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A hand went through Yamada Hizashi’s long hair, gliding over it with care, softly, gently. He didn’t have to turn his head and open his eyes to know who it was, but he did.
“Shō.”
The man grinned, black hair cascading around his face. It was hard to focus on more than one feature of his face at a time, everything else falling out of focus. Were they home? Were they on their couch? Was Eri at school? Shouldn’t they be at school? No, that… that wouldn’t make sense. Shōta would have said something. Instead he was smiling softly, putting his hands through Hizashi’s hair.
“Rest. It’s time for you to rest, now.”
He was tired. More than tired. Heavy. His body felt heavy. The lids of his eyes were heavy. It became harder and harder to keep them open. But he did.
He didn’t want this to stop.
The thing about hospital lighting is that it always seems unearthly. Making everything that touches it a liminal space. An in-between place. Aizawa Shōta stood against the wall, arms crossed, watching as Eri talked to Hizashi about her day. Or… the body of Hizashi at least. It’s been almost a month since he moved. Or opened his eyes. And he was looking worse. Eyes and cheeks sinking into his skull, arms painfully thin on top of the cheap hospital sheets. His blonde mustache a little longer and unkempt and stubble framed the sides of his face.
“Mr. Aizawa?”
“Hmn?” He turned to face man in scrubs, quickly checking the nametag. “Doctor Kazekawa”
The man nodded, smiling softly. “Could we talk outside?”
Aizawa glanced at Eri who was still chatting away, coloring in a picture from a coloring book they picked up on the way here.
He nodded, following the man and closing the door behind him.
“Five days?”
“At the most. We have some hospice choices that are covered by his insurance-”
“No.”
“N-no?”
Aizawa looked up from where he had been staring at the clipboard in the man’s hands.
“How much would it be for live-in care?”
“Sir, it would be better if he had constant surveillance due to his condition-”
“I’ll be there. How much would it be to borrow the life support systems? He only has a few days left, he should spend them home.”
The man opened his mouth, then closed it.
“Let me see what I can do.”
A bit of logistics and a call to Recovery Girl, and Hizashi was out of the hospital by noon.
Aizawa smoothed the sheets around the motionless form now in their shared bed. Eri had braided his blonde hair and he had shaved the stubble away. He looked cleaner, but not better. His skin was pale and the bags under his eyes were dark, purple and bruised. Recovery Girl milled around, calibrating the breathing apparatus, adjusting the lines.
“Give me your phone.”
He looked down at the small woman, her hand reaching up to him. He took the phone out of his back pocket and unlocked it before placing it in her hand.
She frowned and fiddled with it for a few minutes before handing it back. “There. You can check his vitals from here. Don’t drop it, and keep it off silent. You’ll get alerts throughout the day. Let me show you how to replace the fluids and bags. I’ll be back tomorrow to make sure you didn’t mess anything up.”
The man nodded slowly, staring at his phone, face painfully neutral.
The old woman sighed, her face softening. “Does Eri know?”
He didn’t look up. “I’ve been… I’ve been letting her know that this might be it.”
“How’d she take it?”
“She’s… She’s ok. She didn’t cry.”
“Have you?”
He looked up at her, his mouth opening slightly, before he closed it, looking away and pocketing the phone. “I’m busy.”
“Aizawa-”
“The fluids.” He pointed behind her.
She huffed, and turned to them. “You can see I’ve clearly marked them-...”
It was becoming harder and harder to open his eyes. Shōta kept by him, petting his hair, occasionally smoothing a hand over his cheek.
“Sleep now. You’ve done enough.”
No he… no he wants this a little more. A little more of feeling Shōta by him. Even if he can’t see him, he can feel him. He doesn’t want this to stop.
“We have a substitute, so you don’t have to worry.”
“I wasn’t worried.”
Nemuri looked into the other room, while petting Eri’s hair. Her eyes softened and she looked down at the little girl who smiled up at her.
“Ready to go? Got your lunch?”
“Yup! Bye Daddy!” Eri smiled and waved at him.
Aizawa waved back as the two of them left, a smile barely curling the corners of his lips. He stood for a moment in the hallway after the door closed. Unmoving. Light coming in from the kitchen behind him. The corners of his lips curved down.
“Right.”
He unplugged the bluetooth speaker in the living room and placed it on their dresser.
He went to Hizashi’s side of the bed, turning on the lamp on the nightstand. He stared at him for a moment. Their cat Mochi lay nestled in between his legs, sleeping in her usual spot. In the low light it almost seemed like all he had to do is reach over and shake him. And he would open his eyes. He tore his eyes away and looked down at the man’s phone. He grabbed it and quickly unlocked it. He grimaced slightly as he scrolled through the vast selection before deciding to check the playlists. One said “Kuro Cat,” half in hiragana and half in english. The corner of one of his lips twitched and he press play.
He put the phone down and started cleaning.
He dusted first. From the ceiling lights to the tops of the bookshelves to side tables and lamps out in the living room. He vacuumed. He cleaned out the old food from the fridge and grimaced at how little was left. A few take out containers and some snack packs. He closed it and looked around, hands on his hips. He checked his phone. He’d have to check the IVs and urine bag soon. He grabbed the trash and took it outside.
Eri came home at the usual time, Nemuri having to leave immediately for patrol. Eri asked to do her homework in their bedroom. He moved the tea table in there, cramping the space in the master bedroom. The music still played. He ordered take-out again, extra for Eri’s lunch the next day. They ate at the newly moved table. Eri would look over to the bed occasionally at the figure there, ignoring the equipment and IVs, and start talking about school, about what books they were reading and her classmates. Much more than she usually did.
They cleaned up and watched a little TV, a little louder than usual. Eri washed up for bed and Aizawa sat with her, reading one of the books Hizashi had bought for her.
When her eyes started to close, he closed the book.
She looked up, smiling. “Goodnight Daddy.”
He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. “Goodnight Eri.”
He stood up to put the book away but something caught his shirt. He looked down to Eri who was looking at stuffed yellow and grey bird they had both gotten her.
“Will… Papa be staying?”
“As long as he can.”
She smiled up at him and let go of his shirt. “Good.”
He nodded, putting away the book and turned off the light.
He closed the door softly and looked towards their room. He walked slowly, turning off lights in the kitchen and living room as he went. Walking past the photo of the two of them graduating U.A. Past the photo of them with Hizashi’s parents before his dad passed away. Past the picture of them on their dresser in their room, next to where he placed the speaker when Present Mic was on tour in the states, and invited him. Each of them had surprised the other with a ring. Past the picture of them with Eri, and her big smile and floofy dress when they went to Disneyland.
He looked at the new placement of the tea table and decided to leave it. He changed into his pajamas and brushed his teeth, peeking out of the bathroom at the still body in their bed. He cleaned his face, turned off the nightstand light next to Hizashi, lowering the volume of the music, and lay down next to him on his side. He watched the man’s chest rise and fall slowly, and took his hand in his and closed his eyes.
He felt the back of his throat vibrate as he poorly tried to hum to the song playing. He knew it because Hizashi had played it before. Hizashi always sang to him when he wasn’t feeling well. And when he was. And anytime he felt compelled to. Aizawa felt he should at least repay the favor. He went through the next two songs on the playlist, thumb rubbing soft circles on Hizashi’s hand. He knew a few words of them, and he knew he was off key but…
He stopped and gently moved some of Hizashi’s hair from his face.
“Goodnight ‘Zashi.”
Was the music always playing? Smells of cleaning supplies then food, then… Shōta. More in focus then ever. He could see him clearer without even opening his eyes. But he did. The man smiled down at him up to his eyes, and was he… humming?
“You… you are so offkey.” He managed to chuckle.
Shōta just continued, even peppering in some words, not even the right ones.
Hizashi laughed, and with all of his strength, like his entire arm was made up of solid iron, lifted a hand up, and put it on Shōta’s cheek.
“What did I do to deserve such a gifted husband?” He grinned, closing his eyes and letting his arm be lead down, his hand embraced by Shōta’s.
“Goodnight ‘Zashi.”
“‘Night Shō.”
But he didn’t sleep. Not yet, this was too nice. He didn’t want it to stop.
The tea table stayed and the music didn’t stop. Even as Aizawa stubbed his shin on it in the dark. Even when he woke up at 2 AM, when a refrain was a little too loud. They stayed. Recovery Girl checked in every other day and was satisfied with his care. The fifth day rolled around. Then the sixth. Then the seventh.
A doctor came by and stated that though his condition was the same, not to get his hopes up. Aizawa might have been imagining it, but it almost seemed like color was coming back to Hizashi’s face, if only a little bit.
“You can take another week off, you know.”
Aizawa held the phone to his ear, looking into the bedroom, but not at the bed.
“I only have so much sick time left. Especially after the whole incident. I… I need to go back to work.”
“Well, come back part time. I know how... valuable your time is right now.”
He looked at the bed and could see the sheets rise and fall slowly. As they have been. “Thank you.”
Aizawa checked his phone constantly in class. No one mentioned it. No one asked about Present Mic. And he was glad. The day went smoothly, and he left at 1 o’clock. He walked home because he couldn’t use Hizashi’s car, not yet. Passing by stores, convenience store bag in hand he heard a scream and a some yelling. A group of people, quirks activated, ran across the street, bags and masks.
Typical.
He had time.
He pulled his goggles from his pocket, put his phone on silent, and ran after them.
Two mutation quicks, an emitter and some weird magnetic sludge quirk, but they had been relatively young and inexperienced, at least in the way it mattered. By the time another hero showed up, they were tied to a dumpster and indisposed. The young man, a skin spiking quirk that patrolled the area, walked up to him.
“Wow Eraserhead, haven’t seen you out for a while.”
“Was in the area.” He rearranged his scarf and went up to a wall to retrieve his bag.
“Oh, you work with Present Mic right? He’s been M.I.A. for a while, I heard it was medical leave. Is he doin’ ok? He was one of my faves as a kid. Really had that spirit, yah know?” The boy, barely a man, lifted up his fist in energetic emphasis.
“He’s fine.” Aizawa murmured, fishing his phone out. He paused mid-step, looking at the notification on the lockscreen. He quickly unlocked his phone eyes widening.
Zero. Everything was zero. Zero heartbeat, zero brainwaves, zero, zero, zero.
The spikey hero checked the criminals. “Hey Eraserhead, are you going to stick around for the-”
But when he turned around the dark haired man was already gone.
How could he do this. He was supposed to be there. Be there when he goes.
Aizawa ran through the streets, took some shortcuts through some alleys, almost being run over twice.
It was the only thing he had left to give Hizashi and he fucked that up. How could he be so fucking stupid. He got so comfortable with nothing happening. That’s what happened. So fucking, fucking…
He reached the door, key already in hand, ready to bust it open if needed. It slammed full force into the wall as he rushed in, bag from the convenience store landing on the carpet as he slid in front of the master bedroom.
And he was… gone. Truly gone. Like not in the bed. The machines beeped like crazy and the sound was making it hard to think so he walked over, unplugging them.
He looked at the unmade bed. The spot Hizashi had been.
Who would have taken a man in a coma? Why now? Present Mic didn’t have anyone with a grudge against him that he knew. Was it a rabid fan? But how would they find him?
He checked his phone. When did it go off? Thirty minutes ago. He’d have to call the police immediately and-
“Helllooo~...?”
He froze mid-dial, and slowly turned his head. He was already making his way to the bedroom door before he even registered what he was doing.
“Did I… did I do that? No, I-.. I wouldn’t have done that. I always lock the door. Yeah, holy shit the drywall, fuck.”
He heard the door close, as he went into the hall. He quickly glanced back into the room, to Hizashi’s nightstand, the phone missing. His eyes widened as he looked back in time to see a gangly tall figure exit the entrance alcove, kicking off flip-flops, grocery bags in one hand, Starbucks in another. The man looked up, dark civilian sunglasses covering his eyes as he visibly jumped.
“SHIT! Shōta, scared the hell outta me, I didn’t think you were home. Would’ve gotten you one too.” He lifted the cup, now a little bit of coffee dribbling down the side.
“Shōta…? Have you seen the wall?” The man turned, pointing behind him. “Looks like the door slammed into it.”
Aizawa crept closer.
The man turned back limply. “It wasn’t me, I don’t think? Not sure? I think I’m high...? On opiates...? S-Shō?”
The dark haired man slowly wrapped his arms around the other man’s waist. It was so thin.
“Shō are you... crying?”
The grocery bags dropped to the ground and a hand went to the back of his head, fingers combing through his hair.
“Shō, I’m sorry… I’m sorry...”
A deep ugly sob escaped Shōta’s throat, as he buried his face into Hizashi’s shoulder.
“Shō… Shō…” The man nuzzled his hair with his face, and he felt a kiss on his forehead, as his shoulders shook, heaving in violent gasps for air.
The thinned, blonde haired man pulled away slightly, forcing Shōta to look at him. The man lifted up the sunglasses to reveal tired, tired green eyes as he the corners of his mouth rose up for a lopsided toothy grin.
“I’ll get you a coffee next time, I promise.”
Shōta’s face morphed into an incredulous grimace that caused Hizashi lift his head back and cough out a laugh.
The man looked back onto the scowling, tear wet face, and his eyes softened, his grin shrinking into the weakest of smiles.
“I know… I know…”
“ DO you?” Aizawa’s eyes narrowed.
The smile vanished completely, the green eyes looking to the side. “I’m so sorry Shō.”
Shōta grabbed the man’s face, making him look at him, voice deep and low. “Don’t you apologize to me.”
“Wh-what do you want me to-”
Shōta smashed their lips together into a deep kiss. They kissed and kissed for what seemed like ten minutes, the cup of coffee being placed on a side table at some point. Shōta pulled away finally, putting a hand on Hizashi’s cheek. “Don’t… don’t apologize for being here.” His voice wavered into a sob at the end.
Hizashi closed the gap this time, wrapping his arms around Shōta’s back and shoulders, kissing him. He lifted away from Shōta’s lips, whispering softly. “I’m here.”
“You’re here.”
“I’m here.”
“You’re here.” Shōta kissed him back, tears freshly coming down his cheeks.
“I was,” Shōta pulled away, looking into those green, green eyes, “getting ready… ready for you to die. Getting… getting Eri ready…”
Hizashi pulled in close, into the biggest hug his weak, thin body could muster, so that their faces nestled into the crooks of each other’s necks. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“Don’t be-... sorry.” Shōta choked out, Hizashi smoothing his hair with one hand.
After a moment holding each other, Hizashi spoke. Softly, carefully.
“I dreamed... that I was so... so tired and you... you told me it was ok to sleep, that I could rest now. But I couldn’t. I just wanted to steal more and more moments with you, as many as I could. Even if it was just a few seconds more.”
Shōta buried his face into Hizashi’s shirt, adding to the wet stain growing there, gripping tightly onto the man’s leather jacket.
Hizashi hummed into his shoulder. “You are worth every minute.”
Aizawa choked out a sob.
They held each other for a while, until Aizawa seemed to run out of tears. He looked down at the bags on the floor.
“You went… grocery…shopping? I thought you said you were high.”
“Oh!” The blonde haired man pulled away, crouching down to open one of the bags. “When I woke up, after getting myself detached from the IVs and getting a tube out of my ass, I stumble half conscious into the kitchen, open the fridge and-”
He pulled out a leek, a very serious look on his face. “No vegetables, and like half a moldy loaf of bread in the back. Seriously Shō, Eri’s a growing girl, you can’t do take-out all the time.”
Shōta lifted a bag off the floor and offered to pick up the other. “I was busy.”
The blonde man scowled at him, standing up and handing him the other bag. “Am I the only thing keeping you from deteriorating into a jelly pack a day mess?”
“Maybe.” He put the bags on the kitchen counter and started to arrange the items into the fridge.
Hizashi strolled over and leaned on the opposite counter. “Shō.”
“‘Zashi.” Shōta looked up at him from his task.
His clothes hung off him loosely, the belt barely keeping his pants on him. A messy braid over his shoulder, one of Eri’s sparkly hair ties securing it. His cheeks went into his skull a little too much but he had color. Shōta stopped, milk carton halfway to the open fridge and stared at the man as he leaned, worn out and lazily on the counter.
The man gave a weak smile, and lifted his fingers up into finger guns. “Like what you see? Just had a medical weight loss program. I think it was caaallled… a coma?”
“I love you so fucking much.”
The man lifted himself up, painfully and in the best attempt at a debonair stride, moved in close to Shōta, plucking the milk from his hands, giving him a soft kiss.
“Make sure to get groceries next time.”
“NO.” Shōta grabbed him by his thin waist, and pulled him in close. “No ‘ next time .’”
“Shō…”
“No!” He growled at the man who refused to make eye contact. “This can’t… I can’t… go through this again.”
Hizashi played gently with a strand of Shōta’s black hair. “What about me?”
“What about-”
Those green eyes narrowed at him. “Are you going to stop endangering yourself, throwing yourself into hopeless situations, so that I’m not the one telling Eri you’re not coming back?”
Shōta tore his eyes away but did not let go. “I… I’m trying. It’s... out of my hands”
The man turned, putting the milk into the fridge. “Me too, then. That’s hero’s work right?”
Aizawa reached over and took his hand. “Then... can I steal this?”
Hizashi’s tired eyes drifted down to their hands, and then back to Shōta’s blotchy face, dark strands of hair sticking to it.
Shōta’s continued, looking up desperately into his eyes. “Steal these moments with you?”
Hizashi leaned in, kissing him, pressing him into the counter. He lifted away slightly.
“Can we steal these moments on the couch, I don’t think I can honestly stand anymore, babe.”
Without a word, Shōta grabbed the slightly taller man and lifted him up.
“HEY!” Hizashi laughed as he curled his long legs around the man’s waist as he got carried into the living room and plopped onto the couch, Aizawa leaning in to kiss him deeply.
The dark haired man pulled away grinning. “I’ll make you some soup.”
Hizashi pointed at him as he walked away. “You can do that now that I got GROCERIES!”
His lover grinned, waving him off as he disappeared from view.
Hizashi sighed, leaning into the couch’s arm, a migraine forming as the dull hum of the painkillers started to wear off.
He closed his eyes, listening to the man he loved in the kitchen, able to see him clearly as he pulled out the cutting board and pots and pans. He could smell the frying of onions when they started to soften. He relaxed his increasingly aching body.
He could rest now.