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They weren't dating.
Not at first, anyway.
They were classmates first. Aizawa Shouta was transferred into Yamada Hizashi’s class at the beginning of their second year at U.A. From there, with no less than three instances of only slightly illegal quirk use, they gradually became friends. Shouta would never admit it was nice to have someone to lean onto when the days got rough. Absolutely not.
That was all a year ago, anyway. Now, they both worked for different agencies in Musutafu. Present Mic premiered halfway through the year, stopping an A-class villain gang with quick thinking and so much screaming.
Eraserhead … never did. He clung to the shadows of his agency, shifting as far away from the media as possible. Most of his patrols took him through the more unsavory city streets, detailing the nitty-gritty of hero work. Daylight heroics weren’t for someone who melded with the shadows every chance he got. Shouta vaguely wondered if never gaining the media’s attention was a second quirk.
It wasn’t terrible, in his opinion.
Shouta moved from his morning patrols to afternoons and evenings, eventually trickling down to midnight shifts. Passing time on his patrols meant texting Hizashi to please put something on other than shitty 80’s love songs, or sending cat pictures back and forth. Once in a blue moon, he fought a few minor villains, did a few drug busts. One of his coworkers had always said that nothing good ever happens after midnight, but with how boring his patrols got, Shouta tossed that statement out the window.
An embarrassing attempt at a robbery and a rather rhino-headed villain had gotten the best of him at midnight.
Eraserhead severed his capture weapon, checking the security as it wrapped around the unconscious villain. What an annoyance. His torso ached with the promise of bruises. If he was lucky, only his ribs would be bruised and he’d have to take it easy for a couple days. He sighed, sending out an alert to the police. They’d be able to transport the villain back to their holding cells and he’d get a notification about the paperwork in the morning.
This also left Shouta in a bit of a predicament. Now that he thinks about it, huffing and watching the red and blue lights disappear, he probably should have gotten a lift. He put more pressure onto his side as his breathing hitched, labored and slowed. A twinge of pain and annoyance lanced through his chest.
He wasn’t fast enough. The evening rain hadn’t dried up, and that damn puddle twisted his footing. Shouta recovered, but not fast enough.
It was never fast enough.
The horn had hit him bullseye, raking up his ribs and flinging him into the air. His scarf—the damn thing, it was pure luck—had been tossed over a fire escape, slowing his descent toward the rampaging mutant-quirked thief.
The rhino-criminal had charged into his legs, scraping his boots as he yanked himself up by his weapon, landing on metal bars. Shouta hated mutant-types. The one type of quirk he was at a disadvantage with, and it nearly cost him a couple organs. The rhino-person(which was such a mouthful to say he almost immediately chose to dub the villain as Hornsby. No , it wasn’t his most creative name) rammed himself into a wall. Eraserhead swung down and put his full weight behind the kick that sent the guy stumbling backward into the street. Hornsby had snorted and laughed, which—with a smug sort of satisfaction—was cut off by his capture-weapon wrapping around his face. The quick knee to the chin was enough to drop Hornsby to his knees, and a yank of the weapon ground his face into the concrete. Eraserhead wrapped him up for the police, feeling a bit proud of his skill and determination as his adrenaline faded.
Skill and determination can only go so far, he thought, hopping up onto a rooftop with a gasp and a cough, ragged breathing filling the night air. Eraserhead sat down, tightening the remaining length of the capture-weapon around his neck. He didn’t drop his phone, he just had it—ah. There it is. A soft dial tone rang through the air.
“...Shouta? Are you off duty already?”
He winced and dragged a hand up to push the hair out of his eyes. “Not quite.”
“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Should I call for an ambulance?” Hizashi’s worried tone floated through the speaker, dampened by sleep.
Absolutely not , Shouta’s brain screamed as he coughed again, ribs aching against the motion . “No!” He said a bit too quick and corrected himself. “No, ‘Zashi. I’m good. Just need a bit of help.”
“You are the worst fucking liar I’ve ever met, Shou. Where are you? I’m already outside.”
There was a muffled click and shuffle of boots. He let out a scoff that was not laughter, even as he backtracked the motion. Shallow breaths, shallow breaths. He was fine.
“North east. Twenty second street, just on top of the corner where that nice coffee shop and bank was. Fuck , I can’t remember what the name of it is.”
“The one with all the cats on the sign?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
Another shuffle of boots and the thump of footsteps on cement. He heard the phone get tossed around, clearing up once an engine started in the background. His ribs burned so fiercely Shouta had half a mind to congratulate Hornsby. Fucking hell, this shit was painful.
Sitting in the cold, on a rooftop, with the wind biting his skin didn’t do much to improve the situation. Or maybe it did. There wasn’t much he could do about it regardless.
“Okay, Shou. I’m on my way. Try not to move for me, alright?”
Aizawa could only offer a numb mhm in return, grasping his side with a white-knuckled fist.
They weren’t dating.
Not now, anyway.
The midnight theft was enough, and Shouta was just barely recovering. His agency had footed the bill, luckily. They had also reprimanded him for not seeking out a hospital or an ambulance.
Hizashi had found him on the rooftop, curled around three broken ribs. He had gently moved Shouta to the sidewalk and called for an ambulance to the corner of Twenty-second and Fourth.
I don’t need an ambulance, my ass, Hizashi thought as they loaded Shouta into the ambulance. They were both on their way to the Rishi General within minutes. Every time his breath hitched, Hizashi’s heart stopped. The only thing that was keeping him from strangling his idiot was the fact that Recovery Girl couldn’t raise the dead, and that Shouta was already in pain.
But they were heroes. They had to get through this. Together.
Hizashi came by the next morning, greeted with a grumpy Aizawa and a half-eaten breakfast.
“I thought you had work today?”
The blond took off his sunglasses, untangling them from his long hair. They always get stuck whenever I put it up in a bun , he swore. “Agency’s been pretty slow so I took the day off to visit. Aww, why, Shou? Were you missing me?”
Shouta scoffed and glanced out the window. His chest burned again, a little deeper this time.
Hizashi plopped down on the side of the cot, one leg dangling off of it. “Look on the bright side! I’ve come to make you an offer, Shou. Whaddya say?”
He pushed Hizashi off the cot, leading to a sputter-laugh and a Shou, pleeaaase? before letting him clamber back on. “What’s the catch?"
A flapped hand gestured in his direction. “Boo! Always assuming the worst. I’ve got a bit of room in my apartment and I’ve been thinking about getting a roommate! I figured it was about time I asked you!”
“Zashi,” Shouta leaned back into his pillow and closed his eyes, “I have an apartment. On the other side of town. Where I don’t have to hear you scream.”
Hizashi gasped, placing a hand over his heart and looking wounded. “Oh, Shou! You’ve hurt me!” He received a huff in response. Fine, then. Two could play at that game.
Shouta cracked an eye open. Hizashi stared at him, eyes glistening with unshed tears and a ridiculous pout on his face. No. Absolutely not. Not falling for this again.
He closed his eyes. Hizashi gasped, scandalized, and socked him in the shoulder.
“Seriously, Shou. You live on the opposite side of town, and we barely get to see each other anymore!”
“There’s always the cat cafe.”
Every Tuesday, like clockwork, the two would go into Ms. Reisha’s Cat Cafe and pay for a chai tea latte and a matcha smoothie. Bean would jump onto their table, Goose would cry at their feet. Shouta would lament the fact his apartment wasn’t pet friendly. Hizashi would pester him into taking a selfie. They would buy two pastries and several cat treats, and then they’d promise to meet up next week. Like clockwork.
It was Hizashi’s turn to huff. “What I’m saying is I’m worried, Shouta. You scared me. Why didn’t you get a ride to the hospital? Why’d you call me?”
Dark locks fell into Shouta’s eyes as he gripped the sheets. He knew he should have gotten a lift to the hospital. He knew he shouldn’t have nestled himself into a corner on the rooftop. There were a lot of things he knew he should have done.
There was absolutely nothing else that he thought of at that moment, Call Hizashi pounding through his head.
“You… were my first thought.” My only thought, Shouta didn’t say. “I didn’t—I should have—You were the only person I remembered. To call, I mean. I should have called for an ambulance. I’m sorry.” He broke off, blinking rapidly and focusing on the blanket in front of him. “I’m sorry for worrying you, ‘Zashi.”
“Hey, woah, woah, woah! Shouta, it's fine!” Hizashi startled, placing a hand over Shouta’s knuckles. “Besides the broken bones, they mended you all up! I mean, talk about heavy! But we’re okay, Shou! You’re okay!” He sighed, pressing his other palm into his forehead. “I’m sorry for springing this on you. I just figured sharing an apartment would be easier for both of us, but it’s not a problem if you want to stick with your apartment.”
A beat. “I’ll do it. I’ve been meaning to—I’ve been considering. About the apartment. It would be easier.” Shouta fidgeted, raising an eyebrow at Hizashi’s obvious excitement. “It’s only logical, ‘Zashi.”
Hizashi smiled, leaning into Shouta’s shoulder. “Right. Logical. Whatever you want, Shou.”
Whatever you want, ‘Zashi.
They weren’t dating.
That’s what they told themselves, anyway.
But when the nights started getting longer and longer, and the days shorter and shorter, they found out the heating unit didn’t work in their apartment. Hizashi was thrilled when he got to give Shouta his birthday present a few days early.
A yellow sleeping bag, seriously? Shouta seethed.
He loved it. He used it every day. Hizashi took it while Shouta was on midnight patrols.
There’s one good thing that happens after midnight.
At four in the morning, Aizawa Shouta took his key from his duffle bag and shoved it into the lock, opening the door to a quiet home. Setting his bag down and unwrapping the capture-weapon from his neck was quiet enough, but the floor creaked so loudly and Hizashi was such a light sleeper. He made his rounds around the apartment and set out the morning bowl of food for their cat—affectionately named Brisket—and changed into warmer clothes to sleep in. He sat in his room, petting the purring pile of fur and updating his case files from his phone, before plugging it in for the next night out on the city.
And he didn’t last ten minutes without the heater.
So then Shouta grumbled and complained and felt warmth bloom in his chest as he grabbed Brisket and padded down the hallway, creaking open the door to his best friend’s room. The aforementioned was squished underneath a weighted blanket and his yellow sleeping bag. Asshole.
Naturally, Aizawa set Brisket loose onto Hizashi’s blanket pile, who purred and pawed and meowed at the twitching face that poked out of the mess.
“Mm. He—eeyy little listener,” Hizashi yawned, thumping foreheads with the cat. “How’d you—?”
“Sorry, ‘Zashi. Heater broke again. Just got home. It’s about four-thirty in the morning, by the way.” Shouta flopped down onto the bed. Asshole had a king sized bed, who needed that much room , and closed his eyes. “Sorry, ‘Zash. I’m so tired.”
“Long night?” Hizashi mumbled, wrapping a freed arm around Brisket before dragging her into the blanket pile. She purred loudly.
“Mm.”
“Okay then.” Hizashi yawned, eyes scrunching tighter. “Night, Shou.”
“Night, ‘Zash."
“Mao,” Brisket said.
“Night to you too, Brisket.”
When Hizashi woke up to the sound of Brisket purring, he decided that today was a good day. Then he felt the bed shift and an indent formed next to him, followed by an arm—and he was pretty sure a head—thumping up against his back. The arm had looped itself around Hizashi and grabbed onto his fingers. Loosely, as if someone was asleep… oh.
Oh.
Shouta pressed his forehead into Hizashi’s back and squeezed him closer. His arm, covered by a weighted blanket, had wrapped around Hizashi. He felt the weight shift and mumble something incoherent before squeezing Yamada’s fingers again.
It was… nice. Really nice. Hizashi closed his eyes again, holding onto Shouta’s hand while Brisket purred and kneaded his side. Shouta was snoring, breaths visible in the cold air. It was warm underneath their blanket mess, and he really didn’t want to get up. Or wake Shou, Hizashi added. He definitely didn’t take a picture of Shouta and Brisket sleeping. He never, in a million years , would send that photo to Nemuri. He completely, one-hundred percent, did not save that photo as his new wallpaper. Absolutely not.
Brisket purred again, settling down on top of his hip. That’s that then, he decided. You can’t move once a cat lays down.
He wasn’t planning to move, even if he did think about all the stuff he had to do today. He felt the warmth radiating from Shouta’s chest to his, and smiled. The errands could wait. Brisket had food.
Today is a good day, Hizashi thought again, closing his eyes and sighing. I’m just happy we’re not freezing to death.
They weren’t dating.
But they didn’t deny it either.