Chapter Text
Aizawa tightened the scarf around his neck, pushing forward through the blustery wind that threatened to knock him off his feet. He wished he’d tied up his hair before leaving the university, because in the fast-moving air it whipped around his face, covering his eyes and knotting in numerous tangles.
He’d been working late that night, teaching extra classes followed by two hours of sitting in his office, grading papers and planning his upcoming lectures. Darkness had already fallen by the time he got onto the train to head home.
Toshinori had assured him he would take Hitoshi home after nursery and put him to bed, so Aizawa had no need to worry about that. Even so, he felt guilty. He’d been getting busier with work, which meant less time with his son. And when he was home, he was so exhausted that he could barely make the effort to play. The extra hours did mean more money for them, but at what cost?
When he reached their apartment, he inserted his key and opened the door as silently as possible, not wanting to wake Hitoshi.
Inside, he noticed that the lights had been dimmed in the hallway. There was a trail of something on the floor.
Leaves?
No… rose petals.
Pink ones.
“Toshinori?” he called as he hung up his coat and slipped off his shoes.
There came no response, but he did recognize the sound of faint music coming from the kitchen – that’s where the petals appeared to be leading to.
He ventured along to the end of the hallway where the kitchen door had been left ajar, a faint glow coming from inside. The music was clearer here; it sounded old, like something from a movie in the 30s, slow with rich jazz tones.
Aizawa pushed opened the door and was greeted with the warm scent of food. The small dining table had been laid out with a white tablecloth, wine glasses, and a vase containing pink roses, the petals matching those scattered on the floor. On opposite sides of the table were plates of steaming food and by one of the chairs stood Toshinori.
“What’s… this?” Aizawa asked, almost lost for words.
Toshinori smiled and pulled out a chair. “You’ve been working so hard lately, I… figured you needed something special.”
Aizawa wasn’t sure what to say. His eyes flickered between Toshinori, the table, the roses, then back to his lover.
“You did this all… for me?”
Part of him wanted to run. It was a feeling that he’d had ever since he’d began to fall for the man, one that he kept pushing away, because he knew it made no sense. He couldn’t love Toshinori more if he tried. But romantic gestures like this… they were so foreign to him that it almost began to trigger his fight or flight response.
There was no fight to be had against Toshinori’s affections, nor a danger to flee. Just love.
“Shouta,” Toshinori whispered, raising a hand to his cheek to caress it gently with his thumb, “this is the least I could do. So… sit down, eat, and relax, okay?”
Aizawa realised he’d been standing completely frozen. But when he felt Toshinori’s touch, every tension in his body eased. He took a seat and inspected his plate. Curry. His favourite.
“Where’s Hitoshi?” he asked, just after swallowing his first bite.
“With Yamada. He came along to the nursery to get him and the kids pounced on him.”
Aizawa scoffed. “I would pay good money to see that.”
Once their plates were cleared and packed away in the dishwasher (Aizawa insisted on doing that, at least, seeing as Toshinori had already done so much), they headed through to the lounge where they flopped down onto the sofa, exhausted and full of food. They flicked through the channels on TV until they found an old romcom – in English with subtitles. That turned out to be an issue for Aizawa, because he was much too focused on Toshinori’s face to keep up with the dialogue.
“Do you know any English?” Toshinori asked, absentmindedly stroking his fingers through Aizawa’s hair.
“A little. Stuff I’ve picked up here and there from watching television and movies. What about you?”
“I’m pretty fluent, actually.”
“Alright, say something in it then.”
“Damn, you had to go and put me on the spot! Okay— ‘Shouta Aizawa is always grumpy before he’s had his morning coffee.’”
“You know, I might not know much English, but I’m fluent in your facial expressions.” Aizawa gave him a slight nudge in the chest in response to the comment. “That smile of yours is a dead giveaway. You should work on your poker face.”
Toshinori pressed a kiss to his forehead.
“How about this then… ‘I love you more than anyone in the world.’”
Aizawa recognized those words, of course he did. It was one of the few phrases he actually knew, picked up from Western movies and songs. Even if he hadn’t, the sincerity in Toshinori’s voice, the tender look in his eyes… those alone would have told Aizawa what he meant.
His throat suddenly felt dry and scratchy, perhaps as a side-effect of his mind trying to process what he’d heard and how he could possibly respond. Why did it hurt to get the words out in return? They were just words, weren’t they?
But he was lying to himself. Of course it meant more than that.
He’d said it only once before to somebody, barring the affectionate, familial version he would whisper to Hitoshi as the little boy drifted off to sleep. After everything that had happened, though, he wondered if that had even been love at all. After all, it was a struggle to put a name to what he felt at the best of times, let alone with something as impactful as ‘love’. But if what he’d had before had been love, why didn’t he care more when it ended?
“Toshinori… I feel like I need to tell you something,” he said quietly, not quite meeting the other man’s eyes.
“Is this where I get dumped?” He said it as a joke, but Aizawa could hear the hint of fear in his voice.
“No, it’s… the opposite, I guess. I just feel I should tell you before I say anything else… so I can be sure.”
Toshinori repositioned himself so he was looking more directly at him. “Tell me,” he whispered.
Aizawa took a deep breath. “I met Hitoshi’s mother in college. She was on my course. I wasn’t interested much in the social side of being there – I just wanted to go to my classes and get my qualifications and move on with my life. But I couldn’t do that completely. I would get pulled into the occasional night out, usually by Hizashi, and most of the time, she’d be there. She was far more outgoing and social than I was, but for whatever reason, she always made time for me. And over time, I suppose she became my friend. One of only two.”
For a moment, he paused, contemplating whether he should continue his story or not. But now that he’d begun, it felt impossible to stop. The explanation might not have been necessary for Toshinori, but Aizawa needed to tell it to allow himself some peace.
“I don’t normally cave to social pressures, but I was finding more and more that people were getting into relationships, or at least having some kind of casual thing. I was… insecure at the time. I thought perhaps if I had somebody, it would fill this… hole inside of me. So, we started dating. My parents approved of her, which ticked another box.”
Toshinori was nodding along to his story and, to Aizawa’s relief, his face showed no signs of jealousy or anger or sadness. He knew it wasn’t the done thing to discuss past relationships with your current partner just as they had declared their love for you. But he trusted in Toshinori to understand and to be patient with him.
“We graduated, then moved in together. It had been about three years at this point. I’d told her that I loved her, and she’d said the same. We’d been intimate, too. I knew I hadn’t enjoyed any of it, not as I was supposed to have done, anyway. There was something wrong, and I just didn’t question it too hard. Because it was logical, it was easy, just to be with her. And then we had Hitoshi. At first, I considered him to be the thing that bound me to this life I’d chosen. We’d get married and have more children, probably. We’d get a bigger house. A family-sized car. And it would be… fine. But I realised, when I was looking at him, sleeping in his crib… I didn’t want Hitoshi to ever live a life that was just ‘fine’. I didn’t want him to ever feel like he didn’t have a choice, or that he had to do things just because they were expected of him. I didn’t want him to live an empty life.”
His voice felt hoarse from talking for so long. It was unlike him to deliver monologues like this, but the words just kept tumbling out.
“I realised I was gay not long after that. I think I still loved her – love her – but not in the way she wanted. I thought, I hoped, that maybe she’d understand. It seemed in her nature to be supportive of things like that. But she left. I don’t know if she was ashamed, or if she just hated me for what I’d done; she’d poured years of her life into me and perhaps it all seemed like it was for nothing. Hitoshi, I think, served as a reminder.”
“He’s so much like you,” Toshinori murmured fondly.
“Mm.”
“It doesn’t excuse it, though. How could anyone just leave their own child like that?”
“I don’t know. I’ve stopped blaming her, stopped being angry about it. I’ve wasted too much time, too much energy on that already. The whole event taught me how to detach myself from my feelings even more than before. For years, any time I’ve spent away from Hitoshi has just been a case of existing. Not living. Feeling nothing. I thought I was happy to keep going like that. Maybe until I died. But now… now… fuck…”
He felt Toshinori’s gentle fingers close around his hand, squeezing tight. A silent ‘I am here’.
“I didn’t think I’d feel again, Toshinori. I thought I’d keep closing myself up more and more, hiding further and further into this hole inside me until there was no way I could get out. But with you… I can let myself go. I can let myself indulge in all these emotions that I’d kept locked away. I… love you, Toshinori. I know for certain that I do.”
Out of breath and on the brink of tears – a rare spectacle for him to display – Aizawa pressed his face into the soft cotton of Toshinori’s shirt, holding onto him tightly. Arms wrapped around him, gently rocking him side to side, soothing him like he would do with Hitoshi. After a moment or two, he pulled away, looking up at Toshinori with his shimmering eyes that were slightly covered with tousled black hair.
“Shouta… Come with me.”
Toshinori stood up and reached out his hand for Aizawa to take. He gripped onto it tight and followed passively as Toshinori guided him through the apartment towards the bedroom. At first, Aizawa could see nothing as the room was pitch black. Toshinori left his side for a moment, moving silently around the space turning on lamps at their dimmest settings, lighting a trail of tiny candles with a match as he went. Soon, it was bright enough for Aizawa to make out the shapes in the room. He could see more rose petals scattered over the bedsheets.
Toshinori approached him, his body merely shadows and small spots of lights, and pulled him into an embrace.
“I’m all yours, Shouta. Tonight, tomorrow… for as long as you want me. All of me.”
With that, he began slowly unbuttoning his own shirt, skin gradually being revealed as he did so. As the final button was undone, the two halves of the fabric parted, allowing Aizawa to view his lover’s torso in its entirety. Across the left side was an old scar, the likes of which Aizawa had never seen. Deep lines appeared to twist and overlap, all circling around to a central point of pinkish tissue.
It reminded Aizawa of the centre of a rose.
He didn’t reach out to touch it.
Instead, he sat down on the edge of the bed and began to remove his own clothes. Toshinori was beside him, stepping out of his mile-long trousers.
They lay down together, skin against skin. Interlocked.
Smiling.
There’d be no more questions for tonight. Not about Toshinori’s scar, not about either of their pasts. It was just them.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”