Work Text:
“Does that mean I’m going to feel this way for the rest of my life?”
The doctor nods. “I’m sorry, but yes.”
The way Aizawa squeezes Hizashi’s hand underneath the table is like an apology.
—
It’s been nearly a year since USJ. Months since Aizawa could finally wiggle out of the full body cast he had been in. Weeks since every physical trace of the event, other than the crescent shaped scar he sported on his face and the damaged tissue on his elbow, had vanished, leaving behind unmarred skin. And yet every day, he felt pain.
When he had first woken up, he was sore and exhausted as all hell, but he felt fine. A welcome surprise from the agony he endured a day ago; morphine was a hell of pain killer. So thanks to the medication, the first days after the incident was a blur of thank you cards, tears, and fruit baskets. Everything was good and nothing hurt, that is, until he ebbed off the painkillers.
The pain burned, a constant reminder of his near-death experience, since, apparently, PTSD wasn’t enough to deal with. Some days it would shoot through his arm, radiating from his left elbow down to the tips of his fingers, like liquid metal was injected into his veins. One moment, he’d be walking down the hallway to the teacher’s lounge and then the next, he’d be gripping his elbow through clenched teeth and sweating bullets in the closest empty classroom.
On others, the pain was a dull but unrelenting feeling, that soaked down to the bone - a tingling sensation that had his fingers trembling as he gripped the chalk he was using during lecture, hoping that the roughness of his kanji would be written off as him trying to speed through class (observant note takers like Midoriya and Yaoyorozu would notice the dip in penmanship, but what could you do?). Those days were by far the worse, since the exhaustion of acting functional, despite feeling like you had just been on the receiving end of All Might’s Texas’ Smashes, almost made him want to skip teaching for the day. Almost.
Chronic pain syndrome his doctor had called it. Specifically, neuropathic chronic pain syndrome, caused by damaged and dysfunctional nerves - a result of being literally pummeled into the ground. When nerves connected to the central nervous system are damaged, it can send false signals to nociceptors, causing pain in areas that have long since healed. Physical therapy could help alleviate the effects or dull the effects to some degree, but no amount of therapy or even surgery could completely heal that kind of damage.
Which meant no magical cure, unless there was a quirk who rewind damage to the body. Aizawa would feel pain for the rest of his life. And Hizashi, being his soul mate, would too.
—
Soul mates are linked by pain.
Every cut, bruise and broken bone you receive will be felt by your soul mate the moment it is dealt. This fact was absolute and true, with the phenomena tested and proven numerous times since it was discovered. The shared pain between two soulmates was undeniable and with it came certain myths, superstitions to link soulmates even further, with one rising above the others: “Two soulmates, halves of the same whole, are linked by two things: pain and bonds.”
But did “bonds” mean? The interpretations varied. Did it refer to romantic or platonic relationships? Familial bonds or bonds of friendship? Of interwoven living? However it was interpreted, this statement permeated society, bleeding into the common lifestyle, from media to political discussions to deep rooted family traditions and even to cults. It was either revered as an undeniable truth or marked up as an outdated superstition, with the latter being the more common conclusion for many.
Which isn’t a surprise. Plenty of “christened” relationships have led to divorce or worse and there were many who haven’t even seen their soul mate in their lifetime, yet still lived happy and healthy lives without their “second half”. For that reason, soul mates were written off as a romantic fairy tale, a far off legend with no basis.
Except for the pain of course.
For some, the concept of soulmates never affected them pass a paper cut or occasional broken bone. For others, soul mates were much more afflictive experience: a life of pain and suffering caused by someone you’ve never even met. For others, it was a curse.
—
Previously, when Aizawa had met the annoying and persistently friendly classmate, Yamada Hizashi, he initially didn’t want anything to do with him. He was loud even without using his quirk, with a mouth on him that never seemed to close and had the unfortunate habit of never shutting up. The idea that this ray of sunshine would eventually be his best friend, let alone his soul mate, was ridiculous.
(And yet, despite all odds, he managed to grow on him. Funny how that worked out.)
So imagine his surprise when, the moment he managed to accidently sprain the other’s finger with a swipe during a friendly spar, that he felt the same pang of pain in the finger Hizashi was cradling with his other hand, his finger twitching and his body stiffening from the sudden feeling.
Aizawa could barely breathe with the sudden realization, his body on autopilot as he offered a hand to help the other boy up, the other dusting off the dirt from such a hard fall.
“Sorry.” His mouth was dry like sandpaper. “I hurt your finger…”
“Aww don’t worry about it, Sho! Nothing a good splint won’t fix!” Hizashi laughs the defeat off. “That was a pretty good kick you put in, but don’t get cocky, okay? I’ll definitely get you next time-“
Aizawa couldn’t stop from rubbing a hand behind his neck, a nervous habit he’s been trying to break. “My finger, uh, the same one as yours…also hurts.”
“Oh, did you…sprain it?…oh.”
The walk to the nurse’s office afterwards was as awkward as you can imagine.
—
Physical therapy is hell with a set schedule and exercise plan, a necessary torture needed to alleviate at least some of Aizawa’s symptoms
“It’s only for twice a week, baby.” Hizashi says, planting a kiss on his stubbled cheek, always keen to show affection since Aizawa seldom accepted PDA during work hours. He was already in his hero costume, no doubt planning to head to school 2 hours early to grade some extra work. “Only an hour. That’s half the time you usually spend at ‘Cat’s Eye Cafe’; it’ll be over before you know it!”
“Cat cafes have cats, sweets, and cushioned seats. And I don’t have to do stretches or isometric there.” Aizawa deadpans, pouting slightly, in a way that he’d never admit to. He accepted the kiss regardless, returning it. “I’ll see you later, workaholic. Don’t forget to drink your 3 shot expresso so you don’t pass out while grading Kaminari’s essay.”
“Gasp! I’m offended you’d think I’d only have 3 shots in my caramel macchiato!” Hizashi exclaims, taking a sip from his 5 shot monstrosity of a morning pick me up.
He watches him give one last wave of goodbye, before leaving him alone in the kitchen. His therapy session was in 30 minutes and the clinic was a 15 minute walk away. He should get ready.
Being alone left him free to brood over his thoughts, which was never a good thing. While he shoving his things into his duffle bag, Aizawa wonders if Hizashi ever wishes for another soul mate. One who wouldn’t cause them pain from 7:30 to 8:30 on Tuesdays and Thursdays because of their physical therapy session. Or pains whenever they were out doing underground hero work. Or really, pain when they weren’t even doing anything.
Aizawa wonders and then decides he hates the answer he lands on.
—
SLAM!
The table and the dishes on top of it shakes with the force of the blow, the hands that slammed on top, gripping at the wood grain, the sound jarring enough to silence the other person in the room.
“ITS NOT OKAY HIZASHI!” Aizawa’s face is angled down, away from Hizashi, like he’s ashamed with the declaration. His words come out through a grimace, “It’s not okay…”
Wide eyes look behind large frames, concern blatant in Hizashi’s expression, his pose cautious but not fearful. He keeps is hands to himself; reaching out would only frazzle his already frazzled husband further. “Shouta, baby, it’s really okay. I just dropped a plate by mistake! A simple slip of my fingers! It’s an easy clean up-“
“Don’t act dumb, Hizashi. Not to me, not about this.” His voice a deep rumble. “You dropped that plate when I had a flare up, which means you dropped that plate because you felt your arm spasm and it made you lose your grip.”
Hizashi doesn't back down. "And even if that's true, like I said, it's no big deal. I just wasn't expecting it."
Aizawa’s bloodshot eyes meet green ones. “You think I don’t see how you try to hide your flinches when ever I’m around? Or how you wake up in the middle of the night when a flare up wakes you up and ha you clenching our teeth to stop from screaming and waking me up? I notice it all!” Bottled up emotions of self loathing and guilt come spilling out, a years worth of anger, not at Hizashi, but toward himself. “So just admit that you’re trying to hide that my pain is a fucking problem-“
“It hurts then, okay?!” Hizashi finally shouts in Aizawa’s shocked face. "It hurts, I hurt…every day. I feel every flare up and it fucking hurts. To wake up in the morning to work and during work. It’s bothersome and it sucks.”
And it was finally said, confirmation. The words hit Aizawa like a volley of bullets, each finding its mark. He doesn’t look away though, he couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow himself to look away from those eyes, clenched fists at his side. Remorse paints his voice and Hizashi hates it. “I know, I know how you feel. And I’m sorry that-“
“But this pain is nothing. Do you know what hurts more Shouta?” He steps closer, his eyes daring Aizawa to move away from him, until he’s a scant foot away from the shorter man. “What hurts more is your insistence of shouldering the blame for ANY of this pain! Did you choose what would happen at USJ? The consequences? To live a life like this? Of course you didn’t! And now you’re somehow trying to make the fact that we’re “linked” your fault too!”
“I’m not saying it’s my fault we’re soulmates. What I mean is, ugh!” His frustration is showing, from his furrowed brows to his grimace. “I didn’t choose this life, but neither did you. Villains attacked, I got injured, and now my body is fucked. Sure, fine, that’s the way it played out. I can handle my own pain.” His voice was firm, but his expression suddenly looked...vulnerable. “But your pain is something I just can’t handle.”
“And every time I see you hurt because of me, I can’t help but blame myself for that.”
Hizashi’s expression softens at his husband’s confession. “God, Shouta. I didn’t know you felt like that.” He grips the sides of his arms softly, an anchor.
“It’s not like I advertised it very much, Hizashi.”
At this point the air in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, suffocating. After a moment, Hizashi finally says, “...Do you remember how I got this?” He taps at the hearing aid in his right ear, surprising Shouta with the unexpected question enough to answer hesitantly. “Of course. 14 years ago. Second year. A villain during your internship with a deflect quirk. You, you burst your own eardrums.”
“And lost partial hearing in both ears. The same time that happened, you were at your own internship, fighting a villain and collapsed from the injury.” Hizashi’s voice was strained, like remembering the memory was just as painful as experiencing it. ” Villain got a lucky shot in and you were in the hospital for weeks. And do you remember what you told me after I felt guilty to the point of tears?”
“It’s not your fault.” Aizawa closed his eyes, sighing. “Shit happens and what matters most-“
“Is that you’re ok. So don’t worry about me.” Hizashi finishes.
“I know that isn’t the same as right now Shouta, but my point is that “this” isn’t your fault, as much as it wasn’t mine back then. And it took me a long time to finally believe that, and I can only assume that’ll be the same for you." His grip on his arms tighten just barley. "But Shouta, I was aware of the risks of becoming heroes with you as my soul mate. And so, we might tied by fate or bonds or whatever, but the bottom line was that I chose to stay here, with you.”
Suddenly Aizawa is enveloped in a warm hug, “I can handle your pain and you can handle mine. You’re part of my life and no matter what that brings, or how much it hurts, I can handle it, shared pain and all.”
“…Ok.” Aizawa whispers, gripping Hizashi’s shirt like he’s going to lose him, burying his face into the crook of his shoulder, letting out a shaky breath. ”Ok.” It’s quiet in the kitchen as the two of them just stand there.
“…You know that was super cheesy, you romantic.” Aizawa finally says, breaking the silence after composing himself. The tension shatters like a glass thankfully.
“You love it though, you sappy softie.”
“Touché.” The two falling into comfortable silence.
“Well!” After a couple more moments of them just enjoying each other's touch, Hizashi pulls away, albeit a bit reluctantly, saying, “As much as I’d love to just hold my dear loving husband for the rest of the night, can I please clean this broken plate up so that we can finally eat? I’m starving!” He gestures to the broken remnants of one of their plates, pieces they miraculously didn’t step on.
Aizawa laughs softly, that breathy huff that Hizashi loves. “Yeah, I’ll help. Sorry we had to do this right before dinner.”
“You’re right to be sorry!” Hizashi huffs playfully, gesturing at the pot still heating up on the stove. “That curry took 3 hours to cook! Three hours of hard labor to cook a loving meal without eating it. You should applaud my self-restraint and perseverance!”
“I’ll give you praise after l finally taste it.” He calls over his shoulder, already retrieving the broom from the closet.
The two dissolve into easy banter, cleaning up the plate and setting the table, dishing out servings. They both hiss and laugh as they burn their tongues in unison from the hot meal. The pain never felt so satisfying.