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Shōta rubbed at his stubble as he watched himself in the mirror, feeling more well rested than most days, though it definitely had to do with his next days off lining up with his husband’s; Shōta was certain that Hizashi planned it that way specifically. Tipping his face back to squeeze drops into his eyes, he was greeted with his husband’s sleepy, red face. The skin on his jaw looked irritated, yet the voice hero looked anything but, happy despite the burn that came with making out with someone who had a face full of stubble. “‘Zashi,” He mumbled, keeping his neck at the odd angle to peer at Hizashi -- just to hear him snort, then press a kiss to Shōta’s forehead, slipping behind the other hero and tucking his arms around Shōta’s muscles.
“You know we do have to wake up at some point, right?” Shōta said even as he tilted his head out to receive more of the nuzzling face being pressed into his neck. Hizashi grunted and brought his slender fingers up to lightly grope at Shōta’s chest, laughing into Shōta’s neck and pulling away with a kiss when he was met with a disapproving noise. “I’m not, I’m not,” Hizashi said with his normal laughter, reaching for his hairbrush from it’s usual spot. Shōta held out his hand for one of the colorful hair bands off the handle of the brush and was given one without second thought. He pulled his hair back and trudged out of the bathroom.
On their coffee table was the newest magazine Hizashi had been featured in and on the cover of, one that had his husband dressed in a gorgeous red suit. Shōta admired the way they’d done his hair for too long before the woman at the checkout asked if he was buying it and, on impulse, he said yes. He’d nearly laughed when she said she was a Present Mic fan ‘just like him’, and mentioned his smile. Shōta chatted with her easily as she rung up groceries for him, and found out she was in school to be a dental assistant. The next few images, he knew, had the classic Present Mic smile, broad and bright and completely perfect.
But it was so unlike Hizashi himself. The Present Mic smile was incomplete without the set of what the voice hero called flips , and what Shōta called dentures . They pushed into place and covered the gap between his two front teeth that were irreparable without braces at this point, and caused by a particularly nasty sucker punch Hizashi received in their fourth year as heroes; Present Mic was already widely known, and he didn’t want to show the new imperfection. Shōta loved that Hizashi could be his imperfect normal self at home, and he was content to look away from the photoshopped version of his partner in favor of relaxing back into the couch and feeling lazily for the remote.
Hizashi entered the living room and went for the door, clean and dressed for their lazy day at home. Shōta didn’t comment on the baggy shirt that was clearly stolen off their bed, only appreciating the view Hizashi’s shorts gifted when he retrieved a package from their doorstep and brought it with him to the couch. Shōta eyed the box but did not give a voice to his question. Hizashi grinned at him, smile bright and even more stunning without the push-in teeth. “Books!” Hizashi answered the unspoken question he mind-read off his partner, digging his manicured nail into the tape and yanking the edges open. Shōta did not recognize the languages on any cover as his husband pulled out three books.
“I can speak German a little more fluently, so I thought I’d pick up a book written in it, and got carried away. So now I have one in Italian and this one is in Russian.” Hizashi frowned down at it. “Though my Russian is kinda bad.” Shōta snorted and slouched to rest against Hizashi’s side, frowning down at the books. “You gonna schedule those books in?” He laughed at his husband’s offended huff, then fake shove. “First of all! Yes, I am, okay? I am scheduling these books in officially. But not on my days off! I might go through it a little today, but it’s something I’m going to take to the station with me.”
Shōta ran his scarred fingers across the blocky lettering, raised and foreign on the cover. It was not something he’d ever be able to comprehend. None of those books were, his language skills outside of Japanese began and ended with English curse words, and the only real sentence he could say in another language was asking if they spoke Japanese. Hizashi had insisted he learned at least that one and now, looking down at the three different books in three different languages, it weighed oddly painful on his mind. “It says Wolves Eat Dogs . It’s a mystery novel, I’m hoping I’ll get better by reading it. Maybe I can even give my mom a new idea for her book?”
Shōta hummed and looked to the other two books then up to Hizashi. He looked excited to read them. “Why not read one now?” He asked, sitting up enough to watch him place the books away. “What, right now? We’re supposed to be spending time together,” Shōta shook his head and nuzzled back down, propping his feet up on the coffee table, noticing for the first time he’d accidentally stolen Hizashi’s socks, mismatched and hideously decorated with palm trees on one foot and pineapples on the other. “We are spending time together by just relaxing together. I’ll put on a movie for me and you can read your alien books.”
The voice hero held the German book close to his chest in mock offense. “Shō! How can you say that when you only speak one language?” Hizashi teased, opening to the first page and resting back into the couch, his shoulder becoming a rest for Shōta’s head. “I know all I need to. ‘ Do you speak Japanese?’ ” He asked in heavily accented, wobbly English. It brought a laugh from Hizashi, yet felt like more of that weight from earlier. “ Good! You’re so smart, baby. ” He responded back, not bothering to translate -- though Shōta knew baby by heart. His insides twisted a little.
As they sat in the living room, Hizashi reading in a language Shōta would never understand and himself spacing out to whatever came on their overly large television, Shōta brought his eyes sluggishly moving to watch Hizashi and found him looking content. The book was easy for him, of course it was, his husband is a genius, Shōta finds himself thinking for what must have been the trillionth time in his life. He drifted back toward the made for TV movie. Simple enough to drift back to sleep during, Hizashi warm at his side.
Shōta woke up after what felt like a brief, comfortable nap to Zeri meowing at the beeping oven. He shrugged the blanket that was placed on him by his caring partner, and trudged around the couch and back to the kitchen, all white marble and open space; modern by another countries standards he was sure. He turned the timer off and peered into the oven to wrap a mitt around the handles of what was clearly enough food for one of them. Once the hot dish was resting on the counter, he cracked the lid just enough to see it was one of the few dishes he actually enjoyed, what with being such a picky eater. Shōta found it hard to find anything he’d actually stomach, but this was clearly for him -- it was not a dish Hizashi enjoyed very much.
He huffed a sigh and placed the lid back on and glanced around the expensive, open floor home and thought of how long ago Hizashi had bought the place and when he finally caved and moved in. They’d been dating for awhile at that point yet he had always felt uncomfortable here. The feeling diminished as he’d gotten settled and eventually married his blond headache, but with the way he felt off today, it felt like even more on his shoulders. Like tense knots he got from sleeping in odd places.
Zeri squeaked at him before rubbing her scarred face against his sweatpants and eagerly jumped into his arms when Shōta held them open, deciding to go find his absent husband. His search did not take long but ended jarringly when the soundproofed door of Hizashi’s office was opened. The room was an organized mess of things that weren't related to being a teacher nor pro hero, no, that 'office' was the walk-in closet transformed into a real office with a desk, work computer, a fucking filing cabinet , even a large whiteboard covering a wall that Shōta had never seen completely erased. The main room, of what Shōta was certain was meant to be a bedroom, did have a desk, but it was specially made to curve with the room, large and covered in recording and DJ equipment alike.
Hizashi sat at his keyboard in the opposite corner though, squinting at sheet music and playing something so quickly that he nearly knocked the entire thing over when the door was opened, sending their cat jumping from Shōta’s arms and patrolling the room for danger. The voice hero snorted and pushed the hair falling from his bun back behind his ear. “Sorry love, I’m working on something I got a request for! I’m trying to play this piece faster each time -- you didn’t nap for very long.” Hizashi’s voice was higher pitched in the way it got when Shōta did something to worry him. Usually it made Shōta feel cared for, but today he hated the way it placed hurt in his chest. He hummed and shrugged a shoulder.
"I didn't need to sleep long." Hizashi inspected the tense man for a moment with a rather intense gaze, then blinked with an abrupt tone change. "Okay, then why don't we eat lunch together? We haven't been able to in so long." Shōta nodded and loitered by the door as Hizashi went about carefully placing the music away into a thick binder that slipped into place against the nearby bookshelf.
They sat down together for lunch, but Shōta felt nothing but distracted, especially when Hizashi insisted on Shōta sitting down while he made his plate and grabbed his water before h began making his own usual lunch style; something quick and healthy and, in Shōta’s personal opinion, too light. Hizashi seemed a little down but still talked Shōta’s ear off. It was a great way to fill the silence and there was nothing Shōta enjoyed more than spending time with his husband’s banter, hair down and glasses on, his imperfections not airbrushed away or hidden behind a pair of dentures.
Even with how perfect today should’ve been he couldn’t shake the itching at his subconscious. It clicked when he made a dry retort and got a silverware shaking laugh from his stunning partner. He isn’t good enough, a small voice spoke above his thoughts, a tone meant to remind him. While the feeling wasn’t new, it still crushed Shōta’s insides like it was the first time thinking it over and over again. Hizashi shined like the sun, blond hair barely hanging onto the tie and framing his handsome face. Shōta rested his head and elbow on the table, eating the food Hizashi made specifically for his fussy palate and listening to him speak.
His husband was just too good for him. A larger than life entertainer who did more than just his radio show and occasionally announcing events. He’s known Hizashi to be in a few music videos, to model on an honest to god runway, sell his own brand of headphones, run charity events from those in orphanages and the foster care system to deaf and hard of hearing people. Shōta has seen the aftermath of a twenty-four-hour charity stream, seen Hizashi work himself into the ground to be a hero and to protect others.
Shōta can’t help but think of the meal in front of him, or the house he sat in, or even the cases they’ve worked on together -- all the ones Hizashi figured out so quickly, even if it wasn’t his own to be working on and he pestered Shōta into helping.
He picks up languages like they’re nothing, then becomes fluent in them overnight, can play nearly every instrument Shōta can think of, and he ridiculously schedules his life to juggle three jobs on top of more work, like brand deals and photo shoots. And on top of that , he’s an extremely devoted husband; Shōta is lucky to even be sitting across from him with his ridiculous fashion sense, speaking all these languages and taking time to cook Shōta meals he’ll actually eat.
He just doesn’t want to think about how bad it feels to be keeping Hizashi from someone better. Shōta’s wedding ring on his chest is numbingly cold and the chain keeping it around his neck feels unbearably heavy as he tunes back in to a story Hizashi is telling about his last guest on his show.
In bed, he sprawls into empty space while waiting to be joined by more than just the old cat snoozing at his feet. He wishes he could join her, but Shōta’s eyes remain open in the dim light of his lamp. He recalls the red irritation on Hizashi’s face from his own rubbing against it last night, thinks of how his husband runs at full energy until he cannot maintain it any longer -- yet he always has time to get Shōta moving, or to cook him meals he might not even eat. Shōta shuts his eyes and wishes he could enjoy big events like his husband did. He didn’t go to the last one or even the few before it and it nags in his mind that someone out there, energetic and soft and musically gifted, born for spotlight just as Hizashi is, is missing their soulmate because he’s greedy.
Shōta rubs at his shut eyes but stays awake the same. He’s been lucky many times, but only three times in life has he truly hit a jackpot. Being moved from general studies would be the first, allowing him to become the hero he never imagined he’d be and to meet his friends, all outgoing people who forced their way into his stupid, stubborn heart, which he’d definitely count as the second. Hizashi managed it first, the fidgety blond kid next to him as he took the seat nobody else wanted, even if the class liked him. Hizashi who cheered him on so hard at the sports festivals that it was so embarrassing his face had been a peculiar red at the time. Hizashi who wanted to be his friend so badly that Shōta, to this day, does not see why.
Thinking of his own ungratefulness does not outweigh how he feels by keeping a man so bright all to himself, how it eats away at his insides.
“Okay, I don't get it. Tell me what’s got you all upset, Shou,” Hizashi said, startling the erasure hero from his self deprecation. Hizashi stood in the doorway, hair damp and body still wet, closing their door and entering the room further with his scarred, toned arms crossed against his chest. Shōta’s eyes were drawn to the tattoo on his husband’s left pectoral. A neat line of sound waves carefully inked onto the skin there, over Hizashi’s heart were Shōta’s whispered ‘I love you’ from their extremely private wedding ceremony.
He looked away from it and to Hizashi’s tense face, not moving to get dressed or come any closer. Shōta sat up and rested his back against the headboard with his eyes focused onto Zeri. “Aizawa Shōta,” He grouched, eyebrows pinching and body moving to open their closet and go through to pull on pajamas. “You have until I get dressed to decide if you want --” Shōta cut him off with a sigh, watching the blond emerge, wearing just a t-shirt and a pair of bright orange underwear.
"I’m not....good enough.” He forced out, voice low and eyes purposely drawn away. “Not.. what?” Hizashi said just as soft, looking absolutely downright offended . He yanked on pair of too-large sweatpants and crawled into bed, then pulled Shōta’s tucked hand out to clasp between his own. “Not good enough? Says who?” Shōta rolled his eyes and tensed further but did not pull his hand away. “I know everyone thinks it when they find out we’re a couple.” Hizashi snorted and pressed Shōta’s palm to his heart, holding it there and leaning in to brush wild black hair behind Shōta’s ear.
“Nobody thinks that. Nobody better think that for even a second, I," Hizashi cut himself off as his face had begun twisting up with what Shōta recognized as fury on his husband's face, the look he got when a villain managed to make him particularly angry. He took a deep breath and the look softened as he gazed upon his husband with adoration. "I know Tsunagu’s 'advice' is always for me to dump you, but he wouldn’t have been at our wedding if he didn’t think I was so happy.” Shōta curled his fingers in on Hizashi’s shirt as he could not bring himself to make eye contact. “I don’t care what he thinks. I care that I’m keeping you from some hyperactive celebrity soulmate of yours or something. Someone who you can talk about and post pictures with. Someone who you don’t have to call your ‘favorite listener’ instead of their name and.. Someone just..” He trailed off with a frustrated noise as his rant wound down, finding it extremely hard to meet the guidance of the hand against his face.
Hizashi was smiling, then laughing. “I’m sorry, my what now? No, come on, sweetheart, I didn’t mean it like that,” Hizashi amends when Shōta only shrinks further away. “I just don’t know what you mean. I wanna talk about you, baby . If I could quirk out on everyone and tell all of Japan at once that I got to hold you at night, I would.” He softened his gaze and when Shōta finally looked up to meet Hizashi's brilliant green eyes, a look that had his heart stopping. Hizashi was giving Shōta that same stupid, lovestruck look he’d had since they’d first held hands, all the way back when. Nemuri was right when she told Shōta that his husband was in a honeymoon phase forever, still looking at the erasure hero like he’d hung the stars.
“I don’t want anyone else. I can’t imagine not having you, Shō. My moon,” Hizashi pressed in close enough to bring Shōta to kiss him softly. They remained pressed together in each others' personal space, “I love you more than anyone. You’re so precious to me. You’re just so.. Caring.” Hizashi kissed him again. “You care so impossibly deeply for everyone, you do everything for the greater good.” Shōta pressed further into the next kiss this time.
“You bring me down when I need it and stop me from spiraling. You learned sign language for my moms, and now we just have a language between the two of us.” Hizashi brought himself to sit on Shōta’s lap, guiding his husband to look at him. Hizashi pulled his fingers through the other man’s dark, wild hair to uncover his other eye. “There is nobody else. There never has been. I like that we’re different, I don’t want to be with someone just like me. I want the man who knows when I need to stop or slow down, who signs with me when my quirk is too much. You make me feel like I just fell in love each time I see you.” Shōta snorts and presses his forehead to Hizashi’s chest, shivering as his husband’s fingers drifted down to his bare shoulders.
“You’re the only person I want to be with. Why would I ever want anyone else?” Shōta snuggles his face in deeper and breathes in Hizashi’s scent, the expensive shampoo and floral body wash only a little overwhelming so fresh. “I just.. I don’t know. I’m not usually like this.” Hizashi hummed softly, running his fingers through tangles and knots in Shōta’s hair, gentle and careful not to tug. “I know. But it’s okay to be insecure sometimes. I’ll be right here to pick you back up.” Shōta nodded and pulled back to kiss the other man again. “I can’t imagine marrying another me, oh my god, that’d be so exhausting to deal with.” Shōta huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Why would I ever want that? I just want you. My quiet, sweet starlight.”
Shōta felt himself flush and brought his hands up to lace their fingers together. The two heroes shared more kisses, soft brushes of their lips in the same space. "I love you, 'Zashi." Shōta managed to get out as he felt overwhelmed by the man made of sunlight in his lap, bathed in a curtain of his bright hair and adoring looks. "I love you, Shōta."