Chapter Text
The voices of the men and women surrounding the man filled the air. The two booths beside his own were talking loudly about varying subjects and he didn’t know which one was more interesting. In one table, there were two young men -- most likely university students -- who were speaking about heroes and how they managed to get an autograph from one on their way to the club. The girls that were sitting alongside the men giggled and entertained them, but Shota could see through their little act. It was something an old friend of his taught him. He enjoyed messing around with girls a lot, but it came at the price of also being used by them. So, whenever Shota got dragged along by Oboro on a date, he would sit down with him before and have a chat.
“If she tries to get you to pay for the full meal, don’t,” he said. “I mean, you can get her a drink or something, but anything more? Don’t do it!”
“Huh? Why not? Wouldn’t I -- want this girl to like me?” Shota responded, furrowing his brows.
“You do! But when they think you’ll give up your wallet to them, they won’t stop!” Oboro warned, throwing his hands up. “I swear! It’s happened to me, I went on a date the other day and I ended up dry,”
“So . . . why are you dragging me along on another one?”
“Why? Well -- this girl’s cute, and I need you to uhm . . . Well, be there!”
“What? Does she not feel safe?” Shota asked, raising a confused brow.
“No, it’s not like that.” He paused, leaning in a bit over the table, “Look, she wants to bring a friend and I said I’d bring someone for her so just -- do me the solid here, Sho!”
A deep sigh left the young man’s lips, rubbing his eyes. “Not again . . .”
Simply remembering their old conversations made a frown spread across the retired hero’s face. He used to be so reluctant to go out on those double dates with his friend, but looking back, he missed them. Merely looking over at the two students, he could see himself and his old friend.
“Yo!” A sudden voice broke the man’s train of thought, forcing his head up. “Sorry to keep you waiting. All these girls kept pulling me around and kept offering me drinks and I just couldn’t say no!” the man complained, the hand planted on his forehead slipping down to his side, finally facing Aizawa who cocked a brow.
This was his host? This tall, lanky, blond who had hair longer than his own? Shota’s dark eyes widened at the sight, sliding back to the middle of the couch to allow the male to sit down. Realizing he had been staring too long at the black leather jacket he adorned and the matching pants that seemed a little tighter than the average pair, he finally spoke. “Oh, it’s alright,” he merely said. “I wasn’t uh, doing anything.”
“Oh, ya weren’t?” the host responded, promptly sitting down and grabbing the drink menu. “Well, ya should order something! Let me tell you, the drinks here? On a whole other level! We’ve got the finest booze and I insist you buy something!” he continued, shoving the paper back into the hero’s hands.
Although Aizawa had already decided against buying any sort of alcohol, the host’s persistent attitude made him give in, giving the drinks another look. “I guess I’ll take something straight. Uh . . . whiskey is fine with me,”
“Whiskey? Aw, you don’t want to share anything with me? C’mon, at least get a beer!”
“I -- alright. Order whatever beer you like.”
“Now you’re talkin’ my language!” he cheerfully responded, leaning over the booth, gesturing to one of the several floor boys, scurrying around. “This fine man here would like a whiskey -- on the rocks, I’m assuming -- and get me my usual,” he explained. Once the waiter left, the blond looked back to Shota, grinning. “I haven’t seen you around here. Is this your first time?”
“Yes,” he affirmed, letting his shaky hand move into his dark locks, scratching the back of his neck. Man, this was going to be a tough night. The host’s energy was through the roof despite the late hour, and Shota couldn’t pull his eyes away. The man’s movements were so fluid and every word that left his lips had a bit of pep to them.
“Gotcha. Well, I’m Yamada!”
Yamada? That was a nice name. It reminded him of a corporation. “Nice to meet you, I’m Aizawa.”
A chuckle left the other man’s lips, his arm moving to wrap around Shota’s shoulders. “Are you always this stiff? Loosen up, dude!” The retired hero let out a hiss at the sensation causing the host to loosen his grip. “Ah shoot, sorry ‘bout that! Ya got an injury there?”
Although he wanted to keep his identity a secret, he truthfully answered the other man’s question, “I do and that hurt.”
Yamada nodded, pulling his hand away to put it back on his lap. “How’d you get it? Did someone beat you up?”
Well . . . That wouldn’t be far from the truth. Shota had been fighting someone when he got the injury, but they didn’t win the fight. He managed to scrape by with only a fractured shoulder. “No, not exactly. I won but they did manage to mess me up,”
“Ooh, are you a fighter?” he asked, bringing his hands up, throwing a few punches to the air. “Or or a hero,” the man’s bright emerald eyes gleamed at the idea, staring at Shota like a small child.
The mere expression managed to loosen the man, having to look away from the expression as to not get himself flustered. He, however, was now in a dilemma. The man never opened up about his profession to strangers, and he certainly didn’t want to start doing it now. They’d probably sit around for hours talking about it and he’d get drilled for answers to questions any civilian would have. Not only that, it would most definitely open a lot of old memories he had buried within him. Hell, even talking about the injury on his shoulder caused Shota to remember that fight. His calloused hands gently grazed the spot, still being able to feel the cold metal bash against his body. His arm began to shake, causing his hand to grip his pants, attempting to calm himself.
“Hey, ‘Zawa are you alright?”
The nickname took him for a bit of a loop, bringing his dark eyes up to look back to the host. Those same sweet green eyes now had a worried look on them. Promptly, he pulled his hands away, trying to play it off as if nothing happened. “I’m fine,” he said. “I just -- got lost in my own thoughts,” he explained, making a dismissive gesture. “Nevermind what I do. What about you? Apart from,” his fingers made a few circles, gesturing the dark yet open club. “This.”
“Like a day job?” Yamada paused, having to think. “Well, I don’t really do much! Really, I have a lot more fun at this place,” he chuckled, patting the cushions. “You meet tons of snazzy people here and,” He leaned in closer to Aizawa, lowering his voice, “The girls are pretty cute to look at.”
“Really?” he pondered. “What’s the most interesting person you’ve met?”
“The coolest? Man! I’d have to think about that one,” the blond laughed, sitting back against the couch. “Okay well there are two people,” he brought two fingers up before pressing them against his chin. “One was a lady, a lot older than me at the time but she was a foreigner,” he explained. “But she spoke really good Japanese so our conversation was,” he laughed again, cutting himself short. “It was just really good. Anyway, she was a nice rich lady, lots of jewelry and her clothes were really expensive and nice!” his hands tugged at the leather collar, giving Shota a wink. “I mean I look pretty hot every night, but this lady was on a whole other level!”
“What about the other one?”
“It was actually a hero,” he said, staring off at one of the different posters that were hung up on the painted walls. “Really nice guy, but he had an ego. I guess that happens with most heroes, right? Their fame kinda goes to their head and they want to do whatever they want,” he rambled a bit before looking at the brunette. “He even came in his costume and everything! Can you believe that?”
A soft chuckle escaped from Shota, a clear image popping into his head. While he didn’t know the exact hero that came in here, he had a few that would definitely pull something like that. “I’m guessing that you didn’t do much else than sit there and listen,”
The host snapped his fingers, “Exactly! It was a pretty boring conversation on my end, but he did buy me a lot of stuff so I couldn’t complain. Every time he came in I always went home a little richer,” he joked with a wink.
Interrupting their conversation, the waiter finally returned, placing both of their drinks on the table. “Is there anything else you need?”
Shota sat up, leaning over to grab his own freshly made drink. “Can I smoke in here?”
“Of course, sir.”
The man quickly made a dismissive gesture before reaching into the plastic bag he had thrown aside. He pushed the bag of candies away and pulled out the carton, peeling off the plastic wrap that covered it. “Oh, shit, I didn’t buy a lighter . . .”
“I have one, don’t worry,” Yamada pipped up, bringing his beer up to drink.
He nodded, opening the pack, slowly pulling out one of the cigarettes. It felt like it had been years since the last time he smoked. Then again, he was never really one to do this. During high school, one of his friends got him to try smoking one of the sticks, but it didn’t end well. Shota ended up choking on the smoke and dropping the cigarette, essentially wasting it. The classmate that offered it to him got mad, but he always offered whenever Aizawa would end up on the rooftop. “Do you want one?” he asked, placing the one he grabbed between his cracked lips.
“Yeah sure.”
After giving Yamada one of the cigarettes, he tossed the box onto the table, letting his body lean back against the couch. Finally, he was going to be able to relax. Oddly, he did this in his apartment on numerous occasions; sitting around on the couch, late at night with alcohol in his hand, but this felt different. There was no television to fill in the empty void of his apartment. Instead, there was chatter from the customers around him. There was no cheap convenience store beer. Instead, it was a nice glass of strong whiskey that lingered in his throat after he sipped it. Shota’s eyes were fixated on the glossy table, watching the reflections of the light dance across the surface before they noticed the host moving in closer. They darted over, following his movements, slowly pushing his body back as the gap between them closed.
“Here, stay still,” he said, gently resting his knuckle underneath the neck littered with stubble. Slowly, the two cigarette ends joined together, the heart transferring from Yamada’s to Aizawa’s.
The other man’s actions caused Shota to be taken aback, unable to process how close the other was getting, so he instinctively pulled his head away, staring off.
“You’re welcome for that,” Yamada teased.
Aizawa quickly fell silent, unsure of what to say next. After becoming so embarrassed by the host’s actions, he wanted to simply sit in the booth and smoke his cigarette until his time was up, but he knew it would be a waste of money.
“Hey, Aizawa? You like music, right?”
“I uh -- y-yeah,” he stammered, having to push away his flustered thoughts. “What type of person doesn’t?”
The man laughed at the response, reaching into his black jacket. “Y’know, you’d be surprised.” he pulled out a small flyer, grinning as he held it out. “Anyway, here. Maybe you’d be interested in coming?”
He slowly reached out, taking the flyer from the other’s hands, glancing down at it. It was brightly colored with big bold letters saying the name of the place along with a few groups that were playing. There was some contact information as well and a few pictures at the bottom.
“I’m not really supposed to advertise on the job, so keep this between us,” he winked again, reaching over to point at his own name, Hizashi Yamada. “I’m playing here in a few days, so you’d come to see me, yeah?”
Coming to this club was already pushing past Aizawa’s own comfort zone. He was in a public place with several other people and was conversing with someone for longer than he normally would. Now he had to go to a bar with several more people, and watch someone perform? “I’m not sure,” he said, puffing out some smoke, “I’d have to uhm, check my schedule,”
“Ah, I get it,” Yamada dismissed the man’s words. “Well, I hope ya can come out. I’m hella good on the guitar, ya dig?”
Maybe he would go out and see the man play. What harm could it do? He could stop by and hear Yamada’s song and then leave, maybe get a drink, but not spend too much time lingering around.
“It’ll be worth your whiiillleee,” the host added, grinning widely as he blew some smoke away from Shota.
“Alright, alright. If I’m free I’ll go. Look for me in the crowd.”
“Sweet! If a ton of people cheer for me I’ll buy you a drink!”
A short grin broke out across Aizawa's face at the thought, nodding as he tucked the flyer into the nearby bag. It seemed he had plans for the night once again.