Chapter Text
Having your own room is nice, Hitoshi mused. It was a recurring thought, one that re-surfaced every morning before he left for school.
Twenty-six days had passed since he was removed from his previous foster home, and it had been twenty-one since Aizawa-sensei and Mic-sensei signed the paperwork for temporary custody over Hitoshi. There should have been more than enough time for Hitoshi to get used to his new environment, but he was still in the midst of processing it.
Hitoshi picked up his bag and exited his room, heading into the hallway. Sensei and Mic-sensei lived in a spacious apartment only twenty minutes from U.A. It was decked out in warm colours, and filled with many photos and ornaments. There were clear signs of its owners; a huge stereo system took up a corner of the living room, and a worn massage chair occupied the space beside the couch.
He followed the sounds of bustle and stepped into the kitchen, taking a quick glance around. It was well-stocked with tools and ingredients he had never heard of, but appreciated all the same; Mic-sensei was an incredible cook.
Speaking of the devil - the man was waving a spatula at him, obviously in the midst of preparing breakfast. Aizawa-sensei was glaring tiredly into a cup of coffee, although his expression softened when he glanced up at Hitoshi.
It was a familiar sight, one that he couldn’t help but be warmed by.
“Good morning, Hitoshi! Ready for breakfast?” His English teacher greeted enthusiastically, indicating for him to take a seat. Sensei poured him some coffee, patting his shoulder when he quietly thanked him. It didn’t take long before the three of them were eating, and Hitoshi kept one eye on the adults while he munched away.
Even though he was already friendly with his teachers, living with them had given him more insight into their private lives. Hitoshi noticed that Sensei was very tactile with the people he was close to, namely Mic-sensei. Indeed, Sensei’s feet were propped up on his other teacher’s lap, as he lazily asked to be fed by his husband.
“Feed yourself, Shouta!” He chided, exchanging exasperated looks with Hitoshi, “You’re not a child, for goodness’ sake!” Sensei only grunted before opening his mouth, his eyes lidded with amusement as Mic-sensei groaned loudly in defeat.
It was clear to him that both men loved each other deeply; their fondness shone through every time they interacted, and the way they spoke about each other was almost reverent.
What was interesting was how Sensei was also physically affectionate with Hitoshi, ever since the god-awful spanking he had gotten about two months ago. It still dredged up deep-seated embarrassment whenever he thought about it; he couldn’t believe that he had cried into Sensei’s chest like a baby.
It showed in small gestures, be it Sensei ruffling his hair after a good training session or even just wrapping an arm around his shoulders whenever they spoke. It was odd, but not at all unwelcome. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Aizawa-sensei… Sensei was safe; a secure harbour in the turbulent seas that defined his life. The man’s touches felt like a warm fuzzy blanket, swaddling him with a sense of security that he was beginning to comprehend.
On the other hand, Mic-sensei was… a lot to take in. Hitoshi had barely interacted with the man before Aizawa-sensei, the man was simply his English teacher. They hadn’t even spoken outside of class before the Sports Festival, save for that one time the blond praised Hitoshi for his English proficiency.
Hitoshi wasn’t sure if his English teacher had taken him in only because of his husband, but couldn’t summon the courage to ask. The man had been nothing but kind to him even when he was just another student in U.A., and outright doting after Hitoshi joined their home. The blond’s carefree demeanour made it easy for Hitoshi to lower his guard, and their common voice quirks helped in establishing a sense of kinship with his teacher.
Mic-sensei was also always enquiring after Hitoshi, making sure that he was well-fed and knew that he could always look for him if he needed help. Still, he treaded carefully and made sure to not get too close, afraid that he would ruin this pleasant illusion. Because hope was dangerous, and expecting too much would only lead to heartbreak.
After all, Hitoshi understood the game well; even the worst foster parents knew to keep up a caring front for the first month or so in other to ward off scrutiny from the authorities. While Mic-sensei seemed genuinely nice, it was likely that he would too get sick of Hitoshi’s presence in his life; most adults hated him.
In the meantime, nothing was stopping him from basking in the older man’s regard.
Breakfast passed without a hitch, and both of them were soon getting ready to drive to school. Sensei had already gone on ahead, citing a morning meeting with the Heroics department.
“… can meet up after school and head to the shops together, there are some groceries that we have to pick up. Especially the gel packets that Shouta insists on having, although I’ve been telling him for years that it isn’t healthy consuming them all the time, that stubborn man –”
Hitoshi allowed Mic-sensei’s cheerful chatter to wash over him as he finished putting on his shoes, reaching over to retrieve his schoolbag. He paused, hands twitching minutely as he caught side of the loose bills on the counter.
Shit. Not this again.
A whole lifetime’s worth of terrible foster parents meant that Hitoshi had to unlearn a lot of things, the first of which was his expectations of a proper home. The other happened to be thievery.
Or more specifically, his kleptomaniac tendencies.
(He had learned this term whilst googling in his middle school’s library, and he remembered feeling relief that it was an actual problem also faced by others. Hitoshi still found his situation somewhat unique; most others stole what they didn’t need, but he had only taken things that would give him a sense of security.)
(It didn’t make him feel any less guilty.)
He couldn’t help it; it was second nature for Hitoshi to notice unsupervised items, before determining if they were worth grabbing. He knew his behaviour was deplorable; he would have already gotten expelled ten times over if he had even gotten caught, and Hitoshi thanked his lucky stars that nothing had happened yet.
Hitoshi was only seven when he started his awful… habits.
It had been six months since his quirk had materialised, and four since he was placed with his first foster family. He didn’t remember much about them, but one thing that stood out was the fact that they disliked hearing him talk (“Quirk accidents happen, boy, and yours is dangerous.”).
Other kids were showered with praise and affection when their quirks appeared. Their gifts were treated as actual blessings, celebrated by parents who were eager to catch a glimpse of the amazing individuals their children would someday become.
Hitoshi? Nah. That implied that you actually had adults that cared, and the idea of that was as mind-boggling as Aizawa-sensei’s quirk (Seriously, why did the capture scarf float whenever Sensei activated Erasure?).
But it was fine, he was over it. He just happened to have lost the quirk lottery, that’s all.
The other thing? The Tanakas were stingy. Hitoshi would learn over the next decade that there were many types of foster parents, and the Tanakas were definitely the sort in for the government checks. Which unfortunately meant that very little of the money actually got spent on the kids, including basic necessities like clothing and food.
By the end of his second month, Hitoshi was intimately familiar with hunger; the sensation of light-headedness, and how your body felt like it was two-hundred pounds even though he weighted barely a quarter of that. The worst part was arguably the awful pangs, as if your stomach was going to eat itself from the inside out if it didn’t get sustenance soon.
Time seemed to have passed slowly on that day, the gnawing pain in his gut almost excruciating. It was like his life force was draining with passing second, and the younger version of him had known that he needed to do something about it.
Tanaka-san was at work, and his wife was napping in the room. The other children were playing a quiet game in the tiny bedroom they all shared. Deeming it to be safe, he slowly snuck into the kitchen, taking a cursory look at the measly offerings.
Rice would require cooking, and the loud Dings! from the microwave made pre-heated food unviable. He turned, catching sight of the huge MEIJI carton on the messy cupboard.
Hitoshi bit his lip. Nobody would notice if he takes a packet of crackers, right…? It had taken another faint growl before he was compelled to move, before scurrying back to his room with his spoils.
The guilty ache in his heart rivalled that of the painful hunger as Hitoshi cried himself to sleep that evening, convinced that he was one step closer to becoming the awful monster everyone expected him to be.
(First stealing others’ free wills, and now money and items. Seven-year-old Hitoshi had resigned himself to the fact that he had been born a thief, and would always remain a thief.)
Stealing became necessary for survival, although he made sure to save extras; a few coins here, some snacks there, and eight-year-old Hitoshi had amassed a tiny hoard by the time he was removed and placed in another home (“We cannot deal with him anymore, he’s too much of a risk - what if my husband gets hurt?”).
His skill continued to improve over the years, and so did his shame.
Fortunately, working had helped alleviate the urges somewhat – apparently having a stable source of income did wonders for your anxiety. Unfortunately, his funds had been limited ever since he’d transferred into the Hero course; both his teachers were insistent about him not spreading himself too thin, convincing him to quit his jobs.
We will be able to provide you with everything you need, Hitoshi. Sensei had promised, a hand squeezing Hitoshi’s shoulder. Be it necessities or anything extra. You just need to concentrate on school and being a kid.
They hadn’t gone back on their word, but the annoying, persistent urge to take still made itself known; screaming at Hitoshi to relieve his mounting insecurity.
One quick swipe later, and the deed was done. He stuck his hands into his pockets, exhaling silently as he followed Mic-sensei into the car.
“Is everything good, Hitoshi?” The teacher asked, peering curiosity at him from the driver’s seat. “You seem off today.”
“I’m okay, Mic-sensei. Just a little tired.” Hitoshi hastily reassured.
“There’s a lot of time before we get to school, so feel free to catch a shut-eye. And you know you can call me Yamada or even Hizashi, right kiddo? Only if you’re comfortable, of course!” The blond hurriedly tacked on, waving his hands frantically. “There’s no rush, just go with your own pace.”
Hitoshi closed his eyes as his guilt rose at the teacher’s obvious sincerity. The messy bills weighed heavily in his trouser pocket.
Class passed uneventfully that day, an anomaly considering that 2-A was downright crazy at the best of times. As they had agreed upon, Hitoshi met up with Mic-sensei at the carpark after the final bell, before going to the nearby supermarket.
The place was near-empty when both of them got there, likely because it was in the middle of the work day. The blond wasted no time leading them to the aisles, whistling a tune that Hitoshi vaguely recognised from last week’s ‘Put Your Hands Up!’ radio show recording.
It didn’t take long for them to round out the things they needed, and Mic-sensei waved Hitoshi off with a suggestion to look around while the man paid. He obeyed, walking around listlessly until something caught his eye.
The item in question wasn’t anything special; it was a protein bar from a relatively cheap brand, available in dollar stores all over the country. From what he recalled, it tasted absolutely awful.
But the sudden urge was impossible to overcome; he must have it.
Hitoshi glanced to ensure that nobody was watching, and then he deftly lifted it and tucked it into his trousers. He casually walked to the entrance of the store, waiting for his teacher to finish paying. They were soon making their way out, although Hitoshi was puzzled by the frown on the normally smiling man.
Maybe something had happened with the cashier? He considered.
He was jerked into a stop when they rounded the corner. “Mic-sensei…?” He asked confusedly, trying to pry his teacher’s hand off of his shoulder. He tensed when the grip tightened.
“Hitoshi… Did I just see you take something from the store? Without paying?” Mic-sensei hissed lowly, looking both parts shocked and pissed.
“W-What do you mean?”
Fear coursed through his body as stared wide-eyed at the blond. How did Mic-sensei even notice? The man had been at the other end of the store the last Hitoshi saw. He had always blended in with the background, not used to being noticed – because not seeing Hitoshi meant that he was another person’s problem.
But that was no longer his reality, wasn’t it? Hitoshi was now under the wing of two very earnest and observant pro-heroes. It was a sudden realisation; one he was both wary and comforted by.
Although, he thought as Mic-sensei got into his personal space, the ‘wary’ bit is currently winning by a mile.
“Show me your pockets.” The man demanded.
“That’s not… necessary?” Hitoshi tried to deflect, but the man wasn’t having any of it. Mic-sensei simply spun Hitoshi around, systematically patting him down until his hand brushed over his waistband. Busted. Stern green eyes sharpened as the man pulled the bar out.
“Of all the naughty things that you could’ve done, this one takes the cake, young man. We’re going home now, and then we will talk about this.” The man scolded, as he pocketed the item before dragging him back to the car.
Home. Hitoshi figured that the word choice was just a force of habit for Mic-sensei; he would be surprised if he didn’t get sent back to the system after today.
“You know, I thought that this was due to my own negligence, but this incident made me consider another possibility. Did you also take the money I had left on the counter, Hitoshi?” Mic-sensei asked as he started the engine, sounding severe in a way that made Hitoshi’s hair raise. He wanted so badly to lie, but he didn’t want to disappoint the man any further.
It was better to come clean, to let his teachers comprehend just how awful the trash they’d picked up was.
“I-It was me. I, uh, took it this morning. While I was waiting for you.” He mumbled.
The man stilled, before shaking his head. “Absolutely unbelievable, young man. I am so disappointed in you; how could you do something like this?”
Hitoshi kept his gaze locked firmly upon his lap, unable to bring himself to look at his dismayed teacher. He crossed a line today. Never mind that his teachers claimed that their arrangement could be permanent, he wouldn’t blame Sensei or Yamada-san if they chose to give him up now.
He stole from them, for goodness’ sake. Hitoshi had certainly been taken out of consideration for far less.
(“Dear, that boy has a monster’s quirk! I don’t care that we gave birth to him; there’s no way we are keeping him. Besides, we already have another child on the way.”)
Those musings followed Hitoshi into the front door, after a tension-filled car-ride. He barely had time to remove his shoes before he was ordered into the living room.
“Get over here, Hitoshi. We have a lot of things to discuss.” Mic-sensei was already on the couch when Hitoshi emerged, the man tapping his feet agitatedly.
“I’ll cut to the chase – were these the only times you had stolen, Hitoshi?” The man asked, as soon as Hitoshi was within reach.
Hitoshi hunched his shoulders; giving a minute shake of the head.
“I thought so…” Mic-sensei muttered, frowning at him. “Your movements were too fluid for it to have been a one-time thing. I would like to understand why, little listener. What made you think that stealing was appropriate?”
“I…I know it wasn’t. I’m sorry.” He said softly.
Mic-sensei wasn’t moved. “I appreciate the apology,” He said firmly, “but I am not asking for one at the moment. I need to understand where your behaviour is coming from, Hitoshi. This is not a small matter.”
Hitoshi kept mum, because how did one even begin talking about their fucked-up childhood? He himself wasn’t even sure if it was a valid explanation for his habits; unlikely, given how upset Mic-sensei was.
“If you’re not willing to talk standing up, that’s fine. Maybe you just need a greater incentive, little listener. Such as a good old-fashioned spanking?” Mic-sensei asked rhetorically. Hitoshi paled at the memory of his previous experience, and tried to backtrack.
“I-I’ll talk, Mic-sensei, so please –”
“Too late, kiddo. Even if you have cooperated, I have already intended to spank you. Stealing is very serious, and I intend to ensure that this would never happen again.”
“Your obtuseness didn’t buy you any points, though. Take off your tie, little listener,” Mic-sensei commanded, “I do not want you to accidentally choke; I am not planning on going easy on you.”
Hitoshi’s eyes bugged out. That sounded incredibly ominous, and he could feel dread taking ahold of him from the inside. He had heard the rumours behind Mic-sensei’s harsh spanking tactics, of course; it came up at least once a week in the dorms.
According to Kaminari, the order to remove their ties might as well be a death knell; it was a step that preceded only the worst of punishments. Every instinct screamed at him to plead for mercy, but his mouth had suddenly gone dry.
“Now, Hitoshi.” The blond repeated, more impatiently.
He jolted, robotically slipping his tie off and tucking the red fabric into his trouser pocket. The order in his teacher’s voice was clear; there was no room for disobedience.
Mic-sensei nodded at him. “Step forward, young man.”
Hitoshi tried to move but to no avail; his feet seemed as though it was weighed down by a ton of concrete. He gestured helplessly to his frozen legs, unsurprised to see the unsympathetic gaze on his teacher’s face. “Last chance, young man. I am not going to ask you again.”
The tension in the room was palpable as Hitoshi remained still, like a deer in headlights. “N-no, Mic-sensei, please…”
Finally fed up with Hitoshi’s recalcitrance, Mic-sensei strode forward, hand stretched outwards as if to drag him over. “Stubbornness isn’t going to win you any favours, Hitoshi –”
Amidst the waves of panic, Hitoshi instinctively reached out; grabbing onto the proverbial threads surrounding Mic-sensei and giving them a sharp tug. He was filled with the familiar sensation of his quirk activating; the tendrils of power rushing towards and taking ahold of the threat in front of him, disrupting his advance.
Mic-sensei’s eyes immediately went blank, angry green fading into empty white. His English teacher was frozen mid-step, like a marionette suspended by its strings. Hitoshi took a moment to come back to himself, his hand covering his mouth as bile built at the back of his throat.
Oh crap… Oh, fuck. Did he actually use his quirk on Mic-sensei?
It didn’t take long for him to realise that he had just made things twenty times worse for himself.
The door to the master bedroom slammed open, making him jump. Aizawa-sensei stormed out with an irritated look on his face, in a loose t-shirt and boxers. He must have just showered, Hitoshi concluded hysterically, noting the still-dripping hair leaving patches of moisture around the neck of his shirt.
“I could hear the both of you over the shower, you two were that loud. Seriously, ‘Zashi, have you ever heard of volume control… What on earth is going on?”
Sensei’s eyes widened as he caught sight of Mic-sensei’s frozen form before they narrowed into slits. His teacher glared at Hitoshi, ordering him in the sternest tone he’d heard from the man thus far.
“Hitoshi. Release Hizashi from your quirk. Right. Now.”