Chapter Text
It wasn’t a good day.
Not that Mondays were ever particularly good, for anyone, but that morning had been unusually bad. Even for a Monday.
He had overslept, for one thing. Sunday had been long and mostly uneventful, with a prolonged patrol due to an incident at the power station which dragged on for far too many hours. Hizashi had been stuck filling out forms after the fact for yet another hour, and the whole thing took far longer than he had wanted. It meant that dinner with Shota was out of the question, his transition from pro hero to radio presenter taking place over a steaming cup of black coffee and a convenience store onigiri in the minutes before he was due to be on air.
Really, with how quickly he devoured the thing, it was a surprise he hadn’t accidentally choked himself. Two large bites and it was gone, katsu chicken filling and all.
And so his late night radio spot had begun, with a burnt tongue and half a cup of coffee still waiting for him, the hours ticking on as he pined silently for the bed he knew would be empty and cold by the time he was finally able to return to it.
They took turns at the UA dorms, each of the teachers, with someone assigned to each purpose-built building at all times to ensure the students were safe. They had taken too many risks already, and if nothing else their continued presence made the kids feel a whole lot safer. That night was Shota’s turn, taking over from whichever poor sap had wound up with the full weekend shift for their dorm, and that meant Hizashi was on his own for the night.
Not that he would have much time to lament that fact, considering his show didn’t finish until two and he needed to be up again for half past six if he wanted to get to UA in time for his first class.
Except, whichever deity was looking down on him that day clearly hated him. A quirk-induced explosion at a jewellery store, just at the point he was passing it on his route home, and of course he needed to stop to help. Because just letting two criminals take off with the jewels they were piling into a sack - and really, how cliché can you get? - just wasn’t his style.
Another hour lost, and it was almost four in the morning by the time Hizashi tumbled into bed, exhausted and barely conscious enough to strip off the sweat-sticky leathers he had been wearing since mid-morning. He probably shouldn’t have bothered, should have poured himself a cup of coffee strong enough to stand a spoon up in and hoped for the best, but he was just so tired.
Which meant, of course, he overslept. It wasn’t that he had forgotten to set the alarms on his phone - he’d done that on the trek home, not trusting himself to remember when he got in, and setting a couple extra just for good measure. No, he simply slept through them, too exhausted to be disturbed by the blaring noise.
Blinking sleep-stuck eyes open against the early morning light, somehow more tired than when he went to bed, Hizashi rolled over to look at the clock. Illuminated red numbers stared back at him, reading 07:17. He was late.
Shit.
Stumbling from the tangle of covers he practically fell into the shower, the dirt and grime of the previous day’s work sticking to his skin like a dubious badge of honor. It sleuced from him under the barrage of hot water, vanishing down the drain along with the built-up gunk of hair gel and spray that had held his hair mostly in place throughout two jobs and an impromptu burglary intervention, but by that point was a pillow-destroyed mess that he couldn’t simply leave.
He wouldn’t have time for breakfast. Shutting the shower off, Hizashi barely took the time to dry himself, focusing more on the long tangled mess of his hair as he tried to rub the worst of the water from it onto his towel. He hadn’t had time to condition, and he knew he would regret that fact later, but he could deal with it for just the one day.
Apparently his hair couldn’t, however. Hizashi towel dried it again, shoved a brush through the long strands as best he could and leaving more than a few split ends in his wake as a result of his haste. He applied as much hair paste as he could to it before hanging his head upside down off the edge of the bed so he could attempt to style it into its usual upright style.
He was late, he was late, and in his haste to get himself ready as quickly as possible he was cutting corners. His hair wasn’t quite dry enough, the lack of conditioner was making it difficult to handle, he hadn’t rubbed quite enough paste into it and when he finally finished the whole thing off with a half a can of hairspray and righted himself, the overly elaborate style remained upright for all of around seven seconds.
Then, the back half split away from the front and tumbled down over his neck and shoulders. Stiff, unwieldy, and refusing to cooperate with the front half, Hizashi simply stared at it for a long moment. It was - this was not what he wanted his morning to be like. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t get the style to stay put . A quick glance at his bedside clock read 07:49, and Hizashi groaned into his hands.
He could pull a sick day, couldn’t he? The thought hit him before he could really help it, feeling instantly ashamed at the idea - he couldn’t call in sick just because he was having a bad morning and an impossible hair day. Life didn’t work like that, and he was a pro hero for crying out loud, he had an example to set and a class waiting for him.
There was no way he would make it in time for the staff meeting - it was due to start in ten minutes and he hadn’t even left the apartment yet. Firing off a quick text to Shota to let him know what had happened, knowing his husband would chew his ear off about it later, Hizashi rinsed the failed style out of his hair over the bath. He didn’t have time to try again, towel drying the long strands as best he could and forcing a brush through them. Tying it up into a half-bun wasn’t perhaps ideal - it would leave a noticeable kink at the back of his head when he let it down again and tried to style it - but it was better than leaving it flying in his face in the wind. His hair products found their way into his bag, he wriggled into his costume - still out from the night before and in need of a good clean - and Hizashi was ready to go.
Or, well, as ready as he was going to be. The clock ticked past eight o’clock, the front door slammed and Hizashi headed off towards the station at a half-jog. It was a good fifty minutes from home to the school if his luck held out. No matter what he did, at that point, he wouldn’t be at work on time for when his first class was due to start, but if he rushed he might only be five minutes late.
He could get away with five minutes - right?
The train was packed when Hizashi squeezed his way on, his slender frame making up for his height insomuch as he managed to fit in the tiny space where the majority of other pro heroes would not. Commuters crowded around him, most paying him no mind, while a few kept shooting him furtive glances, no doubt unused to seeing Present Mic without his trademark hairstyle. While normally he wouldn’t mind the attention of potential fans, would have basked in it, he wasn’t having the best morning and the state of his hair was making him feel oddly self-conscious under their stares.
Still, at least he didn’t have to worry about the tall style colliding with the train car roof for once.
Hizashi hated trains. Loathed them. They always made him feel a bit sick, not-quite-right for the remainder of the day. Shota had the car that week though, which left him with little choice but to suck it up and get on with his journey, hoping against hope that there wouldn’t be any delays as his stomach roiled and he swallowed down bile.
Which, of course, meant that only ten minutes from Hizashi’s stop, the train ground to a halt. There was silence for a handful of minutes, commuters shuffling around as their impatience grew at the continued radio silence. A few pulled out their phones to fire off quick text messages, but there was little they could do save wait for the train to start up again.
“This is your train driver speaking, it appears that there has been an incident on the tracks up ahead and we are awaiting news that it is safe to continue. We are terribly sorry for the delay and apologise for any inconvenience caused.”
Great. Wonderful. Hizashi let out a low sigh and sent another message to Shota, letting him know what had happened and wondering if he could get away with calling the school to make sure they knew his absence wasn’t entirely his fault.
No, probably not - even with a delay it just wasn’t the done thing to interrupt the peace and quiet of those around him. His phone slid back into his jacket pocket and Hizashi simply waited.
What else could he do? Shota hadn’t replied but at least the messages had flickered to ‘read’ status, so he was aware of the problem. The strangers around him shuffled to the left almost as one, and it took a moment too long for Hizashi to realise that the entire train car was tilting.
“This is your train driver speaking, we can now confirm that the delay in our journey is as a result of a villain attack.” The driver’s voice crackled over the speaker as the train tilted further before falling back into place and making the commuters packed around him stumble and struggled to keep their feet. He sounded calm enough to an untrained ear, yet Hizashi had been in the business long enough that he hadn’t missed the panicked undertone to the man’s voice as he struggled to remain in control. “If any pro heroes on the train could please make themselves available to assist, it would be appreciated. We thank you for your cooperation and again apologise for the delay.”
Well, it would just about make up for his lateness, Hizashi thought as he shoved his bag up onto one of the overhead racks to collect later, hitting the emergency release for the door and stepping out into the blissfully cool air outside the train car. He was more than a little thankful that they had stopped short of the raised bridges or long tunnels just a short way down the tracks. No one stopped him, all eyes on the lone figure who had emerged from their midst, and he felt their collective sigh of relief as the rocking of the train stopped.
Hizashi took a moment to size up his opponents, moving up and a little further away from the train; he didn’t recognise any of them. Not the league of villains, then - or new recruits if they were. Four in total - a woman with dark red skin and claws that extended almost to her feet, a man in a leather jacket and jeans with a shock of green hair, another woman wearing a smart suit who could have been mistaken for just another commuter if not for the scar that bisected her face and a great brute of a - Hizashi didn’t want to guess, actually, they looked like a Nomu if not for the intelligence shining in those massive eyes. All four turned to look at him, fixing their attention on the hero in their midst with a mix of amusement and malicious glee.
He had only a moment before they attacked. The train sat, forgotten, as the brute released their hold on the lead car, revealing its inhabitants and Hizashi was close enough to see the terrified face of the driver. Claws came up on his left, faster than he had expected, and Hizashi rolled away. No one else on the train had stepped up to help, which meant that either he was the only hero on there or any others couldn’t be bothered to get involved in the scuffle. Either way, he was on his own.
The brute was next, hand slamming down where Hizashi had been standing moments before and he let out a shout of warning. Their massive hands moved to cover their ears and a howl of pain echoed across the short space between them. Leather jacket reached out, arms extending and extending and extending until they were long enough to wrap around Hizashi three times, if he hadn’t darted out out of the way and released another shout, his directional speaker pointed directly at his attacker and the man went down hard, blood pouring from his ears.
Claws had hung back, watching him, head cocked to one side like a bird of prey waiting for the right moment to strike. Hizashi kept her peripheral vision as he made eye contact with the train driver and waved at him to go - because he couldn’t let loose with so many people sitting so very close, and there was always the risk that one of the four villains might decide that hostages would be a good shield and that was the last thing he wanted to happen.
The train pulled away, slowly, faster and Hizashi breathed out a relieved breath when the villains around him didn’t so much as turn to watch its retreat. Leather jacket was still down, moaning softly and clutching his head. The brute seemed to have recovered somewhat and was watching Hizashi with a look of mild annoyance while claws let the tips of those deadly appendages scrape against the ground.
No one moved.
Hizashi could take them both out with a single attack, if he angled himself right. Inhaling, he opened his mouth to yell, taking some small pleasure in how the brute flinched back at the motion. In that moment, something black and viscous filled his mouth, his nose, spread up to cover his eyes and Hizashi staggered back and away.
The fourth villain, how could he have forgotten her? She hadn’t joined in with the attack, had vanished from his peripheral vision and he hadn’t even noticed. Hizashi couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe and he could feel himself begin to panic a little. It was fine though, it was fine, all he had to do was find the right vibration in his vocal range and he should be able to shake the attack off, at least enough to be able to fight back. Just because he couldn’t get his voice out didn’t mean his quirk was entirely useless, after all.
He hadn’t seen the attack coming. Couldn’t have seen it, with the black mass covering his face - a heavy blow to the back of his head and Hizashi went down. It wasn’t enough to knock him out, not quite, but it left his head spinning and his ears ringing as a vicious laugh sounded in his ears, in his head.
She might have had a nice laugh once, he thought. Now, though, the sound was sharp and cruel as it bounced around his brain. A boot to the side, to the stomach, to the legs and Hizashi thrashed against the ever-expanding darkness that seemed to be closing in as the lack of oxygen threatened to drag him under. A blackness beyond the dark mass covering his face, pouring into his ears, silencing the outside world, isolating him.
Another boot to his stomach and Hizashi thought he might have been sick, if not for the blockage in his mouth, his throat, going all the way down until it was all he knew. He spasmed once, twice, then grew still as the fight left him all at once, letting soft unconsciousness swallow him up, knowing somewhat distantly that he might not wake from it and finding the thought oddly comforting.