Work Text:
Aizawa was firmly convinced that being forced to work with your ex was its own special kind of hell. Maybe this was his punishment for being a jerk for so long.
From his position at his desk, he can hear Yamada animatedly telling a story. Aizawa tries to ignore it, but tuning out the Voice Hero is all but impossible. He types away on his computer, quickly finishing up a quiz for class so that he can leave the teacher’s lounge. He sends it to the printer, noting with dull satisfaction the way Yamada jumps as the printer clunks to life. Aizawa sits and waits until it spits out all twenty copies before pushing his way through the teachers assembled around it.
“Excuse me,” he says, leaning around Yamada to grab the sheets. He’s not blind to the way his ex stiffens at the proximity.
Still, Yamada plays it off well, saying coolly, “Sure, go ahead.”
Aizawa snatches up the quizzes and returns to his desk, avoiding any unnecessary contact with Yamada, who quickly resumes his conversation with their coworker Ishiyama. He doesn’t even glance in Aizawa’s direction, a detail that stings more than it should. After all, why would he? It takes all his dignity not to hang his head as he slips out of the teacher’s lounge and to his classroom.
When Aizawa gets home, he throws his clothes on the floor and heads straight for the shower. The melancholy has been pooling in his skull all day with no relief; his dry eye made tears nearly impossible. Standing under the showerhead for a while and feeling the rivulets trail down his skin is the closest he can get, so for nearly half an hour, he does just that.
Alone like this, he can finally admit to himself that he misses Hizashi with such an ache that it causes him to curl in on himself, redirecting the hot water down the curve of his back. Normally when he’s this upset, Hizashi is there to hold him, but there’s no such comfort to be found. He remains hunched over, sucking in shuddering breaths of steam, until the longing melts away enough for himself to function. He goes through the motions of drying and dressing by rote, mind blissfully blank.
Sleep is harder to achieve. As draining as the shower had been, it did nothing to alleviate the restless urge to work that came with heartbreak. He forces himself to lay down on the bed anyway, knowing that any rest was better than nothing. He lays there for hours, allowing his body to steal what little respite it can.
Eventually his redundant alarm goes off, signaling the beginning of a new day. With an inaudible sigh, he heaves himself out of bed and into the shower.
The day passes much like the previous, though he can’t quite tell whether it hurts more or less to see Yamada. Already he’s resigned himself to the idea that the blond is nothing more than Yamada, his coworker; Present Mic, the hero. Despite that knowledge, there’s still a dull ache that reminds him Hizashi, his boyfriend, once existed, too.
Days pass monotonously, each largely similar to the last until an entire week passes. Aizawa is ready and willing to spend the weekend in much the same fashion, but an unexpected guest appears on his doorstep carrying a large bottle of wine in one hand and a dripping umbrella in the other.
“You wouldn’t come out to drinks with the rest of us, so I’d figure I’d bring the drinks to you,” Kayama says, holding up the offering. He eyes the bottle wearily.
“That’s because I’m not in the mood to drink tonight.”
“Then I’ll drink it. All you need to do is talk to me because I’m worried about you and I’d like to hear how you’re doing.”
Aizawa reluctantly steps aside to let her in. “You shouldn’t worry about me.”
She leaves her wet shoes and umbrella in the entryway and then heads straight into his kitchen to dig through his cabinets for wineglasses. She realizes very quickly that her search is in vain and settles for the first thing she can find. They settle in on sofa with mugs of red wine.
Kayama’s very presence is comforting with her pink oversized sweater, legs curled up underneath her. She takes a sip from her mug before speaking. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only one I’m worried about.”
“You shouldn’t worry about him either.” The words sound harsher than he intends. He stares down into the deep burgundy of his mug.
“He’s been a mess since the break up, Aizawa. He misses you.”
“He’ll be fine,” Shouta says dismissively. “He’ll get over me in time. He’ll heal.”
Kayama frowns, and the expression is unexpectedly gentle. “But will you?”
Even though his body can’t produce tears, that doesn’t stop emotion from swelling in his throat, silencing him. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s not entirely sure he will ever be able to move on, not after loving Hizashi for so many years. The deepest recesses of his heart know this to be true.
He tightens his grip on his drink, grasping for anything to alleviate some of the sorrow lest he prove Kayama right. Anger is the easiest emotion to handle, so he clutches at it, knowing even as he does so that he isn’t being fair.
“Why would he be so upset anyway?” he snaps. “He’s the one who ended things with me. I’m just giving him what he wants.”
The pitying look Kayama is giving him burns, so he swallows a gulp of wine. The taste sits bitterly on his tongue.
“Normally, I wouldn’t betray his confidence like this, but since I don’t think you quite understand what’s going on in his head, I’ll tell you this much at least. When Yamada brought up the idea of breaking up with you, what did you do?”
“I said okay. What else was I supposed to do?” Aizawa says defensively. “Clearly he had made up his mind.”
She sighs, turning the mug between her hands. “That’s the thing, Aizawa. I don’t think he had made up his mind. He was unhappy, yes, but it was because he thought you didn’t care for him the way he did for you. So when he suggested breaking things off and you just agreed, well… In his mind, that just confirmed that you didn’t really love him.”
He takes another gulp of wine before setting down the mug on the coffee table. “So it was a test?”
“I wouldn’t call it that. He meant what he said, but I do think he might have changed his mind if you had asked him too. If you had shown him how you really feel instead of keeping things bottled up,” she explains gently.
“That makes no sense!” he cries, startling them both with the volume of his voice. He continues anyway. “I wouldn’t have been dating him if I didn’t feel anything for him. Did he expect me to get on my knees and start begging? I was respecting his decision!”
Kayama hurriedly sets her mug down and raises her hands placatingly. “I understand where you’re coming from. You just have to try to get where he was coming from too. You both need to hear each other out. Communicate, Aizawa.”
He stands and makes a beeline for the door. “Oh, I’ll communicate with him alright,” he grumbles as he pulls on his boots.
“Wait, where are you going?”
“Where do you think?” He makes quick work of the laces and moves on the second boot.
She rushes to his side. “I didn’t mean now, you idiot! I meant when you were both in the right headspace. You’re angry right now.”
“I am.” He straightens up and reaches for his scarf, looping it around his shoulders a few times. “But he wanted me to speak my mind, so I’m going to do just that.”
He doesn’t stick around to see whether Kayama decides to go home or not. He walks out into the rain, body on autopilot as his feet trace the familiar path to Yamada’s apartment just a few streets away. The rain on his skin dampens some of heat of his anger, leaving behind a familiar melancholy that he doesn’t have the luxury to indulge in at the moment.
He announces his arrival with two hard pounds on the door. A shrill “Coming!” is heard.
The door opens and there stands Yamada, eyes wide with disbelief. “Sh- Aizawa? What are you doing here?” he says, warily eyeing his ex-boyfriend’s soaked form. He looks like he wants to comment on Aizawa’s disheveled state, but before he can work up to a proper scolding, Aizawa cuts him off.
“We need to talk. And it’d probably be best to do so inside, if you don’t mind.”
Despite looking very much like he does mind, Yamada nevertheless ushers him inside and grabs him a towel so he doesn’t get water on the furniture.
Yamada sits in an armchair diagonal from Aizawa, waiting for the latter to speak. Now that he’s close enough to get a good look at his ex, Aizawa notices the dark rings under Yamada’s eyes, the greasiness in his hair; clearly he’s had a rough week too. The thought that all this pain could have been avoided incites Aizawa’s ire once again.
“Were you really dumb enough to think that I didn’t love you?”
He internally cringes but doesn’t take back his words. Not the best start, but it was how he felt.
Yamada glares at him; the harshness is unsettling on his normally exuberant mien. “How does that make me dumb? I’m not a mind-reader. I can’t tell what you’re feeling if you never say it. And it’s not like you gave me any special treatment either.”
Aizawa’s jaw drops. “I gave you a spare key to my apartment! I left an extra hero suit here. I listed you as my emergency contact on all my forms.”
“That was just you being practical! We’d already established all of that before we even started dating because we realized it was easier that way. None of that made me feel like your lover.”
“I did it before we started dating because I’ve always loved you, you idiot,” Aizawa snaps, jabbing a finger in Yamada’s direction. “Just because I don’t sing you cheesy songs or take you out to fancy restaurants doesn’t mean I don’t love you! It’s not just out of practicality either; I tried to make it clear how essential you were to my life by sharing those boring parts with you. I just don’t express myself the same way you do. I thought you knew that. I thought- dammit, I thought you knew me.”
He gets a perverse satisfaction from the way Yamada’s face crumples in guilt. It’s short-lived, however, after his emotional outburst, and he slumps back against the cushion, drained. When he speaks again, it’s in a significantly softer voice.
“When you told me you wanted to break up, I didn’t argue with you on it because I thought you would only have said that if your mind was already made up. It’s not because I was ready to give up on us. I just didn’t want to be the only one fighting.”
Yamada curses under his breath and wipes hastily at his eyes. Aizawa has the intense urge to pull him into a hug, the way he knows Yamada likes to be comforted, but he keeps his hands to himself.
“Don’t you get it, Shouta?” he says shakily, wrapping his arms around himself. “That’s how I’ve felt for months now. Like I was the only one fighting for us. I didn’t realize… I didn’t know how you felt. How could I have? You didn’t act any differently when we started dating.”
Aizawa’s smile is bittersweet. “I told you already, it’s because I’ve always loved you, Hizashi.”
Yamada wipes at his face again, but this time his fingers can’t keep up with the flow of tears. “How was I supposed to know? How could I, Shouta? How could I?” He repeats the words desperately, sobbing into his palms.
This time Aizawa can’t stop himself. He crosses the distance between them in two steps and wraps his arms around Yamada tightly. The relief he feels when the embrace is returned is staggering.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, voice cracking. He runs a hand over Yamada’s hair. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”
For a few minutes, there are no further words as Yamada sobs into Aizawa’s shoulder. He’s trying to be quiet, but he’s never had good control of his quirk when he’s upset, so his pitch occasionally spikes painfully before dropping down to a drastically low bass. Aizawa endures it all without batting an eye because at this point he’d rather die than let go of Yamada again.
When Yamada has finally calmed enough to speak normally, he pulls away from Aizawa and looks him in the eye. “I’m sorry for thinking you had to change for me. I should have just talked to you and maybe then I would have understood sooner than we just have different ways of showing our love. I feel like I fucked everything up.”
“I’d say we can share the blame on this one, Hizashi,” Aizawa remarks, wiping a stray tear from the blond’s chin. “I could make more of an effort for you if that’s what you want. We can always make compromises.”
Yamada pushes Aizawa’s bangs from his face, studying him with a serious expression. “Are you saying you want to try again, Shouta? Because I do. I want us to fight together.”
“I do.”
The relief between them is palpable as Yamada laughs shakily and leans forward to press a kiss to Aizawa’s forehead. In return, Aizawa strokes his cheek before kissing him just below the eye.
They sit in companionable silence for a while, squished together in Yamada’s plush armchair, exploring each other’s hearts through soft touches and tender gazes. Each pass of Yamada’s cool fingers on his skin is like a palm for his aching heart. He’s so wrapped up in his lover that he’s jumps a little when he speaks.
“For our first compromise,” Yamada begins, surprisingly hesitant. “How about pet names?”
Aizawa runs through a mental checklist of the terms of endearment he hears Yamada use for him all the time. While he never minded being called any of them, he can’t picture himself using baby. Honey is too saccharine. Love is… well, accurate, but perhaps a bit too strong to start with right away.
“It’ll take some getting used to, dear,” he says, testing the word on his tongue. It feels strange and awkward, but the way Yamada’s face lights up is worth it. “But we can try some out.”
“I love you,” Yamada tells him suddenly. “I love you so much, Shouta.”
“I love you too, Hizashi.”
And it's absolutely true. For in that moment, despite his damp skin and unkempt face, Yamada's greasy hair and puffy eyes, they look at each other and know instantly that they've never been more in love.