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The bright sun filtered in through the crack between the curtains, already high in the sky. Before long, a shadow cast itself over the sleeping figure, crouching down beside the bed with a mug of steaming coffee as a peace offering.
“Shoooo~” the blonde sang in one of the quietest voices he could muster. He received a grunt in return as his dark haired husband rolled over and cracked open a bloodshot eye in his direction.
“C’mon sleepy head, we’ve got things to do today.” He set the coffee on the bedside table, knocking over a bottle of eyedrops in doing so. The blonde pecked his groggy husband on the cheek and gave his thigh a firm pat as he stood and left the room.
Shouta blinked slowly, rolling onto his back and throwing a scarred arm over his eyes. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled to himself. Seconds later, a deadweight landed square on his lower abdomen, startling the air out of his lungs as he lurched forward. He glared at the offending party, a grey and white longhaired cat that had moved on to walking down his leg. “This is why your name is Bastard,” he grumbled.
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“Hizashi! Watch where you’re going!” Shouta grabbed his husband by the elbow, preventing him from colliding with a trash can. He was clearly being ignored as the blonde continued to chatter away about...well, Shouta honestly wasn’t sure anymore. Shouta shifted the paper bags full of groceries in his arms as they rounded the corner nearing their apartment. Taking in the sight in front of him, Shouta nudged Hizashi with his shoulder. “New neighbors?”
Hizashi finally paused, glancing first at the dark haired man beside him, then following his gaze. Outside of their apartment building was a small moving truck, surrounded by a heavy-set man and woman, and three kids, all appearing to be in their teens. As the hero couple walked closer, they could hear the adults jeer at one of the kids, a boy with indigo hair and sleep deprivation rings under his eyes deep enough to rival Shouta’s own. He had a hunger-pang frame that nobody could really ignore with the way his t-shirt hung loose from his shoulders.
“Let Shinsou take the heaviest boxes. After all, he wants to be a hero,” mocked the man, sneering as he said ‘hero’.
Shouta and Hizashi exchanged a brief glance and closed the short distance to the steps. Five pairs of eyes drifted in their direction, and both heroes nodded in acknowledgement. As Shouta passed Shinsou, the aspiring hero tripped, and the weight of the box he was holding drug him down.
“Careful-!” Strong arms darted out, grabbing Shinsou by the bicep and holding him up as the box crashed into the steps, spewing its contents as it tumbled back down to the sidewalk. “You alright?” The grip around his bicep was released, and Shinsou looked up to the man who had saved him from face planting into the stairs.
“M fine,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.
“Oi, you useless pile! What’d you do that for!?” Shouta saw the kid visibly flinch at the booming voice of the man. Surveying the other people on the scene, he noticed subtle awkwardness from the other teens as they took boxes from the truck, and a noticeable eye roll from the woman. The man began storming toward Shinsou. “Hey kid, you deaf or what? Why’d you drop my stuff?”
“M sorry, I didn’t mean-”
“What?” spat the man, cutting Shinsou off.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, only slightly louder. Still, it seemed to appease his bully. He headed back to the wreck on the sidewalk. “Thank you,” he threw over his shoulder. It was barely audible, but both adults heard it.
Hizashi, who had remained mostly frozen through this ordeal, floated down the steps and approached the bulky couple. He stuck out a hand in their direction. “Yamada Hizashi. Welcome to the neighborhood, listeners!” He retracted his hand as the woman walked away, lighting a cigarette and scrolling through her phone, and the man shot him an unimpressed side eye over his shoulder as he lifted a small box. “Ah, well, if you guys ever need anything, just give us a holler!” Hizashi started walking backwards to the stairs with a thumbs up. He caught Shinsou’s gaze before the teen dropped it and focused on picking up the contents of his dropped box. His mouth quirked down into a slight frown, unnoticeable to the untrained eye. But Shouta knew better. The couple finally made their way into the building, both casting a last glance at the purple haired teen, then to each other. Something wasn’t right.
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“He flinched.” Hizashi broke the uncharacteristic silence in their apartment as he put away the last of the groceries. When he didn’t receive a response, he turned to find where Shouta had wandered to. It wasn’t far. He saw Shouta lost in thought, glowering at an invisible spot on the wall. “Shou?” Hizashi saw his husband finally blink out of his trance. He took a deep breath.
“We’ll keep an eye on him,” he sighed.
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‘Keeping an eye on him’ turned out to be easier said than done. Neither hero had caught more than a glimpse of purple hair as he rounded a corner in the two weeks since the initial meeting.
Shouta woke suddenly to a muffled ‘thud’ above him, followed by what sounded like breaking glass and incoherent shouting. As he hurried out of the bed, empty since Hizashi was out on a patrol, he heard a door above him slam shut, and heavy steps pound down the stairs of the building. Darting out of his own apartment, he made his way to the second floor. Shouta wasn’t usually the type to feel concern until there was something to be concerned about, but as he walked down the hall, he could feel a knot twist in his stomach. When he reached the door, he lifted his hand warily, pausing briefly. Shouta didn’t like to meddle in other peoples’ affairs. “But what if…” Shouta pushed his reservations aside and rapped his knuckles on the door before placing his hand back in his pocket. After a few moments of quiet, he heard a gentle shuffling approach, and the door cracked open.
Shinsou stood in front of him, opening the door a little more upon seeing a familiar face. Shouta took in the view, scanning over the teenager. Though it was mostly hidden by his shaggy hair, he noticed inflamed scuffs on his ear, and a bruise that was starting to take color in the cleft where his chin met his cheek. The underground hero also noticed four distinct bruises that littered the teen’s shoulder, exposed from the slouching t-shirt that was crooked on his shoulders, and he would bet his career that there was a fifth hidden by the fabric-five bruises, from five fingers. Shouta did not like what he was seeing, and he could feel his suspicions rising.
Shinsou must’ve noticed Shouta’s eyes glancing around the dark spots on his body, and adjusted his shirt to properly cover his collar bone.
“Can I help you?” he asked quietly.
Shouta grabbed for words. He didn’t actually plan how to inquire about what he heard. His accusations were pretty hefty for a whopping five minutes of interaction and a few muffled sounds.
“I heard some things hit the floor...or wall,” he added as Shinsou rubbed the back of his head with a mild grimace. “I just wanted to make sure everything was ok.”
Shinsou paled ever so slightly at the realization that the man in front of him likely lived below him and could probably hear almost everything in the apartment.
“Oh, uh, I didn’t hear anything. Maybe your ears are playing tricks on you.” Shouta cocked an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “Thanks for caring but uh...ya know it might’ve been the T.V. playing really loud. M-my foster mom turns the volume up pretty high sometimes…” His voice trailed off as his eyes found sudden interest in his socks. “Or it might’ve been the wind.” There was a pause between the two males, neither one making a move. Shouta peeked through the open door. As he thought; The windows were all closed. “I have to go back in,” said the teen, breaking the silence. “S-sorry for disturbing you.” With that, he gave a small nod, and Shouta was left alone with only a closed door in front of him.
“Fuck.”
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“WHAT!?” Hizashi’s quirk-fuelled shout rattled the windows and the handful of frames hanging on the wall.
“That’s just what I saw,” Shouta replied, running his hand through his hair. The minute Hizashi had walked through their door, the usually quiet man immediately explained the bruising he’d seen on their upstairs neighbor.
“Sho, you and I both know that’s not normal. Even if the kid is trying to get into U.A.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Shouta snapped back. Hizashi turned back to his husband and sat down next to him at the table.
“I know you want to help him. I do too. But we can’t just go around making wild accusations like that, however un-wild they may be,” he stressed before Shouta could interrupt him. “If we were wrong, our names would be dragged through the mud. Be logical about this,” he added with a gentle smirk, using Shouta’s own rationale against him. “We’ll still watch him. Watch his caretakers. Now we know which apartment they’re in, we know what to look for. And school is starting in just a few days, we’ll have a better idea of when he comes and goes. We can watch his back. And when we get the proof we need, we can, and will help.” Shouta looked up. For all the grief he gave his husband for being too carefree, Hizashi was often the reasonable one. He knew Hizashi was right. As obvious as the signs were, their best bet was to get more information before making their move. In the meantime, they’d just have to watch the kid’s back.
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Normally, Hizashi didn’t mind his husband’s habit of skipping the opening ceremonies every semester. This time, however, he desperately needed to find him.
“Why does he have to skip every ceremony,” he thought as he tore open the 1-A door after the final bell. Hizashi found Shouta curled up in his yellow sleeping bag in the 1-A classroom. He’d been assigned to 1-A, the first year hero course, as their homeroom teacher.
“Shouta! He’s here!” Despite the gravity of the situation, Hizashi couldn’t help but chuckle when Shouta activated his quirk as his eyes bolted open in surprise. Realizing that his rude awakening was thanks to none other than Present Mic, his eyes returned to their obsidian shade and his matching hair fell back to his shoulders.
“Who is here?” he grit out through clenched teeth.
“Shinsou! The kid!” Hizashi could tell that those three words shook the last of the sleep from Shouta’s body. “He’s in the general studies course here at U.A.! In 1-C! Sho! We got him! We can help!”
“Zashi...isn’t 1-C Nemuri’s homeroom?” There was a brief pause before Hizashi whipped out his phone and started dialing a number as Shouta crawled out of his sleeping bag.
“Nem! Sho and I need a favor…” Shouta left his husband on the phone as he made his way to a certain rodent’s office.
“I need a student file,” he said, skipping pleasantries as he strode into Nezu’s office. He finished folding his sleeping bag over his arm and stood confidently in front of the principal’s desk.
“An expulsion on the first day, Aizawa?” Shouta smirked.
“You and I both know that’s not out of character for me. But no.” He didn’t elaborate any further, just looked at his superior expectantly. They locked eyes as if silently challenging the other.
“Which student?” Nezu asked, relenting his gaze and heading to his filing cabinet.
Shouta faltered. He didn’t know Shinsou’s first name. He composed himself quickly, hoping the shorter creature hadn’t noticed.
“Shinsou from 1-C.” Nezu gave him a curious look as he found the file.
“Taking a special interest in a student on the first day. And a general studies student, no less.” Shouta held his ground through Nezu’s statements. “Expulsions may not be out of character for you, Aizawa, but this certainly is.” He placed the file on his desk, one paw still on top. “Do I have reason to be concerned?”
“I’ll let you know.” After a pause, the tiny paw relented its place on the file, and Shouta picked it up and left the office.
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“This...is the thickest file I’ve ever seen for a student.” Hizashi and Shouta sat at their kitchen table, hands folded under chins, and gazes fixed on the file that sat between them. It was nearly 2 inches thick, and the papers inside were barely being contained by the folder. The metal prongs that held the papers in place looked strained, and lacked any significant amount of extra length to fold over the stack of papers.
With an audible inhale through his nose, Shouta reached to the middle of the table and pulled Shinsou’s file towards him.
“We need to at least know his name.” Shouta slid his thumb under the cover, and after the slightest hesitation, flipped it open. His eyes glanced around the front page.
“Hitoshi. Hitoshi Shinsou. Quirk: Brainwashing.” Shouta’s mouth quirked down at the corners as he took the stack between his thumb and index finger and flipped through the pages, skimming them as each page fell back down from his grasp. “Zashi...a lot of these pages are address change forms. He said his foster mom…” Shouta flipped back towards the end of the stack again. After a few pages, he found what he was looking for, and his face fell even further. Hizashi didn’t even think that was possible at the moment.
“Sho?”
“He’s been in the system since he was five. Fucking FIVE, Zashi!” Shouta slammed the file shut and shoved it towards his husband as he slumped down in his chair, digging his thumb and forefingers into his irritated eyes.
As Hizashi started paging through Shinsou’s file, both men jumped as they heard a bang above them, followed by a startled yelp. They shared a worried glance. The sound of feet tripping over themselves accompanied a muffled voice, likely shouting obscenities. A louder thud hit the ground and both heroes jumped out of their chairs. They raced to the door, matching the feet above them step for step. Shouta was mere inches from taking Hizashi’s elbow to the face as the blonde flung the door open. Within seconds, a streak of purple came flying down the steps, nearly tripping down the final few. Hizashi, never failing to impress Shouta with hidden speed, darted an arm out of the doorway and snatched Shinsou by the arm, redirecting his velocity and swinging him into their apartment.
Shinsou’s eyes darted around wildly, not recognizing the two men before him. Hizashi immediately dropped his grasp on the teen and backed away a few steps to give him space.
“I’m sorry for grabbing you like that,” he said softly. “Shinsou...are you alright?”
Shinsou tried to calm his breathing, glancing between his neighbors. Hizashi had crouched down. Shinsou wasn’t short by any means, but there was a strange comfort in having the older man below him rather than towering over him. Hizashi’s brows were knitted together with worry, and even Shouta’s usual deadpan expression had softened and revealed some sort of sympathy.
“I-no, I’m fine,” stammered Shinsou. “I was just...on my way to go for a bike.”
“In socks?” Shouta nodded his head to Shinsou’s shoeless feet. Looking back up, he took note of scratches and red marks littering the sides of Shinsou’s neck. The outer edge of his left eye also looked inflamed and puffy.
“I...I…” Shinsou scrambled for an explanation, bringing his hand behind his neck. Neither Shouta nor Hizashi missed the ever-so-slight wince Shinsou exhibited when his hand came into contact with the open scratches. “I must have forgotten them. You know, just excited to get going…” He knew he didn’t have them fooled. “I have to go.” He turned sharply and before either adult could protest, he was out the door and it latched behind him.
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“Nemuri. You don’t look so well. You should take the morning off, get some rest.”
“Shouta, you really need to work on your hint hint voice. What do you want?” Nemuri didn’t look up from the files she was working on. Shouta crossed his arms over his torso.
“Let me teach your homeroom today.” Nemuri paused, taken aback by her friend’s request...or demand.
“Why? Can’t handle your own? Proving too much for you?” Shouta’s eyebrow gave an irritated twitch. While the first day quirk assessments had a small...incident...the day before, he didn’t think his homeroom this year would be anything to worry about. (He later realizes how very wrong he was).
“I can handle my homeroom just fine, thank you.”
“Then no.”
“Nemuri, please.” Shouta glanced around the teacher’s lounge. It was mostly empty, save for Hizashi at his desk and Vlad King at the coffee machine. Shouta leaned down to Nemuri’s level. “This is about Shinsou. Something happened at the apartment last night. I don’t think he knows who we are, me and Mic. We need him to know who we are, and that we’re looking out for him.” He stood up again, cocking an eyebrow at the woman in a silent plea.
“How does he not? You don’t look that different between your civilian clothes and your hero costume. Hizashi maybe, but you?”
“My hair was up...and I’d shaved that day,” he said, cringing at the memory. He regretted shaving every time he did. It took at least ten years off his appearance, and it wasn’t uncommon to be asked to prove his age when he lacked his signature stubble. “And I don’t think we’ve run into each other on campus.”
“Fine,” she huffed. “Hizashi wanted them to take an English assessment before his first lesson today, to see what level everyone is at. Have them do that.” She handed Shouta a stack of papers, and went back to whatever she was working on.
“One more thing,” he said, taking the papers from her.
“Hm?”
“Can you teach my homeroom today?”
If looks could kill, Eraserhead would be no more.
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“Good morning, class.” Twenty pairs of eyes turned their attention to the underground hero as he entered the 1-C classroom, and at least 5 hands immediately shot in the air. “Midnight is out this morning, but will be back in time for her afternoon classes,” explained Shouta, dismissing the raised hands. “I’m Mr. Aizawa, and I’ll be covering your homeroom for today. You’ll be taking these English assessments to gauge your capabilities in preparation for Present Mic’s lesson today.” He started passing a stack of assessments to each student in the front of their rows. “Once you’re done, please bring them to me and you may have the remainder of the class period to yourself.” He finished passing out the papers and scanned the classroom. He spotted Shinsou towards the back of the room, in the middle row. “Questions?” He was met with silence. “You may begin.”
Shouta took a seat at the desk. Shinsou had visibly paled when Shouta had entered the room, even the bruise that circled his eye seemed less saturated compared to its color when he first walked in. The fact that his whole eye had bruised concerned Shouta. He had hoped it wasn’t this severe. As he studied the purple haired teen, he was met with the matching indigo eyes staring back at him. With a clear view, Shouta now noticed that the boy’s nose also seemed discolored, dusted with hints of a deep bruise. Shinsou’s face relaxed ever so slightly before he turned back to his paper, and Shouta could only hope that it was due to recognition. Never in his whole life had he been thankful to be recognized.
The classroom remained silent for the next 20 minutes, save for the strokes of pencils against paper. One by one, the students had filtered to Shouta’s desk, handing him their assessment. Still, Shouta had kept the majority of his attention on Shinsou. After the first 10 minutes, he’d set down his writing utensil and proceeded to zone out, propping his chin on his hand. He didn’t snap out of his thoughts until the bell rang. As Shouta stood up, so did Shinsou, paper in hand. Shouta collected a few other stragglers, taking Shinsou’s last. Giving him a brief nod, he took the teen’s paper and headed out the door. Shinsou followed him, to his surprise. Upon turning the corner out of the doorway, the two males walked a handful of paces down the hall before Shouta turned to face the boy.
Shinsou stopped short. “I...I need to talk to you…” His voice was barely a whisper, and his eyes glanced away.
“I’m listening,” he said gently. Shouta couldn’t help but see himself in the boy in front of him. The dark circles under Shinsou’s eyes ran deep, and his hand wrapped around the back of his neck as his eyes scanned the entirety of the floor at his feet.
Time dragged on in silence.
“Shinsou?” Shouta finally asked. The boy whipped his head back to face the teacher. His mouth was open and moving, but no words would come out. Shouta searched the boy's face with pleading eyes.
“I...nevermind. I’m sorry, Sensei.” He turned and started to walk away.
“Shinsou, talk to-”
“Please, leave it alone,” he snapped back. “S-sir,” he tacked on in a softer tone before walking away again.
Shouta let out a defeated sigh, and English assessments in hand, headed back to the teacher’s lounge.
He set the papers down on Hizashi’s desk for him to review, then sat at his own desk and pulled Shinsou’s file out of his bag. He flipped to his U.A. application and read it over.
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“I have a theory about Shinsou,” said Shouta as he heard the door open. Bastard, who had been curled up on his stomach as he lay on the couch, jumped down and trotted up to the blonde, chirping eagerly. “Traitor,” he huffed under his breath as he sat up.
“Oh?” Hizashi hung up his coat and set his speaker on the table near the door and kicked off his boots as he headed into the living room to join his husband.
“He initially﹘hi,” he was interrupted with a peck on the cheek as the blond sat down next to him. “He initially applied for the hero course. But his quirk is like mine to an extent; it doesn’t work on robots.”
“So he failed the practical and ended up in General Studies?”
“Exactly. So, what does this mean?”
“That the entrance exam is rigged, I know, Sho.”
“No, no...I mean, yes, but that’s not what I’m getting at. The kid wants to be a hero. Zashi, he was this close to telling me something today, but he backed out. I think that he knows we have an obligation to contact CPS if we know he’s in trouble. You and I both know what that means.”
“He would run the risk of being put in a new foster home too far away to attend U.A.”
“Exactly! He wouldn’t get to partake in the sports festival, and that’s his main chance to get transferred into the hero course. He’s smart, he knows that.”
“So he’d rather stay in this situation than lose his chance to become a hero?” Hizashi was silent for a moment, mulling it over. “It’s not the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard of students doing.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, both lost in thought.
“I’m going to get take-out. Does that sound ok to you?” asked Shouta as he stood. Hizashi nodded, solemnly starting to pull out a stack of paperwork from his bag.
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When Shouta returned, dinner in hand, he opened the door to find Hizashi laying on the floor facing the ceiling. Beside him was his radio, one of the first gifts Shouta had given him when they began dating in their twenties. Streaming out of the radio was a gentle, bouncy piano melody and a velvety voice that filled the room. The song was in English, so Shouta could only pick out a few words here and there, having forgotten much of what he’d learned back in high school.
“Zashi? What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to send Shinsou a message. With the song,” he clarified, gesturing to the radio. The song now had clapping in the background, meshing well with the light ascending and descending sequences of the piano.
“It’s in English.”
“That’s just it, Sho!” Hizashi bolted upright in excitement and spun to face the dark haired man, still sitting on his knees. “His English assessment. He only lost two points on the whole thing! The next highest score lost ten! I’m fairly certain that Shinsou is damn near fluent in English!”
“So then what’s the song?” Shouta started unpacking the boxes and laid them out in front of Hizashi before taking a seat himself.
“‘Lean on Me’ by Bill Withers. It was super popular in America back in the 1970’s.”
“Oh, so it’s the very definition of ancient.”
“You can’t put an age on amazing music,” defended Hizashi, sounding offended. Shouta took a bite of his food, listening to the track.
“You know my English is shit. What’s it saying?” The track faded out, and quickly started back up again. “Wait...have you been playing this on repeat?” Shouta looked at his husband absolutely dumbfounded.
“Th...This is only it’s third loop!”
“Zashi…”
“Okay, okay, this will be the last time,” he chuckled with a soft smile. As the track played, Hizashi hummed along. After nearly two minutes, he started speaking the lyrics, translating them for Shouta.
“You just call on me brother, when you need a hand / We all need somebody to lean on / I just might have a problem that you'll understand / We all need somebody to lean on~~~.” Hizashi went back to humming as he began to pick at his dinner too. As the piano faded out, Hizashi clicked the power button off, and the two sat in silence.
“Hizashi. I was thinking we could get our certification to be foster parents. How would you feel about that?”
Hizashi froze. Shouta panicked internally.
“One condition: We adopt him if it works out. And if it’s something he’d want.” Shouta let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and a small smile graced his lips as he looked at his husband. “I started thinking the same thing before you got back. You just beat me to the punch.” He grinned sheepishly.
“So then should we bring this up to him before or after we get approved?” asked Shouta.
Hizashi mulled the question over. “Before. Give him time to think about it. He might not want to stay with us. He barely even knows us, plus we’re his tea--”
He was interrupted by a rapid knocking on their door, and the two men exchanged a glance. Shouta stood and made his way to the door, looking through the peephole before rapidly unlocking the door. He swung it open to reveal an even more battered Shinsou.
“I...I...I didn’t know where else to go…” Shouta stepped aside, resisting the urge to pull the kid in faster. The last thing he wanted to do was scare him away.
“Oh my god…” Hizashi rushed over to the boy. “Shinsou, can I please look at your wounds?” The teen stood just inside the door, making himself as small as possible. His right arm held his ribs under his left bicep. Discoloration was beginning to appear in a ring around his neck, and his left cheek was a blazing red. Blood was still trickling out of his left nostril and had met his upper lip. His body was trembling, but he nodded his head ever so slightly. “Let’s go sit in the kitchen. The light will be better.”
Shouta was already waiting for them. He’d set out an ice pack on the table along with a glass of water. Hizashi could hear him rummaging around the bathroom for a first aid kit, and before too long, he returned with it in hand.
Hizashi steered Shinsou to the chair. “Sho, will you go find some clean clothes for him to wear?” Setting the first aid kit near his husband, Shouta left the kitchen in search of clean clothes.
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“It...it’s a trick.” Shinsou was quiet in his accusation, refusing to meet the eyes of the two heroes who had just spent the better part of an hour treating his new injuries before dropping a huge question.
“Kid, I promise we’re not playing tricks on you. You’re always welcome here,” Shouta shook his head gently, wishing that the road ahead would be easier than he knew it would be.
“Shouta and I have already discussed this. You can stay here. We can get you out, without the risk of you losing your spot at U.A.” Shinsou snapped his head to look at them with eyes that were both frozen over, yet full of silent pleas.
“That’s what you’ve been worried about, isn’t it?” asked Shouta. “You won’t tell us about the noise because you know we’d have to report it. And you want to become a hero more than anything. Am I wrong?” Shinsou averted his gaze again.
“You can tell us about the noise when you’re ready,” started Hizashi. “Until then…” he looked at Shouta sadly. “It must’ve been the wind.” Hizashi stood from where he was kneeling. “I can show you the guest room. You’re welcome to stay here tonight, even if you don’t want it to be permanent.”
Shinsou took a shaky breath and met his teacher’s eyes, glancing between the both of them. “Yeah. Okay. Maybe just one night.”