinker. She needed every leg up she could get without having to angst over the appropriate time to discard her top.
“A sturdy sports bra might be worth considering, if you need to create larger items.”
“I will surely think it over, Sensei. Such clothing simply seems a little too… restricting at the moment.”
An unsteady breath escaped Momo’s lungs. From the palm of her hand, an inhaler emerged. As she breathed into it, every one of Shouta’s muscles tensed amid the tell-tale shortness of breath.
For a moment, Gym Gamma faded to the background. Cement thudded beneath Shouta’s footsteps as he leaped between rooftops. A metallic echo sounded as his right foot impacted cement. Below Hizashi raced along the sidewalk. Shouta’s capture weapon looped around a lamppost, missing the villain swelling with tentacles by inches. A whistle escaped the blonde’s lips as Shouta hit the pavement and cushioned his fall by rolling.
Knots twisted in his gut at the sight of the mutation lurking in an alleyway. A quirk impossible to deactivate on his own. Wrapping his scarf around his knuckles, he stilled his racing heartbeat. Everything will be alright. Zashi is watching your back. A canary that could lead the way out of the most desolate tunnels.
Clattering resounded. Shouta’s head whipped around to spot Hizashi collapsed by a dumpster. Letting his scarf drop, Shouta sprinted toward the limp figure spread across the asphalt. His face grew pallid as Hizashi’s every breath resembled the tired wheeze of a tea kettle.
Yanking out his block of a phone – an outdated model Hizashi had always loved to poke fun at, Shouta started to type in the emergency number. A hand held onto his wrist before he typed the final digit. Devoid of their usual luminescence, citrine eyes drilled into Shouta.
“I’m fine, Shou.”
“Right. It’s not as if you just collapsed.”
A hollow expression filled the street until Zashi painted on his trademark grin. “I’m just more tired than I thought.”
“Still calling the paramedics though.”
A deflated snicker bounced off narrow brick walls. Gesturing to his leather jacket, Hizashi grunted as he sat upright. “This is just a little too tight. No need to overreact.”
“Better to be safe than sorry.”
“Since when are you the pinnacle of self-care?” Hizashi rose onto wobbling knees. “Don’t worry, Shou. I just need a good night’s rest and I’ll be good as new.”
You’d better be. Shouta conceded and let Hizashi drape an arm over his shoulder. Sinking into Hizashi’s warmth, Shouta wondered what it would be like to wake up beside the blonde every morning. A hypothetical notion. The kind that made him a boat detached from its anchor.
Every breath transformed into a Herculean task, Hizashi weighed on Shouta like a ragdoll. For reasons Shouta couldn’t place, chills ran up his spine. If only he’d noticed the floral aroma buried beneath Hizashi’s musky cologne.
A soft voice pulled Shouta back into the clatter of the gym. “Recent asthma diagnosis. Recovery Girl’s records haven’t been updated yet.”
The inhaler rested between Momo’s fingers. Redness crept over her face as she gulped. It was impossible to distinguish whether guilt or embarrassment was the cause. Brows pulled taut, Shouta stuck his hands in his pocket so as not to unveil his concern. With a sigh, he turned toward the rest of his problem children.
“Hmm. Take care of the paperwork soon.”
Massaging his forehead, Shouta tried to erase the image of how Momo’s silhouette quivered – as if on the verge of collapsing in on itself. He hoped to God that he was being paranoid. That grief’s clutches had simply turned every vacant stare into the same one Hizashi wore as he transformed the kitchen tiles into a tomb of roots and leaves.
Perched by the coffee machine in the teacher’s lounge, Shouta tapped his fingers against his mug. Tacky gold letters spelled out “World’s Greatest Dad”. Every once in a while, he’d longed to shatter the porcelain. Yet the way Hizashi had playfully nudged him in the side while passing Shouta his gift led him to begrudgingly embrace the label.
Downing his coffee, Shouta wondered why someone as upbeat as Hizashi had latched onto him. It’s not like I have anything to offer. Wrinkles that spoke of years not yet lived. Curtness directed toward anyone that wasn’t fury and feline. Shouta swallowed hard as he thought of the scar tissue around his mangled eye.
Across the table, Hizashi huddled over a stack of papers. Red ink marked quizzes. Obtaining a mind of its own, Shouta’s hand reached out to run through blonde hair. He forced his arm back to his side. Stop. Hizashi deserves better. It’s not like anyone could possibly see you that way.
Shouta turned the clock above the door. “Don’t you need to head for your radio show?”
“Oh, it’s on indefinite hiatus.”
Coffee stains bled onto the table as Shouta’s mug clattered. “Why? You love hosting.”
Hizashi coughed violently, but before Shouta could get a closer look at his mouth the blonde snatched the coffee mug and drank half the contents. Amid Shouta’s disapproving glare, Hizashi swatted the air. “Ah, I’ve just been having throat trouble lately.”
Why didn’t you mention something sooner? Shouta raised a brow in doubt.
The blonde shrugged. “What else would you expect from the loudmouth you know and love?”
Emptying his mug, Shouta dragged a hand across his temple. On paper, the reason seemed plausible enough. Yet the faint soreness at the back of his skull persisted. As he approached the sink, an uprooted lily lay in the rubbish bin beside coffee filters. Reaching for a sponge, Shouta hadn’t bothered to give the ominous flower a second glance…
Awakening to a pounding head, Shouta resurfaced from his dream. The searing sun that trickled in through the window made him press his eyelids shut. A desire to escape the daylight the same way he did his students, namely through pretending to be asleep.
Through his eyelashes, Shouta noticed Yaoyorozu and Jirou nestled on one of the ugly green sofas. The sort of furniture Hizashi would have fawned over, and Shouta desperately wanted to burn every trace from out of his recollection. As the taller girl flipped through a monstrous encyclopedia, Jirou leaned against her, bobbing to a tranquil harmony.
Lost in their own sanctuary, the girls reveled in each other’s company without having to exchange a single word. Caught in the sense of security one could only attain through surviving insurmountable odds together. Like besting villains at the USJ. Or surviving a war. Or stumbling through the eulogy of a blue-haired friend who had been whiskered away far too soon.
A timer beeped in Jirou’s pocket, leading her to shoot to her feet. Folding her hands together, she frowned at her friend. “Sorry, Yaomomo, I promised Denki I’d help teach him guitar.”
At the mention of the boy’s name, Jirou flushed. Shouta half-imagined Yaoyorozu whimpering in response. With a smile that failed to reach her eyes, Yaoyorozu set her textbook aside. Ever the prim and proper schoolgirl, she sat up as straight as a lamppost.
“Of course. I do not mind. I was only planning on reading after all.”
“Thank you. You’re the best, Yaomomo.”
“My pleasure,” Yaoyorozu sighed as Jirou hurried out of the common area as fast as her legs would carry her. The vice class president never opened her textbook again. Rather she continued to peer at the doorway long after the other girl had left.
Striding as if in a death march, Yaoyorozu approached the kitchen. Seemingly sensing the eye watching her, she stiffened up and assumed a formal stride. Once she had entered the adjacent room, the goosebumps on Shouta’s skin spiked. Speed-walking in her direction, Shouta clenched his fists. Emotions that sprouted up in full bloom. A naïve hope stirred in him that at least talking about goddamn unrequited love could make the petals wither. You should've known with Hizashi. How were you so blind? He wouldn’t ignore the obvious signs again.
The hacking only confirmed his suspicion. Standing by the counter, Yaoyorozu clutched a teacup while a flower drifted atop the surface of the brew. Crimson. A spider lily. Not ghostly pale like Hizashi’s flowers.
“Hana –”
“It’s a special tea!” Yaoyorozu cut Shouta off. “An import from Europe. Helps with asthma.”
“Really?” Aizawa prodded.
Yaoyorozu gave a stilted nod. “Yes. Because Lipids.”
Not giving her teacher a chance to respond, the girl dashed out for the room. Falling against the countertop, Shouta let the cold course through him. Trying to change this was pointless. Years had passed and lilies still sang their taunts at him, as if to hammer in how his failings would persist like a song on repeat.
A few months ago, a field trip to the karaoke bar would have sent Momo’s heart aflutter at the opportunity to hear Kyouka’s singing. Yet there she was crouched beside Kaminari, drowning on every breath. Guilt formed a lump in her throat, intermingling with the lilies. She longed to manifest his easygoing smile, create something organic that wasn’t flowers. Or to drag him away to take a place next to Kyouka herself. Frozen she gawked at the lyrics flashing across the screen. Those ugly thoughts are uncouth . She pulled her baggy shirt collar away from her neck, inhaling a miniscule amount of oxygen. He makes her happy. That will have to be enough.
Even before all of Kyouka and Kaminari’s stolen moments, Momo had kept her wants at bay. Romantic attachments had no place on a battlefield. Holding a wake for her heart had become second nature regardless of the new normal after the war.
An earphone jack stretched out, tapping on Momo’s arm. “Are you alright?”
Beads of sweat pooled down Momo’s back. Sinking into a sea of purple eyes, Momo sat petrified. No, no, no. Aizawa already had his suspicions, she didn’t need Kyouka to notice as well. On the verge of hyperventilation, dizziness abounded. Momo had the perfect quirk, kind parents, more wealth than she could ask for. Everything was handed to her. She couldn’t afford to fail. Others had done more with less. No one needed to be burdened with the tragic irony of her finding a way to extend beyond the limitations of her quirk’s creations.
The pollen glued to the inside of her jaw was certain to become a requiem for her dreams of heroism. Another shortcoming to add to her ongoing list. Too slow to act. A doormat during internships. Too disgusted by the tiniest bit of fat billowing over her jeans to give her quirk its best chance.
As Jirou crooned through the song, her tone low and smooth as honey, Momo bit through the cinching in her chest. Curled up in Kaminari’s arms, Kyouka no longer hid behind her bangs. Her aversion from the spotlight faded with his assurances of her musical abilities. Kyouka doesn’t need to know. It’s not her fault I got too attached. Momo had to remain a pillar of superficial perfection. The only constant she could provide her class with disaster after disaster.
“ We had a beautiful magic love there. What a sad, beautiful, tragic love affair… ”
Momo’s chest surged as the lyrics reverberated. Red lilies burst forth, pressing against her teeth. As she muffled her cough, Momo stepped outside the door. “I have to use the restroom. I will be right back.”
She rounded the hallway, only to bump into her teacher. Blood-soaked flowers spilled onto his jumpsuit. Mortified, Yaoyorozu stepped back – waiting for her curated world to shatter at any moment. For Aizawa to shout in frustration and brand her as a walking disaster to all her classmates belting their hearts out in the karaoke rooms. The air tasted sour while she glanced toward the fire exit, wondering whether an escape through there would be too extreme.
Cutting her mental spiral short, Aizawa placed a hand on her shoulder and nodded toward the lobby behind him. “Let’s get some fresh air.”
Seated on the curb, Aizawa gave Momo a look that said he knew . Without glancing up, she choked out. “I’m sorry.”
“What for? You didn’t do anything wrong, kid.”
She shook her head. “I did.” Momo flexed her blood-stained fingertips. “I have no one to blame for this mess but myself.”
In the blink of an eye, Aizawa wrapped her in an embrace. She didn’t get the chance to process the insanity of her reserved homeroom teacher expressing some form of emotion. “The only thing you did wrong was keep this all to yourself.”
His words were like a flint to steel. An instant trigger for a river of tears. Her teacher didn’t flinch as she held onto him drenching his clothes. “I love her so much.”
“I understand.” A scarred hand patted her head. Softness burst through his rough exterior. “Want to talk about it?”
With petals falling, Momo recounted every wayward brush of her and Kyouka fingers, each time she stood in a crowded room completely alone. And while she sang in lilies, the flowers flooded out. Unspoken words no longer weighed down on her ribs. As roots loosened, Momo craned her neck toward the sky and could finally breathe.
