Chapter Text
Yamada would like to say he doesn't shut down often. He would like to say that he can keep going for years, that he never gets tired or overwhelmed by his three jobs. But he can't say that. He's only human. There are times where Yamada can barely even think to function from a mix of exhaustion and stress. This is one of those times.
He really is trying to keep it together, though. He attempts to cook dinner for himself and his husband after coming back from work at seven; a pretty slow day, in his opinion, after his morning radio show and patrolling for a few hours.
He tries to sauté some onions, only to find out he didn't grease the pan, or even turn the burner on. He tries to measure some spices, and makes the terrible, terrible mistake of using a tablespoon instead of a teaspoon for cayenne pepper. He tries to put his dirty dishes in the sink — a simple task — and ends up dropping a plate onto the floor. It shatters on impact.
After that point, it's clear that Yamada probably should not be cooking, especially in this state. Before he can do any worse, like burn the whole apartment complex down, he turns off the burner, moves the pan to a cooler part of the stove, and shuffles tiredly to lay down on the couch.
He can't even bring himself to turn on the television, which bothers him greatly. He loves television, but he just... doesn't have the energy to enjoy anything right now. Instead, he lays solemnly on their dingy sofa, head resting gently on the armrest, thinking about nothing. He's too tired to think.
"I'm home," Aizawa calls from the doorway, unraveling his scarf and placing it on their coat rack (or scarf rack, really, since that's about the only thing they use it for).
Yamada lets out a small, acknowledging grunt, just to let his husband know he heard him come in. He waits patiently for Aizawa to come and check on him, as he always does when Yamada gets in this state. He hates that Aizawa has to dote on him like this.
"What's the matter, Hizashi?" Aizawa asks gently, coming over to him, exactly as Yamada predicted. He places a hand, then his mouth, over his forehead, trying to test for a fever.
"You're a little warm. Are you sick?"
Yamada shakes his head. Aizawa takes off the top part of his jumpsuit, tying the arms around his waist.
"Then what's wrong?"
Yamada doesn't want to say. Aizawa works so, so hard, and has been through so, so much within the past year. The last thing he needs is a husband who can't handle the weight of the life he so lovingly, and stupidly, chose. He feels almost ashamed, as he does every time, and chooses to remain silent.
"Oh," Aizawa mumbles, stroking some of the hair out of Yamada's almost clammy forehead. "It's just one of those days, isn't it?"
Yamada hesitates, but then slowly nods.
"This is the second time this month, babe," Aizawa continues, bringing out the pet names that, usually, Yamada would fawn and swoon over. He probably would be doing that now, if he wasn't short-circuiting.
Yamada sighs, "Yeah."
"Here—" Aizawa scoops him up in his big, strong arms and delivers him to the dining area of their small apartment, placing him gently in Yamada's favorite seat. "I'll make you some dinner."
"You don't have to do that."
"I really don't mind, Hizashi," Aizawa reassures, turning on the burner that was in use minutes prior. "Just let me take care of you."
Yamada watches grumpily as Aizawa makes his dinner; He recognizes the ingredients he's using, probably to make Yamada's favorite meal. Aizawa's got a tendency to spoil him when he slips into a bad state.
After cooking for about forty minutes, with a few breaks for soft kisses in between, Aizawa places dinner in front of Yamada, and Yamada just... stares. He makes no attempt to pick up the chopsticks beside the plate, no attempt to comment on how good it smells, like he always does. He just stares an empty stare.
"Let me feed it to you," Aizawa suggests, grabbing the chopsticks and picking up a piece of chicken from the plate. Yamada opens his mouth wearily, letting Aizawa feed him.
"You really don't have to do this," Yamada speaks again, gently placing a hand on Aizawa's. "I would've eaten eventually."
"Well, with you, eventually can mean two minutes or two hours," Aizawa chuckles, placing another bit of chicken in Yamada's mouth. "So I decided to take initiative."
Eventually, the plate does empty, leaving behind a few stray pieces of rice and a bit of sauce that got smeared on the edge of the plate. Aizawa washes the dishes himself, rejecting any offer Yamada makes to help him.
"Don't you have enough going on?" Yamada questions as Aizawa continues to scrub. "You don't need to take care of me, baby. It's too much."
"With all due respect, babe, you don't get to tell me what's too much when you work three time-consuming jobs. If anything, you've got too much going on."
Yamada buttons his lip. He knows Aizawa is right, in a deep, deep, unexplored corner of his brain, but it still annoys him that his hardworking husband has to dote on him like this.
It's embarrassing. It's shameful. He's supposed to be Present Mic, the voice hero who never gets tired, never sleeps, and never lets anyone get hurt. He can't even keep himself from getting hurt right now, let alone anyone else. He feels as if he's letting the people down; letting himself down. He could be out on patrol right about now, but he doesn't have the energy to slip into his hero suit and protect the innocent and those who can't fend for themselves. And it frustrates Yamada.
He feels hot tears begin to bubble up in the corner of his eyes, feeling some dribble down his cheeks as he attempted to silently cry. Only silent isn't something Yamada can achieve, and he hiccups loudly, forcing Aizawa's attention from the dishes to him.
Aizawa rushes over to grab Yamada's face gently in his calloused hands, wiping away the tears that are rolling down his cheeks.
"It's okay," Aizawa says to him, pulling him in for a gentle hug. "Why are you crying, kitten?"
"It's just," Yamada sobs, failing at his attempt to steady his shaking voice. "I'm supposed to be a hero. People depend on me, Shouta. How can I protect anyone like this?! I can't even protect myself."
Aizawa just strokes his hair in response. Yamada knows he's waiting for him to continue.
"It's just so frustrating." Tears begin to soak into Aizawa's shirt. "I hate when this happens. It makes me feel weak, and stupid, and like I shouldn't have even thought about becoming a hero, or a radio host, or a teacher if I can't handle it."
Aizawa shushes him, getting Yamada to put his vent on hold. He grabs his face again, gently with both hands, and brings Yamada in for a soft, loving kiss. Yamada's lips are slightly chapped, to match Aizawa's, which was odd in and of itself. Aizawa pulls away slowly, watching Yamada's striking green eyes flutter open.
"It's okay, Hizashi," Aizawa comforts him. "I know it can be frustrating, but you'll be alright. Can I say something, though?"
Yamada nods.
"I think you should find a way to reduce some hours, so you can have some time for relaxation. I know you can't really do that with teaching, but you can definitely do it with your show and patrol hours."
"But—"
Aizawa shushes him again. "I know. I know how hard it is to even consider lowering your hours. We had this same talk after USJ, remember?"
Yamada does remember. He remembers quite well, actually. Aizawa was in a similar state, lost and angry at himself, and refused to cut his hours, even though he needed to. He felt as if he were letting the people down, even though he needed time to heal, himself.
"Do you remember what you said to me then?" Aizawa pulls Yamada back from his thoughts.
Yamada nods. "I told you that it would be for the better if you took hours off. I told you how I thought you worked too hard, and that pushing yourself the way you did was unhealthy, and probably making things worse."
"Exactly. You need to do this for yourself, Hizashi. I know treating yourself isn't really on a hero's agenda, but you have to try, okay?"
Yamada nods.
"Good." Aizawa swoops him up again, carrying him to their bedroom. "You should take an early night. I'll join you in a bit."
Yamada hums. He laces his arms around his husband's neck, enjoying the short ride from the kitchen to their bedroom. Aizawa places him gently on Yamada's side of the bed — the side facing the window, as he enjoys the light that pours out of it in the mornings — and kisses his forehead lightly.
"I'm just going to shower and put on some pajamas," Aizawa calls from the bathroom. "I won't be long."
Yamada tries, fights to stay awake for his husband, but after everything that happened, his body was slowly forcing him to sleep. He realizes he's fighting a losing battle, vaguely aware that his eyes are drifting shut.
By the time Aizawa returns, Yamada is fast asleep on top of the covers of their bed. Aizawa chuckles, kissing the other's cheek and whispering an "I love you" before climbing onto his own side of the bed and wrapping an arm around his husband. Yamada can adjust his hours in the morning. For now, he needs rest.