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15
Shouta really couldn't understand why the loud, somewhat obnoxious boy – he probably should know his name by now, but it had just slipped right by him, like most of the names of his peers – was following him so stubbornly.
At first he had assumed it was some kind of unrequited – on Shouta's part – rivalry that Shouta could really do without. He had no time for petty disputes after all. And truly, at first it had seemed it had been just that.
The blond boy had hunted him down after the sports festival and had annoyed him at every possible turn since then – when Shouta was outside during recess, there the other boy had been; when he had went to the library to check out some books, there he had stood; on one memorable occasion Shouta had just wanted to get himself a bottle of water from one of the soda machines but oh, look! there the other boy had been.
And the only thing the other boy ever said to him were petty, somewhat ridiculous insults – a childish behaviour, probably born from wounded pride, that Shouta had no interest in mirroring or even acknowledging.
Shouta, even if all of it had annoyed and irritated him, hadn't thought anything of it. After all if the other boy had nothing better to do with his time other than doggedly stalking after him and throwing somewhat unimaginative curses at him in a petulant hissy-fit then so be it.
What had finally thrown Shouta though was when those petty words had suddenly turned into curious questions – weird curious questions at that.
What's your favourite colour? Where did you go to elementary school? What's your favourite subject?
Shouta – who was naturally a very private person and always tended to think the worst when people for some unfathomable and therefore suspect reason started engaging him in conversation – found himself mentally stumbling at the wide, inquisitive and – maybe worst of all: honest – green eyes of the other boy.
Uncertain about what exactly was going on, and unsure how to exactly proceed with this strange behaviour Shouta did what he did best: he closed himself off even more and started pushing the other boy away – self-defence… mistrust… maybe a fear of being hurt; after all Shouta was painfully aware of his softer spots, the parts of him that weren't as hard and unfeeling as he might wish them to be.
Surprisingly the other boy – Yamada, his name was, he had at least found that out by now – seemed strangely undeterred. In fact, the more Shouta tried to push the more Yamada seemed to claw at him. The shorter his responses grew the more Yamada prattled on, filling the silence with talk about everything and nothing at the same time.
After the first year Shouta had been transferred to the hero course and – starting his second year – he had found out – with a pang of something close to regret – that the only free seat had been beside Yamada.
Yamada had taken the chance to get even more into his space.
Your writing is really neat! That cat eraser is super cute! What are you doing after class?
Exclamations and questions without end… but no matter how much Shouta stared, how close he looked, he couldn't see a hint of deceit in the other boys face – just openness, curiosity… a strange kind of vulnerability… a fear of continued rejection.
And Shouta felt a painful stab in his chest – one of his sensitive spots that he always tried to guard so tightly flaring up with something close to sympathy. He knew that feeling all too well – reaching out only to be debunked over and over.
Shouta had given up by now – he found he was happy with his decision. He found he had turned out more responsible and serious that his peers. Friendship was distracting anyway and just diverted attention from the actual goals one should strive for.
All in all, Shouta was content. Yet, looking at the loud – in every sense of the word – and exuberant – vibrant really – boy, he couldn't help but realized that Yamada would never be able to reach the same conclusion Shouta had.
Even if he ever reached that conclusion he certainly wouldn't be as happy with it as Shouta was. Really, despite what some people might say, Shouta wasn't an emotionally cold void and the thought that his continued rejection might push Yamada into a mindset that the other boy might very well not escape from unscathed made him pause…
Well, Yamada wasn't the worst person in the world to be befriended with, Shouta rationalized. The other boy, while excitable and kind of on the yelling-side of people, was also smart and friendly and warm.
Really, of all the people in the class Yamada might very well be the most reasonable despite his antics that – more often than not – left Shouta stumped and confused.
… Well, he was sure he could learn to live with it. It was just a question of determination and patience to become familiar enough with someone to be able to read them. Huh, that was a new thought – Shouta had never really felt the need to get to know anyone… strange…
In the end Yamada became his first – and no doubt dearest – friend. He never really told the other boy directly… but he appreciated the effort Yamada had put into getting to know him. Somehow Shouta had the feeling Yamada had picked up on it on his own by now though.
Turned out having a friend was more of a pillar to prop himself up on than a weighted chain that held him back. Shouta hoped that Yamada thought the same of him. He hoped he was a steady stone for the other boy as well.
19
“For the last time, it’s not that bad.” Shouta hissed at Hizashi where the other man stood in the door of the bathroom – in the apartment they were sharing.
It was a decent arrangement. Shouta, as an underground hero, even a young, still somewhat inexperienced one, had a rather steady income – an income he could actually live from.
Underground work after all – with all the ‘boring, not fame-bringing’ jobs that it entailed and the near necessary idea of anonymity – keeping out of the spotlight that many other heroes sought – gave him a good pay check.
Sure, catching a car thief might not bring as much money as catching a big time villain would, but catching 15 to 20 car thief's a month already brought more steady money, than the one or two small time villains Hizashi got paid for per month along with the minimum wage he got from the hero agency he worked for.
So really, moving in together just seemed logical – splitting the bills, buying food and sharing dinners and so on.
It was rational – and it surely had nothing to do with Shouta's concern for his friend… the worry that Hizashi might not be able to live with a somewhat decent roof over his head or somewhat nutritious food on his table without Shouta pouring – maybe… only maybe… slightly more than his own share towards paying their bills.
“Yeah sure.” Hizashi snapped back sarcastically, he sounded annoyed yet his concentric green eyes seemed full of concern. He was chewing on his bottom lip – a clear sign that he was nervous, or caught up in his own mind, or uncertain… or maybe all of the above.
“Go back to sleep Hizashi.” Shouta huffed, his irritation making room for fond exasperation. He couldn't help but feel a sweet kind of warmth flood through him at Hizashi's clear worry. Sometimes he was still surprised that there was someone who cared so deeply for him… it made Shouta feel both thankful and apprehensive at once.
“As if I could sleep right now. What kind of friend do you think I am?!” Hizashi's voice was incredulous and tinted with the slightest edge of real anger – as if he was truly offended that Shouta would suggest that he would just up and leave at a time like this.
Shouta let out another huff as he turned so he could see his left shoulder in the bathroom mirror. The whole left side of his back was by now stained red – the crimson rivulets running down from the deep cut on his shoulder, over his back, to where his hero costume was tied around his waist and there the fabric sucked in the metallic liquid.
Shouta tried to get the wash cloth in his right hand into a decent enough position to clean out the injury but it was a bit of a struggle. He couldn't quite get his hand to where it should be and the bathroom mirror was too small to truly be of help.
“You’re a moron.” Hizashi scoffed angrily and stepped fully into the bathroom. He ripped the wash cloth – wet from disinfectant – out of Shouta's hand and with his second – unoccupied hand pushed against Shouta's bare chest.
Shouta didn't budge – he had always been physically stronger than Hizashi and if he didn't want to be moved by the other man then he wouldn't be moved – instead he simply blinked at the flattened palm on his sternum in a way that clearly suggested that he didn't really appreciate it there, before he turned his stare towards Hizashi.
He blinked at the other man in much the same manner – conveying that Hizashi really didn't have to bother with him and should just go back to sleep. It was late after all… well, early, really. After all it was already five in the morning. Hizashi had an early patrol today, Shouta recalled.
Hizashi – at his blinks – only scoffed another time “God, you are so terribly bullheaded!” he snapped – there was a worried frown on his face that pulled his brows down. He pressed a little harder with his hand, the flesh of Shouta's pectorals rippling under the touch.
“I know you got it in your head that a hero must be able to take care of their own injuries but not taking advantage of help when it’s offered is just stupid!” Hizashi continued, his voice forceful and irritated – gentle and imploring.
“I swear one day you will be lethally injured and when the medic comes to take care of you you will just wave them off. Because that is exactly the kind of stubborn, hard-headed idiot you are. Really Shouta, there is a place for determination and independence and this right here really isn't it!”
Hizashi's eyes were wide, swimming with deep worry, flickering between Shouta's face and the oozing wound on his shoulder.
… Shouta had never really figured out how to ignore that particular look so in the end he just let out a sigh and moved backwards – moving with the touch on his chest. Hizashi pushed him back until he could sit on the edge of the – tiny – bathtub and then the other man sat down beside him.
Hizashi's hands were careful – nearly ticklish in their feather light brushing – fortunately Shouta had never been a ticklish person so it didn't really bother him. In fact, the soft, near caresses of Hizashi's hands – the obvious way in which the other man seemingly was afraid of hurting him further – made Shouta feel warm, his chest fuller than a few seconds ago.
He sat still as Hizashi dabbed at the wound – it stung but he grit his teeth against the pain. He didn't move when the other man started rubbing the dried and crusted rivulets of blood from his back and he didn't move when Hizashi finally dressed the wound – salve, a compress and then bandages to keep everything in place.
“The wound is quite deep.” Hizashi said after he was done – Shouta could feel the tips of his fingers feathering over the bandages on his back – his voice was quiet, maybe a little shaky “Maybe you should go to the hospital tomorrow. Get a professional opinion you know? I mean, what if the thing needs stitches?” Hizashi was blathering, his tone thick with worry.
Shouta drew in a deep breath, his chest expanded, his shoulders raising – the movement pulled at the wound on his back. For some bizarre reason he felt a little bit choked up right now and the feeling certainly didn't lessen after he turned slightly to look at Hizashi behind him only to notice all the emotions swimming in the other mans swirling eyes.
Shouta grit his jaw. He hated the hospital – the bright lights, the stench of antiseptics.
He swallowed. There was a lot he wanted to say right now. He wanted to thank Hizashi for caring about him and his well being that much, he wanted to voice how grateful he was that the other man had bandaged him up, he wanted to tell him that he should worry more about himself than Shouta, that injuries in their line of work were just inevitable, he wanted to confess that – even though it was often out of his control – he always tried to be careful so he would be able to return home… to Hizashi.
He wanted to whisper how much he truly appreciated Hizashi – that there hadn't been a single day since they had started their friendship were Shouta hadn't been thankful for the other mans company.
He swallowed again “Fine.” he grunted out, agreeing to go to the hospital – completely missing everything he actually wanted to say.
Hizashi shot him a smile – it seemed soft around the edges – and Shouta somehow got the impression that Hizashi understood what he wanted to say even without Shouta being able to voice it.
22
“God damned jerk!” Hizashi's voice hissed in an angry whisper – probably meant to not wake up Shouta.
Shouta turned his head where he sat on the couch, seeing the weak beam of light that fell from the staircase through the now opened door into the entranceway and part of the living room. The door closed, the light vanished, the key was turned, two soft thumps as Hizashi's shoes hit the ground, rustling – a jacket being discarded – clinking – a key being set down.
“Stupid piece of shit!” Hizashi continued – he sounded exhausted and Shouta could relate – he himself was exhausted as well.
Hizashi stepped into the living room “Yeah, sure, rearrange my entire radio show schedule, it’s not like I have hero patrol or work or a life or anything. Self-satisfied, arrogant, dick. A bag of dicks. A whole suitcase full of them. A vase full of-” in that moment Hizashi flipped the light switch on and then stopped short, in both his tirade and his movements, as his eyes immediately snapped to Shouta.
Shouta just blinked slowly at the other man. Hizashi seemed suddenly very pale, his eyes wide, worried… no, looking nearly afraid, horrified really – terror.
Shouta blinked again “You should go to sleep.” he said and his voice had always been flat, a little monotone – deadpan without him even trying – but this right now? This was a whole new level, this was completely void – empty “You don't look too good.” he continued and tipped his head to the side a little.
This was easy. Worrying about Hizashi was easy, safe, it was something he could put his mind towards so he didn't have to think about anything else. It came natural – after all Hizashi was very dear to him.
“Shouta?” Hizashi's voice quivered, he sounded so terribly unsure and quiet – not like himself at all and Shouta hated it.
Shouta blinked again, in an inquisitive way, silently urging Hizashi to continue.
For a heartbeat or two everything in their apartment was completely still… and then Hizashi crossed the room in a few long strides. He fell to his knees in front of the couch – in front of Shouta – like a puppet with cut strings.
His hands rose, uncertain, hovering in the air in front of Shouta, as if he was unsure if he could touch “What-” Hizashi swallowed and Shouta idly watched his adam’s apple bob “What happened to you?” Hizashi's voice broke on a few syllables – he sounded terrified.
Shouta blinked at the other man, confused, before he lowered his gaze, looking down at himself. His blood covered hands, the way his hero costume stuck to him wetly – he could feel dried blood pulling at his impassive face – waiting to crack off like dried paint the very second an actual expression might settle on his face, something that wasn't blank like a mask.
“Are you hurt? Oh god!” Hizashi was panicking. Shouta watched as his shaky hands tried to fumble his phone out of his pocket – it slipped from his numb fingers and landed on the ground. Hizashi let out a curse and immediately reached for the phone again “You’re covered in blood! I'm calling the ambulance! Don't move just-” he was blabbering.
“It’s fine.” Shouta cut the other man off calmly “I’m not hurt.”
Hizashi's wide, concentric eyes snapped immediately up to Shouta's face, his chest was rising and falling rapidly as if he couldn't quite get enough air into his lungs “What? But… but the… it’s everywhere!” he opened and closed his mouth a few times as if he wanted to add something else but just couldn't find the words.
“It’s not mine.” Shouta explained, matter of factly.
“Not yours...” Hizashi trailed off for a second, he swallowed again, his eyes taking on a different kind of worry all of a sudden – now it didn't look like he was afraid that Shouta might die right here in front of his very eyes, no, instead it looked as if he was afraid Shouta might have a mental break down any moment now.
“What… what happened?” Hizashi asked, uncertain, frightened, voice quivering – there was a click as the phone slipped from his fingers again and hit the ground a second time.
“I blinked.” Shouta answered simply.
“Oh...” Hizashi breathed, as if he had just been stabbed – a long pained moan – his nearly unnaturally green eyes – nearly neon – suddenly took on a wet shine “Oh!” he breathed again, gasped like a dying man, the vowel shaking and breaking.
“Oh god, Shouta.” he whispered, he sounded wretched. His hands lifted up and cupped around Shouta's jaw, thumbs rubbing along Shouta's cheek bones. He rose up to his knees, then got his feet under himself so he could stand up before he fell forward, his knees now on either side of Shouta's, straddling the underground heroes lap.
“I’m so sorry.” Hizashi sobbed as he looked down at Shouta. Shouta himself just looked up at the other man currently leaning over him. He blinked, uncomprehending.
“Why?” he asked, confused. He wasn't hurt after all, he was fine, he was the one who got away unharmed, the one who failed and yet didn't have to feel any of the consequences for his mistakes. Truly, Hizashi shouldn't be sorry for him. That made no sense.
“Oh!” another pained moan and then Hizashi let his weight sink – sitting on Shouta's lap and probably ruining all his clothes by getting blood on them – he pulled Shouta closer, pressed Shouta's face against his chest and drew his hands up until he could bury them in black hair, clutching tightly, fingers twisting into the dark strands desperately.
He was shaking like a young tree in a storm, loud sobs shaking through his slim figure as he clawed at Shouta as if he was a drowning man and Shouta was the only piece of driftwood in the whole ocean.
“I’m sorry.” Hizashi gasped, his grip growing impossibly tighter “Oh god Shouta. I'm so sorry.” he pressed his body so tightly against Shouta's as if one moment of separation would spell both their doom.
Shouta blinked again, utterly at a loss, the only emotion he felt a deep confusion “Why are you crying?” he asked, words muffled since his face was pressed so tightly against Hizashi's chest.
He felt the chest under his cheek quiver and quake, he felt Hizashi rubbing his own cheek against Shouta's forehead – nuzzling into him “Because you won’t or can’t or...” Hizashi broke off with another sob “Oh god Shouta.”
Ah. So Hizashi was crying because of him. It was his fault. That sounded about right. Everything was his fault after all.
“I’m sorry.” Shouta said and he meant it – he had never wanted to hurt Hizashi, had never wanted to make him near incoherent with grief, choking on tears. Hizashi was so dear to him after all – so very, very dear…
“No.” Hizashi breathed like it was punched out of him “No.” he said again, and hiccuped “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”
It took a second for those words to sink in and when they did it felt as if someone had just flipped a switch and everything came rushing in – the void in his chest filling as if the sluice gate to his emotions had just been ripped open.
How could Hizashi even say something like that?!
“But it is!” Shouta insisted vehemently, his voice scratchy – like static “It’s my fault.” he felt Hizashi shaking his head.
“It’s not.” the blond man insisted, his chest heaving under Shouta's face, quick, laboured breaths “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.” he repeated the words over and over, like a broken record – interrupting himself with sobs and hiccups and shaky intakes of breath.
Shouta felt like crying as well but his eyes just refused to water, even if the lump in his throat threatened to choke him. He raised his arms and slung them around the slim man on his lap, he squeezed tightly, pressing himself closer till he could feel his own ribs aching from the pressure.
He was dimly aware that he must be hurting Hizashi with his grip but the other man didn't utter a single word of protest and Shouta, in that moment, wasn't sure if he even would be able to let go right about now – wasn't sure he would let go even if Hizashi should start to scream and trash in his hold.
He couldn't put into words just how thankful he was for Hizashi's presence right now… he probably would be unable to voice himself even if he had the right words – given that he felt like someone was trying to choke the air from his lungs.
He squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his hold, feeling his own finger joints aching where he had them twisted into Hizashi's shirt. Childishly he hoped that Hizashi would somehow just know – would somehow be able to decipher from Shouta's bone breaking hold – just how much he truly, truly appreciated the other mans presence, his touch, his compassion and understanding… his forgiveness when Shouta wasn't sure he would ever be able to forgive himself.
The next day Shouta caught a glimpse of some impressive bruising around Hizashi's middle when the other man stretched and his shirt rod up a little to expose his hips and part of his waist. At Shouta's worried look Hizashi just shot him a warm smile.
26
Shouta looked down into his lap where Hizashi clutched his right hand between both of his. The blond man was blabbering, loud, and nervous, and so fast the words slurred together to the point where Shouta had problems understanding what Hizashi even wanted to tell him.
“And I mean, we have known each other for over ten years now and I think we really know each other and I mean, I guess what I want to say is that you have been a real help to me and I'm so grateful for that; in a way you are the calm to my storm, you are-” Hizashi was prattling.
Shouta blinked. He couldn't quite deny that the words made his chest feel warm – he liked the thought that Hizashi found value in his friendship and his counsel. Still, he also couldn't help feeling like he should be the one saying those words.
Hizashi had been the one who always dragged him out of the dark places his mind sometimes strayed to. Hizashi was the one who sat beside him in the dead of the night when Shouta was unable to sleep – the wet, metallic tang of copper at the back of his tongue. Hizashi was the one who shoved and pushed and dragged Shouta along when it felt like he had reached a standstill – Hizashi helped him step out of his comfort zone in a gentle coaxing way, not too forceful, not giving up at the first sign of resistance either; he was steady and patient instead.
Maybe he truly was the calm to Hizashi's storm, still, the eye of a tornado wouldn't exist without the wind in the first place.
Shouta didn't feel like Hizashi should mention any of this. It was a give and take between them and Shouta often questioned if he gave back enough – if it was truly equal or if he was taking more from Hizashi than he repaid.
… It was… reassuring to know that he seemingly did. Gave enough, that was. That Hizashi was pleased with what Shouta did.
His heart fluttered in his chest as his dark eyes swept over Hizashi's face, taking in all the small and big expressions there, the furrow of fair brows, the way Hizashi sometimes bit at his lower lip between a pause. His lashes were blond too Shouta noticed – not for the first time. In the end he was drawn back to those green, concentric eyes though – as always.
“You do a lot for me and I truly value our friendship I mean, I'm at a point in my life where I don't even know what it was like before we met. And whenever I think of the future you're always there too, no matter how far of it is. Five years, ten, twenty… I just think… I mean-” Hizashi floundered for a few moments and Shouta felt the hands around his tighten – Hizashi probably wanted to swing them in the air, use their movement as a kind of substitute for words but he refrained, seemingly believing that it was more beneficial to hold onto Shouta.
There was a swirl of emotions in Hizashi's eyes, warmth, uncertainty, adoration, fear… Shouta didn't know how to interpret any of it. He didn't know how to connect those opposing emotions with the things Hizashi was blabbering on about.
Not that he didn't appreciate the words. Shouta too, was unable to imagine a life without Hizashi in it at this point, though that had nothing to do with friendship anymore. It hadn't for the longest time. Not for him.
Over the years Hizashi had become a constant to him, a deeply valued companion, a partner in all his biggest endeavours – someone who Shouta loved deeply. As a brother and a friend sure, but Hizashi was also so, so much more.
Shouta's eyes would drag to the curve of the other mans hips when he would moved or danced around their apartment. His fingers always itched to comb through blond hair whenever the sunlight made it shimmer like spun gold. He often found himself idly wondering in what ways Hizashi's skin might ripple under his touch. What kind of breathy noises he might make when kissed and how those always chapped lips – chapped from constant biting – might feel like against Shouta's own.
Shouta was always wondering, caught in some waking fantasy, a constant daydream – imagining what life could be like; while he, at the same time, was scoffing at his own pipe dreams.
He watched Hizashi fight for words – so unlike him – and his right thumb started to unconsciously rub along Hizashi's knuckles – trying to give some kind of support and comfort. It was an automatic response by now, this ingrained subconscious need to make Hizashi feel better – to make sure that he was happy in any way that Shouta could provide, without stepping over a line.
“It’s not really what I want to say at all.” Hizashi said, he sounded nearly anguished “I mean you are my best friend and I am thankful but I really don't want to be friends.” Hizashi blurted out. Shouta blinked at that, ah, he thought, hollowly, as his thumb stopped its motions.
He assumed that made sense – Shouta wasn't the most social person, he wasn't good at conversations and he certainly was nowhere near as bright as Hizashi, in fact, his own personality seemed nearly non-existent when placed beside Hizashi's blithe, exuberant character.
Even if Hizashi had grown to like him and his company it seemed only logical that he wouldn't be pleased with that – Hizashi was probably very aware of all of Shouta's shortcomings and wondered how he could ever have befriended someone like that in the first place.
After all-
“I mean I still want to be friends that’s not what I meant either!” Hizashi let out a frustrated noise “I don't want that part of our relationship to go away but I want something different too, I mean-” another irritated noise “This is going nowhere. Jesus!” Hizashi cursed “I love you!” it suddenly burst out of the other man and his face immediately took on a flush – as if he was embarrassed by his own out burst, or maybe the words he had said.
Shouta blinked, his spiralling thoughts grinding to an abrupt halt. Ah, he thought idly, now that made sense too, didn't it? He blinked again as the words fully registered and then blinked a third time – his eyes widening in pleased shock – as he finally deciphered the meaning behind what was said.
“Ah.” he breathed – rather eloquently. Hizashi's face seemed to fall at that – hopefulness crushed and rejection taking its place. Shouta's left hand shot up and cupped around the two still clutched around his right hand.
Shouta had never been good with words – he admitted it freely. Truthfully, he always had admired Hizashi somewhat for his talent at talk. And even when the conversation turned into an awkward, slogging mess Hizashi always pushed through it, even if he was blabbering, or made no real sense – he just kept going.
For a moment it was completely still in the room and then Shouta leaned towards the other man.
True, Shouta had never been good at words but he was good at actions – he was a doer – and sometimes a gesture said more than thousand words could ever convey. So he pressed his mouth to Hizashi's in a gentle, sweet kiss while his thumbs took up their caresses over the other mans knuckles again.
He tried to pour all his love into the kiss – his adoration, his gratefulness, his appreciation; his everything. Hizashi let out a breathy little noise, as if overwhelmed, it sounded a little choked but so very pleased and relieved that Shouta was sure that Hizashi understood him even without words.
They always were able to read each other like this after all – Shouta never took that connection for granted.
30
There was soft, near silent sobbing filling the room.
Shouta woke, first slowly, drawn into wakefulness by the soft hiccups and then all his memories started to flood back – slamming into him with a force that knocked the breath out of him. His mind was suddenly too loud, screaming at him to move, screaming to do something! Anything!
For a second panic gripped his heart – panic fuelled by the human desire to stay alive, fuelled by passion and the pounding clamour to protect… fuelled by cold wrath burning in his veins, righteous vengeance. His body tried to jack-knife upwards – lead by instinct rather than any coherent or logical thought – but the second his muscles had so much as tensed the slightest bit his whole nervous system seemed to burst aflame.
He let out a pained wheeze of air and the sobbing suddenly stopped as if turned off by a switch.
For a second everything was deadly quiet and then there was rustling. Shouta felt how shaking fingers buried into his hair with incredible gentleness “Shouta?” a voice – Hizashi's voice – quivered beside him, nearly breaking on the second syllable of his name.
Shouta's chest was heaving – he only just now realized that everything was dark, he couldn't see! But he had to move! He had to get up! Why wouldn't his body obey him!? His breath was rattling in his chest, quick puffs in and out, he felt his heart hammering too, felt the pulse in his neck, in his gums and under his very fingernails. Everything thrummed with pain and urgency.
“Calm down, Shouta, please, breath.” Hizashi's voice had by now taken on a panicked tint “Please. It’s fine. You’re fine. We both are. We’re in the hospital. Everything is okay, please. Please...” he trailed off, voice shaking itself apart.
The fingers in Shouta's hair had started a trembling, patting motion.
Hizashi's voice and his familiar touch brought a bit of clarity back into Shouta's mind – making him feel more like a rational human than some mindless beast driven by wrath and instinct, ready to lash out and convinced that that was the only right thing to do.
Slowly Shouta remembered – remembered other things than emotions, remembered what had happened.
He swallowed, his mouth so dry his throat clicked “The children?” was all that he managed to rasp out. It was still for a heartbeat and then he heard the pained breath that wooshed out of Hizashi – the soft quiet ‘oh’ he always let out when he was overwhelmed. It sounded less anguished, more heartbroken really – sweet, painful love.
“They are fine. All of them. Midoriya-kun has broken his arms again but really, what else is new?” the chuckle that followed after those words was completely mirthless, it sounded like a man laughing into the face of his executioners – gallows humour.
“Thirteen?”
“They’ll heal.”
For a second Shouta let himself relax, lulled by Hizashi's fingers still combing through his hair. Most were fine and those that were injured would heal – that was good. Good indeed. He didn't have to fight anymore, pushed forward by the anger fuelled desire to protect at all costs – even if it ripped him apart.
It was over… He could release the tension, he could breath and let Hizashi's touch and soft lilt comfort him.
… Still there was something niggling at the back of his mind.
He couldn't see. Even if it was late, even if Hizashi was – for some strange reason – sitting in the dark at night with no lights turned on, Shouta had always had good eyesight, even at night – very likely because of the nature of his quirk. But right now? He couldn't see anything, not even some vague shapes.
With great effort he turned his head slightly towards where he had heard Hizashi's voice – he expected to see the familiar outlines of the other man but… no, nothing.
“ ‘Zashi-” he started slowly, voice still raspy – he tried pitching it lower than it already was despite that, hoping to sound calming so he wouldn't alarm Hizashi “I can’t see.” he pointed out, nearly idly if it hadn't been for the slight hint of confusion in his tone.
“Oh.” a pained breath – this time definitely anguished – followed by a wet inhale “Oh, darling.” Shouta felt the fingers in his hair comb through his dark strands with something that he could only describe as desperation.
There was a short pause, even the fingers in his hair stilled for a second or two before they continued their motion “On the right side of your face… part of your maxilla and your zygomatic bone...” Hizashi trailed off suddenly and Shouta felt a tremor run through the hands against his scalp “Part of your skull was fractured.” a second of silence “Especially the bones around your eyes… the right side worse than the left-”
Ah, Shouta thought idly as realization settled in “I’m blind.” he said simply – bluntly – cutting Hizashi's explanation off.
Well, that was… unfortunate? Was that the right word? Shouta wasn't sure. He knew that logically he should probably be freaking out right about now. After all what should he do now? He couldn't continue with his hero work without his quirk, neither could he teach anymore, how would he even write on the blackboard? Or grade assignments if he couldn't read them anymore? He couldn't expect all his students to learn and write Braille just for him – that would be a waste of time and effort wouldn't it? It was more effective to just get a new teacher – it was reasonable too.
It took a few moments but finally his mind reached a rather disturbing thought, yet Shouta regarded it like one might regard an ill fated catastrophe that was about to destroy everything. Sure, some people – most of them truly – would panic, or cry, or break down… but Shouta had always been the kind of person who accepted set backs with a kind of cold detachment. There was, after all, a reason why most people thought him to be an emotionless void and his easy acceptance of the inevitable – at the end, when there was nothing that could be said or done anymore to change a situation – was part of that.
Sure, he was a fighter, always had been. He was unable to rest as long as there still was a chance… yet some things just ended in a dead end and no amount of fighting would have any positive outcome – it was wasted energy. And the reality of the situation was that he couldn't fight blindness – denial wouldn't give him his eyesight back after all.
…
He would never see Hizashi's face again… What a sobering thought… Well, that was if Hizashi even still wanted to be with a blind man. After all, like this he was nothing more than a burden to the other man and the most logical step – for Hizashi – would be to break their relationship off and go find another lover that wouldn't hold him back.
Shouta had become death weight – the one thing he had always been most afraid of. He was useless now.
He felt like a deflating balloon as the knowledge settled deep in his stomach, heavy like lead and poisonous like arsenic. He let out a soft noise – he didn't know what it was supposed to convey, only that there was something in it.
“Darling no.” Hizashi's soft voice drew him out of the pit his own mind had created “They did surgery and-” there was a wet inhale “God, it took them forever and no one would tell me anything and-” another wet inhale “Doesn’t matter now! They did surgery, they reconstructed your skull and… and they said there's a not insignificant chance that everything will heal. I mean… God… I don't want to… I mean… I-” there was a mirthless, quivering giggle that sounded borderline insane “I don't want to give you false hope. I don't want you to be disappointed in the end but if everything heals properly then you will be able to see after the bandages come off again in a few days.”
Shouta let out a hum. Well, that was all he truly needed, a chance – as long as there was still hope he would continue pushing – like he always had. He would keep fighting.
“What else?” he asked instead. If his eyesight could be salvaged then it was important to know what other injuries he had – he needed to mentally catalogue them, needed to know what parts of his body might not work the way they had before so he could account for the changes.
Hizashi counted all the injuries off dutifully but at some point his voice trailed off, word turning into pained sobs.
“ ‘Zashi.” Shouta soothed “I’m sorry that you are hurting because of me, but I can’t promise that it won’t happen again.”
“I know.” quaking words, more like a garbled hiccup than anything else.
“I’m truly sorry.”
“I know.”
“I’m still here.”
There was no answer to his words only more sobbing and then, after a heartbeat Shouta felt a face pressing against the top of his head as Hizashi muffled his crying against his dark hair.
“For as long as you’ll have me.” Shouta added and Hizashi let out another small ‘oh’ - he sounded so vulnerable and raw it tore Shouta's own chest asunder, it made his heart squeeze as if it was about to burst any second now.
“Forever then.” Hizashi breathed. There were lips pressing kisses against Shouta's head.
It was quiet for the longest time and then Shouta spoke up again “Even if it turns out I'm blind?”
Hizashi's fluttering kisses stilled, as did his caressing fingers “Of course darling!” a kiss “Of course!” and another “God, don't even think something so silly!” another two. Hizashi's fingers were by now combing through Shouta's hair again “We’ll get through this. Together. No matter what. We’ll make it work. We always have. Just you and I. Just us. I love you. Unconditionally. Never doubt that, love.” more kisses, against the crown of his head, and his forehead, light like butterfly wings but brimming with emotions “Never doubt that. ‘For as long as you’ll have me’ will always be ‘forever’ to me. No matter what.”
“ ‘Zashi…” Shouta breathed, it felt like his chest was caving, breaking under a weight he couldn't help but cherish – the positive emotions he was feeling were so strong they were about to choke him. Sweet agonizing love.
He tried to get more words out. Anything at all to convey just how much he appreciated Hizashi, how much he felt for him…
“I love you.” he nearly gasped, the words felt strange in his mouth – both hollow and overflowing at the same time. He felt like those three words couldn't ever possibly begin to cover just how much he truly felt for Hizashi – they couldn't describe the pain in his chest, the pure ecstasy he was feeling, the utter devotion tying him to Hizashi in a way that could never be untangled – yet, at the same time there also were no other words he could use.
In the end Shouta truly had never been good at holding conversations or learning languages… maybe that was simply because talk was cheep, and words were lacking, and languages were useless when it came down to giving names to the truly important things in life. The things that were wrapped up in raw emotions.
31
In the end it had really been a rather exciting year… too exciting for Shouta's taste – and things only seemed to get worse. There was something brewing on the horizon – Shouta felt it in his very marrow; tasted it on the back of his tongue like ash.
For a few moments he was lost in his dark thoughts before he shook them off. No sense worrying over things he didn't know and couldn't change – he would just have to wait and see.
He refocused his eyes back on the book in front of him and continued where he had left off. It truly felt like years since he had last sat down and just read something – something frivolous that had no other purpose than to amuse him.
He looked up when he saw Hizashi approaching out of the corner of his eyes and his gaze immediately settled on the other man – his attention drawn like a moth to a flame.
Hizashi was beautiful – heart-stoppingly so. In his homely, slightly loose clothes, with his long hair falling freely over his back and his casual, rectangular glasses perched on his nose. He was perfect.
Hizashi – seemingly feeling his stare – looked towards him. He let out a soft giggle “Don’t mind me Shou-chan.” he said and smiled. He finally stopped beside the living room table “I just thought you might want a cup of coffee.” he said and placed a steaming cup on the table.
For a heartbeat or two Shouta was completely thrown, his mouth opened so he could give a thank you but no words came out. Instead his chest suddenly felt incredibly heavy, he felt a stab between the bows of his ribs – sweet and painful at the same time.
God help him, he was in love.
“Shou-chan?” Hizashi asked, uncertain. A frown had appeared on his face, his concentric green eyes showing clear worry.
Shouta closes his book and put it onto the table before he stood up from the couch he had been laying on. He bridged the two steps of distance between Hizashi and himself and when they both stood chest to chest he cupped his hands around the other mans jaw.
He pulled him in – and Hizashi went willingly. Their lips met, passionate and impatient as if it had been years since they had last kissed and not merely an hour or two – yet despite that the kiss was still gentle.
“Wow!” Hizashi breathed when Shouta pulled back again. His green eyes had a shine to them, his expression was nearly dopey and there was a flush colouring his cheeks a soft hue of pink “I’m not complaining at all-” he said, words breathy and maybe the slightest bit awed “but what was that for?”
“I love you.” Shouta said before dipping in again to press another kiss against Hizashi's mouth – their lips moved against each other with familiar intimacy. Shouta drew back the slightest bit, his mouth brushing over Hizashi's cheek towards his ear “Never ever think that I don't appreciate everything you do.”