Archive of Our Own ^beta

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. 

Chapter Text

Something felt wrong as Shouta woke, heavy and groggy and unable to unglue his eyes. His head hurt, and, for a minute, he laid there, unmoving, as he tried to figure out what was amiss. It took only a moment for the villain attack to come back to him, reminding him that some unknown quirk had hit him. The thought made Shouta try to pry open his eyes. He didn’t know where he was. From the softness beneath him, he was in a bed, so perhaps someone had found him and called an ambulance? Maybe he’d even managed to make it back to his own place—  

He didn’t have his own place. 

The memory of what had happened between Hizashi and him hit Shouta like a truck, and suddenly he didn’t want to open his eyes and face whatever reality awaited him. Wherever he was, he wouldn’t be in his bed, only a thin wall separating him from Hizashi. 

Besides, it was worlds more likely that the villain had captured him. Though, would he really have been left in such comfort if that were true? Shouta was warm and snug, and while something still felt wrong, he wasn’t worried. 

Not yet, anyway. With his eyes still closed, it was easy to pretend. It wasn’t logical to do so, but for a moment, Shouta imagined he was back in his bed at Hizashi’s, but he wasn’t alone. He imagined their kiss had ended differently and—  

No. 

Shouta finally managed to unstick his heavy eyes. He had to focus on now, had to figure out where he was and…  

Shouta blinked. 

The room was sparsely decorated and neat, a desk in the corner nearest the window with an overflowing bookcase beside it. The bed he laid in was a single, the covers tangled around his body a similar shade of blue to the walls, bare of any decoration save a calendar hanging next to the bookcase.   

“What the fuck?” 

Shouta sat up, the blankets pooling around him, and it instantly became apparent what had felt wrong when he’d woken. 

Thirteen years of carefully cultivated muscle mass was missing from his body. Shouta stared in disbelief at his arms. There was a bit of definition there, but, really, it would be more accurate to describe them as scrawny. 

Throwing the covers aside, Shouta saw that his legs were in the same boat. They seemed shorter, too, which was impossible. Then again, so should suddenly losing thirteen years of muscle gain overnight. 

With his strict training and gymnastic abilities, not to blow his own trumpet but Shouta was ripped. It was a simple fact. He preferred to hide it behind loose fitted clothes, but that didn’t change the fact that he was fit, and it showed. 

Now, he was—

Shouta stood abruptly, swaying on his feet from the suddenness of it. He swore loudly as he knocked over an abandoned coffee cup, spilling cold dregs over the floor. He ignored the mess and marched over to the wardrobe and mirror he knew was on the inside doors.  

He’d pretty much figured it out already, what with the room and all, but Shouta still felt his heart sinking as he clocked his reflection. 

He was in his teenage body. At a guess, he would say about seventeen, still too young to have lost the baby fat on his face or had a growth spurt.   

Shouta groaned. 

Was this a dream? He slapped his cheek, hard and fast, but the sting it left suggested that whatever this was, he wasn’t asleep. Perhaps an illusion, then? Maybe he was still in that alleyway? Shouta patted his chest, arms, and face, but if it was an illusion, it also warped his other senses because his body felt too small. Puny and weak, and in that awkward stage where he was finally starting to mature, but his body was taking its sweet time about it, leaving him an uncomfortable mess of teenage hormones. He also couldn’t feel the nasty cut he knew the villain had left across his face, though his head throbbed as if he’d definitely received it.   

Numbly, Shouta walked over to the calendar on his wall. If this were real, he would have marked off the previous day, and he should have a sense of when he was.   

Not that this was real, of course. That would be illogical. There was something else at play here. 

He blinked at the calendar, not quite trusting it. According to his red crosses, today was February 14th 20XX—better known as Valentine’s Day in his second year and the day he first learned about Hizashi’s crush on him.   

What. 

Shouta stared at the date for a long time. Was it possible this wasn’t anything to do with the villain’s quirk after all? Maybe he was dead or dying, and his brain was revisiting his biggest regrets in life? Or perhaps the universe had decided it had fucked with him enough and was now offering an olive branch?   

He didn’t know or trust what was going on, but Shouta didn’t know how to end it, so it seemed only logical to play it through. At least for now, while he tried to figure things out. And who knew? Maybe this was all real, and he could fix what was broken between Hizashi and himself?   

At some point through his staring, Shouta remembered that on this day—the real version of the day, not whatever this was—he’d agreed to meet Hizashi before school. He was late the first time around, and he would be even later this time, but that didn’t really matter, seeing as this was unlikely to be real.   

Tearing himself away from the calendar, Shouta scanned the room, spying his phone on the bedside table. It took him several frustrating minutes to remember how to use it (technology sure had come a long way in the past thirteen years). Still, eventually, he managed to open the message chain between him and Hizashi. He debated sending a text to say that he’d be late, but was there any point? Not only would Hizashi expect him to be late, but this couldn’t be real anyway, so wasting time composing a message seemed pointless. 

Instead, he got dressed and slipped the phone into his bag. He mopped up the spilled liquid by his bed but didn’t stop for breakfast or coffee. Even though he was certain none of this was real, he couldn’t bring himself to keep Hizashi waiting even longer. He’d been cruel enough to the real Hizashi over the years; he didn’t need to hurt this imaginary one too.  

Shouta arrived at UA faster than he ever recalled getting there when he was a genuine student. Hizashi was pacing by the front gate, and Shouta stopped in his tracks. He’d forgotten, or perhaps he’d never noticed in the first place, but teen Hizashi was cute. He baulked at the thought, realising how creepy that was. He might be in his seventeen-year-old body, but he still had his thirty-year-old mind.   

Then again, this was Hizashi and not some random teenage boy.

Hizashi, who had spun on his heel, ready to begin pacing in the other direction, finally noticed Shouta. His face lit up like the sun, and he lifted his hand to wave only a little hesitantly. 

“Aizawa! You’re here!” He skipped over, almost tripping over his feet in his haste.   

“Hizashi,” Shouta greeted, trying to keep his face neutral and his tone indifferent. That was difficult when the smile on Hizashi’s face grew blinding. It took Shouta a moment to realise why—he never called any of his friends by their first names back in high school, yet he had just used Hizashi’s. On Valentine’s Day. When Hizashi was about to confess his feelings. 

Damn it.   

“Hey, uh, thanks for meeting me,” Hizashi said, cheeks flushed red. Shouta saw him reach for his bag without breaking eye contact and knew he was fumbling for the chocolates he’d bought especially for Shouta. “I wanted—”  

“Shouta! Hizashi!”   

Shouta froze, his blood turning to ice in his veins. 

He’d been so caught up in thoughts of Hizashi and whatever the hell was going on that somehow—impossibly—he’d forgotten. He spun around so quickly he almost tripped as Shirakumo Oboro continued cheerfully.

“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,” Hizashi mumbled, but Shouta barely heard him. He was too busy staring.   

How could he have ever forgotten, even for a moment? 

“That doesn’t seem right. The Shouta I know only manages to crawl into homeroom thirty seconds before the bell rings. Speaking of, you okay there, buddy?” Oboro asked, offering a bright smile to Shouta, who was still staring at him like he’d seen a ghost.   

He kinda had.   

Oboro was standing in front of him. Alive. He’d be that way for another thirty or so hours. 

Without consciously giving his body permission to act, Shouta stepped forward, winding his arms around Oboro and hugging him close. He felt his friend stiffen slightly in surprise before laughing and patting his back.   

“Since when were you the clinging type?” Oboro asked. “I mean, I get it. I’m a catch an’ all, but—”  

“Shut up,” Shouta mumbled against his chest, not pulling away. 

Whether this was real or not, Shouta no longer cared. He’d never thought he’d be able to see Oboro again, let alone touch him. The past few years had been harder than he’d care to admit, but now Oboro was alive, and Shouta knew what came next.   

He was going to save Oboro’s life. 

When he felt Oboro shrug against him, probably answering a silent question from Hizashi, Shouta finally drew away. With a laugh, Oboro ruffled his hair. 

“You know I was gonna give you chocolate without the added motivation, right?” he joked, reaching in his bag for the truffles and handing them to Shouta. “You too, ‘Zashi! Caramel! Sickly sweet, like my love.”

Hizashi’s laugh was forced and, when Shouta glanced over his shoulder, he didn’t fail to see the poorly concealed hurt behind his glasses.   

“Thanks, man! I’m sorry, I didn’t get either of you anything.”  

Shouta still stared at Hizashi as the lie slipped past his lips with false bravado. This time around, Hizashi hadn’t taken the chocolates from his bag, so Shouta wasn’t meant to know that they sat there, probably burning a hole into Hizashi’s leg. He hadn’t managed to utter his confession, which meant the hurt on his face had to do with something other than being rejected.   

He frowned but quickly shook the thought away, turning back to Oboro. “Me either.”    

“I’m wounded,” Oboro laughed, placing a dramatic hand to his chest. “I guess I’m the only one with a heart. Then again, that hug…”

“Shut it,” Shouta grunted without bite.   

“I’ll get you something for White Day,” Hizashi said quickly before Oboro could tease Shouta further. Oboro pointed a playful finger at his friends, the smile on his face ruining his attempt at sternness.   

“You better! You too, Shouta. I want milk chocolate, not that bitter stuff you like, okay?”   

“Nothing wrong with dark chocolate,” Shouta said before doing something entirely out of character for him regardless of age. He pulled both his friends against him, his arm wrapped around their shoulders. It was an awkward position, as he was still a fair bit shorter than them, not due his growth spurt for another few months. 

“Who are you, and what have you done with Shouta?” Oboro asked, laughing.  

“I dunno, but I like this version, yo!” Hizashi said, seemingly recovering from his earlier discomfort. Shouta glanced to his left and saw Hizashi’s cheeks were splattered in red. “He called me Hizashi, earlier.”

“What?! Please tell me I’ve also been upgraded, man! I wanna be your dear friend too!” Oboro was pouting adorably, and Shouta couldn’t help the wave of warmth that crashed around him. He’d missed this. He’d missed Oboro.  

“Never happened,” Shouta said, but he, too, was grinning. “Come on. We’ll be late for class.”  

Together they headed towards homeroom, arms wrapped around each other in surprising affection Shouta wasn’t willing to release. His friends didn’t seem to mind, so Shouta planned to keep them close.

He never wanted this day to end. 

Unfortunately, it eventually had to. However, unlike the first time around, the trio didn’t part ways after school. Instead, they headed to the arcade. Shouta could only guess that it was because Hizashi didn’t feel embarrassed this time. He hadn’t managed to confess, but he hadn’t been rejected either. Perhaps in this new reality, he would try again another day. Shouta didn’t know what he’d say; it felt wrong somehow, considering the mental age gap, but he found his heart speeding up around Oboro rather than Hizashi. Apparently, he wasn’t as over his high school crush as he’d hoped.   

They hogged the DDR machine for far longer than was fair at the arcade, challenging one another with increasingly stupid stakes. In his adult body, Shouta would have wiped the floor, but it had been about thirteen years since he’d played, and he hadn’t yet gotten used to his weakened body and slower reactions. 

It was a strange feeling, knowing that, in another life, tomorrow was what set him on the path to becoming the unstoppable pro hero Eraserhead. If… no, when he was successful tomorrow, he wondered how this version of his life would turn out. The three of them could start their own agency together, as they’d always talked about.   

Life would be different.   

Life would be better.  

It didn’t even occur to Shouta that he was no longer viewing whatever this phenomenon was as fake. Nothing about the day he had experienced felt anything but real, from all the casual touches to their shared laughter and banter.   

He had a second chance, and he planned to take it.   

Shouta barely got any sleep that night. He knew he should be well-rested, but he couldn’t help spending the hours thinking through a meticulous plan so that Oboro would survive the day and get to grow up with Hizashi and himself. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to sleep if he’d wanted to, anyway. His heart hadn’t stopped hammering in his chest since Oboro had called his name that morning. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get through the day without touching him constantly, assuring himself that Oboro was real and still alive.   

Shouta felt guilty about Hizashi. He’d caught his loud friend staring at the pair of them with an unreadable expression on multiple occasions, but if adult Hizashi knew the chance Shouta had been given, he’d tell him to take it… Right? Shouta had to believe that was the case. If he was still here tomorrow, he couldn’t let the day play out as it originally had, and Oboro had to be his focus, not Hizashi.   

Shouta was too wired the next day to feel tired. 

He’d come up with various ways to face the day ahead, but most of them went against everything he and Oboro believed in as heroes. They couldn’t skip out on work studies or make sure they were in a different area too far away to respond so that Oboro would live. Shouta couldn’t risk countless lives just to save one, no matter how tempting.   

Eventually, he’d remembered the pre-schoolers. Despite Oboro having died to save them, the memory of their presence was faint, overshadowed by what had happened after. Once he remembered them, knowing the best course of action was easy.   

He only hoped Oboro wouldn’t argue.   

Shouta was tense as he and Oboro started their patrol, too nervous for how he was going to pull everything off smoothly to fully enjoy Oboro’s company. 

When they finally bumped into the kids, right on cue, Shouta let their little exchange play out before turning to Oboro with what he hoped was a neutral expression on his face.   

“Why don’t you go with them? Make sure they’re safe?”  

Oboro gave him a strange look. “Why wouldn’t they be?”  

Shouta shrugged. He was no good at this. Hizashi would have been able to come up with a convincing reason on the spot, but all Shouta could do was rely on his friend’s faith in him.

“I just have a feeling,” he said.   

“Okay, so why don’t you join us, man?”

“Not necessary. You’ll catch up soon enough. Go that way, though,” Shouta said, pointing in the opposite direction. 

“Huh?”

“The view’s nicer,” Shouta said unconvincingly. If Oboro and the pre-schoolers continued the way they were meant to go, they’d still get caught up in Garvey’s attack. Shouta had to avoid that at all costs.   

Oboro scrutinised him for a long minute, eyes searching. Shouta didn’t know what he found, but eventually, he nodded. “Sure, why not. Hey kids, how about I give you a ride back? Jump on!” The children cheered as Oboro created a cloud for them to ride. Their teacher seemed more than happy to have the extra pair of eyes to help out. She didn’t even question the change of route.   

Only once they were rounding the corner together did Shouta let out a huff of relief. The hardest part was over. Now he just needed to defeat the villain Garvey. Again. 

No sooner had the thought occurred than his phone was chiming with the heads up from Nemuri. Shouta took off running straight away, heading towards the direction he knew the villain would come from.   

Shouta had defeated Garvey before, so it was logical that he would be able to again. Not only that, but while his body lacked the physical strength he’d built up in the years since this day, that didn’t change the fact that he was going into this fight with thirteen years’ worth of experience. Not only did he know how to defeat Garvey, but he had since defeated many, many tougher villains.   

Shouta was no longer a clueless seventeen-year-old taking down his first proper villain solo. And, as the giant villain came into view, Shouta released his quirk, ready to prove to himself just that. 

He latched his capture weapon onto a nearby roof and launched himself into the air, his body twisting to redirect his capture weapon towards Garvey. Whilst in mid-air, however, a yell made him momentarily lose focus. 

Garvey swiped at him, and Shouta was unable to avoid the blow. The wind was ripped from him as he slammed into the ground, head thwacking hard enough that his vision momentarily pulsed black.   

“Aizawa, are you okay?!” Hizashi was by his side in a moment, and Shouta groaned. This wasn’t right.  

“What are you doing here?” he grunted through his pain, accepting the hand Hizashi offered.   

“Bumped into Oboro a few streets back. He said you might need a hand, man!” 

“I’m fine.”

“Looks like it.” Hizashi cocked an eyebrow at him as Shouta rubbed his head. His vision was returning to normal now, but he was sure he would have a killer headache later.   

“I was fine before you distracted me,” Shouta corrected gruffly. 

Before Hizashi could get too offended, Garvey unleashed one of Sensoji’s blasts and the roof of a building just behind them exploded in shards of debris. On instinct, Shouta pulled Hizashi against him, his back shielding over the taller boy to protect him as large lumps of rubble rained down on them. Shouta gritted his teeth as a jagged piece of roof hit his shoulder at an angle, tearing through cloth and skin. Hizashi felt his wince through his human shield. 

“Shouta, are you okay?!”   

“Fine,” he grunted. Damn, his teenage body really couldn’t take a beating like his adult one. Shouta’s mind flickered to USJ, and he almost laughed, thinking how a little debris felt nearly as bad as that beating. 

“You’re not fine, man! Come on, let the pros handle this, yo!” But the pros weren’t here, and Shouta was. He knew how to take down Garvey, and if only Hizashi would get out of the way, he could work on doing just that.   

“Do you see any pros, Mic?” Shouta snapped. It was true, though; Shouta didn’t know where they were. His Purple Highness had been around in the original timeline—unconscious, sure, but still around. This time, it was just him and Hizashi and the rampaging villain that was still causing destruction all around. 

“Fair point, man, but—”  

“Just keep out of the way, Hizashi!” Shouta snapped, pulling away from him and activating his quirk once more. He couldn’t afford to dawdle. He didn’t know how this time travel stuff all worked. There was a fair chance that if Oboro turned up on the scene before Garvey was taken care of, he would still end up dying. Shouta wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow that to happen.   

Before Hizashi could utter a word, Shouta was back in the air. His head and shoulder twinged, protesting the movement, but he ignored the pain. It was nothing compared to the pain he would feel should this fail. 

The rain started just as he landed on a roof, and Shouta’s eyes scanned the surrounding area. He needed a rock, large enough to hurt the giant villain. Just as he spied one, Garvey let out another stored attack and Shouta only just managed to jump from the roof as it exploded beneath him.  

Shouta landed on Garvey’s head and used his capture weapon to secure the rock. Simultaneously, he launched it, and himself, into the air. Using his momentum, he swung his body around, bringing the rock up and over, and slamming it between Garvey’s eyes, earning a furious cry for his efforts. 

Like the first time around, an angry Garvey sent out all his stored quirks in retaliation. Shouta was ready for them, efficiently binding them together with his capture weapon and launching them down Garvey’s throat. 

While his body ached from the force of the blow he’d received when Hizashi had distracted him, Shouta was in much better shape than the first time this scene had played out. He landed almost gracefully moments before Garvey crashed down behind him. 

“Shouta!” Familiar figures rushed towards him, Oboro—alive!—leading the way, grinning brilliantly. 

He’d done it. Shouta had saved Oboro’s life! The relief crashed down upon him, almost knocking him off his feet. Oboro was there to steady him even as he stumbled, his hands warm on Shouta’s arms.  

“I can’t believe you took down such a massive villain! Amazing!”   

“It was nothing,” Shouta grunted, trying not to sound how he felt: overwhelmed, relieved, and ecstatic.    

“Did ‘Zashi get to you in time to help? Where is he, anyway?” Oboro was peering over Shouta’s shoulder now, scanning the area for any sign of their friend. Shouta joined the search, wondering why Hizashi was being so quiet. He’d thought his loud friend would have been cheering him on, but maybe he’d been too harsh when he’d snapped, and Hizashi was sulking? It was certainly in character.   

Fear gripped at him as he spotted a familiar yet unfamiliar scene just over Oboro’s shoulders. 

Nemuri was hunched up, shoulders shaking, as she stared at the debris of a collapsed building. 

Panic gripped him, and Shouta had to remind himself that Oboro was fine, standing right in front of him and—

Oboro was fine, but this time when the building had collapsed, a different friend had been in the area.

“No,” Shouta whispered, feet moving before his brain could even begin to register what was happening. Oboro followed quietly, and Shouta felt his hands clutching at the back of his shirt.   

As if in a trance, Shouta moved closer, getting a better angle.

His legs almost gave way as he saw the blood.   

No. 

This couldn’t be happening. Not again. 

Shouta glanced to his right, where Oboro had come to a standstill, the hand that wasn’t gripping Shouta’s shirt pressed against his mouth as if to catch whatever was forcing its way up his throat, be it a scream, a sob or vomit. 

How had this happened?   

How had he saved one of his friends only to—

His eyes travelled back to the rubble in disbelief. 

From this angle, Hizashi almost looked like he could open his eyes any minute and stand back up, although the blood pooling around him betrayed such a scene. The rock had struck the back of his head, hard and heavy, and Shouta had enough years of experience to know that if he looked—not even very hard—he would find the back of his head cracked and dented. Broken.  

Shouta looked towards the sky, unable to stare at Hizashi any longer. The rain caught in his eyes, but he didn’t close them. Numbness was creeping across him, and he needed to feel something, anything, right now.   

He’d thought being sent back was a blessing, but maybe it was a curse instead. 

After all, he’d saved Oboro’s life, but the cost had been tremendous.

How was Shouta meant to live in a world without Yamada Hizashi? 

It had been hard enough living in a world without Oboro, and Shouta had only known him for two years before he died. It may have been a rocky thirteen years, but Hizashi had been important to Shouta for half his life. 

And now he was dead.   

Because of Shouta. 

Everything was a blur after that. Shouta didn’t remember how he got home, but he had a vague memory of his mom checking in on him. (And wasn’t that just surreal? Not that Shouta had been with it enough to appreciate the comfort she offered.)

When Shouta finally snapped out of his trance, something felt strange. He chalked it up to waking in a world without Hizashi and lay there, refusing to open his eyes for what felt like forever. 

There was a knock on his bedroom door, but Shouta ignored it. His mom couldn’t really expect him to go to school, could she? Was that going to be his life from now on? A thirty-year-old trapped in his teenage body, going to school and continuing to exist without Hizashi? Shouta wouldn't do it. He was a grown-ass adult, and he wouldn’t redo his teenage years in a world where Hizashi didn’t get to be a hero.

“Sho?”  

Shouta shot up, eyes flashing open at the unfamiliar voice behind the door. He realised instantly what had felt wrong upon waking, and it wasn’t that he had to continue existing while Hizashi wouldn’t. 

No.   

Shouta was an adult again, his body back to the one he knew so well. 

The room he was in wasn’t familiar. For a moment, he wondered whether the past couple of days—the time travel—had been a dream after all. Maybe he had been captured by the villain he’d fought and was now locked in his house. 

“Shouta?”   

That didn’t make much sense, though. This room was nice. Minimalistic and to Shouta’s tastes, but certainly not the kind of room one would lock a prisoner away in. And the person knocking on the door… they knew his name. 

“Come on, Sho! We’re gonna be late.”  

Shouta didn’t recognise the voice, except maybe he did… 

He launched himself out of bed and across the room, pulling open the door, mouth dropping open as his eyes clocked the person disturbing him. 

Tall and handsome, his light-blue hair as wild as ever, there was no mistaking him. Shouta was staring at a sight he never thought he’d see—an adult Shirakumo Oboro. 

“You’re not dressed,” Oboro said, oblivious to Shouta’s stunned reaction. Oboro’s gaze lingered on his body, and Shouta glanced down, realising he’d answer the door in just his underwear. He didn’t have it in him to be embarrassed. Instead, he just stared.   

“Uh, are you okay?” Oboro asked eventually, cocking an eyebrow.   

Was Shouta okay?

His mind was reeling, piecing everything together. If he was an adult again, and Oboro was here, then that meant the last two days really had happened. Which meant—  

“Hizashi.” He breathed out the name before he could catch it and hold it tight. Oboro’s gaze softened. 

“Did you have another dream?” he asked. Shouta didn’t know what he was referring to, but it didn’t take a genius to guess. He nodded, figuring it would be more straightforward than trying to explain all of… this. Shouta didn’t understand what was going on well enough himself; there was no way he would be able to try and explain it to his formerly dead best friend.   

“Hizashi wouldn’t have wanted you to hold onto this self-hatred, Sho.”   

Shouta nodded, not trusting himself to speak. It had really happened, then. Shouta had saved Oboro’s life, only to lose Hizashi instead. He had every right to hate himself—it was his fault. Why hadn’t he been more mindful of the damage happening around him? This could have all been avoided if he’d just paid more attention to his surroundings. He was the worst. A terrible person who—

“Shouta,” Oboro said, reaching out. His hand was hot against Shouta’s bare shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. What will be your fault is if we’re late, though. Get dressed—the hero classes aren’t going to teach themselves.” Oboro offered him a grin, squeezing Shouta’s shoulder before turning down the hallway. Shouta got the impression they’d had this conversation many times before. He wasn’t sure he could blame Oboro for not wanting to have it again.   

Closing the door, Shouta leaned heavily against it, trying to calm himself. Right now, he just had to focus on the facts and get his bearings.

Hizashi was dead. He’d been dead for years, never earning his pro hero license, nor starting his radio show. Never kissing Shouta on the couch in their home—Shouta would take his rejection that day a thousand times over this new reality he found himself in.   

He shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to dwell. It was better that he concentrated on hard facts first. 

It seemed he was housemates with Oboro in this reality. They were still close, though Shouta didn’t know how close. It appeared they slept in separate rooms at the very least, although, despite himself, he couldn’t help but wonder whether they always slept in separate rooms. Even as the thought was forming, Shouta hated himself for it. He’d killed Hizashi. He didn’t deserve to be hoping there was something between him and Oboro.  

Moving on. 

Oboro had mentioned them being late and the hero courses, which probably meant he was still Homeroom teacher to class 1A. Oboro also likely worked at UA, although it was anyone’s guess what he taught. Unless he’d vastly improved his English over the years, Shouta doubted he was Hizashi’s replacement.   

Shouta couldn’t imagine anyone other than Present Mic teaching the subject.   

He wondered whether it was a reality he would have to get used to.   

“You better be getting dressed in there!” Oboro called from the other side of the door, startling Shouta back into reality (however horrible that reality might be).   

“Almost done,” he said gruffly, despite still only being in his boxers. It didn’t take more than a minute to hunt down his hero costume. He didn’t bother washing—personal hygiene was the last thing on his mind right now. 

No, the only thing Shouta was giving any serious thought to was whether he could escape this reality. 

“Finally,” Oboro said, as Shouta joined him a couple of minutes later. 

If Shouta managed to escape this world without Hizashi, would he have to return to the one where Oboro was dead? Shouta didn’t want that either.   

Why was the world against him? He’d thought he’d be able to create a future where he had both his best friends by his side, but he should have known better than to expect something to go right in his life.   

Shouta followed Oboro’s lead getting to UA, although he quickly realised he knew the area they lived in well. It was at the beginning of his patrol route before Shouta headed to the seedier parts of the city. They were only a short walk away from the school, a prime location for a hero working at UA. Shouta couldn’t help but wonder how popular Loud Cloud was for them to be able to afford such a place—unless he was completely different in this reality, it certainly wasn’t his paycheck that made it possible. 

Shouta stayed quiet during their walk, not wanting to say something that would give away that he wasn’t quite the same man Oboro thought he was. He didn’t have a single memory of their past fourteen years together. He didn’t know how close they were, whether they teamed up for hero work, whether they were still friends with Nemuri or even what role Oboro had at the school. He wasn’t ready to try and explain why he didn’t know any of those things. He didn’t want to admit out loud that he really was to blame for Hizashi’s death all those years ago (and yet only yesterday for Shouta). 

“There you guys are!” Nemuri pounced on them as soon as they arrived in the staff room. At least that answered one of Shouta’s many questions about his missing years. Another was promptly answered as Nemuri’s lips latched onto Oboro’s like they were being magnetised together. Shouta looked away quickly, hating the sudden burning in his chest—jealousy. 

He had no right to feel jealous.   

He loathed himself for it, feeling like he was betraying Hizashi.   

Wanting to think of anything else, Shouta wandered over to what he hoped was still his desk. He found a pile of tests with his handwriting on and quickly confirmed that, yes, he was still the homeroom teacher for 1A and that his class comprised the same students.   

With sharp eyes, he scanned the room searching for any new information. There wasn’t much to go on, but trusty Nemuri soon sashayed over, offering another piece of the puzzle.  

“I hear you and Oboro are pitting your homerooms against each other today. Sorry Sho, but my money’s on 1B.”

Shouta frowned, which Nemuri clearly took as annoyance for her lack of faith in his class. Shouta ignored her, instead wondering what had happened to Vlad if Oboro was the homeroom teacher for class 1B. Most likely, either Oboro had simply applied for the position before Vlad, or they had applied simultaneously, and Oboro had won Nezu over. It was surprisingly easy to picture; Oboro had always been charming.   

“You’re not even listening, are you?” Nemuri huffed. 

“No,” Shouta said. Nemuri’s familiar pout eased Shouta’s churning stomach slightly. This world was different, but there was still familiarity in the unknown.   

Shouta didn’t know what his lesson plan for the day was meant to be, so he just went with what he’d done on this day in his own reality and hoped for the best. When Iida didn’t instantly stand and reprimand him, Shouta breathed a sigh of relief, glad that he wasn’t covering something he’d already covered.   

It was hard to concentrate, but somehow Shouta made it through the day. When it was done and the students returned to the dorms, he found himself lost. He didn’t know how to integrate himself into this new reality—wasn’t sure he even wanted to.   

More than anything, he just wanted to go back and try again, but how could he? He didn’t know anything about the villain that had sent him here. He didn’t even know if it was due to the villain at all. 

Although—  

It was unlikely but possible…

He’d been taken back to Valentine’s Day. The first time around he’d done this day, he’d moved out of Hizashi’s house and gone to the capsule hotel. The day after, he’d gone on patrol and chased a villain before waking up in the past. 

Was it possible that the same villain would be in the same area tomorrow? If there was any chance that he would, and that his quirk was responsible for what was happening, Shouta owed it to Hizashi to try.  

With the idea in his head, Shouta went about jotting down every detail he remembered about that day, from the exact time to the location he’d come across the villain. He tried not to get his hopes up too high, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that nearly everything else was the same, down to the comments his class had made throughout the day. By that logic, there was a good chance that a minor villain who robbed a shop would rob that same shop at the same time on the same day. 

Shouta had to try.   

For Hizashi. 

“You coming home?” Shouta startled, looking up from his desk to see Oboro standing next to him. He didn’t seem to be trying to peer at Shouta’s notes, but he quickly hid them under a pile of paperwork regardless, hoping Oboro wouldn’t comment on his shifty behaviour.   

“What are you still doing here?”  

“Same thing as you, I guess,” Oboro said, and for a moment, Shouta froze. Did he somehow know? Was he aware that he was living in a world he shouldn’t be alive in? “Man, Monoma’s work makes me lose the will, y’know? He’s smart, but…” Oboro trailed off with a shudder.   

Ah. He was talking about grading. That made more sense.   

“Okay,” Shouta said, standing up. “Let’s go home.”  

He was curious to spend some time with Oboro as an adult. If his plan worked, they’d get plenty of time for that later, but it would be a different Oboro, one who hadn’t lost one of his closest friends at seventeen. Shouta wanted to get to know all versions of Shirakumo Oboro.   

“No Nemuri tonight?” Shouta asked carefully as they walked home. He had no idea whether this would be considered a weird question. Maybe Nemuri never came round, although that seemed unlikely considering how often she was around Hizashi’s place even though she wasn’t sleeping with any of the occupants. 

“She has patrol, remember?”  

“Right,” Shouta agreed.    

“I guess you’ll just have to be my Valentine instead,” Oboro joked, bumping against Shouta, before wrapping an arm around his shoulder. If he noticed how Shouta tensed, he didn’t say anything.   

“I’m not putting out without the honmei choco,” Shouta grunted in an attempt to appear a little more natural. If Oboro’s roared laughter was anything to go by, he succeeded.   

“How about I make you ramen for dinner instead?”  

Shouta squinted suspiciously at him. “What kind of ramen?”

“Whatever flavour you want from the conbini. My treat~”   

So Oboro was probably as good in the kitchen as Shouta. He couldn’t help but think about Hizashi and the fantastic meals he always found time to prepare despite working three jobs.   

God, Shouta had never deserved Hizashi, had he?   

They stopped at the corner shop and, as promised, Oboro bought Shouta a tonkotsu ramen and a milk pudding each, which they ate on the couch in front of some dumb action film Shouta hardly paid attention to. 

“So… tomorrow…” Oboro said hesitantly.  

“What about it?”  

“Do you wanna visit him together?”  

“Visit—” Shouta cut off as he realised what Oboro was referring to. The 15th of February marked Oboro’s death anniversary in the original timeline. In this timeline, it marked Hizashi’s. “I have patrol,” he said stiffly. He couldn’t afford to be late and miss the villain. 

“I know. But we could go straight after school.”

The last time he’d done the fifteenth, he’d sat at his desk for well over an hour after school had ended. If they didn’t dawdle, they could manage it. Shouta owed Hizashi that much.   

“Okay,” he said.  

They spent the rest of the evening chatting. Well, Oboro did. Shouta only followed bits and pieces, Oboro talking about things he should have remembered but didn’t. It was okay, though; Shouta was just happy to spend time talking with Oboro again after thirteen long years. If not for Hizashi’s death hanging heavily over him, it would have been a perfect evening.   

It was fine. Shouta was going to fix it. He would fix everything, and the next time he got to do this day, he would have both his friends by his side.   

He just hoped he was right about everything. He couldn’t afford to be wrong. There was too much at stake.   

The school day dragged. Shouta clock watched, too restless to even try napping. The moment classes were done for the day, Shouta hurried to class 1B, arriving even before the last student had left the classroom. Kendo offered a hesitant smile as she spotted him flustered in the doorway, but Shouta only had eyes for Oboro. He was sitting behind his desk, tidying away some papers, and he just looked so natural, like he was meant to be there. It almost took Shouta’s breath away.   

“Sho!” Oboro startled as he looked up. “Wow, you’re prompt, man. I’ll only be a minute, promise!” They didn’t really have minutes to spare, but Shouta didn’t say anything. Oboro was true to his word, and within five minutes, they passed the gates to UA and headed towards the cemetery, Oboro with a huge bunch of flowers that left Shouta feeling guilty about not thinking ahead. But then, his gift would come later—  

He was going to save Hizashi’s life.   

He was sure Hizashi would appreciate that more than flowers.

Without Oboro, Shouta would never have found Hizashi in the maze of graves. A small part of Shouta had expected him to be buried in the same spot Oboro had been in the original timeline, but, of course, he was in the Yamada plot, which was the other side of the graveyard. Oboro glanced at him a couple of times, brow wrinkling, but he didn’t comment on Shouta’s sudden ‘amnesia’ over a gravesite location he probably knew like the back of his hand.  

“Hey, man,” Oboro said to the gravestone, arranging the flowers with practised ease. “I see your moms' already swung by.” He must have been referring to the enormous bouquet of yellow roses that stood in front of Hizashi’s well-kept grave. “I’m sorry to have missed them.” Shouta wasn’t. He didn’t think he could look Hizashi’s moms in the face knowing that he was responsible for this version of the timeline. If not for him, their son would be alive and well.   

Then again, he hadn’t fared much better in the original timeline either. He might not have killed Hizashi, but he’d definitely broken his heart, and that wasn’t much better.   

I’m going to fix everything, Shouta silently promised.  

“You gonna say hi, Sho?” Oboro asked, turning and smiling brightly. Shouta’s heart throbbed, and he quickly averted his eyes.   

“I need to get going,” he said instead. He could feel Oboro’s gaze burning into him, but Shouta couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes. 

“But we just got here.”

“I can’t be late for patrol.”

“But—”  

Shouta turned and walked away before Oboro could even try and point out that Shouta’s patrol didn’t start for another hour and a half. It wasn’t like he could explain that he’d already lived this day before, and he had to make sure he started his patrol early if he wanted to stand any chance of making things right. 

He felt his heart sinking further and further as he walked briskly away from Oboro and Hizashi. This wouldn’t be the last time he saw them, he told himself. 

The villain was responsible for the time loop. He had to be—it was the only thing that made sense. Shouta would find him and restart the loop, and this time he would save them both. Nobody had to die. Shouta was a seasoned hero, and there was no way in hell he was going to fuck things up again.   

Shouta had bought a coffee the first time around but didn’t have time to drink it. He was early today, so he bought another and left the café, pacing outside of it while sipping the heavily caffeinated drink to try and calm his nerves. 

What if he was wrong?   

What if, in this reality, something had happened to the villain, and he wasn’t here? Maybe he’d lived a different life? He could be a hero in this world or just an everyday guy who didn’t try to rob people. What would Shouta do then? He had nothing to go on. Honestly, he could barely even remember the guy’s face. Shouta wouldn’t have been able to pick him out of a line-up.

Christ, he was betting a lot on this. He couldn’t afford to be wrong—  

“Stop! Thief!”   

Shouta’s feet were moving even before his brain had fully comprehended the yell. He tossed his almost empty coffee into the nearest bin without pause.

Once again, he caught up to the guy by the Teppanyaki restaurant. The scent turned his nervous stomach, but he didn’t falter.  

He didn’t activate his quirk, even as he saw the gleam of silver. The villain had gone for his knife quicker this time.   

“I don’t want to fight you,” Shouta said. That got the guy’s attention. He quirked an eyebrow and stared at Shouta for a long moment before his lips curved into a smirk. 

“That right?” he asked, and his grin made Shouta want to punch him. He couldn’t risk it, though. He couldn’t risk the guy refusing to use his quirk again.   

He needed to use it. Shouta needed to try again.   

“I need you to use your quirk,” Shouta said, and goddammit, he sounded desperate.   

The asshole was flashing teeth now, his grin so big that it showed off all his pearly whites. “I could just kill you instead.” He said it like it was an offer, like Shouta really might take him up on it.   

“I’d like to see you try.” Shouta’s hand went to his capture weapon. Maybe he could make the asshole use his quirk after all? His gaze shifted between the knife and the villain's face. It was a rather boring face—no wonder Shouta hadn’t remembered it. Cropped black hair, ordinary brown eyes, average size nose. It was the kind of face that held no distinctive features, nothing that would help Shouta track him down should he need to.  

Okay. So he just had to make this count.   

“Relax, man!” The villain had the audacity to laugh. Shouta ground his teeth together. “You wanna go again? I’m more than happy to oblige.”  

Before Shouta could even ask what he meant—was it possible the guy knew he’d already used his quirk on Shouta?—that same feeling as before washed over him, submerging him.

Drowning him.   

Shouta managed a wild grin of his own before the darkness took him.  

He was going again and this time—

This time he’d get it right. 

Chapter Text

Shouta woke with a start. He threw the covers from his body, relief swamping him as he saw legs too scrawny to be anything other than that of his seventeen-year-old self. 

For a moment, he could do nothing but bask in the relief that it had worked, that it had been the villain’s quirk that had sent him back and that the villain hadn’t seemed to have any issue with using it on him again. A small part of him nagged about why, but he didn’t dwell. He knew now that this was all real. Who cared how it had happened? All Shouta cared about was doing it right this time. 

He was determined that both Oboro and Hizashi would survive the next two days. 

His head throbbed, and he allowed himself just a moment to rub at his temples. Headaches must be a side effect of the quirk—he definitely hadn’t received a head injury this time that would explain the pain.

Then, a panicked thought occurred to him, pushing the headache aside, and Shouta scrambled for his phone, checking the date. He let out a little sigh as he saw it was the 14th. 

He really was back. 

For a moment, Shouta sat in bed, his back pressed against the wall as he tried to decide how best to proceed. He was meant to be meeting Hizashi soon and, while Shouta really wanted to see him—wanted to make sure he really was alive and unharmed—there was a little unsettled part of him that couldn’t stop thinking of Oboro. 

Throughout the two years they’d shared at UA before his death, Shouta had nursed a crush on Oboro. More than a crush, if the years following his death were any indication. Shouta thought he’d finally gotten over him when he’d started developing real feelings for Hizashi, but the past two days he’d just relived… Shouta wasn’t so sure he could ignore the budding feelings that had reawakened inside him.  

Oboro had been happy with Nemuri, and Shouta shouldn’t meddle with that future. He couldn’t help thinking of Oboro’s lingering gaze on his bare chest or the innocent flirty comments he’d made during their two short days as adults together, though. It could be nothing. Oboro had always been a bit of a flirt, after all.  

But what if?  

What if Oboro had only ended up with Nemuri because Shouta had never taken his shot? 

It all seemed a bit too cheesy rom-com, but if Shouta was going to fix things and create the best future he could, why shouldn’t he also take a chance at something he’d always wanted? 

Hizashi was special—incredibly so. But Oboro? Oboro would always be Shouta’s first love, right? Surely that was worth exploring? Shouta wasn’t the romantic sort, that was more Hizashi’s dig, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want love. He hadn’t put a lot of thought into it, hadn’t planned out his future or anything, but it was something he wanted. Marriage, maybe even kids one day… 

He couldn’t help but think that maybe that was something he wanted with Oboro.  

If Oboro felt the same. 

Something felt heavy in Shouta’s chest as he opened his chat with Hizashi, but it was probably just his guilt over what had happened last time. After all, this Hizashi had no idea that Shouta would kiss him in thirteen years and ruin everything. 

Shouta knew, though. 

He shook the thought away. He’d made his choice, and it was the right one. He was bad for Hizashi, but that didn’t mean he would be for Oboro. 

Shouta stared at their conversation history for a few minutes, trying to swallow the uneasy feeling building in his chest as he mentally composed a message. He had to get it just right, casual enough that Hizashi wouldn’t realise he knew about his planned confession but firm enough to let him down before anything could begin. 

He settled with, hey, do you think we could talk after school instead? I was thinking of confessing to Oboro. 

It felt cringey to write, like the teenage drama one of his students would get up to—Ashido, probably—but Shouta had to remind himself that he was, technically, a teenager himself right now.  

It took Hizashi several minutes to reply, despite him usually being so prompt, and another unpleasant feeling washed over Shouta. He could not wait for these next two days to pass so that he could go back to being a drama-free adult in peace.  

U like Oboro?

Shouta chewed his lip. Honestly, he was surprised Hizashi didn’t already know this. After all, he’d been the one to tell Shouta to confess the first time around. Maybe he’d only figured it out after Shouta had rejected him.  

Yes. 

Again, it took Hizashi far longer to reply than was normal. Shouta’s insides twisted painfully. Was he doing the right thing? 

That’s gr8!! I’m rooting 4 ya, man!   

There was a pause, and then another message came through before Shouta could think to reply.  

Dnt worry bout r chat. Was nthin important. C u at sch. 

It took Shouta’s tired-thirty-year-old brain a minute to decipher the awful text speak that Hizashi had—thankfully—outgrown over the years. He frowned at the message, partly wanting to scold Hizashi for downplaying his feelings like they didn’t matter, and partly relieved that things seemed to have played out in his favour. 

Shouta stared at his phone for a long moment, chewing on his lip. He was sure he was doing the right thing, so why did it feel so wrong? 

Shouta shook the thought away. He’d made up his mind, and it was illogical to dwell. Instead, he opened his chat with Oboro, asking if he wanted to walk to school together.  

Fifteen minutes later, Shouta was jogging to meet up with Oboro at the conbini near UA. Oboro was already there when he arrived, lounging on a cloud while staring up at the sky. He sat up and offered a brilliant smile as he heard Shouta approach. Upon seeing that bright smile just for him, all doubts that he was doing the wrong thing left Shouta’s mind. This was what he wanted, what he’d always wanted. 

“Got ya something~” Oboro reached into his bag, pulling out the same chocolates he’d given Shouta two times before. “Happy Valentine’s Day, bro!” 

“You sap,” Shouta said, accepting the chocolate with the smallest of smiles. Then, because the whole point of this was to be daring enough to try for the future he wished for, he added casually, “Is this tomo choco or honmei choco?” 

Oboro studied him silently for a moment, and Shouta was glad he wasn’t mentally his teenage self, or he would have dissolved into an awkward puddle on the floor under those intense eyes. Instead, he kept his calm and eyed Oboro right back. 

Eventually, the corners of Oboro’s lips twitched into an almost mischievous smile. “Which would you prefer?”  

Well, that wasn’t a flat-out rejection. Shouta wasn’t good at flirting, and he felt a little weird about it, seeing as he was currently mentally thirteen years older than Oboro, but he also knew that if he shut down now, they’d get nowhere. 

“Get ice cream with me after school,” he said, phrasing it so it wasn’t really a question.

“Aizawa Shouta, are you asking me on a date? A Valentine’s date?” With Oboro’s jokey tone, it was hard to tell how he felt about the situation. Shouta had already dipped his toes in now, though. There was no sense in backing out.  

“Yes.”

“Oh. Okay then, sure.” If it wasn’t for the tips of Oboro’s ears, which had turned rather pink, Shouta would have thought Oboro was completely nonchalant about the whole thing, only agreeing out of curiosity rather than mutual feelings.  

“Okay,” Shouta parroted back, feeling like he really was seventeen again. Then, because he didn’t know what else to say, he shoved his hands into his pockets and prompted their walk to school so that they wouldn’t be late. 

Usually, when they walked anywhere together, Oboro would talk almost non-stop. He wasn’t as bad as Hizashi, but he’d never been one for long silences. As they made their way to school, though, he kept quiet, head ducked in a way that made Shouta worry he was regretting agreeing to a date. 

Before he could overthink too much, Oboro’s shoulder bumped him. Shouta’s hands slipped out of his pockets—to do what, he wasn’t sure. Steady Oboro?—and Oboro quickly reached out. It took Shouta longer than it should have to register Oboro was teasing his fingers apart so that he could entwine their hands together.  

Shouta had never known Oboro to be nervous. He was boisterous and confident and almost as big a flirt as Nemuri. Seeing the shy smile he offered when their gazes locked felt like a secret between them. It made Shouta’s stomach squeeze in a not-altogether unpleasant way.  

He pulled away abruptly when they arrived in 2A’s classroom and saw Hizashi waiting for them, though. Oboro didn’t seem concerned, instead using his suddenly free hand to wave to the third member of their little gang.  

“Yo, ‘Zashi! I got you chocolate, you gorgeous creature!”  

Shouta thought he’d seen Hizashi’s eyes narrow when they’d entered the room, so he’d quickly tugged his hand free, but now he was grinning toothily, no signs of anything amiss. Shouta wasn’t sure how strong Hizashi’s crush on him had been at this age, but he really didn’t want to rub his new relationship status in his face. 

Shouta hadn’t been prepared for how much seeing Hizashi would affect him. The last time he’d seen him, Hizashi had been lying in a pool of his own blood, his life cut painfully short thanks to Shouta.  

The breath caught in his lungs at that brilliant smile Hizashi always gave so freely. Even now, when he was clearly hurting over Shouta choosing Oboro over him, Hizashi smiled like it cost him nothing.  

Shouta didn’t realise he was lingering in the doorway, staring, until one of his classmates (honestly, Shouta didn’t even remember what their name was) shoved past him, shooting a glare his way as they passed. 

“Sho! What’re you doing, man? You know Sensei will kill you if you’re not seated before he—Oh, Takahashi-Sensei, hi!”  

“Aizawa, in your seat. Shirakumo, shut up.”  

Shouta dragged his gaze away from Hizashi, who was looking right back at him, his expression perplexed—he was probably wondering why Shouta was looking at him like he’d seen a ghost. 

“What?” Hizashi murmured once Shouta was sitting. 

“I—” What could Shouta say without sounding weird? Eventually, he just shrugged nonchalantly and said, “I thought you had a spider on you.” 

The entire class had to cover their ears at the shriek that followed. 

Shouta had almost forgotten he’d asked Oboro out for ice cream by the time school ended. He hadn’t been able to focus on his classes (not that he needed them), his mind lost to the day ahead. He struggled to come up with excuses to keep both Hizashi and Oboro out of the way of Garvey. It was clear he couldn’t risk either of them being anywhere near the villain if he wanted them to survive. And he did want them to survive.  

Shouta wasn’t sure he could go through this all again. Reliving his high school days, especially this day—Valentine’s Day—was exhausting. He wasn’t a romantic person, and he didn’t love love like Hizashi. He loved his two best friends and wanted a future with them in it, but the whole wooing part to get that future was draining him. He felt depleted and uncertain, not sure the choices he was making were the right ones but equally unsure that they were wrong. He almost wished the choice was taken out of his hands, but he couldn’t risk a future with either of them dead or miserable.  

The least he could do to ensure both his best friends had the brightest future possible was to endure a couple of days in his awkward teenage body.   

As they left the school grounds, Oboro took Shouta’s hand, effectively silencing his whirling mind. 

“You okay, Sho?” he asked. “You’ve been a bit off all day. And, uh, you were staring at ‘Zashi a lot, like you couldn’t quite believe he was there. What was up with that? If you’d rather you were with him right now, it’s cool, I get it and—”

“Stop talking,” Shouta grunted. He racked his mind for any excuse and went with the first plausible one. “I had a dream that he died. It felt real.”

“Oh, Shouta. Why didn’t you say anything, man?” Oboro squeezed his fingers, and Shouta’s heart palpitated.  

“Wasn’t logical,” he murmured. 

Oboro rolled his eyes. “We’re your friends. If something’s bothering you, you should tell us, dude!” 

“Hm.”  

“Shall I text ‘Zashi? Ask him to meet us? He won’t be home yet.” Shouta did want that, but he shook his head. He’d made his choice, and he was about to set up a future where he would get to spend all the time he wanted with the two people who made his life worth living. Right now, he was going to spend some quality time with the boy he’d had to live thirteen years without. 

“No, it’s fine. We’ll see him later,” Shouta said, dragging Oboro along as he upped his pace. 

They’d have a good, happy future. He’d make sure of it.  

The following day, Shouta was up early and on his phone. He’d barely slept during the night, but that was okay because he’d had enough coffee to keep his seventeen-year-old body wired for a year. It was on his fourth cup that he’d realised while he’d kept his memories on this time travel adventure, he definitely hadn’t also brought his tolerance for caffeine. That was fine, though. Even if he hadn’t been buzzing most of the night, he doubted he would have been able to sleep. Not when the day ahead was so important. 

“What are you doing awake?” Hizashi asked, stunned, in lieu of a greeting when he picked up Shouta’s call. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Shouta said. “Listen, I need you to do something for me. It will probably sound like a strange request but trust me, okay?”  

“Sure, what is it, man?”

The plan was straightforward and involved very little alteration from last time. All he had to do was make sure that when Hizashi bumped into Oboro, he didn’t leave him. Last time, Loud Cloud had sent Present Mic to help. This time, Shouta had to make sure he didn’t. 

“This won’t make any sense, and you probably won’t want to agree,” Shouta warned him.  

“Is it important?” Hizashi asked, picking up on something in Shouta’s tone.  

“Very.” 

“Then I’ll do it, man. Whatever you want, yo!” Shouta could almost visualise Hizashi doing finger guns.  

He could practically hear Hizashi frowning as he explained, but once he was finished and revving himself to counter any arguments, all Hizashi said was, “Sure. Okay then.” 

“Wait, really?” 

“You’re not really the sort to make shit up,” Hizashi said. “And you said it was important. I’ll want an explanation later but, for now, I’ll trust you, man.” 

It was as easy as that. Shouta hung up the phone and let out a relieved huff. He’d been sure Hizashi would protest, maybe even call him crazy—Shouta was asking him to stay out of a villain fight after all.  

Maybe this was just proof that he needed to have more faith in Hizashi? Regardless, there was no way Shouta wanted him or Oboro anywhere near Garvey and the only way he could guarantee their safety was to keep them as far away from the villain as he was able. 

With Hizashi dealt with, Shouta followed the day exactly as he had the last time, making sure to send Oboro away with the children before Garvey came on the scene. 

During their fight, Shouta tried to have faith in Hizashi, trusting that he’d stick to his word and not interfere. It left him distracted enough to receive a few painful blows he hadn’t previously but, overall, he had the giant villain down for the count faster than any time before. 

Shouta didn’t relax until both Hizashi and Oboro were standing in front of him, alive and well, and excitedly chattering about how ‘cool’ he was and how jealous they were. 

Shouta released one final breath of relief when he spotted Nemuri a short distance away, talking to His Purple Highness. It would have been just his luck if she had somehow died this time. 

Shouta had done it, though. He’d actually done it. 

Everyone had lived.  

Shouta barely paid attention to the rest of the day, answering questions from the police and EMTs on autopilot, until finally he was allowed to escape it all and go home. Hizashi and Oboro had blown up his phone during the afternoon, both expressing regret that they hadn’t been allowed to stay with him. They suggested meeting up for breakfast the following day, and Shouta agreed even though he suspected that he would be thirty years old again when he woke. 

Shouta wasn’t a particularly excitable person, but it was safe to say he couldn’t wait to see what the morning brought him. 

He woke warm, and it only took him a moment to realise why. His body was a tangle of limbs, a bare, long leg draped over his, and an arm resting across his shoulder. Shouta tensed from the unfamiliarity of his situation. It had been a long time since he’d woken up tangled beneath another human body, and even longer since it had happened with him having absolutely no clue who it was lightly snoring into his neck.  

Moving as little as possible, Shouta shifted his weight, rolling to inspect the damage. Just because he’d tried to set his future up, it didn’t mean the person in bed with him was who he wanted it to be. High school romances barely ever lasted.  

The wild locks of pale blue sent both relief and something else, something he didn’t quite understand, coursing through him. 

It was undeniably Oboro, his face soft and beautiful with sleep. Shouta couldn’t help but stare, enamoured by his features and the fact that he was here, grown-up, and alive and asleep curled around Shouta and— 

Oh. 

And naked.  

Shouta couldn’t avoid the blood that rushed to his face as he finally realised the distinct lack of clothing separating flesh from flesh. He buried his face into the crook of Oboro’s neck as the other man stirred. This was likely normal for them—he didn’t want to explain why he was embarrassed. 

The hand around his waist tightened, pulling him, impossibly, closer.  

“Morning.” Oboro was so close Shouta felt his lips move against his flesh. It sent a shiver down his spine, followed by the feather-light trail of fingers that slid down his back, lower and lower… Shouta swallowed and gripped tighter at the arm he couldn’t remember grabbing, his stomach doing somersaults as the blood rushed to his—

“We’re going to be late,” he said, sitting up abruptly. 

“We’ve got time.” Oboro pouted, staring up at him from the pillow, his bedhead and hungry eyes battling with Shouta’s weak resolve until he found himself leaning down, his lips brushing Oboro’s in a simple kiss—their first kiss. 

Not their first kiss.  

Shouta pulled away again, confusion killing his boner. He could get used to this, used to waking up with Oboro naked and alive in his bed, but the problem was, he didn’t know what any of this meant. 

Were they a couple? Was this a ‘friends with benefits’ situation? Had this been going on since high school, or was it new? 

As much as Shouta wanted to lose himself in Oboro like he apparently had the night before, those lingering questions nagged at his mind, throbbing in his temple until he was sure a headache would form. 

Oboro’s fingers traced his thighs in concerned patterns, his brow furrowed as he stared up at Shouta. “What’s up, babe?” 

Babe. The (quite frankly horrible) term of endearment probably meant they were a couple then. 

Shouta let his gaze trail around the dimly lit bedroom, searching for any hints of familiarity. Did they live together? The lack of hastily removed clothes strewn across the room hinted at a potential yes.  

Shouta wished he could ask, but that would bring up too many questions he wasn’t prepared to answer.  

“I’m fine,” he said finally, remembering that Oboro had asked him a question. “I just feel a headache coming on.” 

“Oomph, already? I’ll get you a coffee,” Oboro said, throwing the blankets away and standing up. He didn’t even bother getting dressed as he crossed the room, heading for what seemed to be a hallway. If he noticed Shouta’s wide-eyed gaze follow him from the room, he didn’t say anything.

Shouta gripped the bedsheets tightly, trying to calm himself. 

Fuck.   

This was simultaneously the worst and best way to wake up into his new life. Shouta needed to get a grip. He was pretty sure he would be teaching a class of twenty fifteen-year-olds in an hour, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to survive it when the image of a built and naked Oboro was seared into his brain. 

Shouta still hadn’t moved from the bed when Oboro returned a few moments later and, nope!

No sooner had the coffee been put down than Shouta launched himself at Oboro, dragging the other man back down and on top of him on the bed. His knees straddled Shouta’s hips, and Shouta shuddered at the skin-on-skin contact, his lips burning as they moved against Oboro’s with a hunger desperate to be sated. 

“I thought you said we were gonna be late?” Oboro murmured as he pulled back slightly, the tips of their noses pressed as Shouta panted for breath. 

“I thought you said we had time?” Shouta gasped, and the grin that followed his words almost had him spent right there. Fuck, Oboro was hot.

“Mm, I did, didn’t I?” he murmured, lips brushing against Shouta’s face as they moved. He nipped Shouta’s earlobe, teasing out a groan as Shouta’s body jolted against his. “Maybe we should save some time and move this to the shower?” 

“Seems only logical,” Shouta panted, allowing the other man to drag him up and out of the bedroom on legs that hardly seemed to want to hold him upright. 

So maybe his resolve was a little weak, but he’d defeated a giant villain three times now to get this result. Could anyone blame him for claiming his reward?  

Even if they could, Shouta realised he didn’t give a fuck. 

Shouta was in an exceptional mood by the time they arrived at UA. In this reality, Oboro was once again the homeroom teacher to class 1B, so they made their way in together, managing to arrive just shy of being late. Apparently, that was enough for Nemuri to know what had happened between them that morning. She winked at Shouta, draping herself over the counter as he made himself a coffee. (He’d been just a little too preoccupied to drink the one Oboro had made him and was in desperate need of caffeine.)

“Fun morning, was it? Made the best of Valentine’s Day, I see,” she purred.  

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Please, darling. The only time you’re this late is when your morning quickie ends up being less quick and more—” 

Shouta activated his quirk, fixing Nemuri with a glare that would have weaker people quaking at the knees. Nemuri just snorted, rolling her eyes, but thankfully she didn’t finish her sentence. Shouta didn’t want to know how she had intended to finish it.  

“Oboro, honey,” she said instead, “teach your husband to be less of a prude.” 

Husband. 

The mug froze halfway to his lips at the word, but he managed to catch any other reaction he might have had. They were married. He didn’t have a ring on his finger or around his neck, but maybe their relationship was a secret? Nemuri knew, but Shouta wondered who else did. Judging from the fact that Yagi and Thirteen were in the room with them—minding their own business but still within earshot—it was likely that the staff knew at least.  

Talking of staff—

As he took a calming sip of his coffee, Shouta stared around the staff room. “Where’s Hizashi?” he asked with a frown. It wasn’t like Hizashi to be this late. Unless… No, it was impossible to imagine that in this reality, he’d decided against teaching. Teaching kids English was as important to Hizashi as his hero and radio work.   

Nemuri tensed, and Oboro sent him a worried look that instantly had Shouta’s stomach doing uncomfortable aerobics.  

No. 

Why were they looking at him like that? Shouta had changed the future. Hizashi hadn’t died that day, and surely his life hadn’t veered too far from his original one? Nothing fatal could have happened in Shouta’s missed years, could it? 

“If that’s a joke, you need to work on your sense of humour,” Nemuri said finally, an icy edge to her voice.  

“Babe,” Oboro said, shooting Nemuri a look. “Why are you asking about Present Mic? Why would he be here?” 

Shouta frowned. Present Mic? Why was Oboro referring to him by his hero name in a situation like this? With certain exceptions (such as Thirteen, who generally preferred to be known by their hero name), hero names were only used while out on official Hero work or in front of students.  

“I—” Shouta had to think fast. Something was wrong, but digging into it would only lead to more questions. Shouta wanted to avoid bringing up his time travel experience if he could help it. Not because he didn’t think he’d be believed, but because he wasn’t sure how they would take his meddling.  

Before he could come up with an excuse, the bell rang, and the staff room sprung into action. Oboro gave Shouta one last lingering look before saying he’d see him at lunch. Shouta let out a relieved huff and, still carrying his coffee, made his way to his class, aware of Nemuri’s gaze burning into his back as he left.  

“Good morning Sensei,” his class chimed as Shouta entered the room, just a couple of minutes late. Shouta scanned them all, relieved to see that his class was the same once again. At least that was one less surprise. 

“Iida, take charge,” he grunted, taking a seat at his desk and pulling out his phone. As Iida stood to give the morning announcements, Shouta opened Google. 

Present Mic.  

His eyes narrowed as he scanned the countless articles that popped up. He found himself rooted to the chair, stunned by what he was seeing.

Fingers suddenly trembling, Shouta opened one of the top results.

Present Mic: From Heroics to Villainy.   

Arguably one of the most notorious villains of the past century, Present Mic made a name for himself twelve years ago when he attacked his High School graduation ceremony at Japan’s famous hero school, UA. Said to be one of the most promising students, to this day, it is still unclear what made the fledging hero snap and choose a much more sinister path. A path that no one can keep up with; Present Mic leads a loud trail of death and destruction, yet the heroes and authorities seem incapable of following it. Could there be more to this story than meets the eye? I certainly think so—  

A gossip article. 

Judging from the hundreds of other search results from more reputable sources, that didn’t change the fact that it was true: for some reason, Hizashi had chosen to go down the path of villainy.  

Shouta stood abruptly, his jaw clenched as he slammed his phone onto the desk.  

“…Sensei?” Midoriya was the one who had spoken, but his whole class was gaping at him, various concerned expressions splattered across their faces. 

“I need to leave,” Shouta grunted. “Emergency.” He didn’t bother to say anything further. He knew well enough that Iida would take charge, and Nezu never missed a beat. The principal would have cover for him before the hour was out. That didn’t mean he should just leave. He should speak to Oboro and Nemuri, get a sense of what had happened. Figure out how this was possible. How somebody as kind as Hizashi could cause hurt and suffering. 

Death and destruction. 

It simply wasn’t possible. It didn’t make sense.  

Shouta was leaving school grounds even before he had properly considered the alternatives. There was only one person he wanted answers from, and it wasn’t Oboro or Nemuri. 

He wasn’t sure how he was meant to find Hizashi, but he had a good idea where to start. So long as little else had changed in this reality, Shouta knew most of the seedier locations in Musutafu, including the favoured haunts of petty criminals. There were several bars in the area run by criminals for criminals if you knew where to look for them, and this certainly wouldn’t be the first time Shouta had entered one. He doubted Hizashi would be hanging out in a downtrodden bar, but even though it was still morning, there would undoubtedly be someone there who could give him a lead. Shouta wasn’t beneath breaking a few fingers to get his desired information. 

The room fell silent as Shouta stepped in, and, in a place like this, it didn’t surprise Shouta that his reputation preceded him. Ignoring the cracking knuckles and hands that moved for weapons, Shouta walked straight to the bar. 

“I need information.” 

“If you think I’m selling anyone out, you’ve got another thing coming. Get out of here, Eraserhead, while you can still walk.”

Shouta almost laughed at the threat. Even outnumbered, Shouta didn’t doubt his capabilities to take down the handful of patrons indulging in a prenoon drink or five. 

“Tell me where I can find Present Mic,” Shouta said as if the barman hadn’t spoken at all. 

The man snorted. “Nobody finds Mic. Mic finds you.” 

“Then how do I get a message to him to come and find me?” Shouta’s patience was wearing thin. He was tempted to slam the man’s face against the bar a few times just to ease up some of the tension boiling away inside of him. 

“You can’t,” the barkeep said. He was wiping a glass with a dirty dishtowel, leaving smears as dirty as the look he was sending Shouta’s way.  

“I just want to talk to him.” 

“Ha! Of course ya do.” Shouta glared at the man, debating whether it was worth his time starting a fight. The kind of people who ran establishments like these were notoriously tight-lipped. A beating probably wouldn’t do the job, and he hadn’t sunk quite low enough for torture.  

He tried a different approach. “You really think I’m stupid enough to think I can take on Present Mic? I just have a question for him and am willing to meet him somewhere that would put me at a disadvantage.” 

“An’ I already told you—”

“Ren,” another man cut in. “Let me handle this.” Shouta turned to him, eyeing him up and down. He didn’t recognise the bloke, which seemed mildly unfair considering everyone here seemed to know him.  

“Who are you?” Shouta asked, not expecting an answer. He wasn’t disappointed.  

“What do you want with Mic?” 

“I need to ask him something.”  

“What?”

“Like I’d tell you,” Shouta said, hand hovering by his capture weapon. Not a single eye in the bar had gotten bored yet, all still fixed on him. Shouta had the distinct impression he was on thin ice that was cracking under his feet with alarming speed. “Do you know how to reach him?” 

“I might. What’s the information worth?”

“You not getting arrested?” 

“Pfft. You might be skilled, Eraserhead, but even you could take all of us, and you’re cocky if you think otherwise.”  

“I’ve had worse odds.”  

“And you nearly died,” the man pointed out with a smirk. “We know all about USJ. Is that why you wanna talk to Mic? You want a rematch or something?” 

A rematch? Mic had been at USJ with the villains in this reality? Did that mean he was working with the League? Shouta hated to think Mic would ever stoop so low, but apparently, he didn’t know his friend at all in this reality.  

“I just want to speak to him,” Shouta said again through gritted teeth. The more he learned about Hizashi, the more he just wanted to start hitting first and asking questions later. Every new piece of information had his blood boiling and his heart sinking. He wondered whether this was his fault. Had he somehow caused Hizashi to choose the dark path he walked? 

The man studied him for a long minute, head tilting to the side. Finally, he seemed to decide something. “I’ll pass on your message.”

“Where should I wait?”

“If Mic wants to talk, he’ll find you. Just don’t bother setting a trap unless you wanna get your friends killed.”

“I’ll go alone if he does,” Shouta said.  

“Trust me, buddy. Mic don’t need backup. He’s a force to be reckoned with all by himself.”  

Eyes watched Shouta as he left, but—amazingly—he was in and out without a fight. He suspected that had a lot to do with all the patrons expecting Present Mic to kill him soon enough. Why bother getting their hands dirty when someone else could do it for them? Plenty of villains like to toy with people for fun, but Shouta was a pro hero with a reputation for taking down petty criminals like they were flies. He wasn’t the easy pickings they were used to.  

Shouta didn’t really know what to do with himself. He hadn’t been given a time frame for when to expect Hizashi (if the villain even passed on his message, which was unlikely). There was little point in him going on patrol—it was still before noon, and there were plenty of pro heroes about to deal with any trouble that might be happening. Shouta didn’t want to head home either, and not only because he didn’t quite remember where it was. Shouta hadn’t noticed being followed, but he knew better than to assume anything after venturing into the underworld. He didn’t want to risk leading anyone to Oboro and their home together.  

Instead, he just lurked on a rooftop, scrolling through article after article on Hizashi. 

He ignored multiple calls and texts from Oboro and Nemuri, both concerned and a little angry at him for skipping out on school without a word, telling himself it didn’t matter if they were mad because they wouldn’t remember soon enough.  

However his conversation with Hizashi went, Shouta had no intention of staying in this reality. The villain who’d sent him back had been where he was supposed to be last time, so it was logical he would be there again tomorrow. Another thirty or so hours, that was all Shouta had to get through. 

Next time he’d get it right.  

But first. First, he needed to know what had happened to Hizashi to send him down such a dark path.  

“I hear you want to talk.” 

Not many people could sneak up on Shouta, even when he was distracted. The fact that Hizashi had managed to surprise him was almost worrying; it meant that this version of Hizashi could potentially outmatch Shouta if it came to a fight. 

He hoped it wouldn’t come to a fight. Not so much for his own sake, but because he didn’t want to hurt Hizashi. 

He had a bad feeling that he’d already done that, though. 

“Yes,” he replied, schooling his face into a natural expression before turning to face Hizashi.  

But it wasn’t Hizashi he was met with, not really. Villain Mic’s outfit was as loud as his hero one, but somehow completely different. He’d still gone for the punk look, but his leather was artery-blood red with black accents. Gone was his cockatoo hair. Instead, his long locks were worn down, with a side shave that Shouta hated to admit was hot. Only his directional speaker seemed familiar, which made sense as it had been a piece of support tech Hizashi had made himself.  

“Been a while, Eraser! When was it last? USJ, I think?” The smirk Mic sent lacked any of his familiar warmth and sent shivers running down Shouta’s spine. “Gotta say, Listener, you’ve surprised me. Was sure this was gonna be a trap, but it’s not, is it?” 

“Why did you come if you thought it was a trap?” Shouta asked, trying his best not to stare.  

Mic shrugged. “Nothing better to do, ya dig?” 

Shouta scrutinised him. There was nothing of the Hizashi he knew and loved in those intensely green eyes of his. “You were hoping for a fight.”

Mic laughed. “Of course, I was, Listener. You’re one of the two people I’ve been just dying to kill now for years.”

So, whatever had turned Hizashi did have something to do with Shouta and Oboro, then. 

“What did we do, Hizashi?” 

That made him pause. An unreadable expression flickered across his face. “Nobody’s called me that in a long time,” he said. 

“What about your moms?” Had he really just left his entire life behind? 

“You really think they wanted anything to do with me after my grand debut?” Mic laughed, wild and unhinged. “But you know all this already, Eraser. Why are you really here?” 

“I need to know what we did,” Shouta said, daring a step closer. I need to know so I can fix it, he left unsaid.  

Mic laughed again, and once again, shivers crawled down Shouta’s spine. He hated it.  

“Have you really been oblivious all these years? You were really that caught up in your love bubble that you truly didn’t notice shutting me out? Pushing me further and further away?” 

That didn’t sound right. Would he and Oboro have really been so caught up in one another that they abandoned Hizashi? And even if they did, wasn’t becoming a villain a bit of an overreaction? Then again, Hizashi had always had a flair for dramatics. Maybe it had started as a way to get their attention or a call for help? One that had then spiralled out of control until Hizashi felt trapped and alone and unable to do anything but carry on? 

“If we—”

“If!” Mic interrupted, pouring enough of his quirk into his voice to make Shouta wince. “I loved you, y’know? Both of you, actually. But you made it very clear that I was just in the way of your ‘happy ever after’!”

“I’m sorry,” Shouta said. There didn’t seem any point in arguing what Mic said. Shouta didn’t remember anything from after the day he’d fought Garvey. Even if it didn’t sound right, for all Shouta knew, Mic was speaking only truths. 

“You’re sorry?!” Mic laughed again, without any humour. “Why would you be sorry, Eraserhead? You helped create Present Mic 2.0! That’s certainly something to put on your CV, right? They’re calling me one of the greatest villains Japan has ever seen! Isn’t that wonderful?”  

“And are you happy?” Shouta asked, trying to discreetly rub his ringing ears.  

“Am I—Of course I’m happy, Listener! I have it all! Fame, fortune, respect, and fear! What else could I want?” 

“This isn’t you, Hizashi,” Shouta argued, taking another step forward. 

“You don’t know me. You never did!” That wasn’t true. Shouta knew Hizashi better than anybody. Could this version really be so different to his Hizashi underneath it all? 

“Hizashi—” 

“Don’t call me that!”  

Shouta stumbled back at the sheer volume of Hizashi’s voice. He wiped his ear, his hand coming back slick with blood. His head was pounding.

“You lost the right to call me that years ago,” Mic snapped, and it seemed a little as if he were unravelling at the seams. 

Steadying himself, Shouta held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry,” he said, apologising for more than just being too familiar. He planned to redo everything and make it all right, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t say sorry first. He didn’t know what would happen to this Hizashi, after all. Shouta hoped that each new reality was the same one done over, but if there was a chance that when he left, this version of Hizashi still continued to exist, then Shouta owed it to him to apologise. He hoped beyond hope that it wasn’t the case, though. 

Mic grinned maniacally. “You made a huge error in judgement coming here alone, yo.” Before Shouta could react, Mic was flying at him. Hizashi was a long-distance fighter, using his voice as his weapon of choice. That wasn’t to say he couldn’t fight hand to hand, but when compared to Shouta, whose body was his weapon, there was no comparison.  

Present Mic—this villain Present Mic—was an unknown entity, however. He had spent the past thirteen years as a bad guy and, judging from how he charged at Shouta without fear, he was pretty confident in his combat abilities. 

Shouta ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision. He wasn’t so lucky with avoiding the fist that spun around and caught him by the ear, though. Hizashi moved fast—he really hadn’t wasted the past few years.  

“I don’t want to fight you,” Shouta said, shifting his weight to avoid another blow to the head. His ears were still ringing from Mic’s yells. He wasn’t sure his brain could survive much more of a beating.  

“Too bad because I absolutely want to fight you.” 

“Hiz—” The blow to his stomach came faster than Shouta could react, sending him reeling backwards and doubling over, gasping for breath. He hadn’t thought it possible, but Shouta was starting to believe he really was outmatched. 

“I told you not to call me that!” Spittle flew from Hizashi’s lips as he yelled. Shouta’s hands rushed to his ears, but Hizashi was so close and so loud that it made no difference. He could feel the sticky blood beneath his fingers even as his head throbbed excruciatingly, making him barely aware of his surroundings. He stumbled, tripping over his own feet and tumbling to the ground. 

Shouta’s vision swam around him, causing two Mics to be leaning over him, almost as if they were concerned for his well-being. 

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Shouta said, but he couldn’t hear his own voice above the shrill ringing. He feared he might have permanent hearing loss and wondered whether it would carry on to his next redo.  

If he even survived this encounter.

A hand grabbed his hair, and suddenly Mic was in his face. Shouta heard muffled speaking but couldn’t work out what was being said. He couldn’t try and read Mic’s lips because his vision was too blurry. 

Pain flooded his body as pressure was applied to his ankle, but it also spurred the fight in him. This wasn’t his Hizashi—he shouldn’t let Present Mic beat the shit out of him just because they shared a face. 

He didn’t want to hurt Mic, didn’t want to prove him right, but that didn’t mean he should just lay there and take the beating. Shouta had to make sure he survived so that he could try again. Next time he was going to get it right. He was going to make sure everybody lived and was happy. There would be no more death or villains, not on his watch. 

Shouta jerked his body away from Hizashi, gasping as a chunk of hair was ripped from his head. His ankle was bruised but not broken, but he still avoided putting weight on it as he crouched in a defensive pose, quirk activated and hand resting against his capture weapon.  

A wicked smirk spread across Mic’s face as he saw Shouta was finally ready to fight. 

With the practised movements of someone who had been doing it for years, Shouta sent his capture weapon flying. Mic twisted, unable to entirely avoid the quick attack. Instead, the binding that should have wrapped around his waist bound his left wrist. Not missing a beat, Shouta tugged, sending Mic stumbling forward. Before he could get his footing, Shouta’s capture weapon was winding around his torso, rooting him to the spot. 

“Kinky.” Shouta saw Mic’s lips move but didn’t hear the words.  

“We don’t need to fight,” Shouta said, his voice sounding far away like it was coming from down a well rather than his own mouth.  

“I think we’re long overdue for a fight,” Mic argued. Shouta squinted at him, managing to catch the drift of what he said. He’d never been good at lip-reading. He could, however, sign.  

“I’m going to let you go. Let’s talk.”   

Mic’s expression was unreadable as he watched Shouta’s hands fly with skilful JSL. Shouta thought he detected surprise. Hizashi had been hard of hearing the entire time Shouta had known him, but it was only after graduating, when Shouta had run away, that he had finally learned sign language. That meant this version of Mic hadn’t known it was a skill he’d acquired. Shouta hoped it would work in his favour towards getting Mic to stop trying to kill him.

Even as Shouta released his capture weapon, freeing Mic, he remained tense, ready to defend. He gripped his capture weapon as Mic’s hands rose, but he was just moving them in front of him. 

“You learn sign to be a better hero?”

“I learned for you.”  

Mic scrutinised him and, for a hopeful moment, Shouta thought maybe he was getting through. Then Mic shook his head, his expression morphing back into one of indifference. 

“You think that changes anything?” Mic caught Shouta off guard with the use of his quirk. His words still sounded muffled to Shouta’s damaged ears, but he could tell the sheer volume from the way the roof trembled under his feet. Shouta activated Erasure before Mic could bring down the building around them.  

There would be no getting through to Mic. He was too far gone, Shouta realised sadly. Years of hatred had corrupted him, and nothing Shouta could say or do would change that. All he could do now was survive long enough to confront the petty criminal the next day and restart the loop.  

If he was going to die, it couldn’t be in this timeline.  

He sent his capture weapon at Mic, but Mic dodged, his body flipping through the air in a gymnastic styled move that was more on par with Shouta than the Mic he knew. He briefly wondered whether Mic had spent years training close combat with this fight in mind. 

An elbow crunched into his nose, sending blood gushing, but Shouta was already twisting. He latched his capture weapon onto a ventilation system on the next building over and flew across the roof, turning just in time to see Mic take a running jump and easily clear the distance between rooftops. Without pause for breath, he came at Shouta, fist aiming for his gut. Shouta twisted, capturing Mic’s elbow and bending it painfully until he felt resistance. Before he could break the bone, his feet were being swept out from beneath him. Shouta’s head hit the floor with a painful thunk, and he grunted, too dazed to do anything but stare as Mic crouched over him, arm pressed against his throat. 

The metallic taste of blood was thick in his throat, and Shouta wasn’t sure if it was from his ungraceful knock to the floor or his still bleeding nose.  

He didn’t know where it had come from, but suddenly there was a blade pressed to his neck.  

“This isn’t your style,” he told Mic, but he didn’t know anything about the man who was about to kill him. Their paths had diverged years ago, and Mic’s rage-filled life had led him to become someone Shouta didn’t recognise. 

“No,” Mic agreed, and Shouta had to watch his lips carefully to try and follow his softly spoken words. “It’s yours.” 

Did Mic hate him that much? So much that he’d learned to emulate Shouta’s style of fighting just so he could kill him with it?  

Shouta felt the sharp blade biting into his flesh. It wouldn’t take much to open his jugular and messily spill his blood across the roof—a cut like that, Shouta doubted he’d survive it. 

Mic looked like he was debating doing just that when something in the sky distracted him.  

Shouta’s tunnelled vision followed Mic’s gaze, and he thought he spotted red feathers in the sky. Was that Hawks? Had he been searching for them, or had he simply gotten lucky and stumbled across them? Maybe he’d followed Mic’s yells—they were certainly loud enough to draw other heroes to the scene.  

Shouta was pretty sure Mic swore, but he didn’t hear which cuss word he went for. The knife left his neck and the pressure on his chest lifted. As Shouta lay there, still dazed, a sudden bite to his side brought him back to reality. His eyes locked on Mic, who was already backing away. 

“That won’t kill you, but it’s a small token to remember me by,” he signed. He flashed a quick grin and then took running. Shouta thought he saw the swish of red as Hawks took chase, but he struggled to focus on anything. He had taken the biggest beating he’d had since USJ, and it was entirely his own fault. Not only had he underestimated Mic, but he’d also been reluctant to fight him, even after his supposed ‘resolve’. 

Clumsy fingers moved to the sharp sting in his side, coming away slick with blood. Mic’s parting gift could have been a little less messy. He’d definitely hit something, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he could already hear footsteps rushing towards him, Shouta thought Mic might have gotten his wish after all. 

Before he could see who it was who would be saving his life, Shouta’s fading vision finally succumbed to the darkness and then there was nothing.  

Shouta woke with a groan, feeling sore all over. It took him a moment to remember what had happened, but when it came back, it came back like a bullet to the shoulder, sending him reeling. 

He’d fought Hizashi. Well, a version of Hizashi. One who had turned evil because of Shouta’s meddling. 

“You’re awake.” Oboro sounded a complicated mixture of relieved and furious, like he wasn’t sure which emotion to let win out. Shouta still wasn’t used to Oboro being alive to feel any emotions towards him, so it hit differently than any time Hizashi—his Hizashi—had been waiting for him to wake, a lecture on his tongue. 

“I am,” Shouta said, then frowned and raised a tentative hand to his ears.

“Recovery Girl was able to heal your eardrums, though your hearing will never be what it was.” Oboro had settled on being pissed, it seemed. His tone was clipped, his eyebrows drawn together. “What the hell were you thinking?” 

“I needed to see him,” Shouta grunted, trying to shift his weight, so he was sitting up. A sharp pain in his side reminded Shouta that Mic had stabbed him. It hurt more now than it had at the time, and Shouta couldn’t help wondering if his wounds would pass over when he tried again. He hoped not—if they didn’t, that probably meant that everything that had happened in this timeline was erased. There wouldn’t be a villain Present Mic out there somewhere in the universe out for his blood. 

“Why now? What’s going on, Sho? You’ve been acting strange since you woke up yesterday.”

Shouta frowned. Yesterday? “Have I been out overnight?” 

“Don’t change the subject,” Oboro scolded, but Shouta was already trying to scramble out of bed. “What are you doing?!” 

“What time is it?” Shouta gasped, a hand clamped to his bandaged side. The thin curtains of the hospital room were drawn, but it was easy enough to tell there wasn’t bright sunshine outside. Shouta couldn’t miss his ride. Stuck in this world where Hizashi had been so hurt he’d become a villain? It was unimaginable!

“Why’s that matter?” Oboro asked. “You’re going to stay here until you’re discharged, man.”

Shouta groaned in frustration, eyes searching for his phone. Apparently, Oboro didn’t share Shouta and Hizashi’s ‘only stop when you’re dead’ resolve. He wondered whether, in this universe, Oboro had made him stay off work after USJ. He wondered whether he’d listened. 

“I need to know the time, Oboro.”  

Apparently, Oboro heard the desperation in his tone. He checked his watch. “It’s five fifteen.”

Shouta breathed out a huff of relief. He still had time. Not much of it, but enough that, so long as Oboro didn’t chain him down, he should be able to make it. Unless— 

“Where are we?”

“Hosu General.” 

Oh, thank god. If Shouta could get a ride, he’d make it with time to spare. Wincing, he began the difficult task of untangling himself from the ridiculous number of wires attached to his body. Anyone would think he nearly died.  

“Shouta, stop,” Oboro said, sounding impatient enough for Shouta to determine this was routine from them.  

Shouta didn’t stop. “Where are my clothes?”

“I’m not letting you discharge yourself. If Hawks hadn’t spotted you, you’d be dead now. Present Mic nicked your spleen, Sho.”  

“I don’t plan to discharge myself. I don’t have time for the paperwork.”

Oboro threw up his hands in exasperation. “Why are you in such a rush? Don’t tell me you plan to hunt down Mic and let him finish what he started?” 

“Not Mic, no.” Shouta finally stood. His legs felt weak, and his abdomen protested the taunt movement, but he managed to remain upright, presumably from pure stubbornness. 

“Then are you after someone else to finish the job? Because I’ll tell you one thing—if you don’t sit your ass back down, I’ll happily kill you myself.” 

Shouta didn’t sit down, but he locked his eyes with Oboro. “Do you trust me?” 

“Of course I do,” Oboro said. “But I also think you’re a fucking idiot.”

“I need you to trust me now.” He ignored the idiot comment. It was probably true. This whole mess was because of him, after all.  

“What’s going on, Sho?” Oboro looked serious now, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. 

“I don’t have time to explain,” Shouta said. He wished he did; Oboro deserved to know, but Shouta had already lost too much time. Besides, soon this reality would be little more than a dream. Once he got it right, Shouta would sit down with Oboro and Hizashi and explain everything. First, he needed to get there, though. 

“Is this about Mic?” 

“Partly,” Shouta said. He didn’t want to lie, but he couldn’t risk wasting time telling the full truth in case Oboro decided he was crazy and stopped him from leaving. If Shouta didn’t find the criminal in the same spot as usual, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to track him down. With a quirk like that, it was unlikely the man had registered.  

Oboro stared at him for a long minute before sighing and opening a cupboard behind him. He emerged with a pile of Shouta’s belongings, and Shouta could have kissed him. Instead, he pulled on his clothes, trying not to wince as each movement caused his body to scream in protest.  

“I’ve ordered you a ride,” Oboro said, looking up from his phone once Shouta had finished dressing. “I’ll hang back here to sort out the mess that you up and running away will no doubt cause.” 

“I don’t deserve you,” Shouta said, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.  

“You absolutely don’t,” Oboro agreed, grinning, “but I love you anyway.” That made Shouta pause, made him want to stop and reconsider leaving. Oboro loved him. He was alive, and he loved him. 

Shouta couldn’t stay here, though, not when Hizashi was hurting. Not when he’d chosen such a dark path. 

No. Shouta was going to fix everything. 

And he knew precisely how to go about it. 

Chapter Text

Shouta woke early, as if his body knew precisely what was to come and was excited for it. On the previous occasions he had lived this day, Shouta had woken exhausted, but this time he practically bounced out of bed, phone in his hand before he was even upright. He even managed to miss the mug of coffee left on the floor and made a mental note to take it downstairs with him. 

The plan for his third attempt had been forming in his head since speaking to Present Mic. Regardless of whether it worked, it was a route he wished he’d gone down from the beginning. 

When Shouta had first found himself back in his seventeen-year-old body, he’d had only one goal in mind; the chance to redo his past mistakes and give Hizashi the happiness he deserved. Shouta had thought he would fix everything and give them the perfect life together. However, that plan had been thrown out the window when Shouta saw Oboro. They hadn’t had much time together, and they didn’t have his history with Hizashi, but Oboro would always be his first love. Shouta had gotten caught up in the idea of saving Oboro and taking the chance they’d never had.  

If Shouta ignored how their getting together had created villain Mic, he’d otherwise been right about Oboro. As far he could tell, they’d had a good thing together. They’d been happily married in their future, their relationship thriving.   

However, Shouta also knew that if he hadn’t screwed up so terribly in the first place, he and Hizashi could have had a good thing together.   

Present Mic had given him the idea. He’d been angry and hysterical, but Mic had told Shouta that he’d loved him and Oboro. If there was a chance that Oboro felt the same, then why shouldn’t they try for a future together? Didn’t they deserve it after everything they’d been through? A polyamorous relationship—certainly less common, but it wasn’t as if Shouta cared what other people thought.   

Shouta wanted it, wanted them. He was tired of having to pick between the pair. He wanted Oboro and Hizashi. He longed for a future where the three of them were happy and in love.

It might not work out, but Shouta could always try again if it didn’t. The villain with the time travel quirk had proven across multiple timelines that he would always be where he was meant to be. Shouta didn’t want to keep reliving these days, but for them, he was willing to keep trying.  

He hoped he wouldn’t have to, though.

Hopefully, this was the final time he’d have to go through all of this. Hopefully, this time, he’d get it right.  

He was ready for this to be over. 

Shouta texted Oboro, asking him to arrive at UA early. With the message sent, he dressed and left the house with plenty of time to spare. 

He had a stop to make before he arrived at UA. 

Hizashi’s face lit up like the sun when Shouta arrived at the school gates on time. Shouta didn’t think his teenage self had ever been on time to meet his friends before.  

“Aizawa! You’re here!” 

“Said I’d come, didn’t I?” Shouta grunted, feigning indifference. It was illogical, but he felt a little nervous. He already knew Hizashi and Oboro both liked him. The only uncertainty was whether Oboro also liked Hizashi, but when he was basically sunshine incarnate, Shouta didn’t see how he couldn’t. 

“I thought for sure you’d be late, man! I wanted to talk to you—” Before he could continue, the familiar yell of their names came from behind. This time, however, it was earlier than before. Hizashi frowned. 

“I invited him,” Shouta explained, seeing Hizashi’s expression. His words only made Hizashi’s face fall further. That was okay. Shouta hoped what he had to say would change that frown into the smile he loved.  

“Hey dudes, what did you wanna talk about?” Oboro asked, coming to a standstill in front of them.  

“Yeah, what is this about?” Hizashi asked, seeming equal parts annoyed and curious as he peered at Shouta from behind his glasses. 

Now was not the time to second guess himself, but Shouta couldn’t help the small amount of doubt crawling down his spine like tiny insects, making him feel uneasy and fidgety. He tried to remind himself that if this didn’t go the way he wanted, he could just redo the day, and neither of his friends would be any the wiser. That didn’t change the fact that he would know, though. Shouta wondered whether he would be able to look either of them in the eye ever again if this went south.  

Shouta cleared his throat. It suddenly felt very dry. Love confessions and romantic gestures weren’t really his thing. The fact that he had to do this on the horrendously commercialised Valentine’s Day made it even worse, but Shouta didn’t have a lot of options.  

Oboro and Hizashi were looking at him expectantly. It was now or never. 

Shouta reached into his bag. He’d stopped at the conbini on his way to school, figuring that if he was going to do this, he might as well do it ‘properly’ and join in on the commercialism. Both Hizashi and Oboro had gotten him chocolates, after all.  

Shouta’s cheeks flushed as he held out the two small boxes of chocolates, neatly tied with ribbons that made it clear they were store-bought rather than handmade. 

“Aw, dude!” Oboro was grinning ear to ear as he accepted the box. “I knew you loved me too!” He reached into his own bag and tossed the truffles, which Shouta instinctively caught with his free hand. His other still held the box of chocolates that Hizashi hadn’t accepted. Instead, he was staring at them, his face unreadable.  

“These chocolates—” Hizashi said slowly, cutting off as though he were worried about finishing his thoughts. 

“They’re honmei choco,” Shouta confirmed, figuring it was best to clear that up right now. He could already tell Oboro thought they were just chocolates between friends. Because, apparently, he had forgotten that Shouta had never made such a thoughtful gesture before in his life.  

“Wait, really?” Oboro asked, forehead wrinkling adorably as his fingers paused in untying the ribbon, chocolates momentarily forgotten.  

“Yes,” Shouta said, shifting his gaze between his two friends. He felt uncomfortable under their stares, but there was no backing out now. “I like you. Both of you.” 

“Both of us?” Hizashi repeated, his voice unusually quiet.  

“Yes,” Shouta agreed. “If you guys want to, I’d like to date you both.” 

“At the same time?” Oboro asked, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.  

Shouta nodded. “I was hoping we could be in a relationship together. The three of us. If that’s something you both wanted,” he said, his sentences a little disjointed due to his nerves, which, quite frankly, made him feel ridiculous. He was an adult (mentally, at least). He wasn’t meant to get flustered over something so stupid. He’d faced far worse in his life—terrifying villains who had almost killed him. His best friend as a villain who had almost killed him. Nemuri while she was drunk.  

This was nothing.  

“Is that a thing?” Hizashi asked sceptically.  

“It is,” Shouta said. “But also, who cares. It’s nobody’s business but our own.”  

“He’s right,” Oboro said after a beat. Shouta turned to his friend in surprise; out of the pair, he’d thought Oboro would be the hesitant one.  

“You’re in?” 

“If ‘Zashi is, then why not,” Oboro said, grinning. “You’re both hot as hell and the people I have the most fun with. Honestly, man, I’m a little embarrassed that I didn’t think of this first.”

“What about Kayama?” Hizashi asked, frowning.  

“You wanna add her into the mix, too?” Oboro laughed, winking. “I’m game; she’s gorgeous.” 

“You are the definition of bisexual disaster,” Hizashi said, but his tone was warming up, and the edges of his lips were finally quirking upwards. Shouta felt his shoulders relax. For a second there, Hizashi’s initial reaction had worried him.  

“A title I’m happy to own!” Oboro laughed and bowed playfully. “So, what do you reckon, ‘Zashi? Wanna one-up everyone this Valentine’s Day by getting not one boyfriend, but two?” He wiggled his eyebrows, and Hizashi laughed before glancing at Shouta, who was watching him with intense eyes, waiting with bated breath to hear his response. 

“This is what you really want?” Hizashi asked, green eyes still fixed intently on Shouta. 

Shouta held out the unclaimed box of chocolates in answer, adding, “Only if you want it, too.” 

Hizashi glanced at Oboro once more, who smiled and nodded, then let his own grin fully take claim of his face. He reached out and accepted the chocolates with overly eager fingers, almost dropping them in his haste. Only once Hizashi held the box against him like they were something special did Shouta allow himself to breathe.  

So far, so good.  

Gossip spread like wildfire, and it seemed the entire school knew about their unconventional relationship status before long. Nemuri found them on the rooftop during lunch and made innuendo after innuendo to show her support. Oboro still gave her the truffles he’d bought, which only encouraged her. 

“So, what are you boys doing after school?” she asked, too suggestively for Shouta’s liking.  

“We’re going to the arcade,” Oboro said through a mouthful of sushi. 

“That’s no fun,” Nemuri complained. “You should be going on a hot date.” 

“Pass,” Shouta said before anyone could get any ideas, unbothered when Nemuri started booing him. He’d rather spend the afternoon playing DDR with his two best fri—boyfriends than awkwardly trying out the typical ‘romantic’ evening, which would only succeed in reminding Shouta that he was mentally almost double the ages of his dates. 

He only had to get through tomorrow, though. Then, hopefully, he’d wake up in a new present where he was still with Oboro and Hizashi. And they were all adults.  

“Well, as long as you three cuties have fun, I suppose,” Nemuri said, biting into a truffle and staring at the trio as if they were a rom-com made solely for her entertainment. Not for the first time in his life, Shouta wondered why he was friends with her. 

Shouta was primarily unbothered by the stares and whispers that followed him around for the rest of the day. He heard one girl in his class discussing whether he had a secret second quirk that had helped him snag the two hottest guys in class but decided to let her spread whatever rubbish she wanted. It didn’t affect him, and his friends (his boyfriends) knew there was no truth to such stupid rumours anyway. 

Shouta just had to get through one more day. One more day, and he could leave the absurdity of being a teenager behind. He much preferred teaching kids over being one. 

“Did you hear the one where you’re a witch and the chocolates you gave us were made with a love potion?” Oboro asked cheerfully as the school day ended and the three of them filed out past the gates, ignoring the stares and whispers that followed them.  

“Where’d you hear that one?” Hizashi asked, frowning.

“Mariko flat out said it to my face when she gave me these.” Oboro held out a box of handmade heart chocolates and grinned. “Want one? They’re not bad.”

“You shouldn’t have accepted them, man,” Hizashi said, but he took a chocolate nonetheless.  

“Why not? If not being single means I can’t accept free sweets, then I’m not sure I—” 

“Shut up,” Shouta interrupted with a grunt, effectively silencing Oboro as he took his hand. He took Hizashi’s in his other and felt a wave of satisfaction as he watched the blond’s cheeks turn a startling shade of red. 

They walked the rest of the way to the arcade in silence, their hands never parting, even when it meant they were in other people’s way.  

With the change in their relationship, it took some adjusting to get into the swing of what was usually a normal hangout. They were all a little unsure, more aware of each other than usual. They bumbled and blushed and were generally awkward. Eventually, however, they found their rhythm. The three of them spent an enjoyable evening together, laughing and joking and flirting in such a natural way that Shouta realised it was something they had always done regardless of the timeline. He couldn’t help but wonder whether they would have ended up together without his meddling had Oboro survived the first timeline. It was a question he would never have an answer to, but one that hopefully wouldn’t matter after tomorrow was said and done. 

Before they parted ways that evening, Shouta stopped them with a severe expression.  

“Do you guys trust me?” he asked. 

“Of course,” they said together, and Shouta didn’t know what he’d ever done to make the pair so loyal to him, but he loved them for it. He had a feeling the next day would go without a hitch.  

He wasn’t wrong. 

Shouta had his easiest takedown of Garvey yet, without a single casualty or even a scratch on himself. He hoped his success was a sign of what his future held in store. 

He went to bed that evening with quiet anticipation for what the morning would bring. 

He hoped this time he’d gotten it right. 

Shouta woke, once again, in a tangle of limbs. He sleepily opened one eye, trying to gauge the situation he’d found himself in this time. 

It was a different bed, a different room, but much like last time he’d woken in his thirty-year-old body, it was Oboro that he was tangled up with. It was the wild blue fluff that looked more like cotton candy than hair that gave him away. 

Moving slowly so as not to wake him, Shouta sat up. They were alone, no Hizashi in sight. Did that mean it hadn’t worked? Maybe somewhere along his lost years, they’d decided a polyamorous relationship wasn’t for them? 

He scanned the room, searching for any answers. What he was looking for, he wasn’t sure. Some glasses or hearing aids on the bedside table, maybe? An unholy amount of hair gel? Nothing gave him any immediate answers, so Shouta stood, finding himself dressed in a loose pair of flannel pyjama pants, and made his way to the door.  

From the hallway, Shouta could hear the gentle hum of a radio. The smell of cooking made him up his pace, following the noise until he found himself in an open-plan living area, a familiar blond dancing around the kitchen. 

Happiness swelled within him.  

He’d done it.  

He’d really done it. 

Shouta almost collapsed from relief as he watched Hizashi hum to himself and poke something in the frying pan. Despite the new house, it was such a familiar sight that Shouta couldn’t help the warm smile that touched his lips as he watched.  

Hizashi was alive, and, so far as Shouta could tell, not a villain. He couldn’t be sure what their relationship was, but the three of them lived together, so that was a good sign. Shouta would happily take any positive relationship over the previous two attempts. Hell, even over the original timeline, because in that world, Oboro was dead, and Hizashi was miserable. 

“Whoa, man! How long have you been standing there?” Hizashi’s startled voice brought Shouta back into awareness.  

“Not long,” he mumbled, embarrassed at having been caught creeping. Hizashi only smiled, closing the distance between them to casually plant a kiss on Shouta’s cheek.

“Happy anniversary. I’m making pancakes!” Hizashi was chipper and utterly unaware of how his chaste kiss had short-circuited Shouta’s brain, leaving him frozen as his traitorous brain flailed, struggling to come up with an acceptable response. Fortunately, he was saved when Hizashi spoke again. “Will you wake Oboro? We’ll be late for school at this rate.”  

Shouta nodded and walked back the way he’d come, his mind whirling. He’d really done it. He’d managed to create a future where the three of them were in a happy relationship. By the sound of it, all three of them worked together at UA too. Shouta couldn’t help but wonder what else they had done—was he still an underground hero, or had they achieved their dream of starting their own agency together, complete with cat towers?

Speaking of cats… A calico was suddenly winding its way around his ankles, purring loudly. Shouta automatically crouched down to stroke its chin. “Hello there,” he said. “Aren’t you gorgeous?”

Was his life really this perfect? Hizashi, Oboro and a cat? Shouta wasn’t sure he deserved any of this, not that he was willing to give it up now that he had it. This was a life he would be ready to fight for. He hoped no ugly surprises would rear their heads. Even if it were selfish of him, Shouta wanted this life.  

He wanted this happiness.  

The cat was practically vibrating now, eagerly headbutting his hand whenever it strayed too far away.  

“I should have known it was Mochi who stole you away from me,” a soft voice teased from the doorway, and Shouta looked up to see Oboro leaning against the frame, smiling at him. 

Mochi. Cute name. Shouta scratched the cat under its chin before turning his attention back to Oboro. He was just as cute as the cat, his hair tousled and looking as soft as the clouds he could create at will.  

“Actually, it was the smell of pancakes,” Shouta said, which wasn’t quite a lie. “I was just on my way to wake you.”  

“So I see,” Oboro said, lips quirking up in amusement. “But oh man, ‘Zashi’s making pancakes? God, I love him.”

“Anniversary pancakes.” Which meant that they really had been together since their second year. 

“The best kind,” Oboro said, crouching down to scratch Mochi between the ears. “Happy anniversary, Shouta.”  

Shouta had never thought himself to be the sentimental type, but knowing that the three of them were healthy, happy and thriving warmed him. Perhaps he’d taken the short route and had missed out on all the memories they had created together, but he couldn’t deny that he was happy to be here. If he couldn’t have their history, he’d just have to work harder to secure their future.  

“Happy anniversary,” he replied, smiling back at him.  

Mochi gave them a disgruntled look as if sickened by their love that wasn’t directed at him and stalked away. Oboro watched him go with a laugh and then stood, extending a hand to pull Shouta up behind him.  

“Let’s go eat pancakes!”  

After breakfast, they headed to UA together, where Shouta was again reminded that he’d finally created the perfect outcome. Not only was Hizashi in his rightful place as English teacher, and Oboro still in his role as class 1B’s homeroom teacher, but in this reality, apparently Shouta had kicked Mineta out of class and replaced him with Shinsou. The difference changed the entire dynamic of his class for the better; Shouta couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t done it earlier.  

Shinsou had come along so far in this version of events—Shouta was proud of him. He would make a fine hero one day. Shouta couldn’t wait to watch it happen.  

When lunch rolled around, Shinsou came to find him.  

“Hey, Sensei? Can we skip today’s after school session?” 

Shouta, who hadn’t known they had an after school session together, nodded. “I’m sure we can reschedule,” he said, pretending it wasn’t all news to him. “Any particular reason why?” Was it Shouta’s imagination, or did Shinsou blush? 

“No, not really. I’m just, uh, busy.” Shinsou rubbed the back of his neck, and Shouta decided not to press. He (unfortunately) hadn’t forgotten it was Valentine’s Day, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know who Shinsou was willing to sacrifice lessons with his capture weapon for. 

“Enjoy your nothing,” Shouta said, pulling out his sleeping bag and effectively dismissing Shinsou, who, for whatever reason, didn’t leave. Shouta sighed as he noticed him still lingering. “What is it?” 

Shinsou chewed his lip, and Shouta could almost see the question on his tongue. He hoped whatever he wanted to ask was worth losing precious nap time. Unfortunately, Shinsou seemed to be having a hard time plucking up the courage.

“Spit it out, kid.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Shinsou muttered, shaking his head. His cheeks had grown even redder, and Shouta realised it had probably been advice he’d been after. Dating advice. Certainly not Shouta’s forte—it had taken him four attempts to get his relationship to where it was now, not that he could ever admit that to his student of all people. 

“I’m sure I’ll regret asking, but who is it?” Shouta asked, resigning himself to his fate.  

“What do you mean?” Shinsou all but squealed.  

“If you want advice from me, I’m assuming they’re your opposite—the sun to your moon, so to speak.” Shouta wasn’t sure what Shinsou’s preferences were, but if the object of his affections was in his class, Shouta could think of two strong contenders, and both left him feeling exasperated. “You’d be better off asking Loud Cloud—”

“No!” Shinsou blurted, his face, if possible, even redder. “No, it’s fine. It was stupid anyway.” He turned to leave, and Shouta huffed another sigh. He should just let the kid go; he didn’t want to deal with any of this. It wasn’t like he owed Shinsou anything, and he certainly wasn’t his dad. 

“Kid, stay,” he said before he could stop himself. “This isn’t really my thing, but if you need someone to talk to, then—"

“How does a polyamorous relationship work?” Shinsou blurted before Shouta could finish. 

Fuck. He hadn’t expected that. Shouta was the worst person the kid could have picked to ask. As far as anyone who knew about their relationship was aware, Shouta had been in a poly relationship for thirteen years. Unfortunately, as far as Shouta was mentally aware, he’d only been in one for a couple of days. He had literally no experience with how it all worked. While he was undoubtedly eager to figure it out, he was definitely not qualified to be advising his teenage students.  

“It’s different for everyone,” he bluffed. “It’s something you and your partners would have to figure out for yourselves.”  

Shouta wondered what he was meant to do about his lost years. Should he open up to Oboro and Hizashi, tell them the truth about what had happened and hope they still loved him afterwards? He couldn’t shake the fear that their knowledge of his meddling would change things somehow—and likely not for the better. Then again, carrying a secret like this… Perhaps that was even worse? 

Shouta snapped himself out of such thoughts as he saw Shinsou’s face fall. He resisted the urge to sigh again. “Look, kid. Maybe start small. If you haven’t already, let them know how you feel. Go from there.”

“And what if they don’t like each other?” Shinsou mumbled, his voice barely audible.  

“There are different types of polyamorous relationships,” Shouta said, glad that he at least had some useful advice he could offer. “I suggest you get online, do your research, then speak to the people involved, get a sense of what—if anything—they want and go from there. Communication is key.”  

Communication is key. It was hypocritical as fuck of him to be dishing out advice he wasn’t sure he was willing to follow himself. Christ, he would have to speak to them. He had to admit his meddling and that he had no memory of their life together. 

Tonight. He’d do it tonight. 

“Go have lunch, kid,” Shouta said, as Shinsou still lingered, looking uncertain. “We can speak again after you’ve done all that if you still need advice. Although, I will maintain that Loud Cloud or Present Mic would be a better option to talk to.”  

“Okay. Thank you, Sensei,” Shinsou said. Shouta tried not to dwell on how he sounded dejected. He wasn’t the right person for Shinsou to seek advice from, and there was no point feeling guilty about that.  

It bothered him for the rest of the day, though. He wasn’t sure whether it was because he felt he’d let down Shinsou or because he felt like he was lying to his partners or a combination of both. By the time classes ended for the day, Shouta felt ready just to spill the beans and be done with it. He sought out Hizashi and Oboro, finding them together in a hallway. 

“Sho! We were just on our way to find you,” Hizashi said, smiling so brightly it almost took Shouta’s breath away. He felt his resolve crumbling around him, afraid that he might lose all this should he tell them about the quirk and his multiple attempts to change the future.  

“Tenko texted. He wants to come for dinner, if that’s okay?” Oboro added. Shouta frowned, wracking his mind for who Tenko was and why he would be joining them for dinner. He came up blank, so he just shrugged, feigning indifference even though he didn’t want to have to deal with a stranger that evening when he’d rather just spend it with his family.  

“I know we were planning something a little more romantic, but it’ll be nice to have the family together,” Oboro continued, misreading Shouta’s expression. 

So this Tenko person was family? A cousin of Oboro, maybe? Shouta certainly didn’t recall Hizashi ever mentioning someone named Tenko before.  

“Sure. Will be nice,” Shouta agreed, somehow unable to confess the truth despite the perfect moment. He hated himself for his weakness, but that hatred was not enough to make him open his damn mouth. 

Hizashi and Oboro shared a brief look which made Shouta suspect his answer was out of character somehow, but as neither of them said anything, he hoped they put it down to him being tired and coffee deprived—both true.  

Once home, Shouta set about exploring the house for clues about his life. It didn’t take him long to discover the framed photos dotted around the place. The first he found was of the three of them sitting side by side with Nemuri draped across their laps. They looked like teenagers, perhaps shortly after graduating from UA.  

Next to it was another picture of the three of them. They were accompanied by an unfamiliar kid this time. Shouta guessed he was about seven, and though he was smiling, it looked uncertain, nervous even—like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to smile. 

Something about the child stirred uncertainty within Shouta. He stared at him, at his snow-white hair and skin that looked way too dry to be healthy and wondered who he was and why he made him feel so unsure.  

There were more pictures of the kid. Sometimes he was with all three of them, sometimes only one. Strangely, some of the photos were of the kid by himself. Even weirder than that, he aged in them, growing up in still frames and becoming more comfortable in his skin. By his early teens, he seemed to be a happy, healthy young man, his dry skin and uncertain smile a thing of the past. 

“Oh man, wasn’t he so cute?” Hizashi said, grinning as he joined Shouta by the wall. More than anything, Shouta wanted to ask who he was and why they had so many pictures of him dotted around their house, but his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. “We should get the photo albums out and embarrass him when he gets here, yo!” 

Shouta had already suspected, but Hizashi’s comment all but confirmed that this kid was the mysterious Tenko. And, judging from Hizashi’s proud dad stare and Oboro’s comment about family, Shouta had a sinking feeling that this kid he didn’t know was their son.  

They were dads.  

That didn’t seem right, though. Going by how old they’d looked in that first photo, they can’t have been more than ten years older than Tenko. If he had been seven in that first picture, then they must have been around seventeen. They would have still been UA students—maybe just a few months after Shouta had defeated Garvey. Why would three kids in a new relationship take in a child that wasn’t their own?  

“It’s hard to imagine,” Shouta said carefully. “How long’s it been now?”

“You’re gonna make me feel old, Sho,” Hizashi complained, not answering the question that he probably assumed was rhetorical. “I’m still young and hip!” 

“You keep telling yourself that,” Oboro said, entering the room and beelining over as he saw them by the photos. He leaned into Shouta and pulled Hizashi against him in what was probably an everyday affectionate gesture that wasn’t meant to send Shouta’s stomach cartwheeling like it did. “We coming up with embarrassing stories to tell Tenko when he gets here?” He seemed oddly eager at the thought.  

“How about how he came into our lives?” Shouta tried, nonchalantly. Both his partners turned to give him a look, and Shouta wished the floor would swallow him whole. Trying to get answers discreetly wasn’t working in his favour. 

“Tell me that’s a bad joke. That’s hardly a funny story, Sho,” Oboro scolded. “Poor kid was traumatised when we got him away from All For One. You really wanna dredge up those memories?” 

Shouta tensed against Oboro. All For One? 

That kid…  

The white hair… the dry skin… 

Shit. 

Shit. 

Had they adopted Shigaraki Tomura during Shouta’s lost years? 

How the fuck had that happened? Why the fuck had that happened? 

More questions flooded Shouta’s head, and he realised he’d have to escape his partners to search the internet. If they raised Shigaraki, did that mean All For One had been captured? Was the League of Villains not a thing in this world? Did that mean USJ had never happened, that his kids hadn’t been attacked multiple times and, instead, had thus far experienced a normal school life? Shouta thought back to earlier in the day. Had he noticed the dorms on campus? He hadn’t been paying attention, but, now that he thought about it, there had been lingering students outside of UA grounds when he’d made his way home with Oboro and Hizashi.  

Just how different was this version of the timeline?   

“When’s he arriving?” Shouta asked bluntly. If this kid was Shigaraki, then he had a dangerous quirk. Shouta had to find out everything he could to ensure his partners were safe, and that this wasn’t a long con. 

“Six,” Oboro said, leaning his head against Shouta’s shoulder in a way that made Shouta want to stop everything and just enjoy the time he had with them. “So we’ve got a bit of time~” Oboro waggled his eyebrows, and Shouta felt his resolve crumbling. Fortunately, Hizashi came to his rescue.  

“Can’t. I need to get started in the kitchen.”

“Aw man,” Oboro pouted and nudged into Hizashi. “You can’t spare even half an hour on our anniversary? Cold, man.” 

“Later.” Hizashi nudged Oboro right back. “You know the little Listener has a big appetite.”  

“We could order takeout,” Oboro purred, unwilling to give up so easily. “Then you wouldn’t have to slave away in the kitchen.”

“I like cooking, yo!” 

“I know what else you like~” Oboro was still a massive flirt, then. Shouta might have been here for it if he wasn’t so worried about his upcoming interaction with his ‘son’. 

“I’ve got some paperwork I need to do,” he said, and Oboro slumped dramatically. 

“Boo! You’re both so boring.”

“Be boring with us,” Hizashi said. “The place needs a hoover.” For all his grumbling, Oboro seemed happy enough to oblige. 

Shouta allowed himself a moment to watch fondly as his partners went about their domesticated lives before making his way to the bedroom with his phone so that he could see whether the internet had any insight into his current life. 

It didn’t take much digging to find what he wanted to know. While they weren’t mentioned by name, the article claimed that two UA students apprenticing under His Purple Highness had discovered and rescued a child with a dangerous quirk that a villain was grooming. Shouta couldn’t find anything on All For One’s capture, which probably meant he was still out there. It eased his mind a little when searching the League of Villains, and the attack on USJ also came up with no results. Without Shigaraki, it seemed the villains hadn’t banded together with deluded hopes of taking out All Might.

Shouta wasn’t sure how Shigaraki had come to be adopted by three eighteen-year-olds, but he assumed it was something like the situation with Eri back in his original timeline. While Shigaraki couldn’t control his quirk, keeping him around someone like Shouta, who could erase it, would have been the safest option. 

Then again, maybe that had nothing to do with it. Perhaps the kid had just latched on to his rescuers, and they’d grown fond. That was probably something Shouta wouldn’t discover without admitting the truth—something he had resolved to do but was now uncertain about. Surprise kid and all, this life was everything Shouta wanted. He was in a good relationship with the two men he loved, and the icing on the cake was that the League had never formed to help traumatise his class. Midoriya probably hadn’t even fully destroyed his arms yet. Although… this was Midoriya he was talking about…

Thoughts about his problem child quickly switched back to Shinsou, and Shouta found himself feeling guilty over their interaction earlier. He absolutely understood the desire to seek advice when it came to having a relationship out of the norm. He, himself, had no idea what he was doing or how to proceed from here. The internet could only get him so far.  

Before Shouta could dwell too far on the thought, there was a knock on the door. He startled, glancing at the time, and was surprised to see how long he’d been in the bedroom. He hesitated as he stood, not sure how to act around someone he knew as a villain but was meant to be his adored son. He didn’t let himself dawdle for too long, not wanting to overthink everything and make it worse. He managed to force a smile onto his face as he left the bedroom, but that smile faltered slightly as he locked eyes with the man greeting his partners. 

Shigaraki Tomura—or Tenko, as he was called in this reality (Shouta wasn’t sure which was correct as, as a minor, his name hadn’t been released to the press)—was hardly recognisable. It wasn’t hard, of course, seeing as Shouta had never seen him without the hands of dead people clinging to him, but it was still hard to believe this was the same man who had caused so much pain in a different reality. Shouta wanted to be angry at him for kidnapping Bakugou, almost killing Asui, and generally just traumatising his kids. Still, it was clear that Tenko wasn’t that man, and it would be wrong for Shouta to hold those crimes against him.  

That knowledge didn’t make it any easier, though.  

“Hey, dad!” Tenko called over, smiling at Shouta and waving him over. 

Shouta’s stomach clenched at the name. 

“Hi,” he replied, trying not to sound too stiff. Nobody seemed to notice, especially not Tenko, who hugged Shouta as if it were how they usually greeted one another. Shouta noticed he wore gloves. 

“I know it’s Valentine’s Day and your anniversary, so I’m probably intruding, but I have news,” Tenko said as he pulled away from Shouta and turned to face the three of them. 

“First of all, Listener, seeing you will never be an intrusion, okay? But, yo! News sounds exciting! Do tell.”  

For a moment, Tenko looked like he wanted to draw it out and keep them in suspense, but it was obvious he was far too excited to show such restraint. Instead, he blurted, “I’m joining the Wild, Wild Pussycats!”  

If the gleam in his eyes was anything to go by, it was obviously something Tenko had wanted for a long time. In a different world where Shouta had his memories, he was sure he’d be proud. Hizashi and Oboro certainly seemed to be. They slung their arms around Tenko (Shouta didn’t miss how Hizashi started sobbing) and pulled him close. He wasn’t sure whose arms grabbed him, but Shouta was yanked into the group hug, too. 

He wished he could be happy as everyone excitedly chatted over one another, but it was difficult when he had no emotional investment in Tenko. Shouta wasn’t even sure how to begin to change that. How did one go about turning someone they saw as a dangerous villain into their beloved child? 

Was it possible that creating this future was a mistake?  

No.  

No, Shouta refused to believe that.  

He would learn, and the feelings would come later. He had time. He didn’t need to rush this. Shouta had created the perfect life. Yes, okay, there were a few complications—mainly the lack of memories and the fact that he wasn’t sure he was brave enough to tell his partners the truth—but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t all be worth it in the end. After all, Oboro and Hizashi were both alive. There was nothing more important than that. 

“When are they announcing it?” Oboro asked, breaking up their group hug. 

“Tonight,” Tenko said. “That’s why I wanted to be here with you guys. Pop, are you crying ?” 

“I absolutely am!” Hizashi sobbed. “I’m just so proud of you, yo.”

Tenko rubbed his neck sheepishly, grinning a little. “Thanks, guys. I wouldn’t have gotten here if it wasn’t for you. Especially you, dad,” he said, looking at Shouta.  

“Uh, it’s no problem, kid,” Shouta said, hoping that was sufficient as he had no idea what he had done to help Tenko out. “I’m proud of you,” he added, because it wasn’t Tenko’s fault that Shouta had no clue why he should be proud, let alone care. His reaction was in character enough that nobody deemed it suspicious and Shouta internally sighed with relief. 

Hizashi noisily wiped his eyes with his sleeves before replacing his glasses and ushering them into the kitchen. “Come on, let’s eat, and you can tell us all about it. I want to hear everything!”  

Shouta didn’t talk much during their meal, mostly observing and listening silently. There was nothing strange about everyone’s interactions. They behaved like a typical family, even if they were an unconventional one: three dads and their son, who was only ten years younger than them.  

Shouta found himself trapped in conflicting thoughts. On the one hand, he wanted to belong here more than anything. He wanted to be a part of the family he’d created for himself. They were so happy, so loving. Shouta wanted that so much it hurt.  

However, even if they didn’t know it, he was an outsider. Tenko was someone he didn’t know as anything other than a villain. Shouta hadn’t watched this kid grow up and become the exceptional young man he clearly now was. It made him feel like an intruder, like he was an outsider invited to a family meal but somehow worse because at least if he were a true outsider, he could ask questions. If he asked questions here, he would have to answer questions he wasn’t sure he wanted to answer, especially not in front of the stranger who was apparently his son.  

The whole mess of a situation was giving Shouta a headache. He’d thought he had his life in order. He’d thought he was an adult who knew how to handle tricky situations and always approach things with a calm and rational mind, but since his time travel adventures had begun, Shouta was starting to feel more and more like the seventeen-year-old he began each loop as.  

“You okay, Sho?” Hizashi asked, bringing Shouta mentally back to the table, where everyone was staring at him. He’d probably been asked a question while he hadn’t been listening. 

“Sorry, I tuned out for a moment,” he said. “I lost some of my lunchtime nap because Shinsou wanted a word.” Hizashi and Oboro stared at him for a moment longer, and Shouta figured they knew him well enough to see there was something he wasn’t telling them. It made him feel uncomfortable. “Do we have wine?” Maybe a bit of alcohol would numb the crises in his mind until he could figure out what to do for the best.  

“We’re out of wine. I meant to pick some up but—”

“I’ll go get some,” Shouta said before Hizashi could even finish speaking. 

“Nah, don’t be silly. We don’t need any,” Oboro said, but Shouta was already shaking his head and getting to his feet. 

“I could do with some fresh air, anyway. I won’t be long.” 

“Well, okay then,” Oboro said, sounding hesitant, maybe even a little worried. “Don’t be long. We’re gonna read the reactions to Tenko’s news!” 

Shouta was probably acting out of character, but there was nothing he could do about it. If he wanted to stay here, he either needed to figure out a way to slot into his new life, or admit the truth. 

Either way, he had to figure it out soon. His way out was less than twenty-four hours away if he wanted it.  

Shouta didn’t, though… Did he?

This was a perfect life. Why wouldn’t he want to stay here? Sure, it hurt a little knowing he would never experience everything that had gotten him to where he was now, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t create a promising future for himself moving forwards. He could be happy with Hizashi and Oboro. He could also grow to care about Tenko. 

None of it was impossible. He just had to try harder. 

Shouta ambled, enjoying the cool air on his face that reminded him this was all real. The evening’s chill bit into his flesh, and he rubbed his hands together, turning his gaze towards the sky. It was a beautiful night. He could even see some stars despite the city lights. It made him think just how lucky he was. He’d been given a chance few people ever would. Sure, the villain had probably only used his quirk to escape, rather than being some kind of cosmic being who’d decided to help Shouta out, but that didn’t change the fact he’d been given an opportunity to fix things and make life better.  

Shouta felt like he’d managed it this time. He’d improved not only his own life but Oboro’s, Hizashi’s, class 1As and Shigaraki Tomura’s. That was pretty wonderful. 

There was only one problem left, the one Shouta was struggling to know how to deal with—his lack of memories.  

He thought about what he’d said to Shinsou earlier, about communication being key. He really shouldn’t offer advice he wasn’t willing to take himself. 

He had to tell them the truth. 

Picking up his pace, Shouta resolved that, as soon as Tenko left, he would sit Hizashi and Oboro down and explain the situation. He had to believe they would still love him after learning he had no memory of their past thirteen years together. Their relationship was strong enough to overcome such a thing, right? 

Yes. Shouta truly believed it was.  

When Shouta opened the front door, something felt wrong, though he couldn’t pinpoint what. Nothing appeared amiss—the door hadn’t been kicked in or a window broken or anything. 

It was just a feeling, but it was thick in the air. The dread seemed to be leaking from the walls, thick with a scent that coated Shouta’s mouth and made it hard to breathe.  

“Hello?” he called into the eerie silence. When he’d left, the happy chatter of his partners and Tenko had filled his ears, but now there was only quiet. Had they decided to go out? No, they would have informed Shouta if that was the case. 

Shouta hadn’t worn his capture scarf, and he regretted it now as he cautiously ventured further into the house. 

Something was wrong. Shouta didn’t know what, but the unease was eating away, leaving him feeling hollow.  

He didn’t like this. 

Shouta hadn’t been gone that long. Could something terrible have happened in the half an hour he’d been out? He thought about who he’d left Hizashi and Oboro with and cursed himself. He’d let his guard down and… and what?   

Had Shigaraki been fooling them all along? Had he been a double agent, working for All For One?

There was one thing Shouta knew for sure—if he’d hurt either Hizashi or Oboro, then he would kill him. 

It seemed to take forever to arrive in the kitchen, like time had slowed down to intentionally draw out the nightmare.  

Shouta felt his heart stop beating as he clocked the sight before him. 

The dining table was gone, leaving the room looking considerably emptier. Where it had once stood, only a pile of dust remained.  

A hole seemed to open up where Shouta stood, and suddenly he was sure he was falling, tumbling endlessly through the darkness that had, at long last, caught back up to him.  

No.

No, it couldn’t be. 

“Hizashi?” he choked out. “Oboro?” 

A pained sob from behind him had Shouta spinning so fast he almost fell. It took him a moment to spot the person, tucked up as they were in a hidden corner by the kitchen cabinets. Shouta’s anger moved him like a force of its own, and his hand was grabbing Shigaraki by the scruff of the neck and hauling him to his feet before either of them could register what was happening. 

“What did you do?” Shouta demanded through gritted teeth. His anger was an inferno, raging hot and fierce within him and Shouta was entirely certain he could kill Shigaraki before he could turn him to dust. 

“I—” Shigaraki was sobbing hard, his face screwed up and red. It was an almost convincing act, but Shouta wouldn’t let himself be fooled. He shoved Shigaraki into the wall hard enough to make him gasp out.  

“Did you kill them?” Shouta demanded, the words somehow coming out clearly despite how they shredded at his throat like they were knives he was forcing up and out.  

“I—I didn’t—I—” Shigaraki’s eyes were so wide they bulged, and Shouta didn’t know if it was from fear or horror. He didn’t care. He slammed Shigaraki into the wall again, and the kid gripped his arm but made no effort to escape. Shouta might have thought it strange if his fury wasn’t too loud for common sense to slip through the cracks.  

“ Did you kill them?!” Shouta demanded again, his grip at Shigaraki’s neck tightening.

“—Dad …” 

“Don’t call me that!” Shouta roared, spittle flying from his lips. Shigaraki winced, fat tears sliding down his face, catching at his chin. His hands dropped from Shouta’s arms as if resigning himself, and only then did it occur to Shouta that, consumed by his fury as he was, he hadn’t activated his quirk. 

Shigaraki could have defended himself. He could have turned Shouta to dust while Shouta screamed in his face. Instead, he’d just taken the abuse with tears streaming down his face.  

Shouta let him go and stumbled back. His legs gave way, and he collapsed in a heap on the kitchen floor, his anger being overwhelmed by grief. 

“What happened?” he managed to ask.

“I… I don’t know,” Shigaraki gasped, also dropping to his knees. “I… I don’t know. I—” He seemed incapable of stringing together a complete sentence. His tears seemed to be choking him. “I didn’t even take off my gloves,” he mumbled almost incoherently. “It just… It burst… it—” 

So Shouta had been wrong. He could see it in the kid’s face. He hadn’t meant to hurt anybody, but that didn’t change the fact that he had. He’d destroyed Shouta’s entire world in the half an hour he’d been gone.  

The urge to kill fizzled out of Shouta along with his energy. He just wanted to stop. He wanted to cease to exist in this world that no longer held either Hizashi or Oboro.  

How could life be so cruel? 

They sat in silence for a long time, the only sound Shigiraki’s choked sobs. Shouta himself was too numb to cry. He felt like his heart had been ripped out through his chest, but some cruel quirk kept him alive to watch as it was pulverised before his eyes. 

Eventually, Shouta spoke, his voice raw and cracked. “It’s okay. I can fix it.”  

And he could. So long as he could get through the next twenty or so hours, he could go back. He could redo this entire reality and bring them both back to life. 

“What do you—?” Shigaraki croaked, his sentence trailing off as Shouta stood up. Shouta walked across the room and locked himself in the bedroom without a word or even a glance at the kid. 

There may have been no point in seeking revenge, but that didn’t mean Shouta wanted to look at Shigaraki. It didn’t matter what had happened or why his power had burst out of him like that. All that mattered now was resetting the timeline and doing this day over.  

Shouta set an alarm on his phone, and then he just… 

Stopped.  

He didn’t sleep—he probably couldn’t—but he didn’t do anything else, either. At some point, he thought he might have heard the door. He vaguely wondered whether Shigaraki would hand himself in or go on the run, but he couldn’t bring himself to care either way. Not when he could fix everything. Not when he only needed to get through a few more hours. 

Shouta wasn’t aware of leaving the house. He had no memory of retracing his previous footsteps. He couldn’t recall chasing the villain. 

The only thing he remembered before he woke up in his seventeen-year-old body was choking out a sobbed ‘send me back’ to the villain he’d somehow caught by the throat and was squeezing the life from. 

***

Shouta tried again. Once more, he woke to a future where Oboro was still asleep while Hizashi made pancakes in the kitchen. Once again, he sought out the photos on the wall that confirmed they had adopted Shigaraki. 

Shouta tried to avoid the family meal, but when he couldn’t, he vowed not to leave Hizashi and Oboro alone with the kid. He swore he’d erase Shigaraki’s quirk when it spiralled out of control, and they’d decide where to go from there.

As it turned out, the hateful reactions from the public about Shigaraki joining the Wild, Wild Pussycats was what set him off. His quirk burst from him so violently fast that Shouta couldn’t even activate Erasure before his own arm was crumbling away to dust.  

Oboro leapt for him, shoving Shouta hard. He stumbled out of range, minus only an arm, and could do nothing but watch as Oboro crumbled to dust in his place, Hizashi following quickly. 

It was all over in less than thirty seconds. 

Shouta had failed them again.  

He’d lost them. 

He’d watched them die. Again. 

Shouta’s will to do over was dimming. No matter how hard he tried, it always seemed to end in disaster. He didn’t want to do it anymore. It was too painful. It was killing him.  

The universe was punishing him. It wanted him to suffer, and Shouta couldn’t help but wish that Shigaraki had turned him to dust, so he didn’t have to drag himself through this torture again.  

But he would— 

For Hizashi and Oboro, Shouta would endure this hell.  

Even if it broke him, he would save them. 

Chapter Text

Shouta was exhausted. When he woke in his teenage body, he contemplated not moving and spending the day in bed. Visions of Hizashi and Oboro flaking away to dust haunted his imagination, regardless of whether he kept his eyes open or closed. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to forget the look in Oboro’s eyes as he pushed Shouta aside, dying for him.  

Dying because of him. 

Shouta had told himself he could endure this hell for them, but now that he was faced with another attempt, he wasn’t so sure. He didn’t want to watch them die again or watch Hizashi be miserable, but those seemed to be the only options available. Each time he thought he’d gotten it right, something truly horrible happened.  

Maybe they would be better off if Shouta didn’t interfere at all. 

Maybe he was cursed, and if he left them well alone they would both survive and thrive without him? Perhaps all of this had been a lesson, one made especially for Shouta, and, if that was the case, was it wise to keep fighting against it? 

But what if he was wrong? What if he spent the next two days in bed and Oboro still died, and Hizashi still grew up miserable and alone?  

He couldn’t allow that.  

With Hizashi’s smile in mind, Shouta finally found the will to get out of bed. He knocked the coffee over and swore loudly, feeling like it was an omen for the day ahead. He should have known it was there and how to avoid it by now. 

No. That was illogical. Shouta held power here, not some omnipotent force. He still had options. He still had the option he’d initially thought to try.  

Choosing Hizashi and only Hizashi felt wrong when he knew how happy the three of them could be together. He’d done their three-way relationship twice, though, and after how it ended, Shouta couldn’t bring himself to try again. He couldn’t see that happen another time.  

As long as Oboro was a big part of their lives, Shouta could live with them not being romantically involved. It wasn’t his first choice, but he loved Hizashi enough that he was willing to give up the other love of his life if it meant seeing the sun smile daily. It helped that, in Shouta’s first attempt at a redo, Oboro had already proven that he could be comfortable as an adult without being involved with either of them. 

Besides, when he closed his eyes, it was Hizashi turning to dust that stuck with him. The memory twisted painfully at his insides, making him feel sick. Both of their deaths hurt. Both turned his stomach and made him want to scream and scream, but Shouta couldn’t deny that Hizashi’s hit differently. Harder. 

Not this time. Not again.  

Hizashi wouldn’t die again on Shouta’s watch. 

Shouta was running late when he finally managed to force himself out the front door; he’d missed the train he was meant to catch and would be even later if he waited for the next one. He decided he could use the exercise anyway and combined running with swinging from his capture weapon to get to UA. 

Hizashi was pacing by the gates when Shouta arrived, mumbling to himself and gesticulating wildly. Relief at seeing him alive and well slapped Shouta in the face, and he took a moment to drink him in and calm the tremble in his hands that had persisted since he woke. He swallowed back thoughts of Hizashi crumbling to dust—that had never happened. That timeline no longer existed, and Shouta would ensure it never returned. It was illogical to dwell. 

Even if he could still see it every time he closed his eyes. 

Resuming his approach, Shouta ignored the erratic hammering in his chest. It was just Hizashi—young and alive and oh so beautiful. Nothing to be nervous about. 

Nothing at— 

“Aizawa! There you are!” Hizashi smiled too brightly, his nervous eyes darting anywhere but at Shouta’s face. 

He really was alive. 

Shouta’s heart seemed to pause along with his steps. 

“…Said I’d come, didn’t I?” The words felt like they stuck to Shouta’s tongue, and he struggled to get them out. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m sorry. I just, uh, well—” Hizashi was cute as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck. Shouta’s body started to reboot, and he had to bite back a smile.  

“What’s this about, Hizashi?” Like he didn’t know already… 

Hizashi positively glowed at the use of his first name, and Shouta remembered too late that he should have called him Yamada. 

“You called me by my first name!” 

Shouta rubbed his own neck and shrugged. “Yeah, well…” 

“Here.” The box of chocolates was thrust at Shouta before he even registered that Hizashi had removed them from his bag. “I, uh… You know what day it is, and I—”

“Tuesday?” Shouta said, finding himself relaxing as Hizashi’s face flushed a deeper pink.

“Um, no. Well, yeah, of course, technically, but—Do you really not know?” 

Unable to keep up the act, Shouta spat out a laugh and rolled his eyes, nudging Hizashi with his shoulder. “It’s Valentine’s Day—believe me, I know.” He’d only lived it multiple times now… “Are these for me?”  

Hizashi nodded, chewing on his bottom lip and managing only briefly to maintain eye contact. “You don’t have to say anything yet. Just think about it, yo! Maybe on White Day, you could—” 

“I don’t need to think about it,” Shouta said, perhaps too bluntly. Hizashi finally met his eyes, his expression an adorable mix of hopeful and terrified. 

“You don’t?” he asked weakly.  

Shouta made a show of pulling at the ribbon on the box of chocolates. “I feel the same,” he said.  

“You… You do?”

“You’re really that surprised?” Had Hizashi always expected his confession to go south? Shouta felt a surge of guilt within him and distracted himself by finally opening the neat box of chocolates Hizashi had presented.  

Shouta had never opened them before. Even on the occasions he’d confessed to both his friends, Hizashi hadn’t given him the chocolates. Shouta had never thought anything of it. He wasn’t the biggest fan of sweets anyway, and he was happy to go without a box of store-bought confectionery. Except—

“Hizashi… Are these homemade?”  

Shouta hadn’t thought Hizashi could blush more, but somehow, he managed it. “I know they’re a bit messy, but they taste good!”  

Shouta started at the little cat-shaped chocolates—dark, with what appeared to be flakes of chilli in them—and smiled softly. “They’re perfect.” 

“You haven’t even tried them!”  

“They’re still perfect,” Shouta said, looking up from the box to smile at Hizashi. “Thank you.” 

“Oh geez—uh, you’re welcome, yo! I’m glad you like them!” Hizashi rambled, speaking too quickly. Shouta opened his mouth to reply, but heard a familiar yell before he could speak.

“Shouta! Hizashi! You’re both here already. Man, you should have told me you were arriving early. I’d have walked with you.” 

Shouta managed not to stare as Oboro approached them, alive and whole and perfect. 

He might not have had many options, but Shouta had made his choice. He had to accept that Oboro would never be anything more than a friend. He couldn’t stare or pine. He had to act natural. It wasn’t rational to wish for more when a decision had already been made. 

“Uh, yeah, sorry, uh…” Hizashi mumbled. 

“’Zashi, dude, you look like a tomato! What’s—?” Oboro cut off abruptly as he saw the box of chocolates in Shouta’s hands. Shouta waited with bated breath as Oboro stared between the pair, the cogs in his mind whirling as he put two and two together.  

Would he be annoyed? Jealous? 

Oboro’s smile crinkled up his entire face, it was that large. “Guys! Finally!” He slapped them both on the back and laughed joyously. “Least this explains why Sho’s here early! Congrats, guys! Uh… I assume congrats, anyway?”

“Yes,” Shouta said.

“Wait, really?” Hizashi asked quickly, and Oboro burst out laughing. 

“I’m sorry, I guess I interrupted before you could finish talking. Looks like your confession was accepted, though, man!” Oboro wrapped an arm around Hizashi’s shoulder and briefly pulled him close. “Okay, I’ll catch you two inside? I’ve got chocolates to give to Kayama-senpai! Wish me luck~”

“You need more than luck,” Shouta grunted. “Kayama will eat you alive.”  

“That’s the idea,” Oboro said with a wink before heading towards the school gates. Over his shoulder he yelled, “I got you both truffles, by the way. Don’t forget me when you get all lovey dovey!”

“Like we could ever,” Hizashi yelled back, but his blush was back with a vengeance. As Oboro vanished from sight, Hizashi returned his attention to Shouta. “He seems supportive.”  

“Yeah,” Shouta agreed, suddenly feeling nervous himself. 

Hizashi briefly met his eyes and looked down again, scuffing his shoe against the pavement. “Did you really mean it?” 

“Mean what?” Shouta asked, arching an eyebrow.  

“You said congrats were in order.”

“Ah.” Shouta had, hadn’t he? “Yes, I meant it.” The smile Hizashi gave him was shy and private—a smile meant only for Shouta—and it almost made the previous attempts worth it. Almost.  

He couldn’t help but feel like something (some one ) was missing, but as long as Oboro was alive, that was enough. Having both of them in his life had been a nice dream, but a dream nonetheless. After his journey to get here, Shouta felt content with his choice now. He’d strayed from the path, detoured a little, but finding Hizashi had always been the goal. 

Shouta loved Oboro. He would always love Oboro, but Oboro wasn’t Hizashi, and if Shouta could only have one of them, he was starting to realise it was Hizashi he wanted. He’d redone the timeline multiple times now, and each time was due to the ball of sunshine that was Yamada Hizashi. 

He wasn’t going to fail again. 

“Hey, we should probably get to class, yo,” Hizashi said, his voice too high-pitched to be natural. Shouta realised that they had just been standing, smiling at one another and ducked his head, feeling his cheeks heat up. He swore that he became more like his teenage self each time he redid this loop. Then again, he wasn’t exactly smooth as an adult, either. “Takahashi-sensei will kill us if we’re late.” 

“Mm,” Shouta grunted and took off towards the building. He paused when he realised Hizashi wasn’t following and briefly dithered before holding out his hand. Hizashi gawped, eyes widening behind his glasses, but after a moment, he giddily skipped forward. His hand was warm and soft and the perfect size. Shouta wished he never had to let it go. 

After school, Shouta met with Hizashi. They didn’t go to the arcade, because that was something they did as a trio, and Shouta still needed some time to get used to the idea that the three of them would probably never be together like they had been in his previous attempt. Ice cream was also out of the picture, since that was the date he’d done with Oboro.  

Whatever they did together, Shouta wanted it to be unique to them. 

It was Valentine’s Day, so, far as Shouta was concerned, that left few options. There was no way he was setting foot in even the cheapest restaurant. It wasn’t that he gave a single shit about people knowing he and Hizashi were on a date, but he wasn’t willing to deal with the rest of it. People became a new type of monster on Valentine’s Day, and Shouta hated it. People in general, were bad enough at the best of times, but Valentine’s Day, White Day and Christmas Eve, when, for whatever reason, the whole of Japan decided romance was in the air, were unbearable.  

For Hizashi, Shouta would tolerate a date, but he’d be damned if he— 

“Let’s go to the new cat café in town!” Hizashi suggested enthusiastically. 

Oh shit. 

“Okay,” he grunted. Dammit, even teenage Hizashi knew his weakness.  

As expected, the café was so crowded with young couples that Shouta nearly insisted they leave, but then a Ragdoll cat with beautiful blue eyes wove around his ankles, and Shouta was instantly enamoured. He allowed the waitress to usher them to the last free table without complaint and ordered a Cattuccino with no hint of contempt. 

“It’s nice here.” Hizashi’s voice was stiff, and Shouta realised that he was nervous with a jolt of surprise. He’d thought after the initial shock of his acceptance had worn off, Hizashi would have returned to his usual, cool self. Maybe he wasn’t as unflappable as Shouta had thought? He couldn’t dwell on the thought. The Ragdoll was back and demanding Shouta’s full attention, her front paws resting on his knees as she mewed loudly in his face.

“She really likes you, yo!” 

“Mm,” Shouta agreed, too busy scratching under her chin to do any more than just glance at Hizashi. Maybe a café wasn’t the best place for a first date after all? Fortunately, Hizashi seemed unfazed by Shouta’s distraction. In fact, he smiled so fondly that Shouta ducked his chin into the red scarf still woven around his neck, hiding the way he bit his bottom lip nervously.   

“Oh my.” The waitress was back. She placed their drinks in front of them and stared in surprise at the cat now purring in Shouta’s lap. “That’s Bluebell. She never likes anyone.”

“She has that in common with you then!” Hizashi teased, gently kicking Shouta under the table. 

“They must be kindred souls,” the waitress said, smiling. She wore cat ears on her head and a cute cat-themed brown apron. Shouta wasn’t much of a cook, but he wanted one like that if he ever had need of an apron. “Enjoy your visit and let me know if you need anything.”

“I don’t hate everyone,” Shouta grunted once they were alone again. His gaze flickered from Bluebell in time to see Hizashi’s cheeks flush. He looked adorable, and Shouta dropped his gaze again quickly.  

Eventually, other cats joined them (much to Bluebell’s disdain and Shouta’s delight), and the boys spent the next twenty minutes fussing over them as they sipped at their quickly cooling drinks. Hizashi made small talk, rambling about people in their class that Shouta could barely remember, and Shouta just nodded and grunted at the appropriate times. It might look like an awkward date that would never go any further to an outsider, but Shouta was enjoying himself, and he hoped Hizashi was too.  

“Hey, you should adopt Bluebell!” Hizashi said after the other cats had grown bored and wandered off. Bluebell had stayed faithfully in Shouta’s lap, even letting Hizashi fuss over her in moderation. 

“Can’t.” 

“Why not?” Hizashi raised an eyebrow, dejected like Shouta had just shot down the best plan in the world. 

“Cats are a big responsibility. We have school.”  

“So?” 

“After school, we’ll be pros. Too busy.”

Hizashi pouted. “Cats are low maintenance, man!” 

“Can’t just take a cat home,” Shouta said, shaking his head. He wished he wasn’t arguing this case—he loved the idea of keeping Bluebell. However, he had to think practically, and, right now, he was in his teenage body. “Mom wouldn’t approve.”  

“Aw, man,” Hizashi huffed, teasing Bluebell between the ears. “Looks like you’re out of luck, yo. Guess I don’t have to share him after all.” 

Shouta felt the heat in his cheeks at that declaration and twisted his head away, unable to make eye contact. He couldn’t help but think back to his last try. Had Hizashi been happy in their three-way relationship? He’d seemed so, but what if he’d only ever agreed to make Shouta happy? He would likely never know the real answer, but he was sure the question would take up permanent residence in his mind now that he’d considered it. 

Was it possible that he was destined to make Hizashi unhappy no matter what he did?  

No. Shouta was overthinking things. Hizashi had been happy in the previous attempt, and his offhand comment about not sharing Shouta was about a cat and nothing more.  

“You okay, dude?” Hizashi asked, reading the conflict written across Shouta’s face.  

“Fine,” Shouta lied.  

He would be fine just as soon as this was all over. Shouta just needed to create the optimal future, and then he could leave the mess in the past—the time travel, the deaths and unhappy existences… All of that could become ancient history just as soon as Shouta secured a future where Hizashi was happy.  

“You sure?” Hizashi asked sceptically, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline.  

“I’m sure.” Shouta locked eyes with Hizashi, and the concern in those bright emerald orbs set his mind at ease. This was the time. This time, Shouta would create a future where Hizashi got to live. Not only live, but be happy. 

Bluebell meowed at him urgently as they got up to leave and, for a moment, Shouta really was tempted to enquire about adopting her. But that wasn’t practical, so instead, he simply promised to visit again soon and hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be a lie. After tomorrow, he’d have no control over his actions for the next thirteen years. The cat café was still there in his time, but he couldn’t recall ever seeing Bluebell when he’d visited. As much as the thought made his heart pang, it was a good thing; Bluebell deserved better than to be stuck in the café for the next decade.  

“Thanks for agreeing to come here with me,” Hizashi said once they were outside in the fresh air. Once again, his face was flushed, but it was due to the chill this time. Shouta unwound his scarf and slipped it around Hizashi’s neck.  

“Welcome,” he mumbled. “I’ll walk you home.”

Shouta gave his odd request to stay out of danger the following day as they walked. Unlike the previous occasions where Hizashi had been obliging, this time, he frowned.  

“You know something,” he accused suspiciously. Shouta wondered why Hizashi was being difficult this time. If it was just because of their relationship status, why hadn’t Hizashi argued the last two times? Was it because Oboro had been with them, too? Once again, Shouta couldn’t help but wonder whether, at least in the beginning, Hizashi had been less happy about the three-way relationship than he’d let on.  

“Yes,” he said, not bothering to try and deny it. “I can’t explain. I just need you to trust me.” 

“You know I trust you, Aizawa,” Hizashi said. Habits were hard to break, and Hizashi had spent the day jumping between calling Shouta by his first and last name. “But I don’t like the thought of you being in danger and me just doing nothing, yo!” 

“Please,” Shouta implored, halting mid-step and grabbing Hizashi’s hands. He needed the other boy to see just how important this was. Shouta wasn’t sure he could go through all this again. Watching Hizashi and Oboro turn to dust had definitely broken something inside him. Shouta had successfully erased that future, but it didn’t mean it wouldn’t haunt him. He couldn’t let them die again—either of them.  

“Shouta?”  

“Please, Hizashi,” he said, squeezing Hizashi’s fingers. “Please just trust that I have a good reason for asking this of you.”

Hizashi studied him for a long minute, a range of emotions playing across his face. Finally, he nodded. “I trust you,” he said. The relief that flooded Shouta was so strong that he didn’t even second-guess himself before wrapping his arms around Hizashi in a tight hug. Stunned, it took Hizashi several stiff seconds before he relaxed, slumping into Shouta’s hold despite being taller of the pair. His own arms wound their way around him, and the pair stood there, holding each other, for longer than was appropriate on a public street.  

Shouta’s insomnia usually kept him up, but that night, he slept, and nightmares plagued his dreams. He found himself back at that table with Hizashi, Oboro and Shigaraki, except Shigaraki was a child, maybe five or six, with skin that was dry and flaky. He scratched at it ferociously while Hizashi and Oboro smiled fondly at him. Their smiles never faltered as, in turn, Shigaraki locked eyes with them, and they crumbled away to dust. Shouta tried to reach out, tried to save them, but he was strapped to his chair, and his quirk refused to work no matter how much he strained his achy eyes. He could do nothing but watch as they died. 

The dream repeated once they were dead, and Shouta had to watch them die again. 

And again.

And again. 

When Shouta finally woke, he was more tired than if he’d spent the night awake. He fuelled himself with multiple cups of strong coffee and hurried to his work studies, mentally preparing himself for what he hoped would be his final fight against Garvey.  

Shouta’s caffeine kick had long ended by the time the fight came around. His younger body didn’t handle sleep deprivation quite as well as his adult one, and while he was still successful in taking down the villain, Shouta took a beating like he hadn’t in any previous attempt.  

Blood ran down his forehead from a nasty head wound as he finally collapsed on the ground, huffing an exhausted breath of relief as he stared at the grey sky and allowed the rain to cool his burning face.  

Eventually, he heard his name called and footsteps splashing through puddles to reach him. His vision blurred, but he spotted Oboro leaning over him, checking his wounds and asking if he was okay. A sense of panic filled him—where was Hizashi? He hadn’t turned up early and died after all, had he? 

Before the panic could overwhelm him, someone was grasping his hand, and suddenly there he was, those beautiful emerald eyes of his wide with concern as he, too, started asking if Shouta was okay.  

Shouta planned to answer, to assure them he’d dealt with plenty worse in his life, but the darkness that had been creeping into his vision finally claimed him, and everything went black. 

Shouta knew he’d taken a beating because the next time he opened his eyes, he quickly realised he was in his adult body. He’d been unconscious for the last thirteen hours of his teenage run.  

The bed Shouta woke in was unfamiliar, and he was alone for the first time in several attempts. Trying to ignore his throbbing head, Shouta sat up and stared blearily around the room, searching for any hint of Hizashi. 

There was every possibility that their relationship hadn’t survived the next thirteen years despite their date. There was also the possibility that they lived separately but were in a relationship. Shouta hated this part. He hated not knowing what he was getting himself into, and he hated the overhanging threat that he’d failed again—that maybe nothing he could do would ever work.  

Maybe the only way Hizashi would ever be happy was if Shouta left him completely alone?  

Then again, he’d tried that once, and he’d broken Hizashi’s heart. 

Shouta refused to accept that someone as kind as Hizashi was only destined for unhappiness. There had to be a way—

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Shouta opened his mouth, but the handle twisted before he managed to boot up his brain enough to remember how to form words. 

At this point, Shouta thought he was prepared for anything, so he wasn’t sure why he was surprised when it was Eri who beamed at him from the doorway. 

“I came to wake you,” she chirped. Did he live in the UA dorms in this reality? Maybe he’d thrown himself into the role of Eri’s caregiver? “Papa made pancakes for breakfast!” 

Shouta frowned. Papa? His heart raced with hope as it occurred to him that, in this reality, he had adopted Eri, and Papa was— 

Shouta felt under the covers to ensure he was decent before springing out of bed. “Lead the way,” he told Eri, accepting her hand as he joined her in the doorway. Eri beamed at the responsibility and guided Shouta towards the smell of cooking, chatting all the way.  

“We need to hurry,” she told him as they walked. “Toshi said he’d eat all our pancakes if we didn’t!”  

Toshi? Who was Toshi? Surely Eri couldn’t mean All Might, could she? For a panicked moment, Shouta worried he was about to enter the kitchen to discover he was in a relationship with Yagi, but then he recalled how Eri had called the person making pancakes ‘Papa’. It was unlikely that Toshi and Papa were the same person, so even if it had been All Might who made the threat, hopefully… 

Shouta noticed two things when they entered the room. The first was that Shinsou was slumped at the table, fingers curled around a mug of coffee as though he was absorbing its caffeine through his fingertips. 

Ah. Toshi. The name implied familiarity, which suggested that Eri and Shinsou—Hitoshi—were siblings in this reality. Shouta had known Shinsou was in care. It looked like, in this reality, he’d decided to do something about that.  

The second thing he noticed was—

“Papa!” Eri let go of Shouta’s hand and hurried over to Hizashi, who crouched down to give her a bear hug. “I woke daddy!” 

“Well done, sweetie! Now, how about you sit at the table, and I’ll bring you some pancakes?” 

It had worked. Shouta had to lean against the wall to steady himself. He was with Hizashi, and they even had kids!  

The only person missing was Oboro…

It was strange how right it felt to be a parent to both Eri and Hitoshi when it had seemed so odd learning he had a son in the previous attempt. Maybe it was because he’d only known Tenko as Shigaraki—a villain. While the League never existing had undoubtedly been a preferable outcome, Shouta had to admit that he’d been unlikely to ever truly come to care about the kid, not when he had such horrible memories tainting any future together they might have had. Eri and Hitoshi, on the other hand—

“Morning,” Shouta murmured to Hizashi, moving over to the kitchen counter where a fresh pot of coffee sat.  

“…Morning.” Was it just Shouta’s imagination, or did he sound stiff? When he met Hizashi’s eyes, he was smiling like nothing was amiss. Shouta stared at him even as Hizashi turned away, carrying pancakes over to the table where Eri cheered and Hitoshi sat a little straighter, looking like food might successfully rouse him back into the world of the living. Shouta continued to watch as Hizashi sat down, not blinking even as his dry eyes complained, begging for moisture.  

He didn’t know what it was, but something was wrong. 

Shouta wouldn’t worry yet. Maybe it was as simple as they’d had a disagreement the night before, or Shouta had kicked Hizashi one too many times during the night. Perhaps he’d had a phone call before Shouta had woken asking him to cover somebody else’s patrol and, despite not wanting to, Hizashi had been too nice to say no? There were many small explanations for his slightly too large smile that didn’t meet his eyes.  

Despite all those rational reasons, Shouta couldn’t help the gnawing worry that buried deep into his spine. 

No. He wouldn’t let paranoia ruin this for him. It was illogical.  

Shouta watched Hizashi all through breakfast. He hid it behind smiles and carefree chatting with the kids, but there was definitely something up. Shouta would try and find a quiet moment to talk to him, but until then, he’d do his best to communicate his support silently through gestures and actions, the first of which was to shoo Hizashi away and clear the table after breakfast. 

As he was finishing up in the kitchen, something bumped against his leg. Shouta looked down and momentarily froze. She was old now, but there was no doubt in Shouta’s mind that the cat purring as she wound around his ankles was the same one he’d been enamoured with in the cat café just two days ago. 

Bluebell. 

Shouta glanced over to where Hizashi was helping Eri into her coat. He wondered how the cat had become a part of their family and suspected Hizashi may have been responsible. It seemed like a very Hizashi thing to do.  

It just made Shouta hope this time was the final time all the more.   

Hizashi drove the four of them to UA. They lived close enough to walk, but they were running late, and Eri couldn’t keep pace with their quick steps if they went on foot. 

“I’ll see you in class,” Hitoshi said as soon as they pulled into the car park. 

“Wait!” Eri called, desperately fumbling with her seatbelt to try and join her brother. “I wanna come too! I wanna see Deku!”  

“No, Eri,” Hitoshi said, though he leaned over to help her with her seatbelt. 

“You have to spend the morning with Nezu today, remember, Eri-chan?” Hizashi said, turning in his seat to face her. 

“But—”

“Midoriya has class,” Shouta said. “So does Hitoshi.” It seemed that Hitoshi might be in class 1A again from how the conversation was playing out. Shouta hoped that meant he’d replaced Mineta again, then felt a wave of guilt at the thought. He was a teacher; he wasn’t meant to wish away his talented students, even if they were repulsive. 

Eri pouted. “But—” Hitoshi gave her a look that Shouta didn’t fail to miss, and Eri’s protest died on her tongue. Well, they were hiding a secret for sure. Shouta wondered whether that was the ‘curse’ of this attempt—everyone keeping secrets from each other. If that was the case, did he have any secrets?  

“Come on, Listeners! Time to get going,” Hizashi encouraged loudly, breaking Shouta from his thoughts. If he did have any secrets, that could be troubling, but Shouta would deal with them when and if they came to light. Right now, Hizashi and his secrets were more important. Shouta had to make sure he was happy. 

“Hizashi,” he said as soon as Hitoshi had left. Hizashi turned to give him a sharp look and shook his head. Shouta’s stomach plummeted. It looked like he had woken up amid an argument he didn’t remember having after all.  

“Not now,” Hizashi said, holding out his hand for Eri. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get you to Nezu.” Shouta watched them walk away with a confused frown, only tugging the corners into a brief smile as Eri turned to wave at him.  

Something was definitely up with their relationship. If Hizashi wouldn’t speak to him, Shouta would have to seek out somebody else who might.  

Both Nemuri and Oboro were in the staff room, thankfully. Shouta beelined towards them, not caring that they seemed busy flirting, although it did make his stomach flip with jealousy he had no right to feel. He’d made his choice.  

His friends greeted him as if he hadn’t interrupted them, and Shouta hesitated, unsure how to find out what he needed to know. Flat-out asking what was up with Hizashi would likely lead to questions he didn’t want to answer, especially in front of Nemuri.  

“No ‘Zashi?” Nemuri asked, and maybe this would be easier than he’d thought… 

“No. Taking Eri to Nezu.” 

A frown flickered across Oboro’s face, but Shouta was instantly distracted by his other friend.  

“I still don’t know who thought that was a good idea,” Nemuri said, and Shouta had to agree that the principal wouldn’t have been his first choice for a babysitter, either. Still, the only danger Eri would be in with Nezu was not being able to keep up with his brilliant mind.

Not wanting to get off track, Shouta tried to bring the conversation back around to Hizashi, but the bell rang before he could finish asking his question.  

“See you boys at lunch~” Nemuri said, rushing off. 

Shouta walked with Oboro as they headed to their homerooms. “How’s ‘Zashi getting on?” Oboro asked quietly, and Shouta felt his heart flip—it looked like he would finally get some answers. 

“About that—” Before Shouta could say anything else, Kirishima and Tetsutetsu were rushing past, almost colliding with them in their haste to get to class on time.  

“Sorry, Sensei!” they yelled simultaneously over their shoulders, not stopping even as they fist-bumped before entering their separate classrooms.  

Shouta sighed.

“I swear those two are twins,” Oboro said with a light laugh, and the softness in his eyes made Shouta feel weak. “Let’s talk later, okay?” Shouta didn’t have time to reply before Oboro was rushing ahead, following Tetsutetsu into class 1B and leaving Shouta staring after him. Finally, when he realised he would be late if he stared at the empty corridor any longer, Shouta turned to enter his classroom, pausing as he swore he noticed movement from the corner of his eye. When he turned to stare, there was nobody there, but Shouta was certain he’d seen the flash of blond hair and black leather…

In his classroom, Shouta confirmed that Hitoshi had indeed retaken Mineta’s place in this reality. He was leaning across his desk talking to Midoriya, but quickly sat back into his seat as he noticed Shouta’s scowl.   

“Shut up,” he told the class, effectively silencing the excited chattering from his students, who apparently thought Valentine’s Day gave them a free pass. Shouta was fed up with repeating this day. It was his sixth time doing this same homeroom, and Shouta was tired of it. He’d hoped this would be the last time, but he couldn’t stop the nagging worry that something was up with Hizashi, and if it wasn’t something he could fix, he’d have to start over and— 

And do what? From attempting the polyamorous version twice, Shouta knew that he had to make significant changes to get a different outcome, but he was running out of options. 

“Sensei?” Shouta snapped back to reality as Yaoyorozu caught his attention. “Is everything okay?” she asked hesitantly, likely unsure whether it was an appropriate question to ask her teacher. 

“Everything’s fine,” Shouta replied, not failing to notice how Hitoshi watched him with a frown. If anyone saw his lie, of course it would be his new son. Shouta couldn’t help but wonder whether Hitoshi knew what was going on with Hizashi… It would be wrong to drag a child into their mess, though. Hitoshi might be mature, but that didn’t mean Shouta could drag him into any relationship problems they might be having.  

Shouta’s thoughts were wandering again. There was no point in him trying to deal with his class when he was this unfocused. Instead, he pulled out his sleeping bag. “Iida, you deal with the morning announcements,” Shouta said, all too aware that he’d used Iida as a cop-out multiple times over his retries. 

Once he was buried into his sleeping bag and tucked under his desk, Shouta soothed his eyes with drops before closing them. He had limited time to figure out what was going on with Hizashi. He could always apprehend the villain without letting him use his quirk, but once he was in police custody, Shouta doubted he would get away with using the guy in the way he had so far. Shouta also might be able to track the guy down elsewhere if needed, but he didn’t know the limits to the quirk. What if he was reliving the 14th and 15th in the past because they were the dates he was currently living in the present? If that was the case, then tracking down the villain at a later date should this version not work out would mean he’d be too late to save Oboro. Unless he’d be sent back in this timeline, in which case he’d have already saved Oboro… 

It was too messy. Shouta was giving himself a headache just trying to riddle it out. He should demand the villain explain his quirk so that he could sit down and figure out a logical solution. Somehow, he doubted the villain would be willing to talk, and while Shouta could force him, he couldn’t risk being lied to, or the guy having enough control over his quirk to screw Shouta over. Either of those outcomes could end disastrously. If it was just himself he was risking, then sure, okay. But Shouta wasn’t willing to bet on Hizashi and Oboro’s lives. 

When Hizashi took over for English, Shouta didn’t leave straight away. Instead, he stood to the side and observed. In his own timeline, this wasn’t all that usual, but here, he noticed how Hizashi tensed and shot him an unimpressed look, like he felt that Shouta was staying to supervise him.  

Why would Hizashi ever even think that Shouta felt the need to supervise him, though? 

Feeling too intrusive, Shouta only persisted for five minutes before slipping out of the classroom to let Hizashi get on with teaching. There had definitely been something off with the five minutes he had observed, but Shouta couldn’t rule out that it was simply because Hizashi was pissed off with him watching. 

Heading to the staffroom, Shouta was pleased to find Oboro alone inside, allowing the perfect opportunity to continue their earlier conversation. 

“Hey dude,” Oboro greeted as Shouta took a seat next to him. He didn’t look up from the paper he was frowning at. Shouta recognised it as the same essay that Oboro had been scowling over on a previous attempt at the timeline. “Man, Monoma puts way too much of his personality in his work…” he grumbled, before noticing Shouta’s expression. “Hey, what’s up?” 

“What do you know about what’s going on with Hizashi?” he asked carefully after glancing over his shoulder to ensure they were still alone. 

“Only what you’ve told me. Why, has he gotten worse?” Shouta frowned as he tried to figure out what to say. Apparently, Oboro knew him well, though, for he asked, “What’s going on, Sho? I thought it earlier when you casually mentioned how Eri was with ‘Zashi, but I wasn’t sure. Now, though… There’s something up with you, isn’t there?”

Instead of answering the immediate question, Shouta couldn’t help but ask one of his own. “What was weird about Eri being with Hizashi?” 

“See!” Oboro clapped his hands together. “It’s like you’ve forgotten everything!” Damn, he was right on the mark—except Shouta hadn’t forgotten. He had never known in the first place. 

Oboro scrutinized him thoroughly, a deep frown across his face. “You are really Shouta, aren’t you?” 

It seemed like a bit of a stupid question—he would hardly admit it if he were an imposter. Still, there was a quick and easy way for Shouta to prove who he really was.  

“Try creating a cloud.” 

Oboro instantly moved to do so, and Shouta cancelled his quirk with Erasure. 

“Okay,” Oboro said, satisfied. Shouta dropped his quirk, his hair flopping back down around his shoulders. “You’re you, but why can’t you remember anything?” 

“…I was hit by a quirk,” Shouta admitted, unsure how much to reveal. “Tell me about Hizashi.” 

“I dunno, man. You might be you, but what proof do I have that you’re not under someone else’s influence.” 

If Shouta weren’t so irritated, he’d be proud. They only had until Hizashi’s class finished to have this conversation, though, and Shouta didn’t have time for Oboro’s scepticism, even if it was what made him a good hero. 

“I don’t remember because the quirk is a time travel one, and my last memory was the day I defeated Garvey.” 

“Garvey?” Oboro frowned as if searching his memories for why the name was familiar. After a moment, the clouds in his eyes cleared. “Your first solo takedown? Sho, that was years ago!”

“Thirteen,” Shouta agreed, nodding. 

“So, what are you saying? That you’re actually a seventeen-year-old you in your adult body?”

“No. It’s complicated. Tell me about Hizashi.” 

“Why?” Oboro wasn’t going to make this easy. It was sensible and frustrating in equal parts. If Shouta was an imposter, Oboro could be saving Hizashi by refusing to be loose-lipped. Unfortunately for Shouta, he wasn’t an imposter, or being manipulated, but he wasn’t sure how to prove it. 

He was just going to have to bite the bullet and explain. In a way, it would probably be a relief to finally unburden himself. It was a heavy weight to carry alone, and while telling Oboro he had previously been dead might not be the best course of action, Shouta believed Oboro was strong enough to hear it. He was alive now, and that was what counted. 

“Because I love him,” Shouta said, answering Oboro’s question. “And because he always ends up miserable no matter what I do. I need to know if he’s miserable this time so that I can try again. I’ll keep trying, even if it kills me.” 

Oboro studied his face, but he was sorely disappointed if he was searching for anything but sincerity. “I think you need to start from the beginning, dude.” 

Shouta nodded and then began talking. He kept it brief—they were working on a time limit, after all. To his credit, despite how unbelievable it sounded, Oboro didn’t interrupt once. When Shouta finished, he was sure he’d done the most talking he’d ever done in quick succession. It was exhausting; he wished he could nap.  

“…Wow,” Oboro said after a long pause.  

“You believe me?” 

“You’re not really the sort to make shit up.” That was true. Making stories up was illogical, and Shouta was a man of few words. “It’s a lot, though, dude. Gimme a sec to process, okay?”

Shouta stayed silent, studying Oboro’s face as he digested everything said. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, with his face as carefully masked as it was. It was like Oboro knew Shouta was watching him for a reaction and was purposely avoiding giving anything away. Shouta didn’t know what that meant; was he hiding his emotions because he actually did think Shouta was crazy or was he worried revealing what he was feeling would tip Shouta over the edge?  

After a couple of minutes, Oboro cleared his throat. “Okay, so I know neither of us is ‘Zashi level smart, but if even I figured it out, you must have,” Oboro said. Shouta frowned at how… resigned Oboro sounded. It didn’t bode well.  

“What?” he asked.  

“You’ve watched all the same old time travel movies I have, man. This screams classic ‘bad shits gonna happen until you right the wrong’.” 

Shouta didn’t like where he was going with this. “What are you saying?” 

“Every time you save me, something bad happens to Hizashi. He can’t be happy while I’m alive.”

Shouta opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again, too dumbfounded to string a sentence together. Was Oboro really suggesting that he had to let him die? How could he say such a thing so calmly? Did he seriously just expect Shouta to nod along and tell him he was right?  

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Shouta managed finally. “Do you actually think I would agree to let you die?” 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Oboro said quietly, and for the first time, Shouta could hear the sadness in his tone. “It’s not like I want to die or anything. But for you and Hizashi, I would willingly give up my life.”

“No.” Shouta didn’t even know why they were having this discussion. It would never happen. There was absolutely no way in hell that Shouta would stand back and watch Oboro die when he had the option to prevent it. 

“Sho—” 

“No.” 

There were other ways. There had to be different ways. Hizashi had been miserable in the original timeline, and Oboro had been dead there, so Oboro couldn’t be to blame.  

Except, a little voice whispered in Shouta’s ear, Hizashi was miserable because you pushed him away after Oboro died.

That wasn’t Oboro’s fault. That was Shouta’s. 

In that case, maybe the only way for Hizashi and Oboro to both live happily was if Shouta died?

“I know what you’re thinking. Stop it!” Oboro snapped, suddenly looking furious. Shouta wished he’d expressed this fury when his own life was at stake. “It’s written across your face. Neither of us would be better off without you, Sho.” Shouta wasn’t too sure about that. “Look at it this way—If you die and it doesn’t change things for the better then it’s all over. ‘Zashi and I… we’ll just stay miserable because neither of us will know about this quirk that could change our lives for the better. Do you really wanna risk that?”

Oof, Oboro had him there. 

“I can’t let you die, Oboro.” 

“But what if I’m right? What if my death is meant to be set in stone, and it’s the only way for ‘Zashi to be happy?”  

“No,” Shouta said firmly. He wouldn’t accept that. If Oboro’s death had been set in stone, why had he been able to save him at all? That just seemed too cruel. 

Unable to face the conversation any longer, Shouta stood and walked away. He could feel Oboro’s eyes burning into his back as he left, and he knew it was wrong to drop such a bombshell and then abandon Oboro, but Shouta couldn’t risk listening to him argue his point until it started to make sense. 

There was no way that was the only option. Shouta had broken the first time Oboro had died. He wasn’t sure he could go through that again. He didn’t want to return to that desaturated world where he was alone and lost.

That wouldn’t happen this time… the little voice inside him argued. You won’t push Hizashi away again.   

No. 

It didn’t matter whether he would cope better this time. It was a human life he was talking about. It was Oboro’s life! Even if he hadn’t loved him, Shouta wouldn’t be so selfish as to sacrifice Oboro for Hizashi’s happiness. There were other ways. He just had to talk to Hizashi, maybe get him help if that’s what he needed.   

“Every time you save me, something bad happens to Hizashi. He can’t be happy while I’m alive.”  

Oboro’s words echoed in his head. What if he was right? What if nothing could help Hizashi except for— 

No.

Shouta wouldn’t even humour the idea. He couldn’t. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. 

It wouldn’t leave him, though. He spent the next two hours torturing himself, wondering whether, in playing God, he was accidentally screwing over Hizashi. Maybe this was all his fault, after all? Perhaps the minute he’d saved Oboro, he’d cursed Hizashi to a life of misery. If that was the case, though, why was it only affecting Hizashi? Nemuri seemed happy enough. As far as Shouta could tell, none of his colleagues or students were suddenly facing crises they never had before. Except for Mineta being expelled, of course, but Shouta couldn’t bring himself to count that. 

Why did Oboro living have any impact whatsoever on Hizashi?

Was it about Shouta? Was it him who was meant to be miserable, and Hizashi was just collateral damage? If that was the case, then surely it was best for him to redo the timeline, keeping his two friends safe but letting himself die during the fight with Garvey instead? 

Shouta couldn’t help but think about Oboro’s point, though. If he were wrong and his death didn’t fix things, there would be nobody who would know to find the villain and reset the timeline. Shouta didn’t mind being dead, but if his death didn’t make things better for Hizashi and Oboro, then that was another matter entirely.  

He’d meant to seek out Hizashi during lunch, but instead, Shouta asked Oboro to meet him on the roof. 

“What have I told you about what’s going on with Hizashi?” he said instead of a greeting.  

Oboro smiled sadly, and Shouta hated himself for putting his friend through all this. “He’s been drinking in secret. That’s why I was surprised you left him with Eri this morning—you’d mentioned not leaving her alone with him.” Shouta’s heart throbbed painfully. He’d thought Hizashi was a danger to Eri? Were things that bad?  

“Anything else?” Shouta asked quietly, almost not wanting to know.  

“You’ve been arguing a lot. Hitoshi has noticed.” 

Shouta sat down, his back against the wall. He’d woken up that morning thinking he’d finally done it, that he’d finally created the perfect existence but instead, he’d just made things even worse than they’d been in the original timeline.  

It was probably a sign that he and Hizashi weren’t meant to be. 

“Do you know what we argue about?” 

Oboro hesitated, glancing at Shouta as if he were deliberating something. After a long silence, he joined Shouta on the floor, sitting close enough that their knees brushed. It made Shouta think of his previous attempts at the timeline, and his heart panged a little for what he knew could never be.  

“He thinks we’re sneaking around behind his back.” 

That made Shouta pause. He met Oboro’s eyes, dreading the answer to his next question. “Are we?” 

Oboro laughed without humour. “Of course not.” He paused, once again seeming like he was deliberating something. His eyes set, resolved, and he continued speaking, his voice quiet enough that Shouta had to strain to hear him over the wind. “I like that we were happy together in a different timeline, though. The two of us, and then the three of us. I would like to have experienced that, but at least a version of me got to, y’know?” 

Shouta longed to reach out and brush his fingers against Oboro’s, but he couldn’t, not when that was exactly what Hizashi feared. He settled with a small smile instead. 

“We were happy,” he agreed, although he’d only had a few hours to go on and therefore couldn’t ever truly know that was the case. Still, from the little he’d experienced of the previous timelines, they had seemed happy—right up until they weren’t. 

“And we really adopted Shigaraki?” Shouta nodded, and Oboro shuddered with a little laugh. “That’s weird, man!” 

“Far as I could tell, the League of Villains wasn’t a thing in that world, though.”  

“That was good, at least.” 

“It would have been perfect if not for—” 

“Him turning us into dust? I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m sure it’s all related, man. Shiggy managed to go years without any damages, but he cracked and killed us as soon as you turned up? Nah, doesn’t make sense unless it’s a repercussion of you messing with the timeline.”  

Shouta hated that it made sense. It was like with this timeline, too. Hizashi had never struck Shouta as the angry, jealous type—it just wasn’t part of his personality. He was a good, kind person and not the bitter man that Shouta’s meddling had turned him into.  

“I can’t just sit back and let you die. There has to be another way.” He hadn’t gone into detail when he’d explained everything before. Shouta didn’t think he could go into detail about just how badly Oboro’s death affected him. 

Oboro reached out, doing what Shouta hadn’t been able to and taking his hand. “Don’t think of it like that. You’re not letting me die—I’m already dead; you just gave me extra time.” 

Shouta shook his head, his grip tightening on Oboro’s hand. “How can you be okay with this?”

Oboro was silent for a minute, chewing his lip in thought. Finally, he said, “If our situations were reversed, what would you be willing to do to save ‘Zashi?” 

Shouta wanted to say it was different. He’d been through so much more with Hizashi than Oboro had. However, he would also be willing to give up his life for Oboro, and that wasn’t much different. If anything, this Oboro had had more time with Hizashi than Shouta had ever had with him, various timelines included.  

The three of them would always care for one another fiercely. It wasn’t right for Shouta to make it all about himself. Not again.  

Shouta nodded sombrely, though he still doubted his ability to ignore his instincts and let the balance of the timeline realign. “What if you’re wrong?” he asked quietly.  

“Then you do it again and save me,” Oboro said brightly. His smile was dazzling, but Shouta could see a hint of sadness behind it. He was being brave, but Oboro didn’t want to die. “I’m not wrong, though.” 

“Hm,” Shouta grunted instead of answering. 

He didn’t think he could do this. He glanced at Oboro from the corner of his eye; he had so much to offer the world, yet here he was, smiling lightly as they sat contemplating his death.  

It wasn’t fair.  

“Ask the guy about his quirk tomorrow,” Oboro said as their lunch break drew to a close.  

“He’s not going to tell me.”

“Maybe not, but you can try.” 

Shouta sighed, letting his eyes flutter shut despite needing to return to his class. Oboro’s hand was still warm in his. 

“I don’t want to do this,” he said. 

“I know.” 

“But you think I should?” 

“I think you need to,” Oboro said quietly, squeezing his fingers. They didn’t say anything more, and after a few peaceful moments of silence, they left the roof together, heading to their respective classrooms. 

Shouta spent the rest of the day trying and failing to focus. By the time school was out, he just wanted to curl up into his sleeping bag and sleep until it was too late for him to make any decision. He wasn’t equipped for having to juggle the lives of the two most important people to him. No matter what choice he made, it would suck. 

Shouta was going to have a long night ahead of him, that was for sure.  

Hitoshi had offered to pick up Eri, and when Shouta met them in the car park, she was happily chatting away to Midoriya while Kaminari and Hitoshi watched on fondly. Lingering back, Shouta watched the group, surprised by his paternal instincts towards the two children he’d never considered his family before. Except… maybe he had. In his original timeline, he’d been Eri’s primary caretaker, and he’d been giving up his free time to train Hitoshi because he believed in the kid and wanted him to do well. He’d cared about these kids enough that he'd been happy when he’d woken up that morning and discovered they were part of his family—relieved even.  

If only those feelings could have stayed.  

Rather than let his mind wander back to Hizashi, Shouta watched the three teenage boys interact with a frown. He recalled his conversation with Hitoshi from the previous timeline, and his suspicions at the time.

It looked like he might have been right about whom Hitoshi was asking for advice on. 

As a teacher, he’d decided it was none of his business. As a father, he wasn’t sure how keen he was on Hitoshi dating Midoriya and Kaminari—two good kids, sure, but definitely two of the kids who caused most of Shouta’s classroom headaches.  

Before he could decide whether he should intervene or leave them be, Hizashi left the building and walked over to join them, and Shouta’s decision was made. He hurried over to join the group.  

Feeling perhaps a little desperate, Shouta kissed Hizashi on the cheek in greeting, earning a whistle from Kaminari, whom he sent an effective glare at to silence. 

Maybe all Hizashi needed was to know Shouta cared?  

Then again, from the look Hizashi sent him, maybe not. 

Once home, Shouta asked Hitoshi to play with Eri in her room. Hitoshi bit his lip, glancing at Hizashi’s back as he dug through a kitchen cupboard. 

“It’ll be okay, kid,” Shouta said, placing his palm on his head and gently ruffling his wild purple hair. Hitoshi still looked sceptical, but he nodded. 

“Try not to shout too loud,” he murmured. “It upsets Eri.”

Shouta felt his chest tighten uncomfortably. They’d taken in these kids to give them a better life, but it seemed they’d been unsuccessful in that. 

“I don’t plan on shouting,” Shouta assured him, hating that the kid just looked at him incredulously. How often did he and Hizashi argue?  

Once alone, Shouta joined Hizashi in the kitchen. The taller man was slumped against the counter, an open beer bottle in hand.  

“Isn’t it a bit early?”

“Don’t start,” Hizashi grunted, taking a long swig. 

Shouta hesitated, trying to decide on the best approach. “There another one in there for me?”

Hizashi looked at him in surprise but offered a slight nod. He didn’t move to grab it, so Shouta brushed past him and opened the same cupboard he’d seen Hizashi rooting through. There was an impressive stash of alcohol inside, but he grabbed one of the weaker beers and re-joined Hizashi, leaning against the counter, close enough for their elbows to brush. 

“Where’d you sneak off to at lunch?” Hizashi asked, badly feigning indifference. 

“The roof.” Shouta wasn’t going to lie. If there was any chance of saving this timeline, lying wasn’t the way to go about it.  

“With Oboro?”

“Yes.” Hizashi’s grip tightened on his beer, and Shouta swore he heard his teeth grind together. “Nothing is going on between us.”

“So you keep saying.”

“You told me once you trusted me.”

“That was a long time ago,” Hizashi pointed out, raising his bottle to his lips. 

“What changed?”

Hizashi stayed stubbornly silent, sipping on his beer. Shouta watched him, barely touching his own drink. With everything playing on his mind, getting drunk would have been a welcome distraction, but he wasn’t going to do that when he had two kids in the house. At least one of them needed to be the responsible adult.  

“Are you happy?” Shouta asked when it became clear Hizashi wouldn’t reply to his previous question. He knew the answer, but he needed to hear him say it.  

The silence stretched out, and Shouta thought Hizashi would ignore him again when he finally said, “No.” 

“Is there anything I can do to help change that?” 

“Like what?” Hizashi asked bitterly, staring at his beer so he didn’t have to look at Shouta.  

Shouta shrugged. “Be more supportive? Give more space? Leave?”

Hizashi tensed at the last word. “Do you want to leave?”

“Of course not.” 

The humourless laugh that followed his words felt like evidence enough that Hizashi didn’t—wouldn’t—believe anything he said. 

“You really expect me to believe that you wouldn’t rather be with him ?”

“I love you,” Shouta said softly. It was the first time he’d said it, he realised. He’d never once told Hizashi that he was in love with him in all the timelines. He’d confessed his feelings in other ways, such as admitting his crush. He was sure that, in the version where he was together with Hizashi and Oboro, the him that had existed before Shouta’s current mind had stepped in had said it plenty of times, but he never had. Not even in the original timeline had he told Hizashi he was in love with him. Shouta doubted it would have changed anything, but he wished he’d said it, regardless. 

“I wish I could believe that.” 

“It’s true.” How could Hizashi not hear it in his voice? How could he not see it in his eyes? Shouta was hopelessly in love with him, and it broke his heart seeing Hizashi like this and not knowing how to help. 

That wasn’t true. Shouta knew how to help; he just wasn’t sure he was strong enough to do it. Even for Hizashi.  

Did he have another choice, though? He watched as Hizashi finished his beer and grabbed another one. He wanted to stop him, but Shouta wasn’t sure he had the right. This was his fault. Whether Hizashi was right about why or not, he had still caused this tension. By meddling with the timeline, by trying to play God, he’d screwed over Hizashi time and time again.

Nobody but Shouta could be blamed for that.  

Hizashi had every right to hate him.  

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked again.  

“No!” Hizashi’s reply was sharp, a small amount of his quirk slipping into the word without his consent. His green eyes widened, and he glanced nervously at the door Eri and Hitoshi had vanished behind before his shoulders slumped, and he seemed to deflate. “I can’t stand to see you, Shouta, but I never want you to leave,” he confessed, and Shouta watched his shoulders shake and realised with surprise that he was crying. He wanted to reach out, to offer comfort, but— 

I can’t stand to see you.  

“You asked me if I was happy? I’m miserable, Shouta! And I don’t know if I can stop. I don’t know if I want to. All I know is I hate you, yet I love you, and it’s tearing me up inside.” 

Shouta didn’t know what to say to that. 

He couldn’t leave Hizashi like this, but could he really sacrifice Oboro’s life in exchange? What about therapy? Could he just get Hizashi help the normal way? 

If this really was because of the villain’s quirk, that was unlikely. Shouta was going to have to do as Oboro suggested and try and get answers. 

Shouta didn’t know how he made it through the next thirty hours. He certainly didn’t sleep, his mind too plagued by thoughts he didn’t want to have. After talking to Hizashi, he spent the rest of his evening with the kids, quickly realising that he wanted to make sure he was their dad for real if he ever managed to get the timeline right. They were good kids, and even if Shouta could never be with Hizashi, he felt his life would have meaning so long as he had Eri and Hitoshi in it.

After he’d tucked Eri in for the night, he knocked on Hitoshi’s door. 

“Midoriya and Kaminari, huh?” 

Hitoshi turned bright red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” 

Shouta bit out a laugh, managing not to let his frustrations around Hizashi taint it. “’Course not, kid. For what it’s worth…  you could do worse.” 

Hitoshi buried his face into his hands, the quintessence of an embarrassed teenager. Shouta ruffled his hair before sobering up. “Look, kid,” he said, rubbing his chin as he searched for the right words. “I know things have been tough here at home, but I want you to know that I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you’re all happy and healthy, okay? You, Eri and Hizashi. All I want is what’s best for you three.”

“And what about you?” Hitoshi asked, peering over his fingertips at Shouta.  

“I’m happy so long as you all are.” 

“That sounds like bullshit.” If things were different, Shouta might have scolded him for his choice of language, but things weren’t different, and he could see where Hitoshi was coming from. He didn’t know how to explain it all to a fifteen-year-old, though, so he just ruffled his hair again. 

“I know we’ve been failing you and Eri, but I promise you, your happiness is important to us— both of us.”  

If only he could promise to fix things for everyone he cared about, but Shouta was starting to believe Oboro was right, and that truly was impossible. He would get his answers the following evening, even if he didn’t like what he heard.  

Shouta couldn’t help but stick close to Oboro the next day. He didn’t want to admit either out loud or to himself that it was because this was likely the last day he would ever spend with an adult Shirakumo Oboro, but they both knew the reason. In an attempt not to hurt Hizashi further, he kept Nemuri close, too. It would look bad if he were alone with Oboro after everything the pair had talked about the night before.  

Shouta tried not to notice how tired Oboro looked; he obviously wasn’t the only one who’d had a restless night. After everything Oboro had learned, it was no wonder. He must have laid awake, dwelling on how Shouta held his life in his hands. Despite that, it was clear he hadn’t changed his mind. Shouta should have known better than to hope Oboro would beg him to change his.  

When the last student left at the end of the school day, Oboro slipped into Shouta’s classroom, closing the door behind him to ensure privacy.  

“You’re going after him again?” Oboro asked in lieu of a greeting. Shouta nodded, not trusting himself to speak. “Want me to come with?” 

Shouta did, he really did, but he shook his head. If Oboro were there with him, his resolve would falter. He needed to say goodbye now.  

“I understand,” Oboro said, reading Shouta’s thoughts from his grim expression. “You’re doing the right thing, Sho.” 

“Then why do you look so sad?” Shouta could barely meet his eyes. Oboro had seemed deflated all day, and he only looked worse now that the day was ending. 

“I’m not sad,” he said, convincing no one. He laughed then, a surprising sound that caught them both off guard. He placed a hand over his lips, eyes widening even as they became watery. “Okay, maybe I’m hoping this guy will tell you about his quirk, and we’ll be wrong,” he confessed, his words mumbled behind the fingers that still covered his mouth. 

“Oboro, I—” 

“Don’t,” Oboro interrupted. “Don’t tell me you don’t have to do this. I won’t accept it.” 

“But—” 

Before he could say anything more, Oboro closed the distance between them and silenced Shouta with a chaste kiss. He pulled away just as quickly, his gaze locked fiercely on Shouta’s. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I shouldn’t have done that, but I panicked. Don’t try and talk yourself out of this, Sho. Believe me, I know it will be hard, and I know you will hate yourself a little for it but understand that I will never hate you. I was meant to die thirteen years ago, and you gave me the gift of multiple extra lives. I might not remember them, but you do—at least in part. Remember them for me, okay? Keep me alive in here,” he pressed his hand against Shouta’s heart, “and live a good life with ‘Zashi.”  

“Oboro, I—”

“Don’t say goodbye,” Oboro cut him off. He offered a smile then, brave and beautiful, and Shouta’s resolve started to falter. “We’ll see each other again soon, after all.”

They parted ways shortly after that. Despite what Oboro had said, Shouta felt his resolve crumbling down all around him. His legs felt heavy, piped full of lead, but somehow, he made it to the location where this had all begun. He was even earlier than usual, but that was intentional. He wanted to find his quirk user before it descended into a chase. Shouta wasn’t sure he would be able to keep up if it came to that today.  

Perhaps the world felt guilty for shitting on him so much, because Shouta almost literally slammed into the man as they walked in opposite directions down the street. 

“You,” Shouta grunted, grabbing the man’s arm before he could make a break for it.  

“Who the hell are you?” 

Shouta wasn’t listening. He glanced around, spying a deserted alleyway not dissimilar to the one they usually ended up down. Ignoring the man’s protests, Shouta activated his quirk and dragged the man out of sight from the public, slamming him against the wall, rougher than he probably should have for someone who needed answers.  

“Tell me about your quirk,” he demanded, and the fear left the man, replaced with curiosity as he studied Shouta. 

“I’ve used it on you before,” he mused, lips curling. “I can always tell.”

“Good for you,” Shouta grunted, not wanting to waste time with this crap. “Tell me about its rules and limitations.” 

“Why should I?”

Shouta’s arm pressed deeper into his neck, making him gasp. “If you don’t want a world of pain, I suggest you talk.”

“I could just—” The man frowned as he realised his quirk wasn’t working. “What have you done?” 

“Talk!” 

The man struggled, but Shouta’s grip was unshakeable. “What do you wanna know, man?!” he yelped, panic seizing him as he realised there was no easy way to escape. Shouta was sure he looked demonic with his red eyes, scowl, and floating hair. Good. All the better for quickly getting the answers he needed. 

“What is your quirk? What are the rules?”

“You’ve already experienced it,” the villain tried. “I just send you back—” 

Shouta slammed him against the wall, forcing the air from his lungs and making him wheeze. "Don't bullshit me," he growled. 

"Okay, okay! It's called Deepest Regret! You get sent back to the time of your biggest regret, and you can change it, but only that! If you change anything else, bad things happen.”

“Can the bad things be fixed?” Shouta demanded, although he already knew the answer. 

“No. They just get worse!” Anger flared inside Shouta, and he slammed the man’s back into the wall again, earning another yelp. “I’m telling the truth, man!”

“I know,” Shouta said, his voice low and threatening. That was it then. Shouta had never been able to save both Hizashi and Oboro. It had always been one or the other—the question was, which one was his biggest regret? 

Was it hurting Hizashi, or failing to save Oboro? He knew the answer even as he pretended he didn’t. 

Once—for a long time—it would have been the latter. Shouta had blamed himself for Oboro’s death for many, many years. He’d spent waking hours chiding himself for his failure, convincing himself that if he’d just been a bit faster, a little stronger, a tiny bit smarter… Any of those things and Oboro could have lived. 

However, after reuniting with Hizashi, he’d started to heal. He’d started to forgive himself, and by the night Shouta faced this villain, with Hizashi’s rejection burning inside of him, there was no doubt that Shouta’s biggest regret had been the way he treated Hizashi. The way he’d pushed him away and ruined any hope of a happy future together.  

This villain’s quirk had sent him back to a time when Shouta could have avoided all the heartbreak between them. It sent him back to the first time Hizashi had confessed.  

“Why forty-eight hours?” Shouta demanded, his voice as dry as his eyes. 

The man shook his head. “I don’t know, man! That’s just the way it’s always worked! Forty-eight hours around the time of your biggest regret, then back to the future where you get to live out the new life you’ve created.”

“Do you ever get back your lost memories?” 

“No.” He was shaking his head frantically, eyes darting for any chance of escape. They were right near a street, he could have yelled for help at any point, but maybe the man had enough common sense to know that wouldn’t have ended well for him. 

Shouta dropped his quirk, his hair flopping back down around his shoulders. 

“Use your quirk on me,” he demanded, despite a part of him screaming— begging —for him not to. If he followed through with the rules of the quirk, he had to let Oboro die… 

“Wait, really?”  

“Use it!” Shouta snapped, slamming him into the wall again.  

The villain didn’t need telling again.  

Shouta felt the world fade away, but, with its disappearance, a sickening feeling filled his heart.  

I’m sorry, Oboro…

Chapter Text

Shouta had a panic attack when he woke in the morning, silent and crippling. He curled up into the fetal position, a hand smothering his mouth so he wouldn’t wake his mom. The last time he recalled having an attack like this was the day after Oboro’s death, when it had finally fully hit that they’d never see each other again.  

Now, Shouta was expected to go through that all over, knowing that he could stop it but that, for Hizashi, he shouldn’t.

How was he meant to live with himself after?  

Oboro had told him it was okay, had practically insisted he do it, but Shouta wasn’t sure he could. Wasn’t it wrong, knowing you could save someone’s life and choosing not to? Shouta was a hero, and this decision seemed very un-heroic.  

Especially considering how much he loved Oboro.  

The problem was, as much as he loved Oboro, he loved Hizashi more.  

For Hizashi, Shouta would be willing to sacrifice his own life. Was he willing to sacrifice Oboro’s too? Even with Oboro’s blessing?

Shouta managed to get his breathing under control faster than expected, the prospect of a job to do (regardless of how he felt about it) enough to steady him. However, he wobbled as he stood, gasping as a sudden stabbing sensation attacked his stomach, causing his vision to swim and the acidic taste of bile to flavour his throat. The damn coffee spilt across the floor as Shouta stumbled, but he ignored it and planted himself back down on his bed, hunched over. It took several deep, calming breaths for the pain to pass and even then, he continued to feel weak. His body trembled as sweat tickled the back of his neck and, despite himself, Shouta longed to stay in bed. He didn’t want to get involved; he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he didn’t. What future would he wake up to in a couple of days if he didn’t interfere at all?   

He'd already made up his mind, though. He had a job to do, and it wouldn’t be logical to back out now. 

The attack had left him late to meet Hizashi, but he was late practically every time he redid the timeline anyway, and Hizashi never seemed to mind. He couldn’t imagine this time would be any different.   

Shouta crashed into multiple people on his way to UA, too distracted to pay attention. He ignored everyone who shouted or glared, trudging along until the school finally came into view. 

As with every other time, Hizashi was pacing as he nervously waited for Shouta to finally show. The smile he sent Shouta’s way when they locked eyes was almost enough to stoke his resolve, though he doubted it would last. As soon as he saw Oboro, he would begin second-guessing everything.  

“Aizawa! There you are!” 

Shouta swallowed down the lump in his throat and nodded, unable to find any words to say. Hizashi seemed unperturbed by his silence, reaching into his bag for the homemade chocolates.

“These are for you,” he said, a little hesitantly. “You know what day it is, right? I just wanted you to know how I felt, I guess. You don’t need to reply yet. Just think about it, yo! Maybe on white day, you could let me know or… or something…” Hizashi rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and offered a nervous grin. “It’s cool either way, ya dig!”

“Thank you,” Shouta said quietly, accepting the chocolates held out to him. Even as his fingers clasped the box, it felt like a betrayal to Oboro. By taking this gift, he was sentencing his other friend to die. It almost made him want to thrust the box back at Hizashi, but he couldn’t bear to see the crestfallen look that would undoubtedly be plastered across his face should he do that.  

“I don’t need to think about it,” Shouta said quietly, repeating his words from last time.  

“You don’t?” Hizashi asked, eyes widening. 

“I feel the same.” Shouta hoped Hizashi couldn’t hear the reluctance in his voice—a reluctance that had nothing to do with Hizashi and everything to do with what Shouta had to do (or not do) if he wanted to give the blond the happiness he deserved. 

“You… You do?”

“Yes.” 

“Oh…” Hizashi flushed a bright red, but his lips tugged up into a small, shy smile meant only for Shouta. 

“Thank you for the chocolates. They’re perfect,” Shouta said. 

“You haven’t even opened them, yo!”  

“They’re perfect,” Shouta replied firmly, locking eyes with Hizashi, whose cheeks grew even redder. “They’re from you, so of course they are.” 

“Aizawa…” 

“Shouta,” he corrected, still feeling like he was talking past a lump obstructing his throat. “You can call me Shouta.”

“I can?” If Hizashi smiled anymore, he was at risk of breaking his cheekbones. Shouta wished he could appreciate it more, but his chest felt heavy and tight with the burden he carried. He nodded, and Hizashi said, “And you have to call me Hizashi!” Shouta nodded again, seeing no point in telling him that he’d been calling him Hizashi for years now.  

A not-quite-comfortable silence fell between the pair, and Hizashi scuffed his shoes against the pavement as he wracked his mind for something to say. Eventually, he chewed his lip before asking, “Are you okay, dude? You seem off, and you’re pretty pale.”

Shouta swallowed dryly and nodded, opening his mouth to give an excuse, but before he could, he was interrupted. 

Right on cue. 

“Shouta! Hizashi! You’re both here already. Man, you should have told me you were arriving early. I’d have walked with you.” 

Shouta licked his dry lips and avoided eye contact as Oboro joined them. His heart hammered painfully in his chest, and he tried to discreetly wipe his sweaty palms on his trousers.  

Tomorrow, unless he backed out, he would be responsible for Oboro’s death. 

How was he meant to look him in the eyes, knowing that? 

How was he meant to live with himself?  

Shouta didn’t realise he’d missed an entire conversation until he felt two pairs of eyes burning into him. He flinched as he looked up and accidentally met Oboro’s gaze. Why did he look so concerned about his executioner?  

Because he doesn’t know, Shouta’s mind whispered. He thinks you’re his friend. He thinks you will always have his back.   

Shouta looked down at the ground.

He heard Oboro give an excuse about finding Nemuri, and, once he was gone, he felt a hand brush against his arm. 

“Shouta?” Hizashi said, his voice full of quiet determination. “If you wanna take back what you said, I understand.”

Shouta looked up again, meeting those brilliant green eyes with a sudden fierceness that caught them both off guard. 

“I don’t want to take it back.” His words were sharp and true, and Hizashi could only stare and jolt his head in a surprised nod.  

The thought of having gone through everything he had, only to lie to Hizashi now, was ridiculous. Shouta was scared and unsure. He felt sick at the very notion of what was to come the next day, but, despite all that, he wasn’t going to push Hizashi away, not unless that was what the blond wanted.  

That didn’t mean he could just grin and pretend nothing was wrong. Shouta wasn’t the sort.  

“I have a lot on my mind right now,” he added because he knew Hizashi still wasn’t convinced.  

“Wanna talk about it?” 

“Not yet,” he said. Maybe not ever. Would Hizashi understand if Shouta told him he could have saved Oboro’s life and chose not to? If their situation was reversed, Shouta wasn’t sure he could understand and forgive such an offence. Yes, there were reasons (maybe even good reasons) as to why he had to do it, but still—

Oboro was a person whose life was stolen away far too young. He’d been destined for greatness, and Shouta could easily give him that future.  

At the cost of Hizashi’s happiness, or, perhaps, even life. 

Why was the world so cruel?  

“Well, I’m here if you ever wanna, okay?” 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, although the dark thoughts repeatedly pointed out that Hizashi would never forgive him if he ever learned the truth. Shouta tried to push those thoughts aside. He didn’t have time to waste on such dark feelings—he only had one and a half days left with Oboro, and he had to make the most of them while not excluding Hizashi.  

With that in mind, during their lunch hour, Shouta suggested they go to the arcade as a trio after school.  

“Dude, shouldn’t you and ‘Zashi do something alone?”

They should, but—“I hate Valentine’s Day. If Hizashi wants to go on a date, I’ll take him on one tomorrow.” They wouldn’t end up going on that specific date, but hopefully, they’d get their first one (and many more after) during Shouta’s lost years.  

“I don’t know, man,” Oboro said. “Won’t I be, like, the third wheel?” 

“Nah, dude, it’s all good, yo! I’m up for kicking both your asses at DDR!” 

With Hizashi’s blessing, the three of them headed to the arcade together once the school day was done. It was different than the last time they’d gone together—in that reality, the three of them had been a new, nervous throuple who had taken some time to find their rhythm. 

There was no awkwardness between them this time. Perhaps because Oboro was there, Hizashi behaved normally, leaving no uncomfortable silences or hesitant glances that led to self-consciously warm cheeks. Shouta even managed to distract himself so that he didn’t spend the entire time dwelling on what the next day would bring.  

True to his word, Hizashi did indeed kick both their asses at DDR before demanding they buy him fried chicken as his prize for winning. His friends were more than happy to oblige him, and they spent a further hour hanging out in the food court together before Oboro finally sighed and announced that if he didn’t get home soon, his parents would kill him. The casual turn of phrase made Shouta’s stomach churn violently.  

With Oboro gone, Shouta walked with Hizashi to the train station. He kept his lips clamped together, afraid that anything he said would make his weak resolve crumble and stop him from doing what needed to be done the next day.

“You sure you’re okay, Sho?” Hizashi asked as they waited to cross the street. He wasn’t okay, not even a little bit, but he couldn’t tell anyone that. At least until Hizashi was an adult again, this was Shouta’s burden to bear alone. He deserved to feel like crap for what he was going to do. He deserved more than that, but he was sure that punishment would come along later. When it did, Shouta would gladly face whatever it was.  

“Fine,” he grunted. Then, because that didn’t feel sufficient, he added, “Just tired.” 

“It has been a long day,” Hizashi agreed. “I had fun, though! And, uh,” he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy, “I’m really happy, yo!” 

Good, Shouta wanted to say. All this is for you.  

“I’m happy too,” he lied stiffly. If Hizashi picked up on his less than convincing tone, he chose not to acknowledge it. Shouta hoped he knew it had nothing to do with him. He was happy to have accepted Hizashi’s feelings, but he couldn't see the bigger picture with everything else playing on his mind. He wasn’t sure there was a bigger picture.

In the first timeline, his world had been consumed by darkness after Oboro’s death, and while he blamed himself, he wasn’t truly responsible. Shouta hadn’t known Oboro would die in that attack. He’d done everything right, and a bad thing had happened regardless.  

This time, however, would be different. This time, Shouta knew Oboro’s fate and was choosing to allow his best friend to die. 

How could the world be bright again after that? Even with Hizashi in it? 

How could Shouta ever forgive himself? 

“Don’t try and talk yourself out of this, Sho. Believe me, I know it will be hard, and I know you will hate yourself a little for it but understand that I will never hate you. I was meant to die thirteen years ago, and you gave me the gift of multiple extra lives. I might not remember them, but you do—at least in part. Remember them for me, okay? Keep me alive in here and live a good life with ‘Zashi.” 

Oboro’s words returned to him, and Shouta clung to them. He couldn’t let this destroy him. He had to be stronger than he’d been in the first timeline. He had to be strong enough not to hurt Hizashi.  

Glancing at the teenage boy next to him, guilt wracked at Shouta as he saw Hizashi chewing his lip, doubt written across his face. 

He thought Shouta was regretting accepting his confession that morning.  

Shouta held out his hand. Hizashi’s eyes widened at the gesture, and it took him a hesitant moment to accept the offered fingers between his own. His hand was cold but soft, and Shouta squeezed it gently, a silent assurance that Hizashi was not a mistake and Shouta did not regret anything when it came to him.  

They parted ways at the train station, heading in separate directions with promises that they would see each other in school in a couple of days. They would see one another sooner, but Shouta couldn’t say that. He didn’t even want to think about the circumstances of their next meeting. Instead, he tried to distract his mind, planning his fight with Garvey tomorrow. He had to keep everything as close to the first timeline as possible, but he was sure his body would fight that instinct. Shouta was sure it would be an internal battle, his mind and body fighting what he should do with what he wanted to do.  

He should let the timeline return to its original state, leaving Oboro to die so that Hizashi could live.  

What he wanted was to save them both. 

It was something that could never be, though, and Shouta had already realised that, given a choice, it was always Hizashi. Oboro had known it too. Oboro had known yet hadn’t blamed him.  

Shouta wasn’t sure he would ever fully understand why.  

He didn’t even bother to try and sleep that night, instead plying himself with copious amounts of caffeine. Shouta knew if he slept, he’d have nightmares. He’d see Oboro dying and himself leering over him as he did so.  

He’d see himself as the villain.  

…Was that what he was? Was he a villain? He was undoubtedly making villainous choices, ones that benefited him most. He should have left the timeline alone; instead, he’d tried to give himself a happy ending.  

Wasn’t that what he was still trying to do?  

No. 

No, this was for Hizashi, not himself.  

Shouta wanted Hizashi to be happy. That was all that mattered. His own happiness was completely unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Shouta was used to being unhappy, and he would gladly continue to live a life of misery if it were in a world where Hizashi smiled without burden.  

He was going to Hell anyway.  

“You look like shit, dude,” Oboro said when they met up the next day.  

“Thanks.” He felt like shit too, and he couldn’t meet Oboro’s eyes. He didn’t deserve to meet Oboro’s eyes. Oboro was pure and good, and the world would be a duller place without him. Shouta couldn’t believe he would be the one that stole him away.  

“Are you ill? Maybe you should go back home?” 

“M’fine,” he grunted. Oboro looked sceptical, but he followed Shouta as they entered His Purple Highness Agency. 

“Oh hon, you look like crap,” Nemuri said in greeting. 

“I already told him that.”

“Aren’t you meant to be glowing? You and Yamada are dating now, right?” Nemuri said, the smirk across her face not quite quelling the concern in her eyes.  

“Didn’t sleep well.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. He simply kept out the fact that he hadn’t even tried. His friends would absolutely have him sent home if they knew he was running on nothing.  

“Want me to speak to His Highness for you, babe?” Nemuri asked. “I’m sure he’d be fine with you going back home to bed.” 

Shouta shook his head. He’d sleep once this was all over.  

“I’ll be fine when I get going,” he said. His friends still looked sceptical, but they thankfully didn’t push. Who knew what would happen if Shouta didn’t fight Garvey? Nemuri could die, too. Maybe even Hizashi… again.  

No, as much as he loathed the idea, Shouta had to make sure this day played out as it had the first time around. His stomach churned violently at the very thought. He must have looked green because his friends were instantly guiding him over to a seat, Oboro rubbing circles on his back that would have been soothing if it wasn’t for the thoughts plaguing Shouta’s mind: would he touch me like this if he knew what I was planning?  

“Dude—”

“I said I’d be fine!” Shouta snapped, standing abruptly and breaking contact with Oboro. Oboro blinked in surprise at his hostility, mouth hanging slightly agape.   

Shouta deflated instantly at the look of hurt in his friends’ eyes. Today was the last day he would ever see him—what the hell was he thinking, acting like a prized asshole and pushing him away? 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, meeting Oboro’s eyes and holding contact.  

“No sweat, man.” Oboro smiled, and the heaviness in the room instantly lifted. “You’re grouchy when you’re tired, is all.”

It wasn’t all, and all three of the room’s occupants knew it, but Shouta nodded in relief at the escape Oboro offered.  

“Do I get an apology too?” Nemuri asked lightly, and Shouta shook his head. 

“Wasn’t rude to you.”

“If your mood’s this bad, I’m sure it’s just a matter of time,” she said, following her words with a light poke to assure him she was joking.  

By the time they checked in with His Purple Highness, the mood had lightened considerably. Shouta kept his trembling fingers tucked into his pockets and a careful mask across his face so his boss wouldn’t notice anything amiss. While his friends might look the other way, he was sure a pro hero wouldn’t. If he thought Shouta wasn’t feeling a hundred percent, he wouldn’t let him patrol and risk endangering any civilians. Sending Shouta home would be the right move, the same one Shouta himself would make as an adult in his shoes, but that didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t allow it to happen.   

Despite all that, a small part of Shouta hoped His Highness would notice. Send me home, a tiny piece of him begged. Don’t let me be responsible for killing Oboro.   

His Highness didn’t notice anything, and Shouta wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not. It was what he wanted but also what he dreaded. The clock was ticking, and it wouldn’t be long until Oboro’s time ran out forever. 

Shouta’s hand trembled against the metaphorical trigger.  

The day proceeded as it always had, and Shouta and Oboro were sent out to patrol alone after lunch. It was meant to be a safe route, one where they were unlikely to run into trouble. Their shift alone wasn’t supposed to be dangerous, and nobody was meant to die.  

Oboro was just… unlucky. 

They ran into the pre-schoolers right on cue. 

“Oboro—” Shouta started to say as they parted ways. Go the other way with them, his brain begged him to say. He’d already played out this scenario, however. If Oboro wasn’t present when the building collapsed, Hizashi would be. Shouta hadn’t warned him to stay away. He could ask Oboro not to send him to his aid, but then something terrible would just happen down the line. Hizashi would either die or be miserable when Shouta returned to the present, and the only way he could protect him was to let Oboro die.  

“What’s up?”  

Shouta chewed his lip, the cruel dilemma tormenting him. He wanted so desperately to say something—to warn Oboro of his impending doom. But, while he hadn’t spoken to this Oboro, Shouta had spoken with him about the situation. Oboro had not only given his blessing but actually encouraged Shouta to let him die.  

“…Nothing,” he mumbled finally. “Let’s go.” 

His heart sunk further as the text from Nemuri came through, and they entered Oboro’s final minutes of being alive. Oboro didn’t deserve to die. He deserved to have a long, full life, content and loved and prosperous.  

I was meant to die thirteen years ago, and you gave me the gift of multiple extra lives.  

Oboro had called it a gift, but Shouta wasn’t sure it was a good one. How could it be when it only ended in death?   

Shouta felt like he was in a trance as he watched things play out as they had the first time. Somehow, whether due to the quirk or Shouta’s interference, His Purple Highness had never entered the fray during the alternative timelines. Shouta had almost forgotten he was meant to be there, but he wasn’t surprised when his boss showed up, his trademark rose gripped between pearly white teeth. 

“Leave this to his majesty. You two, get the little ones out of danger!”  

Shouta didn’t make a move, watching as His Purple Highness flew through the air, only to be struck with a duplicate of Hizashi’s yell that slammed him painfully into the nearest building, leaving him down for the count.  

Next would come the— 

As predicted, Garvey used a stored blast quirk to send the nearest building toppling.  

Shouta watched in what felt like slow motion as Oboro rushed to protect the children with his cloud quirk. His heart hammered painfully in his chest. He reached out as if he could get there in time, but even if that wasn’t impossible, his feet were rooted to the spot. His body refused to move, refused to let Hizashi suffer again even as he was forced to watch rubble rain down. In the first timeline, he hadn’t realised, but this time Shouta caught how the large rock smacked Oboro fast and heavy to the back of his head, a blow nobody hoped to survive. Oboro’s goggles went flying, and he dropped, deadweight, quickly being buried by the rest of the falling debris.  

There was a scream caught in his throat. Shouta could do nothing but stare numbly. He’d watched Oboro die, and he could have prevented it.  

He was— 

The loud blast from behind knocked some sense into him. He had to fight. He would die if he didn’t fight, and Oboro’s sacrifice would be for nothing. 

Only that fear was enough to get Shouta to move his feet. He knew exactly how to deal with Garvey—he’d fought this battle many times before, he could take Garvey out with his eyes closed by now. 

Being tired didn’t help, however.  

Being numb didn’t help. 

The first time Shouta launched himself into the air, Garvey easily batted him to the side. Shouta slammed into the nearest intact building and hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind from him. He gasped, sure something in his stomach had ruptured and rolled onto his side, heaving as bile forced its way up his throat.  

It took longer than he’d like to force his weakened body up. His legs trembled, and Shouta had to use the wall to support himself. His vision span, and when he raised a heavy hand to his forehead, it came away damp with blood. 

It was fine. He’d been careless, but he could do this, just as he had six times before. He knew how to defeat Garvey, and that was the hardest part. So what that the world was spinning, and his heart was breaking, and all Shouta really wanted to do was give up and let it end. He owed Hizashi better than that. 

The rain started as Shouta took a couple of long, deep breaths, calming himself. As the rain cooled him, his world stopped zooming around on its axis, and, with his eyes closed for a third deep breath, the spinning finally ceased completely. 

He could grieve later.  

Right now, he had to take down Garvey before anyone else was hurt. 

Taking a step, Shouta quickly realised he’d have to make this fight quick. His stomach felt like it had been pulverised, each small step making him want to double over and heave. He’d been hurt before during this fight, but never this badly; Garvey had hit him just right, and Shouta wasn’t sure he’d be able to stay conscious for long.   

Wiping away some blood dribbling down his forehead, Shouta took an unsteady step towards Garvey and threw out his capture weapon, pulling himself into the air and gritting his teeth against the pain. His insides felt like they were scrambling while he flew, but that was fine. He just had to bear it for a few minutes. All he had to do was fling a rock between Garvey’s eyes and— 

The pain was excruciating as he lifted the rock. Shouta had to fight to stay conscious, his vision growing dark around the edges. 

He wondered whether this is how the fight would have gone the first time around if he hadn’t been convinced Oboro was cheering him on? He remained acutely aware of the broken speaker, but unlike the first time he’d ever fought this battle, this time it remained tormentingly silent. Shouta wheezed through the air, somehow staying conscious as he successfully pissed off the giant villain with a rock between the eyes.   

His movements were slower than usual, but Shouta managed to bind together most of the attacks sent his way in retaliation, twisting painfully to avoid those he missed. They exploded loudly behind him, but Shouta was already launching himself toward Garvey, forcing the quirks down the villain’s throat just before they could explode. 

Unlike the previous times, Shouta didn’t have the energy to launch himself away from Garvey before the giant crashed to the ground. Shouta went down with him but was thrown away as they toppled. He hit the ground heavily, his leg snapping on impact. Shouta barely felt it, too distracted with, in his fast-fading consciousness, realising where he had landed.  

The rubble hid him, but Shouta knew he lay next to Oboro. Underneath that pile of debris, his friend’s sightless eyes maybe even stared back at him. 

Shouta slipped into unconsciousness with that thought on his mind. 

He woke briefly while he was still in his teenage body. The doctor informed him that, while he would make a full recovery, his road to healing would take a few months. Shouta hated that he would skip that part. He felt as if he deserved every ounce of suffering that was coming to him, especially after the doctor confirmed that, yes, Oboro had died as intended. Shouta couldn’t bring himself to feel much of anything with that news.  

Instead, he just let himself fade… 

Away.  

The eyes burning into him as he slept stirred Shouta awake. He was warm and cosy, and it took a few moments to convince his heavy eyes to open, but eventually, he managed it, blinking in surprise as his vision swam into focus.

Hizashi was lying on his side, cheek pressed against the back of his hands as he smiled softly at Shouta. “Good morning, husband.” He said the word like it was new and exciting, as if the novelty of using it hadn’t worn off yet.  

“…Morning,” Shouta said after a beat, jarred by how Hizashi was looking at him after the contempt from the previous attempt. Heart thudding in his chest, Shouta struggled to come up with something to say, settling on, “You didn’t sleep with your hearing aids in, did you?”

“’Course not, silly. I’ve been up for ages~! You’re cute when you sleep.” 

“Uh, thanks?” Was this real, or was he still dreaming?  

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Hizashi said, shuffling closer to brush his lips against Shouta’s. 

Had it all paid off? Was the devastating sacrifice Shouta made worth it? He couldn’t stop the question as it murmured against Hizashi’s lips. “Are we happy?” 

Hizashi frowned a little. “I sure hope so,” he said.

The relief that washed over him wasn’t enough to fill the void left by his experience. “Hizashi, I need to tell you something.” 

“Right now? Can it wait? Only, we’re gonna be late if we don’t wake the kids now.”

That made Shouta pause. “The kids?” What kids? Were Eri and Hitoshi a part of their family again, or was he about to be surprised with another new family?  

“I’ll sort Eri,” Hizashi said, oblivious to Shouta’s confusion. “You rouse your demon kin. A pot of coffee under his nose should do the trick.” 

So it was Hitoshi and Eri. Shouta couldn’t help but feel relieved. He’d gotten used to being their dad quickly, and the prospect of them not being a part of his life was, quite honestly, not something Shouta wanted to consider. 

He wished he’d also somehow brought Bluebell into their lives, but with everything else playing on his mind, the cat had slipped between the cracks, and by now, she was probably living a happy life with some other family. 

Hizashi was still watching him, and Shouta assumed it was to make sure he actually got up. When he threw the covers away to stand, however, instead of getting up, Hizashi rolled over until he was above Shouta, straddling him. He leaned down, brushing his lips against his in the ghost of a kiss.  

“Thought you said we were gonna be late?” Shouta murmured, though it would be a lie to say he hated the situation.  

“I did, didn’t I?” Hizashi smirked, capturing Shouta’s bottom lip between teeth with a nip and encouraging a moan. 

It was a pleasant sight, Shouta wasn’t gonna lie. Dressed in a loose white tank top, and boxers that rode up high, Hizashi’s attire left little to the imagination. Shouta had seen him dressed such a way many times before, but never when those long legs were pressed either side of him and all that separated them was thin fabric that caused friction enough to have them both panting. Long blond hair tickled Shouta’s face as kisses were peppered across his jaw, and Shouta let his hands wander, slipping under the material to feel flesh that burned against his touch.  

He couldn’t believe he was finally here—finally in a world where he and Hizashi could be happy. 

And all it had cost was— 

Shouta stiffened abruptly as bile forced its way up his throat, sudden and stomach-churning. He didn’t have time to feel guilty as he pushed Hizashi aside and shot from the bed, desperate to make it to the bathroom in time. Except, shit, he didn’t know where the bathroom was! He didn’t know this house. He didn’t know this life. 

He didn’t know this Hizashi. 

The world was spinning, and with it, Shouta’s vision seemed to be pixelating in monochrome, growing quickly darker. Shouta leaned heavily against the wall, swallowing the acidic build-up in his throat before taking deep, steadying breaths as sweat rolled down his body.

He was fine. 

He’d made a choice.

A fucked up, horrible, horrendous, inhumane choice.

A wrong choice—?? 

“—Ta? Sho!” 

A cold hand touched his neck, anchoring him firmly back into reality, and the white wall he leaned against slowly swam back into focus. Shouta concentrated on the coolness of the fingers pressed against him as he continued to breathe deeply until, finally, his stomach stopped tumbling, and the pounding of hot blood between his ears calmed.  

“Shouta?” Hizashi asked again, the worry heartbreakingly apparent in his tone.  

Hizashi was never a wrong choice. What had Shouta been thinking?  

“I’m okay,” he grunted, the words tasting acidic on his tongue. Hizashi hummed in disbelief. “Really, I am. The worst has passed.”

“Is it a migraine?” Hizashi asked softly. Shouta relished in the fingers—no longer cold—that still stroked his neck in soothing circles.  

Shouta nodded. He had occasionally been struck with sudden migraines that instantly turned his stomach in his original timeline. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was the easiest explanation for now. It wasn’t as if his head didn’t hurt, anyway. It always hurt after the time travel—a side effect, perhaps, of the wrong mind being shoved into the wrong body.  

“Let’s get the kids up,” Shouta said, finally turning away from the wall. He locked eyes with Hizashi, noticing how the blond didn’t look entirely convinced. “We’ll talk later,” he promised, capturing Hizashi’s retreating hand and pressing a kiss to its back. Hizashi gave a nervous smile, but didn’t ask questions, instead just nodding. He still seemed hesitant to leave Shouta alone after his turn, but finally left the bedroom after another assurance that he was fine. 

In the hallway, Hizashi disappeared into a room clearly marked as Eri’s by a pretty pink sign, and Shouta heard the instant murmur of voices that showed Eri was already up. There was a second closed door next to Eri’s—unmarked—and Shouta guessed that it was probably Hitoshi’s room.   

Shouta swayed a little as he knocked and entered the room, still feeling unsteady on his feet but determined not to let the kids see. He guessed correctly about the room being Hitoshi’s; it was dark, but Shouta could just make out the teen tossing and turning, his sheets tangled around him in a way that suggested he’d been doing so all night. Shouta felt guilty as he woke the kid. As a fellow insomniac, Shouta understood the pain of lack of sleep all too well. Still, school was important, and Shouta was determined to be a better parent than he’d been in the previous timeline. There would be no loud arguments with Hizashi that upset his children this time, Shouta promised himself.  

“Get up, kid,” he said softly. “I’ll get coffee ready.” 

It wasn’t hard to find the kitchen. Hizashi and Eri were already in it, chatting happily as Hizashi made breakfast—pancakes again. Apparently, whatever the timeline, Hizashi believed Valentine’s Day warranted unhealthy food. 

“Sho! Is the little Listener awake?”   

“Enough,” Shouta grunted, glancing around until he spied the coffee maker and beelining towards it.  

“Good! I’m gonna finish up breakfast, then get ready. Can you make sure the kids do the same?” Shouta nodded, glad to learn that he was still the sort to be ready quickly in the timeline. What else was needed other than a two-minute shower and throwing on his jumpsuit anyway? Shouta would never understand how Hizashi had the patience to gel his hair into his ridiculous cockatoo style every morning. 

They were all ready and on their way to UA for the day an hour later. Shouta felt his heart sink in the staff room when it was Vlad and not Oboro who greeted them. He’d known— of course, he’d known—but somehow, he hadn’t made the connection. Oboro was no longer the homeroom teacher for class 1B. Shouta wouldn’t find him in the hallways of UA, or anywhere else for that matter. 

He was gone. Dead. And it was solely due to a decision Shouta had made. He had chosen Hizashi over Oboro, and now he had to live with that decision.  

His stomach turned again at the thought.  

“You okay, babe?” Nemuri asked, leaning across his desk to place the back of her hand against his forehead. Shouta hadn’t even noticed her approach. “You look clammy.”

“You feeling ill again?” Hizashi asked in concern, also crowding into Shouta’s personal space. 

“I’m fine. Go away.” Shouta swatted at Nemuri’s hand, though her cool fingers were a blessing against his clammy flesh. 

She pouted and didn’t retreat far. “Again?” 

“It’s nothing. Migraine,” Shouta said before Hizashi could recount their morning. Nemuri was a nosy person. If you gave her an inch, she’d take the whole goddamn mile, and Shouta was not ready to discuss Oboro with her. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to talk to Hizashi about it, but at the same time, Shouta felt he had to. Hizashi deserved the truth, and Shouta wasn’t sure he could carry on his life pretending that none of the previous timelines had happened.  

This time when Shouta entered his classroom, he found himself surprised and disappointed to find Mineta in the seat he’d become accustomed to seeing Hitoshi in. So Shouta hadn’t expelled him in this timeline? Did that mean Hitoshi was still in the Gen Ed class? Surely, Shouta and Hizashi would have fought for his transfer as his parents? He’d have to do some digging, but first, he had to survive this day again. Honestly, Shouta was ready for Valentine’s Day to do one and never sour his life again.  

Somehow Shouta managed to deal with homeroom without resorting to taking advantage of Iida. The distraction was welcome, and talking his students through things he’d already spoken about several times before meant that he didn’t have to push himself when all he really wanted to do was curl up in his sleeping bag and sleep away the next few years.  

Despite everything, Shouta made it through until lunch, meeting Hizashi in the staffroom. He couldn’t help but glance around for Oboro, heart throbbing painfully when he remembered that he wouldn’t find him. 

“You wanted to talk?” Hizashi asked too casually, as he handed Shouta a bento. 

“Not here. Tonight, at home.” Hizashi’s face instantly fell, and he chewed his bottom lip nervously.  

“Should… Should I be worried? You asked me if we were happy this morning, and—If you have regrets, just put me out of my misery now, man! I don’t think I can handle the wait!”

Shouta reached out and took Hizashi’s hands in his own. “I could never regret you,” he assured him. Hizashi visibly slumped in relief.  

“Phew,” he said, laughing weakly. “You scared me for a minute there, dude.”

Shouta squeezed his fingers but couldn’t bring himself to say anything. What they had to talk about later was possibly far worse than him having regrets over their marriage. He honestly had no idea how Hizashi was going to take everything. Shouta risked ruining everything by admitting the truth, but he was just tired. Too tired to keep lying.  

Letting Oboro die had broken him, and Shouta needed to unburden, even if that meant losing Hizashi forever.  

It’s not like he deserved Hizashi, anyway. 

The rest of the day crept by tortuously slowly, although Shouta was relieved to learn that Hitoshi was in the hero course after all. This time, he’d been placed in 1B, and while Shouta didn’t know what had warranted the change, he was just glad that the kid was getting to live his dream.  

Even after they returned home, their conversation had to wait. First, they had family time and a meal together. Shouta tried to enjoy it, aware that after he spoke to Hizashi, he might not be a welcome part of this household anymore. Considering how he’d gotten here, the family Shouta found himself with now meant the world to him and the thought of losing them pained him, but so did the thought of living a lie and accepting this life as if he deserved it when he’d literally had to allow someone he loved to die to gain it. 

Shouta mostly stayed quiet during dinner, choosing to watch his family interact over trying to join in only to reveal he had no memory of any of the occasions they were referring to. It was nice, regardless. It made him wish he’d managed to get this life the right way. 

He would miss them when he was cast out, but, from his observations, they would be just fine without him. That was good. Shouta was glad about that. 

After they tucked Eri in for the night and Hitoshi vanished into his room to deal with homework, Hizashi turned to Shouta.  

“You wanna talk about what’s been bothering you now?” 

Shouta didn’t. He wanted to keep pretending for a bit longer. But putting off the inevitable wasn’t in either of their best interests. He sighed and nodded, and together they moved to the privacy of their bedroom where they wouldn’t be disturbed.  

“What’s this about, Sho? You’ve got me super worried, I’m not gonna lie.” It wasn’t unusual for Hizashi to jump between Japanese and English, but the choice of using English to express his concern seemed quite telling. Hizashi genuinely didn’t know what to expect, and it terrified him.  

They sat on their bed, facing one another, Hizashi’s hands gripping Shouta’s and his face earnest with worry. Shouta chewed over his reply silently. He wasn’t good with words, and the conversation wasn’t one he particularly wanted to have. He didn’t know where to start. He didn’t know how to start. Shouta opened his mouth, but no words escaped. If he didn’t speak, he would draw out Hizashi’s paranoia, though, and he didn’t want that either.  

“Sho?”  

Shouta rubbed his thumb against the back of Hizashi’s hand. There was a good chance he’d never be able to touch him again after they had this conversation, so, even if it was selfish, he planned to take advantage of still being allowed simple touches right now. 

“I—uh—need to confess something,” he said finally, hoping the words would come easier after that. They didn’t, but somehow Shouta persisted. “I’ve been messing with a quirk.”

Hizashi let Shouta explain in silence. It took a long time, longer than it had when Shouta explained everything to Oboro. He left out fewer details this time and was surprised to realise that it wasn’t so much because he was in less of a rush but more because he didn’t want to keep anything from Hizashi. He wanted to be as truthful as possible, even if it meant he would be hated.  

Shouta had always found excessive talking exhausting, and this was no exception, but once he started, he found he couldn’t stop. He began with the original timeline, careful to avoid meeting Hizashi’s eyes as he explained how poorly he’d handled Oboro’s death and how he’d shut out his friends and run away. 

There were moments when Hizashi seemed like he wanted to speak, but he held his tongue as Shouta continued. He went through every timeline, giving as much detail as possible in hopes that he’d have fewer questions to answer later. Shouta wasn’t sure he would be able to repeat much of what he said—saying it the first time was hard enough.

When Shouta finally stopped talking, they were well into the night, and the silence that dropped with his last words felt absolute. Hizashi stared at him for a long time, long enough that Shouta finally dared to meet his eyes, something he’d been too afraid to do for fear of what he’d see in that intense green.  

Hizashi’s face was unreadable, and Shouta felt his stomach sink. That was worse than his feelings being written across him. Shouta literally had no idea what to expect, and the suspense was torturous.

“Please say something,” he croaked, his voice hoarse from all the talking. His eyes needed to be soothed by drops but he didn’t want to look away, didn’t want to miss a thing. He was too exhausted. He just wanted this to be over.  

“Oh, Sho,” Hizashi said quietly. “What have you been doing to yourself?” Shouta frowned at that, confused by the concern in Hizashi’s tone. He was meant to be angry or full of hatred, but instead, he sounded sad and worried. Even more confusing was Hizashi reaching out to cup his face. Shouta leaned into the warm touch despite himself—he was still so sure Hizashi would hate him, and he’d never get to touch the blond again.  

Hizashi’s thumb brushed tenderly against Shouta’s cheek in lieu of speaking. He seemed to be struggling to find the right words, and as much as Shouta wished he would say something, anything, he would never pressure Hizashi into speaking before he was ready. If that meant he had to suffer, then so be it. Shouta had already accepted that he deserved to suffer for what he’d done.  

Even after everything, even after discovering that the Shouta in front of him wasn’t the same one he’d married, Hizashi seemed to read him like a book. “You’re not a bad person, Sho.” That was debatable. Hizashi persisted, though. “I know you’re blaming yourself for Oboro’s death, but you were not responsible. You didn’t kill him, Shouta.”  

“As good as,” he mumbled, pulling away from Hizashi, whose hands were still on his face. Hizashi grabbed his hands instead, refusing to allow Shouta to go far. 

“No,” Hizashi said firmly. “Oboro was right. You gave him extra lives, but he was always meant to die, and that death wasn’t your fault. We were all teenagers, up against a villain even the pros couldn’t stop, and, even if that weren’t the case, even if we’d been adults and pros and he’d died, it still wouldn’t have been your fault.” 

Shouta wanted to believe Hizashi. He really did. But how could he when he could have saved Oboro and chose not to? He said as much, and Hizashi frowned. 

“Do you want to try again?” 

Yes. 

No. 

Shouta remained silent, incapable of voicing a coherent answer that would satisfy them both. 

“You can if you want, y’know,” Hizashi said quietly. “I wouldn’t judge you for it. If I have to suffer for Oboro to be alive, that’s something I’m more than willing to do. I loved him too, y’know.” There it was again. Just like with how Oboro hadn’t hesitated to offer himself as a sacrifice, Hizashi was now doing the same. They were both heroes through and through.  

Shouta wished they could be a little more selfish.  

He hated that he was tempted. With Hizashi’s permission, maybe he could live with himself. If he picked the right choices, both Hizashi and Oboro could live, even if it meant Hizashi was a villain or miserable. He’d still be alive, as would the third member of their complicated trio. 

Being alive was better than being dead, right? 

No. Even with Hizashi’s blessing, Shouta couldn’t do that to him. Seeing Hizashi suffer like that… Shouta didn’t have it in him to stand by and watch that. It would have been different if Oboro had been alive in the original timeline and Shouta was sacrificing him purely for selfish reasons, but that wasn’t the case. As much as Shouta hated it, it was more selfish for him to save Oboro and condemn Hizashi. 

“You are happy, aren’t you?” he asked. 

Hizashi hesitated, but Shouta knew him well enough to know it wasn’t for a negative reason. He was debating lying so that Shouta would redo the timeline and save Oboro. Ultimately, he couldn’t do that anymore than Shouta could put his own happiness before Hizashi’s. So he smiled weakly instead and squeezed Shouta’s fingers.  

“Yes,” he admitted, “I am.” Then, he sucked in his bottom lip and chewed it, and Shouta felt his stomach sink. “Well,” he corrected, “I was.” 

“You’re not now?” Shouta asked quietly. 

“You’ve just dropped a big truth bomb on me, Shouta. I… I’m not sure exactly how I feel.” 

Shouta nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He’d expected this. He’d thought it would be because Hizashi hated him for killing Oboro, but no matter the reason, he’d been prepared for an adverse reaction when he’d decided to tell Hizashi the truth. It didn’t matter that getting a confirmation hurt; he’d mentally prepared himself. He was fine. He’d be fine, no matter what Hizashi decided. 

“You’re doing it again,” Hizashi grumbled. “Picking a meaning for my words that suits your narrative.” Shouta ducked his head in guilt, realising that what Hizashi said was true. He had just decided that Hizashi meant he no longer wanted to be with him, but Hizashi hadn’t said anything of the sort. Yet. 

No. Not yet. Shouta wouldn’t assume he knew Hizashi’s thoughts better than he did.  

“I won’t stop magically loving you because you tried to make me happy, Shouta. Even if the way you went about it was whack .” 

“…Really?”

“I’ve been head over heels for you since I was fifteen! Fifteen, Sho! That’s half my life. We just got married too, yo! You honestly think I could just turn my feelings off like a light switch?”

“But—” 

“Don’t you dare say you killed Oboro,” Hizashi interrupted sharply. “We’ve been over that. You didn’t. What happened to your logical brain, man? It’s not logical to insist on seeing yourself as the villain.”

Shouta sighed and nodded. He was being illogical. “You’re right.” 

“I always am.” Hizashi flashed a toothy smile. That smile only lasted a few seconds before it fizzled out, turning instead into a frown. “You don’t remember anything from the last thirteen years, do you?” 

Ah. And that, rather than Shouta’s meddling or Oboro, was the problem. “No,” he admitted. 

“Not gonna lie, man, that bothers me.” It bothered Shouta, too. He nodded his understanding but didn’t say anything, waiting patiently as Hizashi chewed over his words. “So much has happened to us. We became heroes together. We got jobs as teachers together. We adopted kids, and we got married. Except… we didn’t. I did all that with a different version of you who no longer exists. All those memories I wanted us to share forever… You don’t have any of them!” 

Shouta understood completely. He hated that they were supposed to have all these memories together, and yet he hadn’t experienced any of them. He was an imposter, and as much as he wished differently— 

“That’s why you told me the truth, isn’t it?” Hizashi asked quietly. “You need me to tell you this isn’t right because you don’t think you’re strong enough to redo it all without encouragement.” 

Shouta had never consciously thought that, but he knew it was true as soon as Hizashi voiced it. Hizashi might have been happy in this timeline if he’d never learned the truth, but Shouta would have always known, and it would have eaten away at him. He would never be able to chip in when Hizashi told stories of their wedding or how the kids came to be a part of their lives. He wouldn’t be able to share small, insignificant memories with Hizashi or recall a single date they ever went on before their wedding. He didn’t even know who their friends were (apart from Nemuri, who Shouta hadn’t managed to shake during any of the timelines). Did they have the same friends as the original version, or had they met new people whom Hizashi had brought into their bubble?

“I wanted this to be the one,” Shouta mumbled.

“I know,” Hizashi said, once again squeezing his fingertips.  

“I don’t know if I can go through it all again.” 

“I know.” 

“I don’t know if I can return to a world where you hate me,” Shouta said. Because that was the only option left, really. To reset everything to how it should be and return to that very first timeline, the one where Shouta rejected Hizashi, lost Oboro and then proceeded to alienate himself from everybody he cared for. 

“I can’t imagine any version of myself could ever hate you.”  

It was a nice sentiment, but it wasn’t true. “The villain version of you definitely hated me,” he pointed out.  

“I doubt he did,” Hizashi said thoughtfully. “I think you would be dead right now if he had.” 

“He stabbed me,” Shouta argued, even though Mic had explicitly said the wound wouldn’t kill him. 

“Yet you didn’t die. I’m a hero, and even I know where to stab to kill, Shouta,” Hizashi pointed out. “He wanted you hurt, sure, but he absolutely could have killed you and didn’t.”  

“He probably just wanted to savour it.” 

“For sure!” Hizashi agreed. “I love a good show, after all. But I bet he would never have killed you. Maimed you horribly, sure dude, of course, ” he said, switching to English at the end. 

Shouta grunted in affirmative because nobody knew Hizashi better than Hizashi. Still, it was hard to believe that he stood any kind of chance with the one from the original timeline. He’d fucked that one up so severely that Shouta was sure there was no redemption to be had.  

“Hey, was my villain look hot?” Hizashi asked suddenly, sounding far too excited considering he wondered about his evil counterpart. 

“Yes,” Shouta admitted. Hizashi then demanded Shouta give him the rundown of exactly how he looked. He was especially intrigued by the side shave, but when Shouta gently tucked his long blond hair behind his ear, Hizashi reluctantly agreed that that look was best left in a different timeline. 

“What will you do?” Hizashi asked sometime later. They were curled up together on the bed, Hizashi the little spoon with Shouta’s arms wound around him. Shouta tensed at the question, not needing to ask what he meant.  

“If I stayed, would you love me?”

Hizashi was quiet for a moment too long. When he spoke, Shouta had to strain to hear him. “I’ll always love you, Sho. No matter what. But I think a part of me will always be sad, y’know? You’re you, and you’re wonderful, but you’re not the you I married. Does that make sense?” 

Shouta nodded against Hizashi’s neck. “Mm,” he murmured. He understood completely. He held Hizashi in his arms, and he loved him, but something was missing. This wasn’t his Hizashi. It was probably the closest he would ever get, but that still didn’t change things. Shouta couldn’t believe he’d spent so long trying to get the perfect timeline only to finally realise this when he did, indeed, get a (near) perfect one. 

“So this is our last night together?” Hizashi asked after a brief pause. 

Was it? They both seemed to agree that Shouta had to go back and repair everything he’d changed, but Shouta wasn’t sure whether he could. Could he really do it all over again and once more not interfere with Oboro’s death? It had been hard enough this time, and Shouta didn’t think it was something one just became immune to. Letting his best friend die? Yeah, there was no way. Shouta could do the timeline a hundred times over, and it would never get easier. 

“It should be,” he said finally, “but—”

“I get it,” Hizashi said when Shouta couldn’t finish. He twisted on the bed, turning and hauling himself onto his elbow to stare down at Shouta, his face soft. “Knowing you can save him and choosing not to? I don’t know if I’d be strong enough.” 

“You would. You’re strong. Stronger than me.”

“I love that even this version of you still only sees the best in me.” 

“What else is there?” Shouta asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. Instead of answering, Hizashi leaned down, ghosting his lips against Shouta’s in a kiss as uncertain as it was chaste. “Is this okay?” he asked, his face so close his warm breath tickled Shouta’s lips.  

Shouta was conflicted because hadn’t they just agreed that they weren’t the version of each other that they were in love with? Still, Hizashi leaned over him, and his lips still tingled from their kiss. He could love this Hizashi; it would be so easy. They could have a happy life together, raising their family and just existing. It would be so uncomplicated, so perfect. 

“Have you changed your mind?” he asked. 

“No. Have you?”

“…No,” he admitted. Sometimes the easy route wasn’t the right one. Neither was choosing his own selfish happiness over the right thing.  

“Then we’re agreed,” Hizashi murmured, still not moving away. “Want me to stop?”

“No,” Shouta said without even considering his answer. Maybe it was selfish, but if one night of pretending was all he’d ever get, Shouta found he couldn’t refuse. 

He arched up, securing Hizashi’s lips with his own.

If the way Hizashi kissed him back was any indication, he needed one night of pretend just as much as Shouta did.  

Who could begrudge them one last night of happiness if they were about to lose each other forever?  

Shouta ignored his brain as it tried to point out that it was all a lie. When every touch felt like small fireworks darting across his skin, could their night together really be considered a lie, anyway? 

With no secrets between them, far from a lie, Shouta felt this was the most real they had ever been together. Then, as Hizashi’s tongue trailed his stomach muscles, causing him to arch and gasp, fingers desperately clutching the sheets in anticipation, Shouta stopped thinking entirely.  

This one night. 

Didn’t they deserve this one night? Didn’t they deserve just one moment of happiness after all the pain they’d had to suffer?

Just one night, one moment of happiness—of bliss—then Shouta would return to Hell. 

It was where he belonged, after all. 

Chapter Text

Shouta woke early in his final attempt, a strange sense of calm becoming him. He lay staring at the ceiling for a few moments, contemplating. It wasn’t that he was okay with what he was about to do. The thought of rejecting Hizashi and then allowing Oboro to die—again—made him sick to his core.  

No, the calm came from his previous attempt. It came from Hizashi—a version of Hizashi, anyway—pushing him to do this and promising that he would never be hated if only he were honest. That didn’t mean they’d get their happily ever after. Even the previous Hizashi couldn’t foretell how it would go, only that Shouta shouldn’t give up hope, and under no circumstances should he abandon him again.  

Shouta still felt warm from his two days with the last Hizashi. He’d gotten a glimpse into a world he might never have but one that he wanted more than anything. They’d been a family, and they’d been happy. Even if Shouta never got to experience that again, he would forever treasure those memories. He would forever treasure his night with Hizashi, even if he hadn’t been the right Hizashi, the Hizashi that Shouta had fallen in love with. He’d had different life experiences, but fundamentally, he’d been the same man, and, although they’d chosen to part ways, Shouta would always treasure the time they spent together.  

He’d woken early, but if he wanted to stick as close to the original timeline as possible, he had to be late arriving at UA. More than anything, he wanted to arrive on time to give Hizashi the explanation he deserved—not that Shouta had such a thing prepared. Still, Hizashi deserved better than he was about to get and yet, to return to his original timeline, Shouta had to reject Hizashi and push him away.  

Fuck, he was an asshole.  

Despite meaning to follow the original timeline as closely as possible, Shouta avoided the abandoned cup of coffee as he climbed out of bed. If he could only have one win, it would be not having to clean up the cheap liquid he’d spilt in nearly every version of this day. Instead, he carried it downstairs with him, pouring the dregs down the sink and using the mug to make a fresh cup which he downed even before it was cool enough to sip. It burned his throat as it went down, but to Shouta, the pain was nothing.  

He caught the same train he originally had, and from the station, he hurried up the hill to UA. As unfeasible as it was, he hoped Hizashi wouldn’t be there, pacing by the gate while he waited. 

He was, of course, disappointed.  

“Aizawa! There you are!” Hizashi smiled too brightly, and Shouta had to fight the temptation to say fuck it and tell the boy how much he loved him and his sunshine smile. 

“What’s this about, Yamada?” Shouta said instead, recalling every word he’d said that day and repeating them robotically. “I could have had an extra half hour in bed.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m sorry. I just, uh, well—” Hizashi gave the back of his neck a sheepish rub, avoiding eye contact.  

“Spit it out, Yamada!” Shouta’s insides twisted at his rudeness. How Hizashi had never given up on him, he didn’t know. He was an asshole, and somebody as pure and special as Hizashi deserved so much better. 

“Aizawa?” Hizashi was holding out the box of chocolates. The homemade chocolates that he’d probably spent hours on.  

Shouta closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was going to need all the strength he could muster for this… 

His teenage days passed in a blur. Despite his better judgement, Shouta did make a couple of changes, unable to resist the call. He rejected Hizashi in the same harsh way he had in the first timeline, but at the end of the school day, he practically dragged his two best friends to the cat café he’d taken Hizashi to on their first solo date. It was awkward, and Hizashi struggled to make eye contact, but the atmosphere eased slightly when Bluebell ultimately showed up and attached herself to Shouta. 

“Aw, she loves you!” Oboro teased, reaching over to scratch the cat between her ears. He was playing dumb, pretending he didn’t notice anything amiss between his two friends, but Oboro had always been people-smart. He knew something had happened between the pair that they didn’t want to talk about. Oboro had also likely noticed how strangely he was acting around him, despite Shouta’s best (failed) efforts to behave normally. If the cloud-wielder was curious, he kept it to himself. Shouta wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or not. A part of him felt as if he owed his friend an explanation, but the rest of him was thankful he didn’t have to give it. Shouta wasn’t sure what he would do if this version of Oboro decided he wanted to live. 

He couldn’t drastically change the timeline again. He had to set things right and then move on with his life.  

It was the hardest thing he’d ever have to do, but he would do it. 

Shouta wouldn’t let his resolve crumble.  

“Hey, you should adopt Bluebell!” Hizashi said, and Shouta was thrown back to a different timeline where he hadn’t hurt his feelings just hours ago. 

How he wished he was back on that date, sharing shy smiles with the boy he loved.  

That timeline hadn’t worked, though. Hizashi hadn’t been happy.  

Shouta hoped that, once this was all over, Hizashi would find happiness again, even if it wasn’t with him. 

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”  

“Cats are a big responsibility. We have school.” This time, Hizashi didn’t press any further, though Shouta did feel his eyes burning into him as he played with Bluebell. 

Shouta didn’t know if his plan would work. He’d brought Hizashi here, hoping that he’d still adopt the cat, as he had the last time. However, in the previous timeline, he’d adopted Bluebell as a nice gesture for Shouta. If Shouta’s interference didn’t affect how he was supposed to behave next, it was unlikely Hizashi would be feeling up for doing any such kind gestures. 

At least he’d tried.  

It was one less thing for him to lose sleep over.  

By the time Shouta woke in his adult body, he had no idea what to expect—had the detour to, hopefully, secure Bluebell a loving home taken him off path? Nearly everything else he’d done had been as close to the original version as memory would allow. That didn’t mean anything, though.

Before daring to open his eyes, Shouta took a long moment just to lie there. He was unsure what would greet him and that, he realised, made him afraid. Afraid that he had messed up again, and the timeline would once more be drastically different than the original. He couldn’t go through everything again. He no longer had the strength for it. That last time had drained him entirely, and if he didn’t want to end up an empty husk, this one had to be the one. 

Shouta didn’t believe in God, but he said a silent prayer regardless. If anyone was listening, he hoped they would take pity on him.  

When he did blearily blink in the daylight creeping past closed curtains, relief flooded him. 

He knew where he was. He recognised the room he woke alone in. It was his room. His room in Hizashi’s house. 

So far, so good. 

Hizashi was already up and dressed when Shouta found himself in the kitchen. No pancakes were being prepared this morning—another good sign. Shouta opened his mouth to speak, but something fluffy coiled around his ankle before he could.

His gaze dropped quickly, and his heart raced at the sight that greeted him.  

It had worked!

Crouching down, Shouta scratched Bluebell under her chin, earning a loud purr for his efforts. 

“She always likes you better than me, yo!” Hizashi said, pouting as he stood over them. “Hey, Bluebell, who is it who fed you the last thirteen years, huh?” The cat glanced at Hizashi and then turned away, flashing him her backside as she nuzzled into Shouta’s hand, demanding more attention. “Meanie .”

Shouta laughed. “She knows a catch when she sees one,” he said, the words surprising even himself. Hizashi rolled his eyes, but Shouta swore he saw his cheeks turn a warm pink. Shouta cleared his throat and stood, sparing a brief guilty glance at Bluebell, who meowed in annoyance at his abandonment.  

“We should probably get ready,” he said stiffly. He really didn’t want to go to work. Really didn’t want to repeat this day over again when he’d already done it so many times before. It didn’t help that he knew he’d be searching for Oboro down every corridor, despite knowing he would never find him. At least there was some solace in knowing this really was the final time. No matter how things went with Hizashi after this, Shouta would never travel back and try and fix things again. 

“You know Nem’s gonna be on our backs to go out tonight, right?” Hizashi asked, pulling a face. 

“I’m not going.” 

“I don’t want to either. Hey, why don’t we stay in and watch movies, yo? If we stand together, Nem can’t bully us!”

Shouta hesitated. He’d said yes without thinking the first time, but maybe it would be better if they skipped the movie night altogether? He wouldn’t get tempted to kiss Hizashi if they weren’t curled up together on the couch.  

Who was he kidding? He was always tempted to kiss Hizashi.  

“Okay,” he said. Hizashi beamed, and Shouta looked away. He wasn’t sure he would survive Hizashi’s smiles. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. 

In the car on the way to UA, Shouta dropped a bombshell that almost made Hizashi crash. In retrospect, he probably should have waited until he wasn’t driving to mention it, but the timing felt right.  

“I’m going to adopt Eri,” he said.  

“Oh. Wow, um… Wow .” Hizashi fumbled for words, eyebrows high in surprise.  

“Hopefully, Hitoshi, too,” Shouta added, and the car swerved. 

Once they arrived at UA, Hizashi turned off the engine but made no move to get out. After a long silence, he asked, “Shinsou Hitoshi?”

“Yes.” Shouta nodded.  

“…I see. Where’s this coming from, Sho?”

“He’s in care. The kid deserves a home. I’ll get my own place, of course.” 

Hizashi’s head snapped towards him. “That’s not—! It’s not about me not wanting them in my house. It’s just… This is sudden, man! You’ve literally never mentioned this before. I know you’re fond of them both, but—” 

“It’s not that sudden,” Shouta argued, although without getting into everything right now, in the car, he could understand why Hizashi would see it that way. He looked after Eri and had taken Hitoshi on as his student, but he’d never spoken about wanting anything more with them before. It was mostly because Shouta had never realised it was what he wanted until he’d lived a life where he was their dad. 

A long silence stretched between them. “You think it’s a bad idea?” Shouta asked finally.  

“No way, man! ” Hizashi said quickly in English. “I think it’s a wonderful thing to do. I’m just… surprised, is all. You, uh, didn’t strike me as the fatherly type.”

Shouta shrugged. “People change,” he said finally. 

Hizashi stared at him for a long time. “I guess they do,” he agreed eventually. 

Almost as soon as they entered the staff room, Nemuri pounced on them. 

“Let’s hit the town tonight!” 

“No,” Shouta said. 

“Oh, come on~” She pouted. “Valentine’s Day gets me all excited! Don’t make me go out alone.” 

“You’ll abandon us as soon as someone takes your fancy anyway,” Hizashi pointed out.  

“Yeah, but I’ll make sure nobody takes my fancy until we’re all suitably drunk. Come on, don’t force a girl to party by herself!” 

“Sorry, Listener. It’s a no from us!” 

Nemuri stared between them, eyes lighting up at Hizashi’s choice of wording. “Do you have better plans?” she purred. “Oh, do tell me all the deets. Are things gonna get hot and sweaty tonight in the Yamada household?”

The conversation hadn’t gone like this the first time, and Shouta was finding it difficult to keep calm. He was used to Nemuri’s suggestive remarks about his relationship with Hizashi, but it hit differently after everything he’d been through. He was already risking his friendship with Hizashi, though, and he didn’t want to blow up his one with Nemuri, too, so instead of snapping, he simply excused himself and headed towards his classroom early.  

When his class filed in, Shouta had to remind himself that Hitoshi was still in Gen Ed in this timeline. Hopefully, that would change soon. He’d speak to Nezu about sorting a trial run out soon, and, if Hitoshi passed, Shouta would fight for the kid to be moved to the course he deserved.  

He also needed to have a different chat with the kid. The idea of floating adoption made Shouta nervous. In each timeline that Hitoshi had been his son, Shouta had simply woken to him already a part of his family. He had no idea how the subject had initially been broached. He also didn’t know whether having Hizashi be his dad as well was a deal-breaker. Perhaps Hitoshi only wanted to live in a happy, complete family and would reject the prospect of having a single dad in Shouta.  

Fortunately, he had a bit of time to consider how to go about it. It was a relief to know he was no longer working with a two-day time limit. Shouta didn’t like having to deal with important life decisions under pressure. Now that he was back where he belonged, he hoped that some of the tension building up in his shoulders would relax.  

Then again, with the ticking time bomb that was his relationship with Hizashi, maybe not. 

Shouta stayed in his classroom during lunch, napping under his desk and eating a jelly pouch so that he could avoid his colleagues and a staff room that didn’t have Oboro in it. Shouta had known adult Oboro for less than two weeks, and yet he’d become used to his presence in his life remarkably quickly. It would take some adjusting before he stopped searching the corridors for his friend. 

“Are you okay?” Hizashi asked in the car on the way home after what felt like a very long day. “You hid at lunch. Nem ate your bento.”  

“Glad it didn’t go to waste,” Shouta mumbled, not turning his gaze away from the window.  

“So? Are you?” 

“Am I what?”

“Okay?”

Shouta sighed. He’d deliberated not saying anything about his quirk abuse to this version of Hizashi, but he didn’t want to lie or keep secrets. Not from Hizashi. “No,” he admitted. “Let’s talk when we get inside.”

It didn’t look like their movie night would happen. That was probably for the best. At least Shouta wouldn’t get caught cuddling close to Hizashi with the overwhelming urge to kiss him. Shouta had a second chance—he was going to do things right this time. Even if that meant they’d never be more than friends. 

Even if it meant they wouldn’t be friends at all.  

“Sure, okay,” Hizashi said, a nervous edge to his voice.  

Shouta wasn’t looking forward to talking through everything again, but at least this was the last time. He was back in his original timeline (well, close enough), and he had no intention of leaving again. Once he’d told Hizashi everything he would never have to go through it again. At least not out loud. In his mind was another story…  

Bluebell was waiting at the door for them when they entered the house. She meowed loudly, and Hizashi sighed. “ Yeah, yeah, okay, you spoiled kitty,” he mumbled in English, switching his shoes for slippers and heading straight for the kitchen to feed her. He was nervous, worried about Shouta’s serious demeanour and its meaning. Shouta silently followed him, leaning against the counter as he watched Hizashi fuss over the old cat.

“She only likes me when foods involved, man,” Hizashi moaned.  

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Shouta said. After all, from the little he’d gathered throughout the day, he had still run away in this timeline, which meant it had just been Bluebell and Hizashi for years. They must have bonded during the time Shouta was being a coward. 

Hizashi shrugged hopelessly, and a fresh wave of guilt filled Shouta. He hated seeing the usually confident voice hero so dejected.

“Should we order takeout?” Shouta suggested suddenly. Hizashi looked up at him in surprise. Between them, they brought in a decent monthly income, but they rarely wasted money on takeout. Hizashi liked to cook and was good at it, too. Still, without the distraction of cooking, they would have more time to talk. 

“What’s going on, Sho? Is this about Eri and Hitoshi?” 

“No. Well, they’re involved, but—” Shouta cut off and sighed. He hated this part. It had been hard enough to know where to start last time he’d confessed all this to Hizashi, and now here he was doing it all again voluntarily. It couldn’t be helped, he guessed. 

“Are you in trouble?” 

“No,” Shouta said but then hesitated and added solemnly, “But you might not… want anything to do with me after. And if so, that’s okay. I understand.”

Shouta didn’t think it was possible for Hizashi’s frown to deepen, but somehow, he managed it. After a long moment of silence, Hizashi walked over to the couch and sat, patting the space beside him.  

“I think you better tell me everything,” he said. So Shouta did. He explained it all, trying his best not to skip over any details. He choked up as he got to the part where he chose to let Oboro die for the first time and was surprised when a warm hand slipped into his.  

As before, Hizashi didn’t interrupt, even to suggest they pause for food. Shouta wasn’t hungry anyway, and Hizashi seemed too invested in what was being said even to consider eating. By the time Shouta finished speaking, Hizashi was gawping with his mouth wide open.  

“Oh, Sho,” he said finally. “What have you been doing to yourself?” 

“That’s what you said last time.” 

“Well, I guess he was me. Same minds, yo.” Hizashi was obviously trying to keep his tone light, but he wasn’t very successful. He cleared his throat and glanced hesitantly at Shouta. “So, you’re… in love with me?”  

It wasn’t logical to deny it after everything he’d just confessed. “Yes.” 

“Oh.” 

Not quite the reaction he’d hoped for, but since this conversation was already going better than he’d expected, Shouta would take it. 

“Oboro too?” 

Shouta hesitated. His feelings for Oboro were complicated, and nothing could ever come of them, but he’d promised himself he wouldn’t lie to Hizashi. “I… yes. But in a different way, I think. I felt content with the prospect of giving him up.”

“But not with me?”  

“No,” Shouta agreed. Hizashi groaned and buried his face in his hands, and Shouta couldn’t help but apologise.  

“You don’t need to say sorry,” Hizashi said, his words muffled by his hands. 

“I do,” Shouta argued. He had so much to apologise for—he was sure that if he apologised and tried to do better every day for the rest of his life, it still wouldn’t be enough.  

“Well, yeah, okay,” Hizashi agreed finally. “What you did was whack .”

“I’m sorry,” Shouta mumbled again.  

“It’s okay,” Hizashi said slowly, like he was tasting the words to see how they felt. “Are you okay?” 

Shouta frowned at the question. He didn’t understand why Hizashi cared. He should be angry, not concerned. “I’m…” He hesitated, unsure how to answer. Finally, he said, “No, not really.”

He still felt sick to his stomach for what he had done. He’d stood back and allowed Oboro to die not once but twice. One could argue that he’d done so to correct the wrongs he himself had created, but it didn’t feel like that to Shouta. He felt like a monster. He felt like he’d killed his best friend.  

“Shouta,” Hizashi said softly, squeezing his hand.  

“Why are you being nice?” Shouta couldn’t help but ask. “I hurt you, then I took things into my own hands and tried to fix it all for my own selfish needs.” 

Hizashi sighed, running his free hand through his hair. His other never released its grip on Shouta. “You did hurt me,” he agreed. “You ran away without a word. I don’t care that you rejected my confession, but I do care that you decided you knew what was best for me. You decided I would be better off not knowing you, so you ignored all my attempts to reach out. You made me feel worthless and unwanted. You were important to me, and by running away and cutting me off, you made me think the feeling wasn’t mutual. I was left feeling like you didn’t care, and that sucked, man.

“You should have communicated. You should have told me how you were feeling and that you just needed space. I would have understood. I would have given you all the space you required while making sure you knew I was there if you needed me. You took that option away from me, and I was angry for a few years because of it. So, yeah, I get why I rejected you. But understand this, Sho—it wasn’t because I don’t care about you. I always have and will always love you. Despite everything, despite all the hurt you caused me, I’ve never doubted that. I sometimes wished I could change it, but you’ve had a hold over me since we met, and I’ve long had to accept that I get no say in the matter. You’re like my soulmate, I guess, yo!” He chuckled without humour at that confession, like the word ‘soulmate’ chained him down, and he longed to be free of it.

Shouta wished he could set him free. 

“So what now?” Shouta asked, fully expecting Hizashi to tell him to pack up and leave. He wouldn’t blame him. It was the least of what he deserved. Instead, Hizashi hummed, drumming his fingers against his chin.  

“When you told me all this before, did I ask about my villain self?”

That was what he wanted to know? “Yes.” 

“…Can I ask again?” Hizashi was grinning sheepishly, and Shouta couldn’t help but be confounded by his vanity even now.  

“Yes, he was hot,” Shouta said bluntly.  

“But like, how hot?” 

The lightness of the conversation should have been a relief, but instead, Shouta was frustrated. It felt like Hizashi wasn’t taking this seriously, and Shouta didn’t know how to deal with that when he’d put himself out there. 

The light in Hizashi’s vibrant eyes dimmed as he noted Shouta’s expression. “I’m sorry.”  

“Don’t apologise.” It was him who needed to say sorry—why wouldn’t Hizashi let him say it? 

“It’s easier to joke about things than admit they hurt,” Hizashi explained. “Though I have always thought I’d make rockin’ villain, yo!”  

“You’re doing it again.” 

Hizashi laughed. “It’s true, though. But yeah, not the time. I get it.”  

A brief silence fell upon them, neither seeming to want to be the one to break it. Finally, Hizashi bit the bullet. “I want to try,” he said.

“Huh?” Shouta had no idea what he was talking about. Did he mean he wanted to go after the villain and have his own go at changing the future? While Shouta couldn’t stop him, he would certainly strongly advice against it. Shouta was sure it would take him a long time to heal from everything he put himself through with his own experience of messing with time. 

“Us,” Hizashi clarified, and Shouta stilled on the couch beside him, frozen to the spot as if he’d moved slightly and misheard what Hizashi had said. Hizashi continued as if he hadn’t noticed. “I get why I rejected you last time we sat here together, but I also think that I would have thought things through and come to the same decision if you'd just given me a few days. I love you, Shouta. And, yeah, you hurt me, and we can’t ignore that, but we can move forward together and be better—both of us. I’m not naïve enough to think I’m entirely faultless in some of how I handled things, y’know. I should have been more understanding. I shouldn’t have scared you off with a second confession when you were still clearly hurting over Oboro. I should have tried harder to reach out when you ran away instead of giving up so quickly—” 

“Hizashi, stop,” Shouta interrupted. “None of what you did was wrong. You have nothing to apologise for.”

“Well, I disagree,” he argued. “I won’t let you burden the entire fault, even if most of it is yours to carry. We both could have behaved differently, and so that’s what I propose. We try to be better, more understanding, kinder. We try again. We start over.” 

Shouta was still doubtful. He didn’t understand why Hizashi was suggesting such a thing when he’d closed up completely the last time Shouta had tried to initiate something. Had his minimal changes to the timeline changed Hizashi too much? Maybe having Bluebell as a companion had softened his heart to Shouta over the years? Was this even the Hizashi he wanted to be with if that was the case? Shouta couldn’t even tell what that meant anymore.  

Despite his trepidation, Shouta couldn’t deny that he wanted what Hizashi suggested. Even if it took them another thirteen years, Shouta wanted a future with Hizashi. A future where instead of hurting one another, they just loved each other instead. He wanted them to raise Hitoshi and Eri and grow old together. 

“Do you think it’s possible?” 

“I think we need to work hard for it,” Hizashi said seriously. His lips twitched at the corners, transforming his face with a small but beautiful smile. He really was so beautiful. “But I definitely think it’s possible.”

Shouta wanted to believe that more than anything. 

“Okay,” he said.  

“Okay?”

“Mm.” Shouta nodded, and Hizashi’s smile grew larger. Shouta didn’t know why the universe was being kind to him after everything he’d done, nor did he believe he deserved it. If he got more smiles from Hizashi like that, he would gladly accept this life he didn’t deserve, even if he was confident it would be snatched away from him when he least expected it. 

Hizashi was worth that risk.  

They agreed to take things slow, and although Hizashi told him he didn’t have to, Shouta chose to move into the staff dorms. Living together felt like it would tempt fate too much. Shouta wanted their relationship to work out, and he felt living together put that at risk. A moment of weakness, a heated kiss that led to more, and the bridge they were slowly building could end up burning down. 

Their first ‘date’ together consisted of venturing out to capture the villain with the time travel quirk. After so many times hanging about waiting for it, Shouta knew the precise time the yell of ‘thief’ would happen.  

Except, that time came and went, and no yell happened.  

“Didn’t you say…?” Hizashi trailed off uncertainly as the minutes ticked by.  

Shouta didn’t understand it. He’d been there without fail every single time, no matter what changes Shouta had made. Why wasn’t he here this time? It didn’t make sense. The universe was fucking with him, and it felt like a bad omen. Hizashi disagreed, though.  

“It’s kinda like fate, though, right? He was there every time you needed him, but now that you’ve figured it out, he’s gone. He came in your life to help you learn a lesson and then left again—like Santa Clause in all those cheesy Western movies, ya dig?” 

Shouta failed to see how the villain was anything like Santa Clause, but after half an hour of searching, he finally agreed that the guy wasn’t going to show up. It didn’t stop him from keeping an eye out as he went on patrol that evening, though he didn’t hold his breath for any success. Whoever the villain was, he’d vanished without a trace, and although Shouta left information with the police, he knew it was unlikely the guy would ever be caught. He just hoped nobody else got caught up unawares in his quirk. It was a dangerous one and needed to be registered and monitored. 

Months passed, and still there was no sign of the villain. Shouta never stopped searching, but life did move on. With the help of Hizashi and Nezu, Shouta legally became the guardian to Eri and Hitoshi. Despite his fears, both kids were thrilled at the prospect of having a father and sibling. 

Although things between them remained slow, Shouta and Hizashi’s relationship bloomed nicely. Nothing more serious than a few dates had happened between them (much to Nemuri’s increasing frustration), but they were communicating well and enjoying each other’s company. For the first time in a long time, Shouta was happy and hopeful for a promising future together.  

It wasn’t all happy news, though. Finding out that Kurogiri was Oboro came as a hard blow that shook Shouta to his core and almost made him spiral.  

“You okay?” Hizashi asked quietly once they returned to the staff dorms in UA. He was lying across the couch, his cheek squidged against the material.  

“No. Are you?” 

“No way! That was… fuuuck.”  

Shouta reminded himself that he wasn’t in this alone. Hizashi was here, and everything Shouta was feeling, Hizashi was feeling too. He reminded himself of Nemuri’s words to him before he’d ever discovered the villain with the time travel quirk. She had told him Hizashi was never allowed to grieve Oboro because Shouta had held a claim over his death. He wouldn’t let that happen again. This time, they would get through their grief together. 

Shouta walked over to the couch and perched on the edge, rubbing soothing, circular motions into Hizashi’s back. He only found the strength because it wasn’t fair that Hizashi always had to have to be the strong one. Shouta had stolen Hizashi’s grief when they were children—it would be selfish to do the same again now, even if his world were threatening to cave in around him and bury him alive. He would keep himself together so that Hizashi didn’t have to. 

“I take it you didn’t know?” Hizashi mumbled finally.  

“Of course not.” Hadn’t his reaction at Tartarus been evidence enough of that?  

“I wasn’t sure. Kurogiri wouldn’t have existed in your other timelines.”

“Except for Shigaraki, I can’t say I saw or thought about the rest of the League much,” Shouta said. That wasn’t entirely true—he’d looked into the League a little both when Present Mic had been a villain and when he’d woken to Shigaraki as his son but seeing no mention of the warp villain wasn’t even something that had registered on his mind. 

Hizashi sniffed loudly. “It’s so fucked up, Sho!”

“I know,” Shouta said. He was angry. Furious, really. How dare anyone disrespect Oboro like that. He deserved so much better, and if Shouta couldn’t save him, he’d make sure justice was served. They’d do it together, Hizashi and him. Just like how they would do everything from now on. No longer would Shouta make wrong moves that felt right at the time. He’d learned his lesson from that.  

“Do you think we can save him?” Hizashi asked, shifting slightly to nuzzle his face against Shouta’s hip.  

Shouta tensed at the idea. After everything, after failing to save Oboro when he went back in time, was it possible he had another chance now? 

Could Shirakumo Oboro be saved?  

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But if it’s possible, we’ll do it, right?” 

“Of course,” Hizashi agreed. “Let’s save him. Together.” 

Together. 

Shouta liked the sound of that.