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When Shouta started sneezing yesterday, Hizashi grabbed his arm in the faculty lounge and said, “If this gets worse, you’re not coming into work tomorrow.”
Shouta looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “At which point did you become my mother?”
Laughing, Hizashi slung his arm around Shouta’s shoulders and kissed his husband’s forehead. “I’m not your mom, Shou. I just don’t want you to get worse and then miss Hero work just ‘cause you’re being a martyr.”
“I’m not being a martyr,” Shouta said, before sneezing and blowing his nose.
“Of course you’re not.”
“Shut up, Hizashi.”
“Oh just get a room,” Toshinori said, smiling; Shouta glared at him and Hizashi grinned.
“Seriously, though, you’re so staying home sick if you get worse, even if I have to tie you to the bed.”
“Ooh, kinky!” Nemuri said, eyebrows raised.
Shouta glared at her. “I’d like to see you try,” he said to Hizashi.
Hizashi smiled at his total fucking martyr of a husband, knowing it was going to be a challenge to get Shouta to rest.
That was yesterday morning; since then, Shouta’s condition has deteriorated rapidly. It appears that he actually has the flu rather than a cold, his nose swollen and red from blowing it so much, his face pale and clammy with flushed cheeks, and he keeps running a fever.
Right now, Shouta is in the bathroom, and Hizashi wrings his hands together, hoping Shouta isn’t going to faint or something. But Shouta eventually emerges… and Hizashi raises his eyebrows.
Shouta is wearing his day clothes, capture weapon around his neck.
“Shou, why’re you dressed?” he says.
Shouta’s eyebrows disappear behind his straggly hair. “I thought it’s obvious that you don’t go outside in your pyjamas.”
“What d’you mean? You’re not going out!” Hizashi cries.
“I think you’ll find I am,” Shouta says, his voice nasal with mucus but his tone as flat as normal. “I’m going to work.”
“Fucking hell, Shouta!” he says, throwing his hands up in the air. “I said you’d be staying home if you got worse. And you’re worse. So stay here.”
“Hizashi, stop fussing over me,” Shouta says, before sneezing. He doesn’t reach a tissue in time and ends up spraying his hands with saliva and mucus. He grimaces (Hizashi wants to grimace – phlegm and that sort of stuff makes him feel sick – but he keeps the strained smile on his face). “Uh, excuse me.”
Shouta rushes back into the bathroom, but Hizashi follows him. He jams his foot in the doorway to stop Shouta shutting the door, and watches his husband wash his hands.
“You’re not going to work,” he says, folding his arms.
Shouta fills the basin with water and splashes his clammy face. “With all due respect, Hizashi, you can’t tell me what to do.”
“I’m not! I’m just… I’m fucking worried about you!” Hizashi blurts. He sighs. “Shouta, please rest.”
Shouta turns to face him, water dripping from his chin. His eyes, even more bloodshot than usual, focus on Hizashi. “’Zashi, are you really worried about me?”
“Of course I am! You’re… fuck, you’re my husband!” he cries, flinging his arms up and slapping himself in the sides of the head. “I don’t want you to get worse just because you’re a stubborn bastard. I don’t want…” Hizashi trails off, a lump appearing in his throat. His eyes sting with tears behind his glasses, and he wills himself not to cry. “I don’t wanna find you dead, Shouta.”
Shit, he’s pathetic. But ever since the USJ incident a few months ago, he’s been terrified of Shouta dying. His husband’s bloody death has been the focus of all of his nightmares, and he tends to think about Shouta dying whenever he falls into a panic attack.
“Hizashi?” Shouta whispers. “Please don’t get upset.” He steps closer and puts a hand on Hizashi’s shoulder. “You don’t need to get so worried about me—”
“Yes I do!” Hizashi yells, activating his Quirk as his hands grab at his hair, destroying his perfectly gelled hairstyle. “I have to worry about you ‘cause you put everyone above yourself, you self-sacrificing bastard! Shit, I…”
Hizashi’s voice breaks and his eyes fill with tears. He digs his fingers into his hair, his nails pressing down against his scalp until they break the skin. His heart pounds and pounds, his scalp stinging as he heaves in rapid breaths. Is he having a meltdown? Or is this a panic attack? Either way, he can barely breathe, overwhelmed by his worries about Shouta.
“Hizashi, try to calm down,” Shouta says, and there is a hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles.
But it isn’t enough. He spins around and grabs onto the basin, hunching forwards.
He has to breathe.
Breathe breathe breathe breathe breathe breathe breathe breathe breathe breathe—
“’Zashi!” Shouta says. He doesn’t touch him, but his voice is soft yet firm. “Calm down. Breathe in for five seconds, hold for give seconds and then exhale. Remember that, the breathing technique?”
Of course he remembers. After the USJ incident, Shouta was diagnosed with PTSD and sent to therapy. Hizashi was diagnosed with anxiety as a kid but has never been to therapy; however, he accompanied Shouta to several sessions and learned about coping mechanisms alongside his husband. Including this breathing exercise for when you are panicking.
He nods. “Y-Yeah.”
“All right, then,” Shouta says. “So breathe in… one… two… three… four… five... now hold it for…”
As Shouta guides him through the breathing exercise, Hizashi tries his best to time his breaths, listening to Shouta’s voice and not his overwhelmed brain. He runs his fingers over the textured spiked patches on the elbows of his leather jacket, trying to ground himself.
And gradually gradually gradually, he starts to calm down. His breathing slows and he stims and listens to his husband’s voice, and Hizashi’s panic attack starts to cease.
When he no longer feels like he’s about to die, he stands up straight and turns to look at Shouta. His sick, stubborn, caring Shouta. “Shou… I’m sorry.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Shouta says, wiping his running nose and looking at him with bleary eyes. “It was a panic attack. I have them too. It’s okay. And I’m sorry for getting you worked up. I was… I was trying to help you feel less anxious but it backfired big time.”
Hizashi shrugs, rubbing his sore head. “Nah ‘s okay. Look, just go to bed, Shou.”
“Okay, I will,” Shouta says, giving him a quick but careful hug. “On one condition.”
His muscles still trembling with adrenaline, Hizashi laughs weal, sounding nothing like the boisterous laugh he usually has. “You fucking stubborn bastard. What now?”
Shouta smiles weakly and presses a chapped-lipped kiss to his forehead. “I’ll go to bed if you do too.”
Hizashi blushes. “Shou, I love you, but I don’t think either of us are well enough to fuck right now.”
Shouta snorts with laughter, but it turns into a cough. “I’m not talking about sex, ‘Zashi. You’re not well either, mentally I mean. You’ve had a panic attack. You should stay home too.”
“No, I don’t need to do that, Shou. I’ll be fine.”
“Now who’s being stubborn?”
Hizashi stares at him, realising that Shouta is right. He’s being just as stubborn, insisting he is okay when he should probably stay home and rest. He manages a smile. “Fair point. I guess I’ll phone the principal and tell him we’re both staying home. Now go the fuck to bed.”
Shouta bows. “Yes, sensei.”
He laughs, still wobbling from the panic attack. “Just get to bed, smartass.”
After a call to Principal Nedzu (the principal is fine with it, saying, “I hope you both feel better soon.”), Hizashi wanders into the bedroom. He finds Shouta in bed in his pyjamas, curled up under the blankets. He rushes to get a glass of water and a box of tissues, and then pulls off his Hero costume. Brushing his fingers through his hair to get it out of its weird style (making himself wince as he touches his sore scalp), he gets his own pyjamas on and slides into bed. He snuggles up to his husband, kissing Shouta on the forehead.
“You’ll get sick too at this rate,” Shouta says.
“Don’t care. I just want you to get better. Just stay in bed ‘till you get better.”
Shouta smiles. “Fine. Now if I have to stay in bed, I’m going to sleep.”
“Good plan,” Hizashi says, kissing his forehead again.
Shouta rolls his eyes and then closes them. Like normal, it takes Shouta only a couple of minutes to fall asleep. Still trembling and anxious from the panic attack, it takes far longer to fall asleep. but it is still a huge comfort to know his husband is asleep beside him, safe and resting, and he eventually falls asleep spooning with Shouta.