Work Text:
Hitoshi has only been a part of the Aizawa-Yamada household for about two months, and he’s already totally screwed.
Although there weren’t many specific rules laid out, his new foster fathers had made it clear that he was to be home by nine on school nights and eleven on weekends, unless granted permission to be out later. It was too dangerous otherwise, with Shinsou being a well-known UA student and the foster son of two pro-heroes. However, it was nearing on three in the morning when Shinsou finally approached the apartment complex, and he felt his heart rate spike. This had never happened before.
In the past, foster parents either didn’t care where he was, or their random mood swings and explosive attitudes from their own pent-up childhood trauma would keep them from disciplining him properly. Some thought he was a small, broken thing and only viewed him as a flight risk, so they never “laid down the law”, which just made it confusing when he messed up. Hitoshi had no idea what it was like to be punished out of love and the best intentions.
And it was terrifying.
He has never once seen Aizawa lose his cool, but that might be due to never having done anything to piss him off. He doesn’t think they’ll give him up… not really. He understands that this is supposed to be a ‘forever home’. They’ve been working hard on getting his adoption papers sorted and approved, so he knows it isn’t the same as past foster placements. His parents actually care about him and his well being now.
Approaching the stairs that lead to his fathers’ apartment, Hitoshi tried taking deep breaths. This was nothing to freak out over. They’re probably asleep by now, anyway, he mused as he twisted the handle to find the door unlocked.
He slowly maneuvered himself through the entryway, cringing as the hinges squeak. Shinsou strained to hear any indication that someone is still awake, blood running cold when he realizes that the TV is on just around the corner. He spotted a familiar mop of blonde hair on the sofa, and watched as the man mindlessly scrolled through crappy news channels.
Shinsou really just wanted to run back out the door, but he already left once. He’s not making that mistake again.
Steeling himself with an impassive expression, Hitoshi quietly entered the living room, head down and hands jammed into pockets.
He heard a sharp intake of breath and looked up just in time to catch Mic’s watery eyes before the man was taking long, purposeful strides towards him. Shinsou took an involuntary step backward, his conditioning telling him that he was in trouble and any form of contact was bad.
Yamada faltered, looking hurt, and Hitoshi wanted to take it back. He wanted to have never stormed out this afternoon; he wanted to have never had a fucking tantrum over nothing; he wanted to have never inconvenienced two good heroes with his presence. These men had done so much for him - certainly more than any other adult in his life ever had. They gave him food and shelter and actually cared for him. They showed him what it was like to feel wanted, and he just threw it back in their faces. Pathetic.
“Come on, ‘Toshi,” Mic croaked, his voice thick with tears. Shinsou felt miserable. “We’ve been so worried about you.”
Hitoshi stepped forward with reluctance from where he had been pressed up against the wall, fearing the worst.
He’d certainly been kicked out of homes for much less than this.
Once within arms reach, Shinsou was pulled into a tight, one-sided hug. He tensed, legs prepared to bolt despite his brain screaming at him that he was safe . He hated himself for flinching, hated himself for being weak . He knew - somewhere, deep down in his soul - that Yamada would never hurt him on purpose.
“Shouta’s on patrol. He’s looking for you.”
Everything came grinding to a halt as the man pulled back from the embrace, hands resting on Shinsou’s shoulders in a slightly firm grip. Mic’s voice was soft and disappointed, twisting Hitoshi’s stomach with guilt and anxiety. Looking away, he swallowed his remorse and tried to blink the sting out of his eyes.
He never meant to inconvenience anyone. He’d been trying to get out of the way this afternoon when he stormed out. In his other placements, it was always best for Shinsou to just leave during any sort of conflict.
Yes, he had slammed the door and used some choice language. Sure, he had stomped around the house and shut off his phone in childish defiance. But him leaving had always been a blessing . No one had ever worried about him before, never mind look for him. He felt terrible, knowing that he’d acted like a brat. Aizawa was the first man to show him true kindness (in his own reserved sort of way), and he just threw it back in his face. Disgusting .
“I’m sorry,” he whispered miserably, hardly noticing the words as he spoke for the first time. He just felt horrible, and he wanted this feeling to go away . He wanted to never have left in the first place.
“I didn’t want- I didn’t mean for… I’m-” Shinsou struggled to get the words out, a big balloon of frustration and confusion clogging his throat and making his eyes water.
It was all just too much and he didn’t understand these people. Why did they take in someone like him? Why haven’t they snapped yet? When will they snap?
A warm hand settled on his shoulder, Hitoshi shakily inhaling as its firm gentleness kept his thoughts from swirling out of control. “Shh, settle down. You’re fine.” The merciful tenderness in Yamada’s voice somehow calmed his nerves, the soothing tone like cool water over the hot and burning coals of guilt in his chest.
Tightening his grip on Shinsou’s shoulders, Mic furrowed his brow and set his face into a stern frown. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?” His tone was sharper than before, interrogating Hitoshi and getting into the root of his misdeeds.
“Um. I-I don’t… I’m-” The door opened behind him, creaking quietly on its hinges while Shinsou turned to face the intruder. He met Aizawa’s dark, tired eyes as the man shed his goggles and scarf. The unreadable gaze sent chills down his spine, fight or flight instincts brewing just under the surface.
Stepping forward, his mentor reached a hand towards his head. Hitoshi flinched a little when the hand came into contact with his hair, his entire body jolting in a small movement. Unlike Mic, Aizawa just carried on, watching him carefully and ruffling his hair in greeting with a deep sigh.
“I texted Shouta right when you got here,” Mic murmured once the source of comfort retracted itself. Hitoshi tried not to miss the contact.
Aizawa, always one to get right to the point, crossed his arms and frowned at him. “Why didn’t you pick up your phone, kid?” They were standing in front of him now, both tall and intimidating and they could just snap him like a twig .
He took a deep breath, shoving his hands into his pockets once again and ducking his head in an attempt to look chastised. He just felt so bad; he didn’t mean for any of this to happen.
The Day Before
“That’s not fair,” Hitoshi declared indignantly, trying not to wince at his own chil dish words. “Everyone else in the class is going!”
Aizawa glanced up at the teen from where he had gone back to his paperwork, furrowing his brows and frowning in disapproval at the disrespectful tone. “I don’t care,” he responded plainly. “Besides, I don’t know what you’re talking about. The only kid from my class that’s going is Mineta, as far as I am aware. I heard him trying to convince some girls to come with him this morning.” The man went back to his grading, assuming that would be the end of the conversation.
Shinsou felt rage build within him, fueled by his guardian’s lack of consideration on the subject. Trying his best to sound level-headed and mature, the boy kept pushing. “All my friends near my old house will be there! You’re being completely unreasonable.”
Sighing deeply, Aizawa set his pen down and leaned back in his chair to look Shinsou in the eyes, resigning himself to the conversation. “Look, kid, I understand how you feel. If you want to see some kids from your old neighborhood, then you are more than welcome to hang out with them - so long as there are no drugs, sex or alcohol involved. I know what goes on in those parties, and I’ve seen way too many kids ruin their lives over stupid things. Besides, what if that moronic group of boys from your middle school is there? I don’t want to see you hurt again. The answer is no.”
Not knowing how to react, Shinsou clenched his hands into fists. This was all so new. He didn’t understand this dynamic and having to ask permission to go somewhere past curfew. He was used to being on his own and avoiding the adults at all costs. It was how he learned to survive.
He wanted to shout at Aizawa that it wasn’t his choice to make. He wanted to tell him that it didn’t matter what he thought, because he didn’t even come into his life until a few months ago. He wanted to yell and scream about how he was just as mature as Aizawa, and it’s not right that he gets to call the shots just because he’s older and legally responsible for him.
He wanted to know why Aizawa didn’t trust him.
All collectiveness lost, Hitoshi slapped both hands down onto his teacher’s workspace, rattling the wood and stinging his palms.
“This is fucking bullshit,” he seethed, not even caring about politeness anymore. Maybe his choice of phrasing was unnecessary, but still. What was the worst this man could do?
“Watch your mouth,” Aizawa snapped, looking at him sharply. “I said no, I meant no.” Taking a deep breath through the nose and turning back towards his papers, the teacher jabbed a thumb toward the stairs behind him. “Go to your room.” Looking at his mentor in bewilderment, Hitoshi drew back.
Aizawa had never called him out on his behavior before. The most he had ever done was flick Shinsou in the forehead for getting too mouthy, and that was more jokingly than anything.
Hitoshi still thought of Aizawa as a mentor and teacher, so being punished by him in such a parental manner was both awkward and infuriating.
Suddenly resenting this whole “parenting” thing, Hitoshi scowled at the floor without moving, crossing his arms over his stomach and hunching his shoulders.
Aizawa thought that he could just waltz right into Shinsou’s life and have ultimate authority over him. It made the teen’s blood boil. Who was he to take away privileges and send him to his room? It wasn’t his place. Shinsou had been looking after himself for years, so why did he need structure now? He’s done fine on his own.
“You can’t tell me what to do,” he muttered with all the maturity and dignity of a three-year-old. He tried not to stomp towards the door, aching to relieve some of his frustration, and violently thrust his socked feet into his tennis shoes.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Aizawa’s words just made Shinsou angrier, powered by the fury of injustice. Why could this old man swear and Hitoshi couldn’t? He grabbed his jacket and hat, gloves too far away to reach in his dramatic exit.
“ Out ,” Shinsou bit, slamming the door with much more force than necessary. Breathing in the cool air of early Spring, the red haze started to lift, and he felt a small twinge of regret bloom across his chest.
He kept walking.
Present
“I-I’m sorry. Really sorry. I just-”, Hitoshi’s voice cracked, going high and desperate for them to understand . His throat felt tight and raw, eyes burning as he stared resolutely at his shoes.
Aizawa stepped forward and he leaned back habitually. He was on edge and could feel a tear weighing heavily in his eye, but he couldn’t swipe at it. He couldn’t draw attention to it.
He couldn’t be weak . Not again.
Aizawa paused, studying Shinsou in the way he always does. He wishes he wouldn’t, wishes he would just punch him or lock him in a closet or make him clean something gross or just ignore him and this could all be over. Hitoshi knows he won’t, though. He’s never left a mark on him in all the months he’s been here, and that’s more than many of his other foster homes did.
Shinsou huffed in a quiet breath and tried to discreetly sniffle, preparing himself for confession, just wanting Aizawa to stop looking at him.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run out or said those things,” he began, voice getting quieter and more pathetic as he continues. “I was just- mad. I thought you wanted... I’m sorry,” he finishes his speech lamely, knowing he missed some key points.
He saw Aizawa take in a deep breath and glance at Mic. It was a strange interaction, but Hitoshi was starting to become better acquainted with their mutual relationship and equal responsibility.
Aizawa stepped forward, and Hitoshi just barely resisted the urge to step back again, shoulders starting to tense up around his ears without his permission. The man wrapped a large hand around his bicep, guiding him over to the sofa with a strong grip. Shinsou tried to calm his racing heart as he nearly jumped out of his skin, afraid that his teacher could somehow feel the pulse fluttering under his fingertips.
Mic sat in the reclining chair next to the couch, hands folded in front of him as he studied the teen. Hitoshi found himself next to Aizawa, keeping his eyes planted stubbornly on the table in front of him instead of meeting his mentor’s piercing gaze.
“Hitoshi Shinsou,” Mic said in an uncharacteristically quiet tone, the boy wincing and sliding his eyes further down to his shoes. Yikes. Full name. I think that’s supposed to be a bad sign.
“Where in the everloving name of fuck were you?” Shinsou was slightly surprised by the man’s harsh words and tone, only knowing him to be fun and carefree.
He probably messed that up, too.
Hitoshi glanced at Aizawa, finding him glaring at Mic before turning to him, raising an eyebrow to urge the boy to speak.
“I-uh, I wasn’t at the party, I swear!” He rushed to defend himself, mind coming up with a million things his foster parents could be assuming. “I was just - I was just angry with Aizawa for not listening to me. I walked around town for a couple hours and… uh, fell asleep on a park bench by the pond. It was an accident, I swear. You have to believe me. I’m… I didn’t mean to. I’m really, really sorry.” His story was pathetic and probably sounded fake, but it was the truth. Shinsou felt better once it was all out in the open, a weight lifting off his chest, making him feel like he could breathe again.
His fathers were looking at each other again, eyes flicking back and forth between Shinsou and each other. Hitoshi kept his head low, only looking up again when he was addressed.
“You didn’t answer any of our texts,” Aizawa grunted, voice deadpan as ever. The teen subconsciously reached his hand towards his pocket, wondering how many messages he had received. Were they belittling and brash, or full of worry and desperation?
His stomach turned.
“I… sort of shut my phone off,” he muttered quietly, face turning red in shame and embarrassment of his juvenile actions. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. “I’m sorry,” he tacked on again for good measure.
He heard a sigh and dared to glance at Aizawa. The man was looking at him with dark eyes, face pinched up in a stern frown. Shinsou gazed down again, feeling Aizawa shift next to him so they were face to face.
“I know you’re sorry, Toshi,” his teacher muttered. Shinsou felt his tense muscles releasing, calmed by his mentor’s familiar tone. “But that doesn’t cut it. Give me your phone.”
Hitoshi hesitated, mind going to all of the possessions he’s had destroyed or taken away permanently by previous guardians.
“ Now .” Shinsou’s head snapped up at his foster father’s harsh voice, hands automatically scrambling to obey. It’s not like he worked to get this phone, anyway; he could afford to lose it. Mic and Aizawa had bought it for him as soon as he’d moved in with them, claiming it would be “safer” that way. They were just taking back what was rightfully theirs.
Hitoshi’s fingers closed around the phone, almost frantically pulling it out of his pocket and nearly dropping it. Before handing it to Aizawa, he paused, thinking of how difficult it would be to contact his peers. He’s gotten so used to being in touch with the world at all hours of the day, and it would be hard to break these habits he’s built.
Not wanting to give it up, Shinsou remained frozen in place, his arm partway extended toward Aizawa’s waiting hand. Without a second thought, his teacher snatched it out of his grasp, making Hitoshi let out a startled “ Wait-”
“No ,” he snapped, still somehow not losing composure. “If you can’t use your phone responsibly, then you shouldn’t have it. Learn to use it appropriately, and you will get it back.” Hitoshi didn’t really think that was fair, but he didn’t dare voice it. How am I supposed to learn to use a phone ‘appropriately’ if you’re taking it away?
Aizawa had already shoved the phone safely into his pocket, closing his eyes and giving Shinsou a break from his disappointed glare.
“Shouta,” Yamada spoke softly, “this isn’t very... logical. The whole point of him having a phone is so he can contact us in an emergency. What if something happens and he doesn’t have it?”
Aizawa opened his eyes and turned his fierce glare on Mic, his do-you-really-think-I’m-that-stupid expression on full display. “I know that, Hizashi, ” he hissed lowly, “which is why he’s grounded for two weeks while I keep his phone.”
A noise of protest escaped Shinsou without his permission, and all attention snapped to him. He gulped in what he hoped was a subtle movement, eyes darting to the side.
Hearing another sigh, Hitoshi risked a glance between his fathers. Mic was staring at Aizawa, open-mouthed and looking positively scandalized . Aizawa glared back at the man with clear challenge in his eye, daring Yamada to undermine his authority.
He accepted the challenge.
“Two weeks , Shouta?!” Yamada positively wailed , looking far more miserable than Hitoshi felt. “Do you know what that will do to his social life?! We simply cannot put him through that… that… that torture !” Hitoshi felt his spirits begin to lift, trying his best not to laugh at Mic’s dramatics.
“Yes, Hizashi. Two weeks . I’d make it a month, but I thought that’d be slightly overkill,” he deadpanned, looking Mic straight in the eye.
“‘ Slightly overkill’? ” he shrieked in response. “Grounding him for the weekend is ‘overkill’. Grounding him for a week is bordering on insanity . Grounding him for two weeks straight is downright abusive !”
Aizawa rolled his eyes at his husband’s antics, obviously all-too-used to these ridiculous outbursts. “Fine. One week with no phone, two weeks grounded.”
Hitoshi felt amused and awkward at the same time, finding it uncomfortable that they were discussing his punishment right in front of him.
“No. Absolutely not.” Mic was quieter this time, possibly picking up on Shinsou’s slight discomfort and misplacing the cause. “How many times did we stay out late as kids? I mean, come on. Remember that one time we stayed out until sunrise? The cops were parked out by the lake, and you had to run across the park, totally buck nak-”
Aizawa cleared his throat loudly, and Hitoshi couldn’t help himself. He started cracking up, his laugh more like little sniggers that he could hardly contain. Mic giggled like a schoolgirl, watching Aizawa’s face turn beat-red.
“Wow, Sensei,” Shinsou jabbed, unable to stop himself. “Looks like you were a bit of a problem child , too.” The teacher glared at him, furious blush still tinting his cheeks.
“Brat,” he muttered, only a little bit of bite to it. “Alright, fine. I guess I’m being a hypocrite.” He turned to Hitoshi. “You’re grounded for the rest of the weekend. That means no going out anywhere, no electronics, and no friends. You can work on schoolwork or read. Are we clear, young man?”
Shinsou tried not to roll his eyes at that, the phrase “young man” irritating and intimidating him at the same time. He actually thought the punishment was oddly fair for someone like Aizawa, known for going to the extremes.
He gave a mock solute with two of his fingers, smirking and looking his teacher in the eye for the first time that night.
“Crystal, Sensei.”
The next morning, Hitoshi still felt like he was still treading on thin ice. After last night (or morning), he was terrified to anger his guardians further, even after they seemed to have forgiven him. There were plenty of times where he’d thought he was in the clear, only to have his foster parents bring up that old dirt to use against him.
Yamada already left for work, having been called in for a small dispute in Tokyo. Oddly enough, Shinou still felt slightly safer around Aizawa, despite the man’s strict and tired demeanor. He was one of the first adults to treat Hitoshi like a person instead of a villain or object or some broken thing. It felt… nice.
Upon entering the kitchen, Aizawa just spared him a glance and a nod of his head in greeting. Shinsou returned the gesture, relaxing his shoulders and letting out a quiet breath as some of the tension leaked out of him.
“You know,” the man drawled, “a real breakfast would do you good.” Hitoshi glanced down at the juice pouch he had just retrieved, feeling nausea curl in his gut at the thought of solid food.
“No thanks,” he muttered, tearing open the lid. Aizawa carried on watching him, making Shinsou feel out of place and even more nervous about fucking up.
He slurped the whole pouch in one go, dropping it in the trash on his way to the stairs. “I’ll just-uh, go back to my room now.” It still felt weird to refer to that bedroom as if it were his, still used to not having anything to call his own. Hitoshi felt strangely guilty about it, like he was a spoiled brat for having his own room and a safe place to sleep.
“Wait,” Aizawa called, and Shinsou froze in his tracks. Did he mess up again already?
The teacher approached him, setting a hand on his shoulder and guiding him back toward the table. “I need to talk to you,” he said quietly.
Hitoshi felt a sharp pain in his chest, this situation reminding him of the five other foster homes that found he wasn’t a “good fit.” He sat down and watched his mentor grab two mugs, filling them with freshly brewed coffee.
“Don’t tell Hizashi about this. He’d say it’ll stunt your growth.” He threw Hitoshi a side glance, eyeing him up and down. “I don’t think it would matter at this point.”
Shinsou tried to let out a small huff of laughter, but the tension in the air made it too thick to even breathe. Aizawa took the seat across from him, setting down his own cup and studying him. Hitoshi just stared down at his coffee, not wanting to pick it up and draw anymore attention to himself.
“I’m sorry for yesterday.”
Choking on his own spit, Shinsou coughed to the side and tried not to show how positively God-smacked he was by the man’s words.
“It was unfair of me to admonish you when I hadn’t set clear boundaries.” Hitoshi stared at him, open-mouthed and confused.
Shinsou was the one who fucked up. Shinsou was the one who made Aizawa search for him at ass-o’clock in the morning while he was on patrol. Shinsou was the one who took a perfectly peaceful start to the weekend and ruined it with a tantrum. Shinsou was the one who should be on his knees, begging for forgiveness.
Shinsou was the one who should be apologizing.
“It’s… okay?” Hitoshi spoke slowly and with uncertainty, having minimal experience in accepting apologies. “You told me to be back by 11 on the weekends. I was out-” Shinsou swallowed, having not revealed this in his confession. “I was out past 11 before I fell asleep,” he admitted quietly, eyes refusing to meet Aizawa’s. “It’s-it’s my fault.”
“You knew that you had a curfew of 11,” the man recapped after Shinsou finished. “Yet you deliberately disobeyed me.” Hitoshi winced slightly, finally taking a sip of his coffee just to have something to do with his hands.
“That is not the problem.” The teen’s eyes snapped up, giving the teacher his full attention. “I know that you will not follow everything I say to the letter. I’ve been teaching teenagers for a long time now. When we took you in, we knew that there would be times where you’re rude and rebellious.”
Hitoshi tried not to let his frustration show, but it was really fucking hard. He didn’t want to be clumped into that category of ‘typical teen’. He’s not a typical teen , and he never has been.
‘Typical teens’ are stereotyped as fun-loving, carefree, impulsive idiots who don’t understand the struggles of adulthood and finance. Shinsou has never had time for fun, and he can’t remember ever being carefree. He’s struggled more than most adults ever have and was forced to learn money management out of necessity by the time he was ten.
So being talked down to like this and just… expected to listen and adhere to a man he’s known for hardly six months-
- totally sucked.
It made the bitter taste of frustration and resentment fill his mouth and sour his tongue, but he tried so hard to not spit it out with the foul words that were coming to mind.
He couldn’t quelch his desire.
“I’m not ‘rude’ or ‘rebellious’',” he snarled. “And I’m definitely not a fucking kid, so stop treating me like one and start worrying about your own ongoing midlife crisis.”
He knew it was a mistake even as the words were leaving his mouth.
Aizawa’s eye twitched, and Hitoshi swallowed, looking back down at the fidgeting fingers wrapped around his coffee mug. He felt his entire body tense up on its own accord, heart rate increasing with every passing second. His body was frozen, waiting for the strike to fall, aching for it - desperate to just get it over with and relax.
Clearing his throat, the teacher continued with a warning tone. “As I was saying, the problem was only partially your disobedience.” Hitoshi kept his head low, still embarrassed by his outburst.
“I would like you to listen when I tell you this. Look at me,” Aizawa continued firmly, probably not realizing how intimidating he sounded.
Shinsou dragged his eyes up slowly, conditioning telling him to submit, but this newfound anger screaming at him to defy orders. He ended up doing some of both without thinking, rolling his eyes and being sure he looked extra annoyed, but still making eye contact.
“I hope you realize that I can’t hear with my eyes,” he muttered, eyebrows furrowed and lips pinched up in a scowl.
“I hope you realize how close I am to keeping your phone for a week,” Aizawa retorts, matching his facial expression as they stare each other down.
After several painstakingly tense moments, the teacher cleared his throat and continued, leaning back in his seat.
“The issue with you leaving was you put yourself in danger. That is something I cannot and will not tolerate.” Hitoshi’s expression morphed into one of confusion, eyes squinting and brows drawing further together. Prepared to protest and defend his shred of innocence, Shinsou opened his mouth.
Before he could utter a word, Aizawa raised a hand, silencing him. “Don’t even think about denying it. I specifically told you that you’re not to go near your old neighborhood without me or Hizashi with you. I don’t want you getting jumped by the gang from your middle school or caught up in some villain attack.”
Feeling slightly provoked and humiliated by this, Shinsou stubbornly turned his head to the side, cheeks becoming dusted in pink. The worst part is he knew Aizawa was right. He’d acted totally irresponsibly.
“Not only that, you turned your phone off and walked through a dangerous area of the city - at night, no less.” He breathed in quietly, voice low and authoritative.
“Your actions disappointed me, Hitoshi.” Feeling a familiar sting in his eyes and tightening in his chest, Shinsou stared down at the table, biting his lip.
“However,” Aizawa continued, either not noticing or not mentioning Hitoshi’s misty eyes. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you and made you feel the need to leave in the first place. That is my fault, and I apologize.”
Open-mouthed and flabbergasted, Hitoshi stared at his mentor.
“What are you talking about?” he croaked, voice still embarrassingly thick with tears. “I freaked out on you. It’s not like you hit me or something,” Shinsou muttered, turning his head to the side.
Hearing Aizawa sigh, he briefly glanced back at him. “I’m never going to hit you for doing something wrong,” he said slowly. “You know that, right?”
After thinking it through, Hitoshi muttered, “I guess I just… didn’t know what you would do.” There. That was the full and honest truth.
Looking at him curiously, Aizawa asked, “What would your old homes have done? The good ones.”
Shinsou stiffened slightly, cheeks turning pink as he tried not to get too defensive or humiliated. “Uh, the good ones?” Seeing Aizawa nod, he swallowed and continued, bracing himself. “There was a nice old lady I lived with for a couple months, but… she was more of the grandma type. She liked giving me food and asking some… really nosy questions, but she never really - uh, said anything when I fucked up.”
Aizawa sent him a look, and Hitoshi hastily corrected himself. “S-screwed up! I meant screwed up. Er- sorry.”
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to continue. “The first couple I lived with were pretty good, but they were really big on, like, respect. They’d, um- put soap in my mouth whenever they thought I was mouthing off. I used to swear a lot, too. I, uh- t-they didn’t really like that,” he said, laughing awkwardly to the side.
Aizawa sat there for a moment, scrutinizing him with squinted eyes before sighing again. “Hitoshi, I don’t really mind you swearing. I just don’t like it when you drop the f-bomb every other sentence or swear at me - or anyone, really. I think it’s disrespectful, and it makes you sound… uneducated. There are plenty of other words out there.”
Reaching out, the teacher squeezed Shinsou’s shoulder. “You’re so good with words, Toshi. Use them.”
Shinsou felt his eyes mist over again. He got this horrible pain in his chest, like the air was knocked out of him and wouldn’t come back. Biting his lip, he angled his head down so Aizawa couldn’t see his watery eyes.
“Were those really your only good homes?” Aizawa asked quietly, sounding almost impassive. Hitoshi felt a familiar, bone-deep shame well up inside him, but he pushed it down just past the surface. He sniffed wetly, keeping his head low as he spoke.
“I don’t know. I just - I don’t know. Can we stop talking about this? Please?” It was the first question he asked since he came home last night. The words felt wrong and bitter and forced on his tongue, but natural and calming at the same time. It was like being under a blanket, feeling safe but not able to see the enemy. It made him vulnerable.
He was too tired to even care.
Aizawa immediately dropped it, choosing instead to sip his coffee and scroll through his phone. Shinsou watched him, knowing full well that the man could feel his eyes on him.
Several awkward moments (at least for Hitoshi) passed before he risked breaking it. “So… was that all, or…?”
Aizawa glanced back at him before sighing, setting his phone down quietly. Sitting in total silence for more than a few seconds was beyond unpleasant, and Shinsou was two seconds away from just leaving before his guardian opened his mouth.
“From now on,” he muttered lowly, arms crossed and gaze fixed on the teen, “I will try my best to hear what you have to say before jumping to conclusions or putting my hands on you. I was very stressed yesterday and didn’t want to listen to your reasoning after I’d made up my mind. That was unfair of me.”
Shinsou stared up at him from where he was hunched over, wide-eyed and trying not to gape. He opened his mouth to protest, ready to defend Aizawa’s honor to… Aizawa. He closed his mouth again, recognizing the flaw in his plan. Thinking over his next words carefully, Shinsou tried to figure out how a normal person would respond to this in a way that would appease his teacher.
“It’s… it’s fine.” The teen sighed, running a hand through his unruly hair. “Your reaction was perfectly justified. I acted like a whiny brat who didn’t get his way. I’m really sorry.”
Aizawa stared at Hitoshi for a moment, long enough to make him shift uncomfortably, before huffing a laugh. “You apologize more than anyone I’ve ever met, kid. Just accept mine and move on.”
Shinsou laughed a little, rubbing the back of his neck as his ears turned pink. He figured he was supposed to say something right about now, but he couldn’t find it in him to open his mouth.
They sipped their lukewarm coffee quietly, listening to the sound of sirens wailing in the distance. Shinsou found the noise oddly comforting.