Chapter Text
Monday morning the person that sits down in the seat next to him is an actual stranger.
It takes him a second of confusion before he looks around and realizes his stranger is nowhere to be seen. The woman next to him doesn’t spare him a glance and Hizashi swallows down the weird complicated emotions knotting up in his chest, chastising himself for getting upset when it’s not like they’ve promised to always do this or anything. The guy has no obligation to sit next to Hizashi on the train - or even take the same train at all! - and Hizashi always knew logically that there are going to be days where it won’t happen.
Tell that to his disappointed heart, though.
Then the next morning passes and the one after that, with no sign of his commuter buddy and Hizashi finds his disappointment turning to worry. After an entire week riding the train to work alone he’s beginning to wonder if something bad happened.
Did he get fired from his job? Was he in an accident? Hospitalized? … Dead?
He shifts between feeling like he’s gotten dumped and worrying his hair out with more and more outlandish scenarios that could explain his absence. Does he have someone at home who’d miss him? What about his work? He did get beat up that one time, could he be in trouble?
He joins Oboro at his sports club, taking full advantage of their gym and his friend’s presence as he vents his concerns just to get his brain to quiet down a little. Oboro agrees with Hizashi’s initial reaction; it’s none of his business and there’s nothing he can do, but he does offer another movie night with icecream and that certainly helps Hizashi feel less pathetic.
He picks a dusty lavender color for his nails, while Oboro decides on his usual clear gel with a bold color on one finger for each hand. He goes with a neon green that is advertised to glow in the dark.
After a month Hizashi feels like he’s come to terms with the loss of his commuter buddy. He’s stopped trying to save the seat next to him and gone back to using music to distract his head from the overwhelming experience of the train at max capacity.
Oboro joins him sometimes, as if he can tell Hizashi is still not quite happy with taking the train alone anymore and it’s nice to have that silent reassurance.
The launch of the 3pm radio segment the call center arranged is a success, Hizashi feeling downright giddy with excitement as he ends that first broadcast after thirty minutes of chatting about the importance of mental health in the little studio booth set up in the old printer room. He’s congratulated by his colleagues and officially receives the title of resident radio host under the nickname ‘Present Mic’.
He’ll probably be explaining the name in the next segment, so the listeners can fully appreciate the tale of ‘Presentation Michael’ - The new employee who went on a business trip to the states and was talked into picking an anglicized name when doing a presentation that he botched so severely people would point to him for the rest of the convention and loudly repeat his new moniker. Someone on their way home from work will probably get a kick out of that, and it’ll help humanize him, he hopes. He still cringes at the memory.
Oboro and a few of their closer colleagues take him out drinking in celebration despite it being a wednesday, all of them high off the feedback loop of excitement their discussions of the show creates, and Hizashi lets Oboro treat him to some of those fancy sugary cocktails he feels too guilty to buy himself. They spend most of the night in a local izakaya that has individual booths chatting about everything and nothing. Hizashi ends up spilling his guts about his missing commuter buddy and he happily accepts the condolences his coworkers humor him with, some of them clearly confused about whether it’s a joke or a real thing but nonetheless all of them collectively join in on the mock sympathy that Oboro plays up to the nth degree.
Hizashi obligingly pretends to be a bereft lover, mourning the loss of a mysterious paramour, even if his jokes hold more than a little truth to them.
It feels nice to joke about it, though. He wonders if it would feel similar if they knew he actually does have a small sort of crush on the guy; if they knew he’s gay.
Rather, he’s actually pretty sure most of them have figured him out by now, but even an open secret is still so so different from a straightforward admission, and the weight of it sits heavy in his chest.
He spends the night in Oboro’s bed again, trying not to pretend his friend’s hair is black and pushing down his disappointment when he smells Oboro’s citrus-y deodorant instead of lavender and coffee.
With his daily thirty minute radio segment Hizashi spends a lot less time on the phones, but he pitches in as often as he can. When a nasty stomach bug takes out a couple of the guys on night shift he’s more than happy to pick up shifts that would otherwise be left empty, changing up his rhythm for a few days to manage the suddenly odd hours.
“You’re a saint, Yamada,” Kayama sighs as she leans on the wall next to his desk, sipping at a cup of coffee at 9pm on a Friday, looking worn but somehow still flawlessly put together. Her concealer must be insanely pricey, it’s a fucking beast. Hizashi raises his own mug in a casual cheers and swivels around on his office chair.
He’s been at the call center for almost a year now and somehow he’s managed to befriend their boss to a certain extent. He’s not sure if it’s because of the radio show or his innate need to please that makes her hang out near his workstation but once he got past all the overt flirting and constant innuendos he’s found he genuinely enjoys her company. She’s certainly one of the better bosses he’s had, even if she’s more than a little unorthodox. Of course what he really connects with is her drive to help people. At times it’s a little much, manifesting as borderline manipulative behavior, but overall she’s just one of those people who lives for others. She’s the type to be in your face and loud, setting an example and making a statement that makes others feel like they’re not so different after all, makes people more likely to accept their own peculiarities when they watch her show them off with unshakeable confidence.
He’s sometimes a little awestruck, to be honest, not that he’ll admit that anytime soon.
“I’d take the shift myself but I promised weeks ago to babysit for a friend of mine in the morning,” she huffs, “if he’d let me I would’ve just gotten him to drop the kid off here so I could work while he sleeps but that’s apparently not an option.”
Hizashi shrugs, “I mean, probably not a bad idea to take a day off, though, you deserve it,” he says, tone softer than he intended it. He’s awarded with one of those small genuine smiles Kayama offers when she genuinely appreciates something.
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Funny, actually, the guy I’m babysitting for is even more of a workaholic, guess I should try to lead by example,” she makes a face, downing the rest of her coffee, “practice what you preach and all that.”
Hizashi hums out an affirmative with a smile that matches the comfortable atmosphere and turns back to his work right as another caller comes in and Kayama departs silently with an offhanded wave.
Fukukado makes another appearance when she and Oboro arrange a cross-company hang-out at a karaoke place with some of the employees from Soteria. There’s a lot less people this time around so Hizashi makes a point to talk to or sing with everyone at least once throughout the night.
In doing so he finds out he’s terrible at beatboxing but he does manage to harmonize with himself during one of the songs, his throat burning as much as his cheeks when his last note ends in a croak and a round of coughing - but judging by the cheers of his audience it was worth it. One of the nurses hasn’t witnessed Hizashi purring yet and he ends up with three girls and a guy from Soteria all crowded on his lap and curled up against his sides with their ears to his chest. Hizashi just purrs contentedly and lets himself be smothered, closing his eyes and wondering if he’s imagining the scent of lavender just because the girl on his right reminds him of his commute buddy.
Eventually they’re all drunk enough that it turns into a giant cuddle pile, the karaoke machine forgotten as they laugh at Oboro’s retelling of Kayama’s exploits back when the call-center was only just established. One of the psychiatrists from Soteria lets the call center workers in on the secret betting pool they have going regarding their boss’ sexuality - apparently the winners are going to be splitting almost 300 thousand yen, which really puts into perspective how large Soteria is (or how well they pay their employees, perhaps). Each of the people present from Soteria take turns announcing their guesses, with two voting for straight, one for asexual and one for bi. Hizashi decides to be contrary and says he bets their boss is actually gay and the discussion just devolves from there as he and his colleagues from the call center are presented with several more anecdotes about the strange enigma that is ‘Aizawa’, each accompanied by an argument for why it proves his sexuality one way or another.
He ends up deciding to walk home on his own once they finally decide it’s too late to keep going.
He’s not even really tipsy anymore but he feels vaguely floaty and content after the impromptu cuddling he got treated to so he’s in the perfect mindspace for the sort of idle meditation walking quietly at night often becomes for him. It’s early winter and his breath produces little puffs of vapor that curl around his face as he walks into them. If it wasn’t for the light pollution it would have been a clear, starry night.
He ducks his face into the collar of his jacket, smiling to himself and enjoying the cold on his flushed cheeks as he lets his mind wander.
Just as they often do when he’s by himself and feeling wistful, his thoughts inevitably turn to the stranger from the train. It’s been almost three months now since he last saw him.
He hopes he’s okay, wherever he is, that he’s happy and successful. He hopes he hasn’t been getting beat up, wondering for the thousandth time if he should have asked about it that night they met on the late night train. He wonders what he really meant when he told Hizashi not to overwork himself, turning the memory over in his mind and finding no new clues. He’s not convinced the guy was trying to reject him, anymore, based on all of their other interactions. The one time he got on the train with Oboro in particular has Hizashi grinning stupidly to himself as he paints a blush on the stranger’s cheeks in the memory, choosing to interpret the scarf on the seat as an acknowledgement of this strange, fleeting connection they shared. Proof it wasn’t one-sided or a coincidence.
He’s not familiar with this part of town, it’s on the other side of the call-center from his apartment and he doesn’t think he’s been here since last christmas to pick up a christmas gift for his mom. The streets are quiet and empty, but he’s not sure what time it is. He doesn’t want to check, worried it’ll shatter the peaceful melancholy, so he just peers in at the various product displays through dark windows and catches his own eyes in his reflection without really thinking about it.
He doesn’t see the Soteria Medical Facility until he passes right by the front door, blinking blearily to bring himself back to the present and out of his own head.
The only reason he noticed is the fact it’s the only building he’s passed so far where the lights are still on, casting bright golden light in an arc onto the sidewalk and making Hizashi squint while his eyes adjust. He comes to a stop as he takes a moment to appreciate the building, craning his neck to admire the modern architecture and he huffs a laugh when he spots a toddler rushing through the lobby behind the glass door with a nurse hot on their heels holding what looks like a shower cap and a small bag of rubber duckies.
The building is decorated with a lot of wooden accents on the interior, with little nooks and play areas available even in the reception. The woman manning the desk looks up at him in a silent inquiry but he just shakes his head with a smile and waves her off, hoping it communicates that he’s just curious.
He’s not sure how long he stands there, watching employees go about their business. No other children make their appearance after the streaking toddler and he figures that’s probably because they’re asleep at this hour.
“You want something?”
Hizashi flinches in surprise but somehow he manages not to make any loud noises as he whips his head to the side. He finds the source of the stand-offish voice glaring at him with his arms crossed over his chest. It’s a kid, probably around 7 or 8, with a fluff of purple hair on his head and a scowl on his face that would probably be a lot more intimidating without the baby fat. Hizashi snorts before he can think better of it and puts his hands in his pockets, “nah I was just walking past and got curious. A friend of mine works here but I’ve never been inside,” he admits with a shrug, hoping his honesty will calm the kid down a little, “you an escapee?” He throws a teasing grin over at the kid who’s still looking at him like he wants to beat him up and Hizashi feels bad for thinking it’s adorable. It makes sense for him to be wary of a strange man lurking outside a children’s hospital in the wee hours of the morning, but that still begs the question as to why a little kid would be out this early and It would be a lie to say Hizashi isn’t worried.
The kid huffs indignantly and turns towards the door as well to join Hizashi in watching, “no, I’m just taking a walk,” he mutters.
“Sounds like something an escapee would say,” Hizashi jokes.
“Sounds like you need to mind your own business,” the kid retorts, prompting another laugh from Hizashi. What a sassy child!
“Yeah, well, I was but now I gotta figure out what to do about a kid wandering around unattended in the middle of the night so I gotta start somewhere,” he shrugs casually, “wouldn’t mind some hints if you got them.”
The kid lets out what's clearly an annoyed huff of breath, “I don't need your help I do this all the time,” he grumbles, shoulders tensing.
“You realize that doesn’t really make me any less concerned, yeah?”
He receives a shrug in return, “so?”
“So I’m worried about you, kid. You’re out on your own at night, showing up at the doors of Soteria and claiming you’re fine,” Hizashi peers down at the boy with a sad smile, “do you want to go in? If you’d like, I can help you talk to them if it’s a little scary or I can take you back home if you need someone to beat up your parents for you, anything you need, kid.” The last comment earns him a wry snort, and he inwardly fistpumps the air. “I can’t in good conscience just leave you here, ya dig?”
“Yeah, I get it,” the kid huffs, shifting back and forth before he opens his mouth again, “but it’s really nothing bad, I just have trouble sleeping sometimes and I live like, right down the street, so,” he explains, some of the tension in his shoulders fading. He’s still hugging himself and trying to look tough, but Hizashi feels like he’s making progress.
“That sounds tough, kiddo. I get like that sometimes too, but it’s important to be safe too,” Hizashi says softly, he turns halfway to the kid, “So how about this; if you let me walk you to the entrance of your apartment building I’ll leave before you punch in the code, deal?”
The kid glances up at him with a suspicious scowl, narrowing his eyes like he’s trying to see if Hizashi is trying to trick him, but presumably he finds nothing amiss and just sighs long-suffering and turns on his heel, presumably to head back to his apartment. Hizashi follows his lead silently, keeping pace with the boy easily as they trudge down the sidewalk side by side. Hizashi wants to ask why he’s got trouble sleeping, wants to pull on his work mindset and try to help this strange child, but he refrains. The kid didn’t ask for help and he’s already closed off enough without Hizashi being invasive, so he settles for making sure he gets back home safe for the night and hopes that if they ever meet again he’ll already have a rapport with the kid.
As agreed Hizashi gives the kid a polite bow and walks off when they arrive at the door to an apartment building. He thinks he feels eyes on the back of his neck but he doesn’t turn around to check if the kid as actually gone up, wanting to trust that the kid didn’t just lead him to a random building to get him to fuck off not to mention that his vision is beginning to swim a little and he’s too tired for complex thought.
The rest of the night is uneventful and the sun is just barely peeking up over the skyline when Hizashi collapses into bed. He dreams of absolutely nothing and wakes up at some point late in the afternoon the next day, disgruntled with the world and his existence as a whole.
By monday he still hasn’t quite managed to fix his sleep schedule but thankfully he’s not so out of it that he fucks anything up. Well, he does accidentally yawn during the radio segment but he thinks he manages to turn it into a tangent on why sleep is crucial to mental health.
Oboro pats him sympathetically on the shoulder when he emerges from the studio booth.
On April first Hizashi uses his segment to pretend to be a regular radio host, playing songs and doing banter-y commentary before talking about how it’s okay to have dreams and hobbies, that it’s part of good mental health. It’s also around that time he starts receiving fan mail, which is a whole other can of worms.
Mostly the letters are sweet, talking about their own experiences and what they like about the show, while a select few are a little less friendly. He tends to just toss those and Nemuri (they’re on a first name basis after she called Hizashi in the middle of the night to help her home after she got too drunk. She ended up staying the night ay Hizashi’s because she wasn’t coherent enough to give him an address and in the morning insisted that he call her Nemuri.) has offered to set up a barrel behind the callcenter for him to literally burn them but Hizashi has decided they don’t deserve that much of his time and energy.
One or two are a little too friendly and to Hizashi’s mortification they get read aloud to the office at large and picked apart afterwards, almost like a book club. Hizashi finds it a lot easier to brush off the icky feeling of being objectified like that when his coworkers roast the grammar or the unimaginative innuendos and in the end they get pinned on a bulletin board outside of the studio booth.
It’s the middle of May when he takes what would otherwise be a pretty standard call. It’s around 10pm which is always a busy time slot and Hizashi literally just disconnected from a call with a guy struggling to come out to his parents when another call comes in with barely a second’s delay. He accepts it, of course, and opens up with the usual, “Hello! Thank you for calling Reach Out, my name’s Yamada, what can I help you with?”
A shaky breath on the other end of the line reaches out tentatively through the silence - Hizashi gives them space to figure out their words. A sniffle follows, but when it sounds like his caller is trying to keep quiet he mentally prepares himself in case they’re in active danger.
“I-I’m sorry, this is stupid,” the caller whispers, voice thick. Hizashi thinks it sounds familiar - certainly a kid, and a young one at that - perhaps it’s someone who has called before? He makes sure his voice comes out soft when he speaks,
“What is it you think is stupid?”
There’s a wry laugh, “me, calling this stupid hotline,” the caller says, a little louder, less afraid.
Hizashi hums, “I don't think it’s stupid, but I don’t mind chatting with you even if it was, ya know?” He absentmindedly clicks a pen, “I’m super happy you decided to call at all, even if it can feel a little silly talking to a complete stranger like this,” he jokes, listening for any background noise that seems out of place. He doesn’t find any, not even any wind, so at least the kid isn’t outside in the cold.
“So, what’s got you feeling silly tonight, kiddo? Did something happen?”
“No,” the caller says, his tone almost petulant and Hizashi imagines him pulling a face before backtracking, “I mean yeah, I guess, but it happens all the time so it feels stupid to be upset about it.”
“Well, sometimes it’s hard to realize you’re upset right away and it ends up building and building - nothing stupid about it, I promise. Wanna tell me what this thing is? Maybe I could help you figure something out so it doesn’t feel so upsetting anymore,” Hizashi offers. The caller makes a sort of whiny sound that Hizashi reads as frustration.
“I don’t- I just hate being selfish ,” the kid admits, spitting the word out like it physically hurts him. “I hate it, I don't want to feel like this,” he says with another shaky inhale, “my dad is- he helps people and I know that stuff like that means he’s always going to be really busy but …” he falters, voice coming out tight. He sounds like his mouth is dry.
“But you miss him?” Hizashi finishes for him. He receives a grunt of confirmation, rustling on the line indicating the caller is wiping at his eyes. “It’s okay, kid, it’s alright, that’s perfectly reasonable,” Hizashi assures him gently, “it’s very sweet of you to want to support your father’s work, but I don’t think it’s selfish that you want to spend more time with him.” Hizashi leans his elbows on his desk, “does he leave you home alone often?”
“N-no, I come to work with him when I’m not in school, or he gets-” there’s a hiccup, “he gets auntie to hang out with me.” Hizashi relaxes minutely at that information. “It’s stupid,” the kid mutters again. He sounds a little calmer than he was a minute ago but Hizashi can’t tell if that’s because he’s withdrawing or calming down so he keeps his tone gentle.
“I still don’t think it’s stupid. It’s okay to be upset. Have you told him you’d like to spend more time with him?”
“No.” It sounds almost confused, like Hizashi is stupid for even asking that and it takes everything in him not to snort.
“Well, why not? Don’t you think he’d like to know if something’s bothering you?”
“I- yeah but that’s the issue!” There’s a rustling noise and a thump - Hizashi assumes he’s flopped into a bed or a couch or something. “I can’t just tell him that I’m sad because then he’ll fuss and other people won’t get help!” Hizashi is starting to see where the problem is but he’s also happy to note that the kid sounds more fondly exasperated than genuinely upset now. Hizashi can’t help the strange sensation that the circumstances sound almost uncomfortably familiar.
“C’mon kiddo, you think your dad isn’t tough enough to do both? He chose to have you in his life, of course you take priority,” Hizashi chuckles, “it’s not your responsibility to make sure he does his job, ya dig?”
The caller huffs, clearly disagreeing. Hizashi smiles privately, not at the kid on the other end of the line, but at the way he echoes a distant memory - something Hizashi thought had been long buried. What had the kind uncle back then told him?
“Hmm… You know, kid, parenting is tough business, but it’s worth it for the privilege of getting to put you above everything else. There’s always going to be other people who are hurting or in pain, but part of being a parent is to be allowed the joy of caring for you. To deny your father that is unfair, isn’t it?” Hizashi’s smile tightens with melancholy as he recites those words, “sometimes asking for something you want, especially from someone you know wants to give it, is a kindness. It’s like giving them a gift.”
A thoughtful hum crackles over the line, still unconvinced, clearly.
“I feel stupid,” the kid repeats, but Hizashi lets him continue, “I don't understand how it could be anything other than a chore.” Hizashi’s smile is almost painfully sad now and his heart aches for this kid who manages to sound equal parts lost and hopeful.
“Taking care of a child is never a chore, not if you love them,” Hizashi mutters, trying to fight back the weird feeling of deja vu. “I can’t promise that it’ll be easy to get used to asking for things, but isn't it better to try? If you do and it goes poorly, you can always call back and ask for me if I’m not the one to get your call and I’ll do everything in my power to help you, okay?”
A pause broken by another sniffle.
“Yeah,” comes the small response.
They chat for a little longer while the kid calms down, figuring out how to approach his parent with the issue and how to word things so the kid doesn’t feel like he’s somehow being manipulative - which was apparently a major concern for him, for some reason. The call leaves Hizashi feeling a lot more rattled than most of the calls he takes, despite the mundane subject of their discussion. The kid didn’t seem like he was being abused, didn’t show any signs of being stressed beyond the norm. Just a kid wanting to spend some time with his dad.
So why does it make Hizashi’s chest hurt like this? Why are none of his breathing exercises working?
Why does it make him think of warm arms cradling him while he cries into a shoulder that smells comforting and safe?
He ends up hanging off of Oboro for the rest of the night and all but clings to him like they’re glued together when they finally end their shifts and tumble into bed. He realizes he’s searching for comfort, obviously, but while Oboro’s arms are certainly big and warm and comforting they’re just not… right.
Unsatisfied, Hizashi finds it difficult to sleep, and when he finally does drift off his dreams are full of old memories that feel like they’re missing something important.