Chapter Text
The first thing he notices is the warmth.
Not just the blankets wrapped tightly around him or the heating vent humming softly in the corner — but warmth in his bones. His fingers no longer sting. His toes aren’t numb. He’s not cold.
The second thing he notices is the smell, antiseptic, cotton, something faintly lemony and clean. Linens. Machines beep quietly at his side, steady and unalarming. There’s a slight ache in his arm — he glances down to see an IV.
It takes a moment to remember where — or even who — he is.
Fluorescent lights hum gently overhead.
He blinks slowly. The world is quiet here.
Then it hits, all at once. The cold. The snow. The alley. The blood. Aizawa.
He sits up too fast. Pain flashes through his ribs — sharp, unforgiving. He chokes on a gasp, slumping back against the pillows. The movement draws attention — a nurse at the door startles and crosses the room in three quick strides.
“Hey, easy!” she says, voice gentle but firm. “You’re safe. You’re in a recovery wing at Musutafu General. Do you remember how you got here?”
Hitoshi swallows. His throat feels dry. “The alley,” he rasps. “The storm. Eraser—Aizawa—”
The nurse softens. “You were found with him. You stayed with him the whole time. He’s here too.”
That cuts through the fog in his mind like a sharp blade.
“Is he—?”
“He’s stable,” she says quickly, sensing the panic rising in his voice. “Still unconscious, but the doctors say it’s a good sign he made it through the first night.”
Hitoshi exhales — part sob, part relief.
“You can ask the man who hasn’t left the hallway in six hours,” the nurse adds with a hint of a smile. “He’ll want to see you.”
Before Hitoshi can ask what she means, the door opens with a soft creak.
Present Mic walks in.
But it’s not the loud, electric voice from the radio. It’s not the confident hero cracking jokes behind his goggles.
It’s Hizashi Yamada, stripped of all performance.
His blond hair is mussed, and his scarf hangs loose around his shoulders. His eyes — bloodshot, rimmed with dark circles — scan the room like he’s still waiting for something to go wrong.
He’s holding a coffee cup that’s long gone cold.
He freezes when he makes eye contact with Hitoshi. Just for a moment. Then the tension in his body — taut like wire — starts to unwind. Slowly.
“You’re awake,” Hizashi says softly, disbelief threading the words.
Hitoshi nods, unsure of what to say.
There’s a pause — not awkward, but heavy, full of everything they aren’t saying. Hizashi moves forward and sets the coffee on the bedside table. Then he pulls the chair close and lowers himself into it with a sigh.
“You did good, kid,” he says at last.
Hitoshi looks away. His hands twist in the blanket. “I didn’t know what else to do. I wasn’t strong enough to carry him. I just… I couldn’t leave him.”
“You didn’t,” Hizashi says, voice suddenly thick. “You stayed. You kept him warm. You kept him grounded. That matters more than you’ll ever know.”
A long silence stretches between them. The beeping of the machines, the murmur of nurses outside the room — all of it fades for a moment.
“…Is he really going to be okay?”
Hizashi draws in a long, steadying breath.
“He’s tough,” he says. “More than that — he’s relentless. He’ll claw his way back if it kills him. That’s who he is.”
Hizashi leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice low but steady. “You remind me of him, you know.”
Hitoshi glances up, slow and uncertain. “What?”
“That grit.” Hizashi’s smile is tired, but real. “The way you held on out there — how you stayed awake, how you refused to let him go. That’s Shouta, through and through. He’s gonna see it too.”
Hitoshi blinks, throat tightening. He doesn’t know how to take that — doesn’t know if he can .
“You’ve got more in you than most pros I know,” Hizashi says, softer now. “And age? That means nothing compared to heart.”
Hitoshi looks away, voice rough. “I’m not a hero.”
“You will be,” Hizashi says without hesitation. Then, quieter, “Honestly? You already are.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Hizashi adds, “You don’t need a license to be the kind of person people count on. You already proved who you are.”
There’s a soft rustling sound.
Both their heads turn as the familiar black cat slips out from beneath the blankets, stretching lazily before hopping up beside Hitoshi. Its glowing yellow eyes blink at him before it curls up at his feet, as if it’s always belonged there.
Hitoshi stares at it, wide-eyed and still a little dazed. “Wait—what—how did—?”
“I may have… bent a few rules getting him in here,” Hizashi says, his grin sheepish but warm. “The little guy refused to leave your side. Sat in the back of the rescue vehicle, staring at everyone like he knew exactly what was happening, until someone finally gave in.”
Hitoshi reaches down, his fingers tentative as they brush through the cat’s matted fur. The cat leans into the touch like it knows him — like it’s been waiting for this moment.
“…Guess he saved me too,” Hitoshi murmurs, his voice quiet as if contemplating the strange comfort the cat brings.
Hizashi glances at them for a long moment, a quiet, fond smile tugging at his lips. He leans back in his chair, his expression thoughtful as he speaks again, his tone slower now, as though he’s sharing a truth that feels long overdue.
“Funny how they always find us when we need them most.” he says softly.
The cat purrs, the steady, grounding sound a balm against the sterile air of the room.
Shinso’s eyes flutter closed for a brief moment — not from exhaustion, but from the unexpected peace that settles over him. It’s a moment of calm after the storm, and somehow, with the cat at his feet, he feels… safe.
As Hizashi watches the two of them he speaks again, softer than before, like a truth that carries more weight than words.
“Even the smallest light can guide someone through the dark.”