Archive of Our Own

Oboro absolutely loved the playground two towns over.

Sure, there were playgrounds in his own town, too. Two in fact. But they were quite small and basic – a slide, a set of swings, a sandbox and small, boring monkey bars. The playground two towns over was BIG. There were several sets of swings for children of different ages, there was a playground roundabout, and there were two huge monkey bars, one even with three different slides sticking out of it!

Oboro loved it, but because it was so far away, he couldn’t just go there on a regular afternoon for only an hour or two. That was possible with the smaller playgrounds in his town and his mother and father had no problem taking him there frequently. But a trip to the big playground was a trip lasting the whole day.

It was always a trip that was worth it, though, not like going to some of the museums and exhibitions his parents sometimes dragged him to. His parents often despaired at their son’s seemingly endless stamina, but it meant that he had enough energy to run around for several hours and then had tucked himself out completely, often sleeping until he had to be woken up for dinner.

As a rather extroverted child, Oboro had no problems hanging around the many other children that were also always swarming the big playground. He often got in on their games for however long he wanted to stay at whatever playground equipment they were occupying, and left the games just as smoothly when his interest waned and he switched over to the next piece of equipment.

Oboro had just been playing heroes invading the villains’ base – the highest tower of the monkey bars – with some other kids when one of the other boys suddenly slipped and fell into the sand pit. At first, neither Oboro nor anybody else paid any attention to it, but as the boy stayed on the ground and didn’t move to climb up again, Oboro curiously jumped down from the rope ladder, landing next to the boy, and peered down at him.

“Hey,” he said. The boy had curled himself into a tight ball, legs and arms tucked close to his body and face down, and didn’t react. “Are you alright?”

Slowly, the boy lifted his head, looking at Oboro with watery eyes and sniffling. He didn’t say anything though, only shook his head and choked on a suppressed sob before hiding his face again.

Oboro contemplated him, the other kids’ play forgotten.

“Does something hurt? Are you cold?” It was sunny and warm, but Oboro figured that it didn’t hurt to ask. “Hungry? Tired? Has your brain melted? Are you sad?”

This time, the other boy held out just his palms in lieu of an answer. There were a few lightly scratched bits and much dirt and grains of sand clinging to them.

Oboro didn’t know what to do with that. But he was quite sure that his mother would know, she always knew everything.

So he asked, “Do you wanna let my mom help you? She’s just over there.” He pointed in her direction, even though the boy couldn’t see it.

Then, to his great disappointment, the other boy shook his head again and tried to make himself even smaller. He gripped his shirt tightly with his hands and whimpered quietly as his wounds were pressed against the course fabric.

Now Oboro was even more at a loss. One of the other children leaned over the tower’s railing and told him to hurry up whatever he was doing, but while Oboro acknowledged it, he didn’t want to go back to playing and leave the other boy who was so clearly upset.

However, when it felt like Oboro had been crouching over the sand, wondering what to do, for an eternity, the boy suddenly got up. Surprised, Oboro scrambled to his feet, too.

The boy glanced at him quickly before his gaze darted away again, but Oboro understood.

“My mom’ll help you for sure!” he promised. “Come with me?”

The other boy shrugged, but he did tag along after him.

Oboro’s mother looked up as the two of them approached her.

“Everything alright, Oboro? Did something happen?”

Oboro nodded, settling down on the picnic blanket and dragging the other boy down with him. “He fell from the monkey bars. Can you do something?”

His mother smiled at the boy. “Well, we surely have some adhesive plasters. Will you tell me your name?” she asked, already starting to dig around in her handbag.

The boy looked at her for a moment before mumbling, “Hizashi.” He shuffled a bit to get into a more comfortable position. His hands were stretched out in front of him so they didn’t touch anything.

“It’s nice to meet you, Hizashi,” Oboro’s mother answered. “Don’t worry, we will take care of it in no time at all. I’ll disinfect your wounds and then put adhesive plasters on them. Is that alright, Hizashi?”

Hizashi nodded, but Oboro inhaled sharply as he saw the spray his mother had taken out of the bag. “This is going to hurt so much,” he informed Hizashi, moving closer to him as if to offer comfort. “It really stings, like your skin’s going to fall off. You’ll have to be very brave to endure this torture. I’m already a pro at handling them, of course, but the last time it was sprayed on Miyako, her arm melted before my eyes!”

“It’s not nice to tell such scary made-up stories, Oboro,” his mother scolded him while she gently wiped a moistened tissue over Hizashi’s palms in order to clean off the dirt and grains of sand. “Alright.” She raised the spray bottle. “This is to help keeping your wounds clean so no bad germs get into them. It will sting for a moment, but then it will stop again. Is it okay for me to spray this on your wound, Hizashi?”

“Yeah,” Hizashi answered, his voice meek but his eyes hardened in determination. Oboro gripped the other boy’s arm reflexively and closed his eyes when his mother readied the bottle.

The sound of the spray nozzle was audible and Hizashi jerked slightly, but otherwise, he didn’t utter a peep. Oboro opened his eyes and stared at him, impressed.

“Very good,” Oboro’s mother said soothingly, “it still hurts a bit, doesn’t it, but it will be over soon. We have to wait until it has dried though before we can put a plaster on it. Can you continue to hold your palms like this for a few more moments?”

“Shake them,” Oboro instructed Hizashi.

“Huh?” Hizashi looked at him in confusion.

“Shake them. Then they will dry faster.” He demonstrated, waggling his hands rapidly up and down as if he was a particularly untalented baby bird about to make its first flight.

Hizashi giggled and copied the movements. Soon, both boys were laughing loudly and shaking their hands and arms until they hurt. At one point, Oboro had even stood up and proclaimed that he was a bee, circling around their camp and “stinging” Hizashi and his mother by lightly poking them with his index fingers in various places. Hizashi had pouted and said that he hated bees, but he had nonetheless kept smiling and giggling even when he was “under attack” from Oboro.

The shock and pain from falling from the monkey bars and scraping his hands was forgotten.

By the time they were both sitting on the blanket again and gasping for breath, exhausted from all the effort they had exerted, Oboro’s mother already had a pack of All Might themed plasters ready. Hizashi obediently extended his palms once more and she covered the small wounds.

Grinning brightly, Hizashi stared down at his hands and the All Mights that grinned back.

“Thank you very much,” he then mumbled, bowing his head slightly in the direction of the mother-son pair.

“It was no trouble at all,” Oboro’s mother said.

“I’m hungry!” Oboro said. He dug into the bag once more and fished out a package of cookies that were shaped like renowned heroes.

His mother opened her mouth to stop him, but before she could make even a sound, he had already ripped open the bag and scattered the cookies all over the picnic blanket.

“What heroes do you like?” he asked, aimed at Hizashi, as he surveyed the strewn about cookies and started picking specific ones up. “You can have all of these All Mights, too, if you want.” Those he had already picked up were dumped in Hizashi’s hands before he continued to search for more.

“Thanks,” Hizashi replied, munching on them. Then he participated in riffling through the cookies, picking up some of the All Might-shaped ones of his own. However, they didn’t immediately land in his mouth. “But you can have some of the All Mights as well.”

Unsurprisingly, when the birthday party of children he’d initially belonged to wrapped up their things to head home, Hizashi left the playground with a small, precious sheet of paper in the pockets that had the Shirakumo’s phone number scribbled onto it. Oboro left with the promise from Hizashi that he would call as soon as he was at home again.

Back at their own apartment, Oboro immediately set up camp next to the landline and wouldn’t be deterred even when his mother promised him further snacks in the kitchen. His faith was rewarded when the phone eventually rang and the two boys excitedly resumed the talk they’d had before they’d been interrupted by Hizashi’s departure.

Both of them refused to hang up before they, together with their parents, had agreed on a day and time for their next playdate.

Oboro really loved his skateboard. He also really loved going to the skate park with Hizashi. Whenever the boys hung out at Hizashi’s place and the weather was nice enough, they went across town to the skate park and practised new stunts and tricks together.

Today was not any different, they had decided to meet up with the explicit plan of visiting the park and Oboro had kept ringing the doorbell of Hizashi’s house shortly afterwards, skateboard tucked under his arm.

They set off, rolling lazily on the pavement and the street on their skateboards.

“I can’t stay that late though.” Hizashi remarked. He was riding backwards so he could face Oboro as he talked. “My dad promised me to help set up the new mic this weekend if I help with housekeeping for the entire week, so I have to be back in time to assist in preparing dinner today.”

Oboro grinned excitedly. “About time. Your birthday was, like, a month ago!”

“I knooow. He finally caved about trying to make me help in the garden in exchange, which would be… ugh!” A violent shudder passed through him.

“So when’ll you make your first podcast?”

“Maybe Sunday already, if everything goes smoothly? I dunno, I already have several ideas and scripts, but I’m not sure yet which one’s the best one. It’s the first podcast after all, so there has to be extra-extra-effort put into it!”

“Don’t think about it too deeply and worry your brain—”

“So I should take a page from your book?”

“Hey!” Oboro sped up slightly, attempting to shove Hizashi by the shoulder, but Hizashi kept neatly out of his range. “You literally just have to turn on the microphone and talk about whatever you want, it’s as easy as that. By the way, I hope you know that I fully expect to be invited to try out the mic.”

“Yeah, totally! Hey, you could even be my co-host if you wanna!”

“We’d talk about so much shit.”

“True.” Hizashi looked over his shoulder at the empty street in front of them. They were not far away from the park. “Race you?”

“You bet.”

Hizashi turned so he was facing forward and both he and Oboro picked up pace. They took care not to actively impede each other, but they did swerve back and forth tauntingly. Suddenly, Hizashi changed course, entering a connecting road that was a shortcut compared to riding around the corner of the street. Oboro, who had been slightly ahead of him, stopped short and then gave chase.

The white gravel stone under their wheels made the road bumpy and the shoes were constantly in danger of side-slipping in their forward-pushing motions. Then, as was almost bound to happen, Hizashi’s skateboard got caught on the gravel and sent him flying head first onto the pathway. He landed on his hands and knees and stayed like that, shaking slightly.

Quickly, Oboro jumped down from his own skateboard and approached him.

“You okay?” he asked breathlessly, concern laced in his voice.

Hizashi nodded but made no move to stand up again. Oboro grabbed his shoulder in order to be able to help him.

A smile was directed his way, although Oboro couldn’t help but think that it was not as energetic as usual. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Hizashi said, his voice catching on the last syllable. He shifted his weight away from his palms and then rose in one fluid motion.

After dusting off his hands and pants legs, he noticed Oboro’s expression and smiled even wider. “Really, no biggie! I’m fine and dandy.” He picked up his skateboard, trying to bend at his waist as much as possible and wincing. “I’m even good to continue our race, so you better don’t dawdle.” Then he awkwardly pushed his glasses up to his forehead with his arms and quickly wiped across his eyes.

“Um, Hizashi…”

Oboro’s uncharacteristically hesitant call drew Hizashi’s attention. When he looked at him questioningly, Oboro continued, “Your, um, your pants are…”

He pointed at Hizashi’s left knee, where a dark spot seemed to slowly seep through the fabric.

Both boys stared at each other for a moment, stock-still. Oboro was the one who spoke up again first, “You… that’s blood, right? Your knee is bleeding below your trousers?”

“Seems to be,” was Hizashi’s illuminating answer.

Oboro still felt blindsided, but he took the initiative. “Come, we should go back home and, you know…” He gestured vaguely. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah.” Now that he was listening closely, Oboro detected the wobbly undertone in Hizashi’s voice.

Despite Hizashi’s insistence that he was fine enough to not only be able to walk but even to ride on his skateboard, there was a limp to his step when he started walking. Not knowing how exactly he could support his friend, Oboro choose to carry both of their skateboards – awkwardly, because he held them both under one arm – and let his other hand hover close to Hizashi in order to be able to catch him should he fall.

Briefly, he considered whether using his quirk would help Hizashi, but quirk usage was forbidden if you didn’t have a license. Maybe a hero would have known what to do, but they were in a rather well-off and peaceful neighbourhood so there were no heroes patrolling it regularly. Also, as there was no villain involved, all a hero could have potentially done was to get Hizashi to a hospital quickly, wasn’t it?

Did Hizashi need to go to a hospital? Did he need an ambulance? But Oboro didn’t have a phone yet and thus there was no way for him to call one. And besides, Hizashi was still able to walk, so it couldn’t be too bad, right? At least he shouldn’t have broken any bones from his fall?

However, when asked again, Hizashi only repeated that he was fine and would be able to make it home, and Oboro decided that he’d have to trust his judgement. Far sooner than they had planned when they’d left, they found themselves on the Yamadas’ porch again.

When Hizashi’s father opened the door, he took their presence in with clear surprise. Oboro expected Hizashi to tell what had happened, but Hizashi only pressed his lips tightly together and looked at some point on the floor beyond the front door.

Oboro didn’t know what he was supposed to say either, but it was obvious that he would have to explain the situation.

“Hizashi, um, fell,” he said clumsily, then his gaze dropped down to Hizashi’s knee. “And he’s hurt and bleeding a lot and we didn’t know what to do so we came back here and… Somehow, the bleeding has to be stopped.”

Yamada’s father had followed Oboro’s gaze and his eyes widened in shock as he saw the big, dark stain on his pants.

He quickly ushered both of them inside and when Hizashi stood in the middle of the entryway, he asked him whether he was able remove his trousers.

“Dunno,” Hizashi mumbled, but he obediently started pulling them down inch by inch. Oboro held his breath as he came closer and closer to the knees.

For a second, Hizashi seemed to hesitate. Then, he grabbed the already bunched fabric of his pants and pushed them over his knees in one swift motion. He winced loudly and Oboro cringed in sympathy. All three of them leaned forward to inspect the injury as Hizashi gingerly lowered himself onto the entrance’s step.

The wound was red and bloody and open, and Oboro especially couldn’t help but stare at the three small and delicate rivulets of blood that had started trailing down Hizashi’s leg. In the back of his mind, he distantly wondered whether they had even reached his socks and shoes.

“Okay,” Mr. Yamada said firmly. He started unlacing Hizashi’s shoes as he continued. “That’s a clear trip to the ER.” Hizashi whimpered and he shushed him gently with encouragement. Oboro reached for Hizashi’s shoulder and squeezed it in what was hopefully a comforting way, too.

Hizashi’s father pulled his son’s trousers all the way down and over his feet, careful enough not to jostle the injured leg too much, and turned to address Oboro, “Can you please get me some wet paper towels?”

Before he had finished his question, Oboro had already slipped out of his shoes and sprinted towards the bathroom, shouting a loud “Yes!” over his shoulder.

While Mr. Yamada cleaned up the trails of blood, he sent Oboro to fetch the first-aid kit. As soon as he returned and was able to hand the first-aid kit over, he sat down beside Hizashi and rubbed his shoulder again. Hizashi didn’t seem to pay any attention to it, too focused on the things his father pulled out from the kit. He looked doubtfully at a bottle of wound spray.

Eventually, his father spoke up again, “I think it I should probably try to at least apply a makeshift bandage.” He almost said it as if it was a question, but Oboro didn’t know enough about wounds to know what was best, so he couldn’t contribute anything.

However, Hizashi was apparently not on board with that suggestion. “Don’t touch it!” he shouted, leaning further backwards, and his father and Oboro winced slightly at the volume, but it wasn’t loud enough to rattle the front door’s glass. Quickly, Hizashi pressed his hands over his mouth, stifling a sob that threatened to escape way.

His father soothed him again, telling him that he would do his best to make it fast and that it would be better if there was something protecting his wound and that it wouldn’t hurt. Oboro felt that he had to help, too. His friend was hurt, after all, he couldn’t just stand around and do nothing! That was not heroic at all.

“Hey, Hizashi,” he said, interrupting Mr. Yamada, but there was no one around to scold him for it. When Hizashi lifted his head to look at him, he continued, “Did you see yesterday’s episode of All Might Soar Up! Silver Age Revival GX?”

Of course Hizashi had seen it, they watched this show every week, talking at length about each new episode. Oboro cheerfully launched into a retelling of All Might’s fight against the episode’s villain-of-the-week anyway while Mr. Yamada pressed a compress against Hizashi’s knee and wrapped it with gauze.

He was finished before Oboro had the chance to speculate with Hizashi what would happen in next week’s episode. Although the bandage wasn’t applied very securely and slipped slightly when Hizashi stretched his leg, it was good enough until the wound could be properly dressed by a professional.

“I’m going to fetch a few things and then we’re going to the ER,” Mr. Yamada announced, squeezing his son’s shoulder one more time before standing up and hurrying towards the stairs. “Just wait a moment right here, boys, okay?”

“Pants!” Hizashi called indignantly after his father. “You have to bring me pants!”

“I know that!” his father shouted back and a door on the upper floor slammed shut.

A heavy silence fell over the entranceway as both boys stared anxiously at the stairs Mr. Yamada had disappeared at the top of. Oboro knew that he should continue their conversation where they’d left off, but for some reason, words escaped him this time and he didn’t know what to talk about anymore.

Hizashi eventually lowered his gaze and shifted it to his bandaged knee. Oboro saw how his lip trembled again, even though he promptly sunk his teeth into it to stop it.

He needed a distraction, Oboro thought, racking his brain. Something, anything.

When he caught sight of the first-aid kit lying hastily abandoned next to them, he got an idea.

“Hizashi?” he asked, to which Hizashi responded with a vague hum, “Does your other knee hurt, too?”

Hizashi’s other knee luckily hadn’t been hurt that extensively. There were a few red grazes, but it didn’t bleed.

“A bit,” Hizashi shrugged. Something squeezed painfully around Oboro’s heart at seeing his best friend so listless. “All of the pain’s mostly in my left knee.”

“Still,” Oboro said, pulling the thing that had drawn his attention out of the first-aid kit. “That is a wound, too, and it is better to dress it,” he declared.

It was a long stripe of adhesive plaster. Oboro knew that one was supposed to cut it to the length you needed for the wound to be covered. The plaster was decorated with space-themed All Might designs: Small planets and stars and comets and rockets were scattered across it, always with a flying or smashing or triumphant All Might in their vicinity. For a moment, Oboro wondered whether All Might could actually fly through space. That would be so cool.

He couldn’t get distracted now though. “Here!” He shoved the plaster into Hizashi’s face so he could take a look at it. “What do you say?”

Before Hizashi could actually say anything, he had already grabbed the pair of bandage scissors and gotten to work.

Cutting the plaster was more difficult than he had thought. The scissors had problems cutting through the fabric, the plaster’s rims becoming ragged as a result. Then, Oboro noticed that he would cut off an All Might if he continued on his pathway, and changed the scissors’ direction to prevent that. Eventually, the last bit of plaster was severed and it glided to the ground, Oboro’s hands not fast and accurate enough to catch it.

The end result didn’t look too pretty. The plaster was now longer on one side than the other and crumpled where Oboro’s thumb had held it before he had switched tactics and held onto the body of the plaster while cutting it. But it had three All Mights on it and Oboro was quite proud of that.

So he ripped off the protective plastic and knelt down in front of Hizashi’s not encased knee.

Hizashi watched with interest as Oboro tried to align the adhesive bandage so the fluffy middle part would cover the scrapes. It soon became apparent that that was an impossible endeavour, the scratches too far apart for that. Even turning it around didn’t help and Oboro ultimately decided to rather place it so a few small scratches were left out in the open than to cover them with the tape.

Finally, he carefully but unsteadily pressed the bandage onto Hizashi’s skin. Then he attempted to smooth it over to get rid of the wrinkles in it, which was mostly unsuccessful.

However, when he raised his gaze and accidentally met Hizashi’s eyes, he was rewarded for all his troubles with a big, elated smile.

“Thanks, Oboro!”

Oboro returned the smile, relieved that he had been able to help his friend after all.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked, opening and closing the scissors in his hand absentmindedly.

“Nope, thankfully, one of these ugly things,” Hizashi pointed at the plaster, grinning cheekily, “is already enough for me. Have you ever used a pair of scissors before in your life?”

“Hey! I just saved you from certain death from blood loss,” Oboro pouted.

Hizashi ignored him. “Also…” He stretched his leg out demonstratively. The plaster stayed in a curved shape with plenty of air between it and the skin. Hizashi’s grin was way too smug for Oboro’s liking, and he hated how there wasn’t even a need for words to convey Hizashi’s taunt.

“Well, don’t stretch your leg then!”

“Genius, how am I supposed to walk literally anywhere without stretching my legs?”

They were interrupted by heavy footsteps bolting down the stairs. The two of them turned around and saw Hizashi’s father rushing towards them, listening to the phone at his ear. He chucked a pair of trousers at Hizashi before heading for the kitchen.

Oboro watched as Hizashi wriggled into them with his legs – especially his bad one – bending as little as possible. Before, he had not only managed to distract Hizashi but also himself by applying the adhesive bandage. Now, uncertainty about how things were going to proceed returned.

Fortunately, so did Mr. Yamada. Balancing a bunch of things in the crook of his arm, he sprinted towards them and asked, “Are you good to go?”

With a nod Hizashi braced his arms against the step he was sitting on and very slowly and very gingerly stood up. Oboro grabbed his elbow to help, trying to take on most of Hizashi’s weight so he wouldn’t strain his hurt leg. After realising that, Hizashi willingly complied.

Mr. Yamada picked up a wad of keys from a hook and turned to address Oboro, “I don’t know what would be best… Can you walk home on your own? Is your home close enough?”

Oboro found himself tightening his hold on Hizashi’s arm. One of his hands sneaked down to squeeze Hizashi’s fingers, and a silly smile could have spread on his face when he felt Hizashi squeezing back. Looking straight into Mr. Yamada’s eyes, he asked, “Can I come with Hizashi and you?” Then he quickly added, “Please?”

“Um, sure,” Hizashi’s father looked surprised but not averse to it. “There are probably things that are more fun than waiting in the ER though.”

Oboro just shrugged his shoulders. He was a bit reluctant to let go of Hizashi when his father took him, but he could see that it made more sense. He still stuck to Hizashi’s other side and after the two of them had scrambled onto the back seat of the car, he took his hand again and didn’t let go until after the doctor had stitched up the wound.

Oboro loved hero training, and he knew that some bruises were inevitable if they should be able to train at their full capacity. He was also thankful for Recovery Girl’s existence, as that meant that they could train at their full capacity largely without having to worry about repercussions.

He still didn’t like visiting the nurse office. And he especially disliked having to visit it with someone else being in need of medical attention.

When Oboro ripped open the door to the infirmary, it took him a moment to notice that Recovery Girl wasn’t there. In his surprise, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Behind him, Shouta first gave a grunt of annoyance and then a push to Oboro’s back to get him to stop blocking the doorway.

Apologetically, Oboro jumped to the side so Hizashi could shuffle through the door. Then he hurried further into the room, heading towards one of the unoccupied beds and patting it. “Here, just sit down even though Recovery Girl’s not here. Or rather, lay down. Elevate your feet that way.”

“And how should elevating my feet help when it’s my arm that’s,” Hizashi’s breath hitched and a sharp, pained gasp escaped through his teeth, “the problem here?” He still made his way over towards the bed and sat down on it, the whole time holding his arm protectively against his chest. Shouta followed his path about two steps behind him, clearly with the intention to catch him should he fall.

Even though Hizashi did have a point. He was in the infirmary because of his arm that was potentially broken, as their teacher suspected. That wouldn’t have any impact on his ability to walk.

However, that didn’t mean he was alright. Oboro watched his friend’s face, sure his own was twisted in an uncharacteristic frown.

Hizashi was naturally upbeat and cheerful, with a tendency towards overdoing it rather than understating. He and Oboro were similar in that regard. So to have Hizashi sitting hunched in on himself on the hospital bed, pale and staring into space, was not a good sign. Oboro didn’t want to know how much his broken arm must hurt.

His gaze flickered to Shouta and he was surprised when their eyes met. There was the certain kind of unease and hesitance apparent in Shouta’s eyes, his tense body posture, the way his hands curled into fists as his sides, that often seemed to envelope the other boy. Shouta didn’t know what to do in this situation.

Neither did Oboro, but he knew that he had to do at least something.

Recovery Girl was out somewhere, so Oboro decided to look for any clues about where she went or more importantly when she would be back. And if he found some tools for a stop-gap solution to Hizashi’s pain, all the better.

He turned towards what he assumed was Recovery Girl’s office desk and started rummaging through the cabinets and drawers.

Not that it would be a good idea to let Hizashi swallow some random painkillers.

Yep, Oboro had no idea what he was doing at all.

Another, quickly stifled hitch of Hizashi’s breath from behind him made him haphazardly grab all kinds of bandages before he swiftly returned to his friend’s side. He smiled winningly and dumped the content of his arms on the bed next to Hizashi.

“Well, let’s see what we’ve got here,” he declared, looking contemplatively from the injured arm to his spoils and back.

Both of his friends shot rather sceptical looks his way.

“Do you know anything about treating wounds? First aid?” Shouta asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Nope,” Oboro answered easily, shrugging one shoulder while holding two different rolls of gauze up to his face and comparing them. “Aside from the very, very basic things. Should we just wind that round Hizashi’s arm?”

Shouta wrinkled his nose. “He’s not bleeding though.”

“True…”

It was worrying that Hizashi himself didn’t seem to pipe in and have an opinion on how he wanted to be treated. Or a light quip at Oboro’s inability to handle the bandages properly.

Oboro glanced up and the “you still good?” died on his lips as he witnessed how Hizashi was zooning out, fixating some place on the ground between their feet, his teeth burying themselves into his bottom lip. Which must really hurt as the lip was busted.

At least finally an idea suddenly came to Oboro.

“Anyway, the cooling pack teach gave you is probably lukewarm by now, huh?” he said, pointing to the pack in question that was nestled carefully against Hizashi’s arm. “Shouta, can you look for the fridge or something in which cooling packs are stored? Meanwhile, I’m going to figure this out.”

He squeezed his right eye shut, unwrapped a part of the gauze and turned it left and right as if he wanted to take measurements.

Shouta nodded at the suggestion and – Oboro’s heart leaped – the tiniest of smiles appeared on Hizashi’s face. Normally, Hizashi’s smiles were wide and blinding and visible from far away, but at least it was a step in the right direction.

“If I holler because Oboro’s trying to wrap me from head to toe, I expect you to come and save me, Aizawa.”

“Oho, that’s a brilliant idea, Hizashi! If you can’t move any muscle at all anymore, you also can’t disturb the bones in your arm. Problem solved!”

Shouta’s expression didn’t change, but he did remark dryly, “I’d start the wrapping from his mouth if I were you.” Then he turned on his heels in order to search the cabinets for a fresh cooling pack, leaving Oboro and Hizashi to recover from the fit of laughter he’d sent them into.

The recovering didn’t take long, as the laughter caused Hizashi’s arm to move, leading him to emit noises of pain, which in turn sobered Oboro up again quite quickly.

He riffled through the different rolls and packs some more, finally grabbing a triangular bandage and waving it triumphantly over his head.

“I know these! They can be used to support broken arms and legs!” He looked from the bandage to Hizashi’s arm and back. “I just have to figure out how to do it.”

Hizashi gave him a flat look that would have rather been typical of Shouta.

That was probably not a good sign. Just as fast as Oboro had adopted the idea, he discarded it again.

“Maybe there’s something less error prone that we can do,” he declared, then tied the bandage playfully around the lower part of his face as if it was a protective mask in a surgery. After only a few seconds, the knot unravelled and the cloth fell back down.

While Oboro pouted, a snicker came from Hizashi.

Then both looked up as they heard Shouta approaching the bed again, holding out a fresh cooling pack for Hizashi to take. When Shouta had successfully helped exchanging the packs without jolting the broken arm, Oboro had finally found another promising thing to keep them occupied with.

“Here!” With an unmistakable but misguided air of pride around him, he presented his friends with a pack of All Might themed plasters.

Neither of them gave off even a touch of enthusiasm. Oboro tried again, “We can’t help with the arm, Recovery Girl has to take care of it. So we should rather focus on taking care of the other wounds.”

At Hizashi’s apparent confusion what he was referring to, Oboro pointed at a spot on his own forehead where a small and bleeding but overall not serious wound was on Hizashi’s. Immediately, his good hand lifted to touch the indicated spot, which made him wince.

“See? Or rather, feel… Whatever!” Cheerfully, Oboro peeled the protective plastic of the plaster away and then leaned closer.

Hizashi’s eyes widened as if something had just occurred to him.

“Wait, you want to put this… ridiculous thing,” he gestured to the plasters, which all depicted All Might’s smiling head, “on my face?”

“Of course! We have to take care that your handsome face doesn’t get permanently disfigured.”

“Nonono way! This looks, looks—hideous! All Might’s cool and all but I don’t want him on my face! Oboro!”

“Hold still, Hizashi!”

“No, stop, stop! Aizawa, help me!”

“You stop leaning backwards! Aah—don’t topple over!”

The bright, face-splitting grin Hizashi wore only egged Oboro on further. Hizashi managed to lean back so far that Oboro had to quickly use one of his hands to support himself on the mattress next to Hizashi’s thigh, otherwise he would have fallen on top of him and subsequently crushed his arm even further. Thus he had to apply the plaster one-handedly.

It came as no surprise that it had quite a number of air pockets as a result when it was finally stuck to Hizashi’s forehead.

“There!” Oboro laughed and lightly patted his cheek, which only intensified when Hizashi made a face at him. “He looks just like an angel, doesn’t he, Shouta?” Cleverly, Shouta decided not to comment.

Oboro picked up a second plaster and examined it contemplatively.

“Say… In some shows, people stick plasters to someone’s mouth to quiet them, right? … Do you think this actually works?”

He glanced up and into two very sceptical faces.

“Guys, I’m going to try it!”

“Yo, you’re serious?!”

“Shirakumo…”

“What if it sticks so well that it won’t come off anymore?!”

“That would be shitty… But the glue’s made so it doesn’t damage the skin, isn’t it? So it shouldn’t be too bad.” He shrugged. “Hopefully.”

“Still, Oboro, aren’t your lips like… special skin? Probably more sensitive?”

Even if Hizashi had made a valid objection, Oboro had already revealed the sticky surfaces of the plaster, indicating that he’d made up his mind.

“Okay, I’m doing it!” With that, he stuck the plaster over his mouth, using his hand to make sure that it adhered firmly. It felt funny but not particularly unpleasant. He tried talking. “Hay, dis weally woks!” His voice came out incredibly muffled.

Hizashi was biting his bottom lip yet again, however, this time it was clearly to prevent erupting into laughter. Shouta only shot him a look that clearly indicated how absolutely done he was with his life, his friends, his hero career and absolutely everything. Oboro grinned, or at least he tried to because the plaster pulled at his skin uncomfortably as he did.

“Well…” Hizashi drawled, his eyes twinkling in amusement, “You can’t spew so much dumb shit anymore this way?”

“Hmm, you should’ve saved it for patching up something actually important – like whatever convolutions of your brain the idea to do this crawled out of.”

“Hay!”

All three of them started laughing at that, though after a moment, a brief sense of panic flared up in Oboro as he was prevented from getting the air he needed by the plaster on his mouth and the sensation was kind of scary. He quickly ripped it off, thankful that it went with a bearable sting.

“Puh! There are definitely worse experiences out there, but still not something I’d recommend.”

“Who knew we had such a genius in our midst.”

If he was in a better condition, Oboro would have punched Hizashi playfully, but considering his arm, he refrained.

Still, when he looked at Hizashi, who was doubled over from laughing so hard, a warm feeling spread in his chest.

“Why do I have the worst friends on earth?” he nevertheless asked in a mock-defeated voice.

“Surely it’s Yamada who has the worst friends on earth, considering that it occurred to none of you to push the button to call me?!”

The voice of Recovery Girl made all of them flinch. Shouta and Oboro quickly stepped back from the bed a few feet as she made her way over to Hizashi to examine him. Somehow, she managed to do that while simultaneously continuingly prodding at Oboro and Shouta with her stick to get them to leave and go back to class.

Eventually, they got the hint and excused themselves.

“See you in maths!” Hizashi called after them, waving with his good hand.

“We’ll see about that, sweetie,” Recovery Girl interjected, “depends on how much energy healing your bones will take out of you. Also, what is that thing on your forehead?”

“His fault,” Hizashi pointed in Oboro’s direction, grinning so brightly that he was virtually glowing, and Oboro’s feet slowed on their own accord, reluctant to leave. Luckily, Shouta grabbed his sleeve and dragged him outside.

Their way to class was silent because Shouta wasn’t one to start a conversation and Oboro was for once too lost in his thoughts.

He’d never been so happy to be “at fault” for something before.

Everything still felt a bit remote, as if perceived while floating through water.

His head was filled with cotton candy. Or clouds, maybe. Wouldn’t that make more sense?

Turning it was also a bit difficult. But Hizashi and Shouta sat on one side of the bed, so it was enough to turn it slightly one time. Then they were always within sight.

“Ta-da!” Hizashi had a big bag with him that he had placed on his knees. Now, he pulled a huge pile of papers and books from it and dumped it on the bed. “Do you know what that is, Oboro?”

Shouta was sitting a bit further down, shoulders hunched and hands in his lap. Like he nearly always did. It was sad, he shouldn’t feel like everything had been his fault.

Hizashi continued, “This is your homework! What better way to keep yourself occupied than by burring yourself up to your ears in textbooks? The joys of being alive, am I right?” His voice was watery. It caught in his throat. He cleared it.

It was sad, too, that he didn’t smile like he usually did. Hizashi’s smile was so bright and blinding. And even though he smiled and joked pretty often, there was no such thing as getting tired of it.

“Hmm.”

“Don’t worry, teach assured us that you don’t have to keep up with everything instantly. You’ve got time to get back into the swing of things. But if you’re bored out of your mind, you might fancy a look at English or literature class. And if you can’t sleep, you might want to try reading through the Hero Law materials.”

Hizashi chuckled feebly.

“Hizashi.”

One of his hand was hooked up to some machinery, but the other still had free motion. However, Hizashi didn’t completely understand what the repeated patting against the mattress was supposed to mean. He reached out and squeezed it once with his own hand, only to let go again, smiling weakly.

“Don’t worry, it’s really only a formality that I’m bringing you your homework. Being the best friend in the world that I am, I naturally also brought you actually fun things!”

He rummaged around in his backpack. “Here!” He held up a small game memory card. “I think your parents already brought you your game console, right? Well, I haven’t been able to beat it yet, but I thought you might want it back. So here.”

The card was placed carefully on the nightstand.

“I also have this for you!” A big box was produced from the backpack. “I know you normally don’t have the patience for jigsaw puzzles, but I thought ‘what’s the harm?’ and brought it. You don’t have to try it if you don’t want to – or we can try doing it all together when Aizawa and I come and visit you, like the two of us did on our jigsaw puzzle marathon way back!”

“Hmm, yeah.”

“Or! I also have some comics! And I have… somewhere… in here…” Hizashi basically crawled into his backpack to reach whatever it was he wanted to reach.

Shouta had lifted his head by now, watching, though his whole face was still twisted in worry.

“Hmm.” Arranging thoughts in a correct order was still a bit draining sometimes. But the fog was dissipating and the weight weighing down his tongue was disappearing, too.

Talking was worth the effort after all.

“Can’t look for long. Makes my head hurt.”

“Oh.” Hizashi’s head re-emerged, his eyebrows scrunched up. “You mean you can’t… focus on something visual for long, without getting headaches?”

“Hmm. Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Shouta’s voice.

“Exactly!” Hizashi still eyed his bag with a disappointed expression. It was heartbreaking.

The momentary silence was only disrupted by the peeping sounds of the machinery.

“You could… Your podcasts? Listening is good. And I miss your voice.”

Hizashi’s face brightened instantly. His whole body sat up straighter. “Yeah? Of course I can do that! Watch out for Present Mic’s Exceptionally Special Extra Edition of Compiled Podcasts for Recovery at Lighting Speed! I’ll get to it the second I come home and—whoosh! You’ll hold it in your hands when we come back tomorrow without fail!”

“Thanks.”

There was the awkward silence again, begging to be filled.

“Some newer ones? Haven’t heard them all yet. I think.” The memory was sort of woozy.

“Anything for my very first and dearest fan!”

Something caught somewhere, broke. “Hmm, don’t remember. I don’t… If—I-If I didn’t… If I didn’t… I would have—I would have died without… W-Without ever knowing w-what you s-said.”

Hizashi’s lip quivered. Shouta hunched his shoulders even higher, his face completely obscured by his hair.

There wouldn’t have been an “I’ll do it later” for so many things. Hizashi had talked about stuff in his latest podcast, and what he said would never—

“I-I wouldn’t have ever known what you—”

His constantly hitching breaths were bothersome. The sniffling, too. The words wouldn’t come out correctly as a result.

With clearly much effort, Hizashi tried to put a small smile on his face. It was shaky and disappeared almost as soon as it had appeared.

“Well, it wouldn’t have made much of a difference in the end, right? After all, it’s not like you can remember any kind of information after you’ve—“ He interrupted himself, completely motionless for a second before exhaling a long but trembling breath of air.

A tear was rolling down his right cheek. Then another. Then one on his left cheek.

Then his face crumbled. A small whimper wrenched itself from his throat.

Then he burst out crying.

The windows shook, the furniture shook, maybe the walls, too. It was loud. It hurt, made a painful ringing start in the ears.

“Yamada, calm down!” Shouta was on his feet, pressing his hands to his ears, shouting. “You have to calm down!”

Hizashi didn’t calm down. If it was even possible, his distraught wails only got louder.

“Hizashi.”

Shouta watched helplessly. “I don’t know if using my quirk would make everything worse.“

The door flew open, people rushing in in alarm.

“What’s going on in here?” “Please, young man, calm down.” “Your quirk is about to cause substantial damage to the hospital.”

Hizashi curled in on himself even further. His head almost touched the bed frame. He pressed his hand against his mouth, then bit down in hopes of stopping his crying, but he was unsuccessful. His shoulders shook.

“Hizashi.”

Uselessly patting the mattress wasn’t going to achieve anything. Nobody paid any attention to it in this chaos, understandably. But sitting up, reaching forward, it was difficult.

“Deep breaths, young man, deep breaths!” “Get an oxygen mask!” “Breathe with me, okay?” “We might have to use a sedative to prevent—“

His whole body shuddered and jerked from the force of his sobs that just wouldn’t stop.

“Hizashi.”

There was his hand, tensed up and shaking horribly and it took a few seconds to get a good grip around it, but then it was very easy to continue to hold it and squeeze it reassuringly and stroke a thumb over it gently. It was soothing. Hopefully for Hizashi, too.

A deliberate but slightly uncoordinated movement of Hizashi’s hand, it twisted around slightly, but then their fingers slotted into place more securely and Hizashi basically crushed them with his grip, but it didn’t hurt.

Someone was shushing him quietly. Multiple people were probably shushing him quietly.

A light tug on their intertwined hands was enough to pull Hizashi onto the bed, closer, until he was sprawled on top of it. The blanket absorbed some of the sobs as he buried his head in it.

Eventually, the doctors and nurses that had flooded the room managed to successfully mitigate the crisis without anybody getting hurt or anything breaking. Hizashi was able to calm down, or he had just cried so much that he had exhausted himself. Their hands stayed firmly interlocked the whole time though, and that was good.

He was comforted and sternly reprimanded for usage of his quirk at the same time, there might have also been consequences involved, it was hard to keep track of everything. The only thing important was that Hizashi was not made to leave the hospital. But no nurse or doctor would have been able to enforce that without lots of protest from their patient.

Thankfully, there was no display of determination necessary, and then the crowd of people had slowly trickled away again.

“Hizashi?”

Hizashi reached below the lenses of his glasses with his fingers to crudely wipe away the remaining tears before he turned to look, his eyes red-rimmed from all his crying. “Yeah?”

It was sad that he had to let go for that.

“You okay?”

“I am! Sorry for…” He cringed and snivelled once more, “all this…”

The look of devastation on his face was more painful than whatever he could’ve done with his quirk. A wordless shake of the head was probably not enough to reassure him that there was nothing to apologise for, but words escaped him at that moment.

Shouta had been pushed into the background during the last minutes and now hesitantly crept forward again. When Hizashi glanced at him, he swiftly threw something at him.

“Thanks, Aizawa.” Hizashi caught the pack of tissues in mid-air and quickly used them to wipe his eyes and nose.

“Oh. You’re bleeding.”

Hizashi looked down at his hand, surprised. One of his knuckles was oozing a few drops of blood. He likely had bitten down on it when he’d tried to stop his crying.

“Don’t worry, it’s not bad.” He took a fresh tissue and dabbed at the blood.

Shouta reached for Hizashi’s backpack and opened one of the smaller compartments, then a second, looking for something. Then he threw another package at Hizashi.

Hizashi caught it, stared at it and crushed the cardboard box of All Might plasters in his grip. “Nah,” he said, “it’s not so bad, I don’t need that.”

“You already have these plasters on you, why shouldn’t you use them?”

Hizashi opened his mouth and closed it again. In embarrassment?

“Hey. Hizashi.”

“Hm?” He looked back up again.

“Gimme too.”

“Huh? Why? You’re not hurt anywhere, are you?”

The crescent-shaped indents on his hand from where Hizashi’s fingernails had dug into it didn’t count. They were already disappearing again.

“Hmm, your smile’s absent. I need an alternative, even if it’s inferior.”

Hizashi’s face had still been blotchy from crying. Perhaps it got even redder now as he stared, eyes wide. Even fingers wriggling demandingly in front of him didn’t drag him out of his flustered state. He instead quickly averted his eyes, which was totally uncharacteristic for him.

Maybe the sound of snickering came from Shouta, somewhere in the background.

Hizashi reached out for the hand again, taking it into a loose hold. “Say, Oboro.”

“Hmm?”

He swallowed audibly. “Would you… Do you wanna go on a date with me sometime?” He continued without waiting for an answer. “Like, I know it’s a cliché to ‘realise your own mortality’ because of, well, a ‘brush with death’ or however you wanna call it and I probably shouldn’t ask it now in the first place, it makes it seem somehow like I don’t care about you that much but that’s the furthest from the truth you can get! I really, really do, and of course I definitely don’t want to pressure you into anything don’t think you have to accept just because I’m asking and you’re still alive and I’m desperate and—“ There came the point where he ran out of air.

When his hand was squeezed firmly, it prevented him from going on another rant.

“Yeah, Hizashi. Let’s do that. Going on a date.”

Finally, finally Hizashi’s face lit up again in a bright smile.

“And I probably also shouldn’t have asked this question looking like such a mess,” he giggled, wiping at his eyes once more while returning the squeeze with his other hand. “But, okay, great. Yeah, let’s do it. Obviously not… for some time, most likely, but at least that gives me time to find the perfect place for a date, right? A park or a nice café or—“

“The hospital cafeteria.” There was definitely a snort coming from the back of the room this time. It went ignored. “That’ll be sooner. Perfect spot for a first date.”

Hizashi giggled a second time, then slumped sideways to snuggle closer. “Yeah. Totally.” But he said it while smiling. “Sure, let’s do that.”

The All Might themed bandages were lying on the bed, forgotten. Until now.

“So.” Another wriggling of fingers. “Patch me up now? All over my hand.”

Hizashi rolled his eyes. “Is this a manifestation of your terrible fashion sense?”

“You’ll leave soon. My hand’ll be lonely.” Punctuated by yet another squeeze of their hands.

“And to combat that you need me to wrap it completely in All Might bandages?”

“Yeah.”

“Why doesn’t Yamada rather give you one of his fingerless gloves as a substitute? That would be a more logical memento.”

“Yeah! Would you, Hizashi?”

“Aizawa, I have to be the one being smooth in front of my boyfriend. Don’t—Don’t be smooth for me!”

“Oh, sorry. Though I guess if smoothness’s required of you, you’re pretty much doomed?”

“You wipe that smug, ugly grin off your face right now!”

“You don’t come off nearly as threatening when you’re blushing to the roots of your hair. Just saying. By the way, looks like your boyfriend wants to say something to you again.”

Patting their linked hands was more effective in catching Hizashi’s attention than when it had just been his hand. It was also nice how Hizashi squeezed their hands slightly to show that he was listening.

“Hmm. I don’t care about… smoothness. I love you still.”

“O-Oboro, just…” Hizashi dipped his head forward, but it was not enough to hide his blush. “W-Why are you such a dork?”

There were still tears clinging to the corners of Hizashi’s eyes but he was smiling so, so brightly and it was so, so beautiful.

“Don’t know.” Squeeze. “But I don’t care.”

“It’s not like I care either. Alright, come here.” The loss of contact was lamentable. It luckily only lasted for a brief moment as Hizashi dumped all the All Might plasters into the valley the two legs beneath the blanket made.

Then he got to work, and he cradled their hands close to his chest the whole time.