Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hizashi Yamada woke up at 4:00.

He did not usually wake up at 4:00, and it took him a significant amount of time in a sleepy haze to register why he was awake. There was someone tapping at the door. At 4:00 in the morning. Hizashi almost covered his head with a pillow, but Shota or Eri would wake up eventually, and they needed their sleep more. Shota had gotten back from his patrol at midnight. Kids needed lots of sleep, right?

He got up, grumbling, and shambled to the front door of their dorm—and then realized the knocking wasn’t coming from that door. It was coming from the sliding glass doors leading onto the balcony. They were on the fourth floor. What kind of weirdo was knocking on a fourth floor balcony at 4:00 in the goddamn morning?

Hizashi sighed and threw open the curtains. For a second, he nearly screamed, thinking there was some sort of gigantic mutant pigeon perched outside. Then the figure waved, and Hizashi opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony, closing the door behind him.

“What do you want, Hawks?” Hizashi demanded. “This better be good, yo. I was having a great dream.”

Hawks put him on edge. It wasn’t the winged hero’s fault—he was great at putting people at ease, and seemed like a stand-up guy, except for the whole Endeavor fanboy thing. But Hawks only ever showed up when the villains got dangerous or the HPSC was about to show up, and Hizashi wasn’t sure which one he preferred.

There didn’t seem to be an emergency, or Hawks would probably have just forced the door open. Or called someone who was actually on duty. Which meant this was an HPSC thing. Goddammit.

“Just wanted to talk,” Hawks said cheerily. “Can I come in?”

“No. My roommate and our ward are asleep, and I’m no good at quiet conversations cuz of my quirk, ya dig? Did the Commission send you?”

“Right down to business, huh? Guess I should’ve expected that from a guy with three jobs,” Hawks laughed. “No, the Commission didn’t send me. They’d be kinda pissed if they knew I was here, actually. I won’t bother to ask you not to tell them. I know you can keep a secret.”

Most people who’d known Hizashi for years assumed he was a snitch and a loudmouth. Hizashi and Hawks had barely worked together at all, yet Hawks already knew he could keep his mouth shut. Hizashi didn’t know how to feel about that, especially when he knew barely anything about Hawks.

“I’m here about Eri,” Hawks continued. “The Commission isn’t going to let you keep her.”

Hizashi’s fists clenched. He had his suspicions, of course. He just didn’t think they’d have to deal with the Commission this soon.

“They have to. Aizawa’s the only one who can keep her quirk in check without hurting her.”

“They’re already starting to talk about ways to control her without Erasure. They…aren’t pretty. They want her in their custody as soon as possible—I mean, her power’s insane, so I kind of can’t blame them.” Hawks sighed. “She’ll grow up a child soldier for the greater good. Just wanted to make sure you’re prepared for that.”

Hizashi crossed his arms. “That’s not going to happen.”

It couldn’t happen. Eri would grow up safe and loved. No one was going to exploit her quirk ever again.

“How are you gonna prevent that?” Hawks sounded genuinely curious. “Look, I’m on your side here, but the only way to keep her away from the HPSC is to get her legally adopted. They’ll cite the danger of her quirk to keep her from getting adopted by anyone except Eraserhead, and he’s unmarried, so.”

“So we find someone willing to sign some forms and get him legally married.”

“They’ll get you with the PCQEA.”

Hizashi blinked. “The what?”

“The Prevention of Child Quirk Exploitation Act. Passed almost 30 years ago after a mob boss got a marriage of convenience to adopt kids with powerful quirks he could exploit,” Hawks explained. “Basically, it gives the HPSC the power to block adoptions if they can show reasonable suspicion that a couple’s marriage isn’t for love.”

Hizashi laughed humorlessly. “So they’re going to use a law to prevent child quirk exploitation to exploit a child’s quirk? That’s bullshit.”

Hawks shrugged. “Look, that’s just how it is.”

“So we need to get Aizawa in a marriage that’s actually believable.”

“My guess is they’re counting on his, well…he’s kind of notoriously prickly.”

Hizashi pinched the bridge of his nose. “All right. So you’re saying the only way we can keep her out of hell is to get Aizawa in a believable marriage and start the adoption process before she’s in enough control of her powers to be taken away from him.”

“Yup. And you can bet the Commission’ll be on his ass making sure he’s really in love. You think he can pretend like that? I’ll be honest, I don’t.”

Shota was no actor. He’d do just about anything for Eri, so he’d definitely try, but pretending to be in love with someone sounded like Shota’s worst nightmare.

“I’ll talk with Aizawa in the morning,” Hizashi said. “We’ll figure something else, even if it means running away to South America.”

“For what it’s worth,” Hawks said, “I’m rooting for you.”

“I thought you’d be on the HPSC’s side.”

“Well, if they got her, I’d no longer be the favorite child, and I like the perks.”

Hizashi snorted. He’d probably never find out Hawks’s real motivation, and he didn’t care as long as the overgrown chicken kept his mouth shut.

“Thanks for telling me.”

“No problem.”

He probably owed Hawks for this. It was a price he was happy to pay.

Hawks took off in a flurry of red feathers and was gone in an instant. Hizashi went back inside and just stood in the dimly lit living room. His mind was far too full to sleep.

“Fuck,” he muttered, drawing his shaking hands over his face. “This is bad.”

They’d only been taking care of Eri for three months, but Hizashi was already starting to restructure his life around her. He’d made the decision to see that kid through graduation and beyond. His chest seized up at the thought of something happening to her, and thinking of her being taken away by the Commission was more terrifying than any villain he’d ever faced.

They were her caretakers, but that meant nothing legally. Shota needed to adopt her. So Shota needed to get married.

The solution was obvious. Hizashi was the only person everyone would believe Shota was dating. They already lived and cared for Eri together. And despite Hizashi’s insecurities, he knew that Shota likely would find him the least unbearable fake spouse possible. Shota would agree. They needed to get married and fake being in love for Eri’s sake. It was the most rational option.

It wasn’t ideal, but it was the most rational option.

One of the doors creaked open, and little feet padded into the living room. Hizashi pushed all the worry from his face and turned to give Eri his brightest smile.

“Hey, hey, hey! What’s my favorite listener doing up so early? You getting a head start on the day?”

Eri’s fingers restlessly twisted against each other. Her eyes were wide and shiny with tears.

“Nightmare?” Hizashi asked softly.

She nodded. Hizashi knelt down in front of her.

“Well, since we’re both up, you wanna get some hot chocolate?”

“You and Shosan left,” Eri whispered. “In my nightmare.” She sniffed. “Are you going to leave?”

“Oh, Eri.” It had taken ages to get Eri to tell them about her nightmares, and they never got less heartbreaking. He reached out a hand, leaving himself open to touch or a hug without forcing one on her. She reached out, hesitantly, and placed her tiny hand in his. “We’re not going anywhere, I promise. It was just a nightmare, all right?”

Eri took a few steps forward and hugged him. Hizashi wrapped his lean arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head, folding himself around Eri as if he could be a shield between her and the rest of the world.

“Can I have some hot chocolate?” Eri asked.

“Of course you can have hot chocolate!” Hizashi unwrapped himself from the hug and started guiding her to the kitchen.

Eri giggled weakly. It was barely a giggle, more of a hiccup than anything, but just hearing her laugh at all after a nightmare made Hizashi’s heart grow three sizes. She’d healed so much already.  “Shosan says no sugar after bedtime.”

“Well, Shosan isn’t here now, is he?” He made an exaggerated shushing gesture. “I won’t tell him if you won’t.”

He made hot chocolate in their favorite mugs. Eri’s was in the shape of a pink unicorn, while Hizashi’s had the logo to his radio show printed on the side. Shota had bought it for him as a joke.

“Zashisan?” Eri asked, swinging her feet as she sat on the counter.

“Hm?”

“I get to stay, right?”

Hizashi damn near burst into tears at that. What was he supposed to say to that? He’d fight tooth and nail to keep her with them, but they were up against one of Japan’s most powerful entities.

No. He couldn’t think like that.

“Of course, Eri-chan. This is your home now, and even if we move, you’ll always have me and Shosan.”

“What if something happens to you?”

“Then you’ll have Mirio, and Deku, and their families, and all the other teachers, and all the rest of the students, too.” Hizashi smiled. “You’re going to be all right, Eri. You’re safe.”

It was a promise he was going to keep. Eri was going to be okay.

Hizashi managed to catch Shota during lunch the next day. He was preparing to nap in the teacher’s lounge, as usual. 

“Hey, Eraser!” Hizashi yelled across the room. “Come take a walk with me!”

“Busy,” Shota grunted. “Come back later.”

“Nope! Come on a walk with me!”

Shota rolled over in his sleeping bag, glaring at him. He slowly unzipped the yellow bag. “Fine. This better be important.”

Hizashi filled the silence with inane chatter as they made their way onto the grounds, and waited until they were well out of earshot of anyone before getting down to business.

“I wanted to talk with you about this tomorrow morning, but there wasn’t time. Hawks dropped by last night—well, this morning. At like, 4:00.”

“What did that birdbrain want?”

Hizashi filled Shota in on the conversation. By the time he finished, Shota was visibly upset, and it took a lot to get Shota to be visibly upset.

“Now, the good news is, I have an idea—”

“Fucking bastards!” Shota exploded. “She’s fucking six years old! Christ!”

“Hey, hey.” Hizashi placed a hand on Shota’s shoulder. “We’re not going to let that happen. All we gotta do is get married, convince the Commission it’s legit, and adopt her. It’ll be rough, pretending to be all lovey-dovey and shit, but we already live together and everything so I figure we can manage.”

Shota stroked his stubble. It was a nervous habit he’d picked up at record speed as soon as it started growing in.

“I’m in.”

“W-what? Just like that? I-I mean, okay.”

“It’s the most logical option. We need to start making plans now, so we can start the adoption process as soon as possible.”

“I have contacts, I can get the paperwork prepped ahead of time. What kind of plans are you thinking?”

“Well, even though a courthouse wedding would be believable for me, I think we should probably have a ceremony to sell the whole thing to the Commission. Besides, I know half of your reason for all this is getting to rent some sort of tacky tux.”

Shota had been clued into the problem for all of a minute, and he was already planning the wedding.

“On such short notice, we should probably choose a park or something for a venue. For guests, just immediate family and coworkers.” Shota sighed. “And our homeroom students, just because Class 1-A will be insufferable if I don’t invite them. Thirteen’s ordained, so I can ask if they can officiate. It’ll have to be pretty informal. You choose the music.”

“O…okay. So we’re just hitting the ground running.”

Shota gave him an annoyed look. “This is important, Hizashi.”

“I mean, I know that, I just wasn’t expecting you to leap right into wedding planning. Shota Aizawa, a wedding planner! Who would’ve thought! You really are all in, huh?”

“Of course I’m all in.”

This just confirmed what Hizashi already knew: Shota would do anything for Eri.

“We basically live like a married couple anyway, as Kayama keeps pointing out,” Shota snorted. “We just have to kiss more.”

Right. The Commission was going to be watching them, so they’d have to start acting like a couple.

“We should probably start that now, huh?” Hizashi said. “Oh, and we should get engagement rings. Which one of us is more likely to propose?”

They both said “me, obviously” at the exact same time.

“Really?” Hizashi demanded. “You rely on me to wake you up from your lunchtime naps and you think you’d take the initiative to propose?”

“If we were in a relationship, obviously I’d propose the moment that marriage was a rational step,” Shota scoffed. “It’s logical.”

“So you’d deprive me of my chance to do a dramatic proposal complete with song?”

“That’s another reason I’d propose first. This is a pointless conversation anyway. Neither of us can really wear rings for our jobs.”

“Maybe on a chain?”

“Yeah, sure, over your speaker. That’ll work out great.”

“Okay, maybe we don’t need engagement rings. Fine.” Privately, Hizashi vowed to get Shota a ring at the first gashapon he next encountered. It was the exact kind of dumb bullshit that would make Shota roll his eyes and call Hizashi an idiot while he tried not to smile.

“We should get a wedding planner,” Shota said. “I don’t think either of us are qualified.”

“Or just ask Nezu. He wants to keep Eri at UA, I’m sure we can let him in on the plan. And obviously we’ll have to tell Kayama. Everyone else will just believe we’re dating.” Hizashi laughed. “Man, we really are an old married couple, huh!”

“To sell it,” Shota said, “all we have to do is kiss once where a student can see it. Our relationship will be common knowledge within minutes.” He met Hizashi’s eyes. “Starting now, we are fiancees, and we will act like it.”

Hizashi entwined his hand in Shota’s. The pads of his fingers were rough, and his palms were dry. “As you wish, darling.”

Shota sighed. “You’re going to be an insufferable husband, aren’t you.”

“Hey! I’m just gonna be normal, I promise. But with more kissing. We are stuck with this for the rest of our lives, after all. In sickness and in health. I’ve already lied to doctors about being your husband like five times, anyway.”

“I’ve already gotten used to being stuck with you for the rest of my life. I knew from day one you weren’t ever going to leave me alone.”

“Awww, that’s so sweet.” Hizashi gave Shota a little kiss on the top of his silky black hair. Shota buried his face in his scarf. “You better not be flustered already, yo! There’s plenty more where that came from!”

“I’m not flustered,” Shota muttered. “That would be highly irrational.”

“Okay, whatever you say, man. Hey, we should probably get our story straight, huh?”

“How about we’ve been dating for a year. Our anniversary is April 27.”

“Good a date as any. Oh, and I guess I gotta stop getting drunk on nights out, huh? Wouldn’t do to let anything slip.”

“And we should talk to Nezu, get moved into a place with two bedrooms,” Shota said.

They’d gotten into the rhythm of planning now, achingly familiar from their patrols together.

They started walking back to UA hand in hand. Hizashi was just going to have to get used to that hand in his. There were far worse things to get used to. Hizashi tended to run cold, while Shota ran hot. Together, their hands made perfect thermodynamic equilibrium. Their fingers slotted together comfortably, like two puzzle pieces.

As they approached UA, they started passing students heading in after lunch. Hizashi kept his hand in Shota’s as he chattered away, narrating the plot of the movie he’d seen most recently. From now on, the performance was on. He was very used to keeping up the Present Mic persona. All he had to do was add “in love with Shota Aizawa” to that persona.

Shota, though, was probably struggling. He couldn’t even pretend to be a victim in distress for a lesson—how was he going to fake being in love with his best friend? Hizashi would have to put in the legwork for the both of them.

Hizashi walked Shota over to the gymnasium and accompanied him inside, where class 1-A was already waiting for their Heroics class, chatting in groups. A few of them glanced over as Shota approached, but class didn’t start for another two minutes, so they weren’t standing at attention yet. Hizashi turned to Shota.

“You have a class,” Shota muttered.

“I’m getting to that, man,” Hizashi whispered back. “Figure we’d better sell this now.”

Shota’s eyes widened.

“Don’t answer any questions,” Hizashi said, with another glance to make sure at least a few students were watching. “They’ll gossip more if you keep your mouth shut. You ready?”

Shota nodded mutely, and Hizashi kissed him.

Shota’s lips parted just a bit in surprise. His stubble scratched a little against Hizashi’s skin. His lips were warm, just like the rest of him. It was just a quick kiss, but it still left Shota looking blindsided. Hizashi refused to feel guilty about that.

“See you after school, babe!” Hizashi said cheerily at his signature full volume. He waved over his shoulder at the students as he left. The ones that had been watching looked either shocked, delighted, or both.

He felt a little guilty for leaving Shota alone with them, but he was sure he’d get his own fair share of questions in English class the next day. Eh, it was probably fine. Shota could hold his own against his students.

As Shota approached his students, he could tell which one of them had been watching the kiss—they were practically vibrating in their eagerness to ask him annoying questions. They were already whispering, too. Just according to plan.

“Class is starting,” Shota said, and that’s all it took to get them paying attention. “Today, we’re just continuing where we left off yesterday with quirkless sparring.”

Ashido’s hand shot into the air. “Sensei!”

Shota sighed. “Yes, Ashido?”

“Why didn’t you tell us you and Mic-sensei were dating!?”

“Because it’s none of your business. No more questions. Everyone get in pairs and get started. I’ll be coming around to give you pointers.”

“Wait, Aizawa-sensei and Mic-sensei are dating?” Sero asked Ashido in a stage whisper.

“Did you not see them kiss just now?” Ashido demanded.

“Hey!” Shota activated his quirk and stared them down menacingly. “I thought you were here to become heroes, not gossip. Get going.”

They obeyed, but Shota could tell that the kiss was still on their minds. Their “relationship” would be common knowledge in the school within the day.

Ah, shit. They had to talk to Kayama before then. Shota texted her.

>Hey. Hizashi and I have been dating since April 27 of last year.

He got an almost immediate response.

>>Deadass????? What?????

>Talk later. Keep your mouth shut until we can talk.

>>I cannot WAIT for this conversation

He slid his phone back in his pocket. Time to teach. Time to not think about Hizashi kissing him. Funnily enough, the only thing that stood out to him about that was how he could feel Hizashi’s dumb mustache against his upper lip.

There were worse people to kiss, all things considered.

Chapter Text

The moment Hizashi walked into English the next day, all eyes were on him. He didn’t even have time to open his mouth before almost every hand was in the air.

“You kids sure are excited for English today!” he remarked cheerily, even though he knew the kids didn’t give a shit about English. “What’s got you all excited, huh? Ready to learn about participles, eh?"

“Mic-sensei!” Kaminari demanded. “Why did you kiss Aizawa yesterday!”

“That’s Aizawa-sensei to you, young man. Everyone, why aren’t your notebooks out?”

“Mic-sensei!” Kirishima asked, hand still in the air. “Are you and Aizawa-sensei dating?”

“Is it a new thing?” Sero yelled.

“Did you just ask him out?” Midoriya joined in. “Or wait, no, did he ask you out?”

“Tell ya what, listeners. I’ll answer your questions if you ask them in English. But if you make a mistake, the question’s off the table.”

Iida’s hand shot up. “How long have you and Aizawa-sensei been dating?” he asked in perfect English.

Out of all the students, Iida was the most likely to figure out something was up. He’d no doubt ask his brother, who wouldn’t know anything. They had to talk to Tensei soon—hopefully they could fool him.

“A year.”

“Are you guys going to keep dating forever?” Mina asked in the best English Hizashi had ever heard come out of her mouth.

“No. We won’t be dating for much longer.”

“What? Why not?” The entire class erupted in dismay.

“You guys are so cute together, though!” Aoyama complained.

“Because,” Hizashi grinned despite the knowledge that nothing more was getting done today, “we’re getting married in about a month.”

Sure enough, chaos reigned.

“HEY!” Hizashi yelled. “SETTLE DOWN!”

Everyone dropped back into their seats, practically vibrating with excitement. Midoriya was writing in his notebook and muttering something. Todoroki looked like Christmas had come early.

“We really gotta get going on English, listeners. And don’t even think about bothering Sho—er, Eraserhead with these questions, or you’re uninvited.”

Bakugou snorted. “What makes you think we want to come?”

“Don’t worry, sensei!” Kirishima said cheerily. “Bakugou will be there!”

“We should focus on English!” Iida insisted.

“Thank you, class rep,” Hizashi said. “Now, let’s talk about past participles…”

At the end of class, Hizashi had to shoo all the students out of his class. His phone dinged, and he looked at the screen to see that Shota had sent him what looked like a checklist. Probably of all the stuff they still needed to plan. They’d agreed to just go with the simplest wedding possible, more of a glorified American-style party than a wedding, but there was still a lot of work to do before they were married in a bit more than a month.

In just a month, Hizashi was going to be married. It was a weird thought. He felt blindsided by his own life, like decades had snuck behind his back. Married with a kid, no less.

His phone dinged again. Shota again.

>Told Kayama we weren’t having a wedding party. Still insisted on being maid of honor.

Hizashi snorted. Of course. Shota was taking a lot of initiative on this, but it would still be helpful to have Kayama on their side.

That evening, Shota and Hizashi left Eri with the Bakusquad—and Yaoyorozu to keep them in check—so they could devote a few hours to planning. They sat on the couch, papers and computers strewn across the tiny secondhand coffee table, Hizashi sitting upright and Shota sprawled using his legs as a pillow. About halfway into booking the park, Shota got a call from Nezu.

“Hello! It’s me, the principal!” Nezu greeted. “I can’t believe you’d let me know about your wedding via text, Aizawa!”

“It wasn’t a conversation warranting a phone call,” Aizawa grunted. “You’re invited, by the way. Don’t know if I made that clear.”

The true meaning of the wedding lingered unsaid between them. They both knew.

“Well, of course I’m invited. I wanted to talk to you about accommodations. Would you like to stay in your current dorm suite, or move into the Village?”

Shota blinked. “The Village?”

“Yes, the Village.”

“Oh, is he talking about the Village?” Hizashi asked.

“Why does everyone know what the Village is except me?” Shota muttered.

“What did you think those houses near Heights Alliance were?” Nezu laughed. “We built them for teachers with families.”

Nezu kept going on about how UA teachers were rarely married and the current occupancy of the Village left more than enough room for them to choose a house, but Shota was only half-listening.

Teachers with families.

He hadn’t had a proper family since before middle school—Aunt Himari had done her best, but she was only ever trying to keep him off the streets, not be a parent.

He looked up at Hizashi, at his dumb thick-framed glasses and bemused little smile. Hizashi had chosen him as a friend, despite Shota’s prickly demeanor. He’d thrown himself into raising Eri. He’d suggested tying himself to Shota for the rest of their lives just for her sake.

He’d make an amazing father. The perfect man to build a family with. And here was Shota, tired and blunt with nothing to give except his stare.

Shota knew he was no good at elaborate deception. His best lies only worked because they were perfectly compatible with his character. And so they had nothing to worry about when it came to lying about being in love—though Shota was not in love with Hizashi, he was the kind of person who could be.

Even if that love was a lie, the family wasn’t. Shota was part of a family now.

A family. He hadn’t chosen any of this, and yet he already couldn’t imagine his life without Eri. He also couldn’t imagine his life without Hizashi, but that was nothing new.

“That sounds good,” Shota told Nezu. “The house nearest Heights Alliance would probably be best. We still have to keep an eye on our problem children.”

He glanced up at Hizashi, who gave him a nod.

“Perfect! I’ll get started on the paperwork. I imagine you’d like to move in after the wedding—I wouldn’t want to burden you with moving right now when you’re still planning.”

“Thanks.”

At almost the exact moment Shota hung up the phone, someone knocked on the door.

“Can I come in?” Kayama’s voice came muffled through the door. “Or are you two fucking?”

“Kayama!” Hizashi gasped. “What if Eri was here!”

“I just passed her and the little Bakusquad on my way here. Can I come in? I have wine.”

Shota sighed and left the comfort of the couch to open the door for Kayama. True to her word, she held up a wine bottle with a grin. She didn’t wait to be invited in, just shoved past Shota and threw herself onto the couch next to Hizashi.

“Tell me everything,” she demanded. “There’s gotta be something you guys aren’t telling me, right? I mean, you definitely would have told me if you were actually dating. You wouldn’t hide that from me, would you? For a whole year?”

“Maybe we would,” Shota said, “just to get some peace and quiet.”

“He’s just messing with ya,” Hizashi told her. “Basically, we have to get married to adopt Eri cuz the Commission wants her, but also there’s an obscure law that’ll block the adoption if they can show we’re not married for love. So. We have to sell to everyone that we’re really in love! And we’re trusting you with this because you are a good friend. So don’t blow our cover, ya dig?”

Kayama hummed in understanding. “Well, you two sure got lucky. Anyone will believe you guys are dating, since you’re basically—”

“Joined at the hip, yeah, whatever,” Shota cut her off as he sat down between her and Hizashi. “You knew something was up and you still insisted on being the maid of honor?”

“Obviously! If I were getting married, you two would totally fight over who got to be the maid of honor.”

“I’d look prettier in a bridesmaid dress,” Hizashi said.

“Can’t argue with that,” Shota sighed.

“Don’t worry, I got your back,” Kayama said. “Who else knows it’s not real?”

“Uh,” Shota said, “just us and Nezu, I think. Oh, and Hawks.”

Kayama frowned. “Why does Hawks know?”

“He was the one who warned us we better get a move on on adopting Eri,” Hizashi said. “And by ‘warned’ I mean ‘showed up on the balcony at four in the morning.’”

“What about Eri?”

That gave Shota pause. Eri knew that they were her guardians, but he frankly had no idea how to explain the situation to a six-year-old. And the Commission would definitely be asking her about their relationship.

“Oh, geez,” Hizashi groaned, “what are we going to do about Eri? We really are the gays confusing the children that all those fundamentalists warned us about.”

“We have to pretend for her, too,” Shota said. “She’s the most likely to let something slip, and the Commission will be asking her questions.” He shrugged. “She’s a kid. If we tell her we’re married, she’ll take that at face value, and it won’t even be a lie.”

“It does feel weird to lie to her,” Hizashi said.

“I don’t like it either. But it’s for her sake.”

“You two are just raring to be dads, huh?” Kayama remarked. “I never would have pegged you for parents, but…you’d do anything for that kid.”

Shota wasn’t naive. He knew that this marriage was just the first of many changes in his life for Eri’s sake. Raising a kid would be a huge upheaval, and he couldn’t even predict the sacrifices he’d have to make.

He’d make them in a heartbeat.

“Do you two really have time for a kid?” Kayama continued. “I mean, I know you two have barely been sleeping since you started looking after her. You can’t keep that up.”

“We’ll manage!” Hizashi said cheerily.

Shota sighed and leaned against Hizashi’s shoulder. “That’s a conversation for another day. But you’re right.”

Hizashi looked shocked. “Shota? Admitting that he’s overworked?”

“She needs more time from us than we can give right now. After the wedding, we’ll talk about it.”

He could maybe cut back on patrol hours. Hizashi might have to drop one of his jobs—but he loved all of them. His life was full of things he loved, and Shota didn’t want to force him to give any of that up.

Hizashi could pretend playful shock, but Shota had always known he took on too much work. It had always been fine. His jobs had never hurt anyone but himself, and no one had ever truly needed him. Hizashi had come closest to needing him, but really, he just looked after Shota. Hizashi would be fine without him.

Eri wouldn’t. Shota’s life was no longer purely his own, and that meant it was something precious. Something he had to preserve and cultivate.

“I’ll be glad to see you guys finally take some time off,” Kayama snickered. “If only because I’d like your hair to stick around a little longer before it goes grey.”

“And for us to stick around a little longer before we get impaled,” Shota muttered.

“Shota!” Hizashi gasped.

“It’s dark humor. It’s funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Kayama said. “Anyway, best of luck to you two.”

“You don’t mean that,” Shota joked. “I know you were hoping to check us off your bingo card.”

Instead of laughing, Kayama and Hizashi just glanced uncomfortably at each other. Hizashi coughed delicately, and Shota made an unfortunate realization.

“Oh my God,” he hissed. “You two—wh—when???”

“Like, five years ago?” Hizashi replied sheepishly. “In fairness, I was extremely stressed.”

“It was pretty great,” Kayama added.

“I can’t believe this,” Shota sighed. “I can’t believe you two hooked up and didn’t even tell me.”

“Pretty sure I did tell you and you didn’t listen,” Hizashi said.

“That’s bullshit.” Shota listened to everything Hizashi said to him, even if it didn’t look like it.

“I could give you all the juicy details, if you’d like,” Kayama offered. “I mean, I’m sure you’d like a review of the sausage before you buy the cow—”

“We’re not taking the ruse that far,” Shota interrupted her. “Also I don’t want to know.”

Shota’s interest in his friend was both deep and purely platonic. He wanted to hear about Hizashi’s day and listen to him ramble about his hobbies. His interest in Hizashi’s sex life could not be more negligible.

Well. It wasn’t like Hizashi was going to have much of a sex life any longer. But he knew that going in, so Shota tried to convince himself to not feel guilty.

“So basically neither of you are getting laid for the foreseeable future. Damn. That sucks,” Kayama said.

Hizashi hid his rapidly reddening face behind his hand. “This really is the least of our problems, man! Can we talk about something else?”

“We need to get some planning done,” Shota told Kayama. “Are you going to help or not?”

“Yeah, yeah. Hand me that computer.”

They had told the students to expect them back at 20:00, but by 19:30 Shota’s brain was absolutely fried. His head spun with visions of decorations and chair rentals and paperwork. Hizashi suggested that they pick up Eri and call it a night just as the words started to form on Shota’s tongue.

When they walked into the dorm common room, they found Todoroki and Hakagure sitting on the couch, no Bakusquad, Eri, or Yaoyorozu in sight.

“Oh! Hey, Aizawa-sensei, Mic-sensei!” Hakagure greeted them cheerily.

“Where’s Eri?” Shota yawned. “We’re here to pick her up. I’m sure her babysitters have plenty of studying to do.”

“They headed out to Ground Beta,” Todoroki told him. “Midoriya went with them, since Eri seemed upset.”

Shota frowned. They had no reason to go to Ground Beta. Had they done something to upset Eri? If Bakugou had yelled at her, there would be hell to pay. And if the others had allowed him to do that…or if one of them had upset her…

Shota forced himself to take a deep breath. Find Eri now, admonish his kids later.

As they left the dorm, Shota made sure to entwine his fingers in Hizashi’s. Hizashi’s fingers were long, delicate, and well-maintained. They were made for music and wild gestures.

The closer they got to Ground Beta, the more Shota’s blood pressure rose. He heard the explosions first, and then what sounded like shattering glass as they entered the training ground proper.

“Shota,” Hizashi said, “why are your babysitters blowing stuff up?”

“Good question,” Shota replied through gritted teeth.

They finally turned a corner onto a wide street and Shota took a moment to just parse the scene before him.

Eri was dressed in what looked like an umpire’s uniform, smashing a ceramic mug with a baseball bat while Midoriya, Ashido, and Kaminari cheered her on. Yaoyorozu then handed her another mug—judging from the scattered white shards on the ground, this had been going on for some time. Sero was using his tape to swing a hardened Kirishima like a wrecking ball into various walls. Kirishima whooped as his fists met concrete.

“That’s nothing!” Bakugou yelled. “I can destroy way more than you!”

Shota started to storm in to shut down this foolishness, but Hizashi grabbed his arm.

“Look at her,” he laughed.

Eri was smiling. She was having the time of her life smashing flatware with a baseball bat.

“Huh,” Shota said flatly.

This did seem like the exact kind of child-appropriate activity these students would come up with—but why had Yaoyorozu gone along with it? She’d specifically promised Shota that they’d be having a low-key tea party. Apparently they had started with that, judging from the pink bows adorning Kaminari’s hair. So why start a demolition derby?

“I don’t think we can yell at them,” Hizashi said, “given how us babysitting Iida used to go.”

“The whole point of teaching is to keep your students from repeating your mistakes.”

Midoriya threw up a mug like a baseball pitch, and Eri swung true, shattering the mug into pieces. She burst into a peal of delighted laughter that made Shota’s heart grow three sizes.

“You’re doing amazing, Eri!” Kaminari cheered.

“Yeah!” Ashido added. “You’re even better at destroying things than me, and I can make acid!”

“Why are they teaching her how to destroy things?” Shota asked.

“To be fair,” Hizashi replied, “it is an excellent life skill.”

“You’re not better at destroying things than me!” Bakugou cackled as he blasted potholes into the street. “C’mon, Eri-chan, put your back into it!”

Yaoyorozu created a giant ceramic vase. Eri gave Midoriya a determined nod, cast the bat aside, and kicked the vase into pieces with all her might.

“Good kick!” Midoriya cried. “Just like one of mine!”

Eri grinned. “Really?”

“Yeah! You’re doing amazing, Eri!”

Shota would have preferred to wait until Eri was at least 10 before schooling her in the art of combat, but he supposed that was too much to ask, raising her in a school full of heroes.

Finally, Yaoyorozu noticed them. She at least had the decency to look a bit caught in the act, and quickly ran over to them. Without telling the others they were there, interestingly.  She left them with quite enough crockery to keep them busy, it seemed.

“Aizawa-sensei! Yamada-sensei!” She twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “Um, we were’t expecting you for another half hour!”

“We got tired of wedding planning,” Hizashi explained. “Yo, what’s with the demolition derby? Looks fun!”

“Why are you having Eri destroy flatware with a baseball bat?” Shota demanded.

“It’s my fault,” Yaoyorozu sighed. “Well, it was Kaminari’s idea, but he only thought of it because of Kirishima.”

“What happened?”

“Eri broke a mug.”

Shota looked at the absolute carpet of ceramic shards Eri had produced. “I can see that.”

“No, I mean at the tea party. Well, she wanted to use one of the cat mugs that you bought, and so I gave her a cat mug, but she dropped it, and she seemed…she was really upset, sensei. She got a little cut on her hand, and when I tried to take a look at it, I…I think she thought I was going to hit her.”

“Oh,” Shota whispered.

“So I cleaned up the mug and I tried to reassure her that it was no big deal, and then Kirishima opened the cabinet to show her how many more mugs we had. But he accidentally broke a mug. And that actually seemed to make her a bit less upset, but she was still obviously scared. So then Kaminari had the idea that maybe, if we showed her how much of hero work can involve demolition and have her break things for fun, she wouldn’t be as hung up over a mug.”

“That,” Hizashi said, “is actually not a bad idea.”

“It does seem to be working,” Shota mused.

Damn, he was so proud of his students. He knew he’d made the right decision entrusting her to them. They had no idea how to raise or look after kids, and yet always managed to arrive at the right solution.

“Can we join?” Hizashi asked. “Been ages since I broke some stuff.”

Of course. Them joining in was the logical decision to make Eri feel better. They were Shota’s mugs, so she was probably afraid that he would be upset. He had to show her that he wasn’t mad—simply telling her wouldn’t be enough.

“O-oh! Sure!” Yaoyorozu told him.

Hizashi grinned, put his hands in his pockets, and confidently strode up to the group of students, Yaoyorozu and Shota following close behind.

“Hey!” he greeted the students. “I’m here to break some stuff! Yaoyorozu, wanna hand me a wine glass?”

“Oh, no,” Shota groaned. “You’re pulling out this party trick.” He nodded at Eri. “Hey. How’re you doing?”

Eri looked suddenly hesitant, clasping her gloved hands behind her back.

“I saw you breaking some stuff,” Shota continued. “It looks fun, can I join?”

Eri nodded.

“Cool.”

Shota picked up one of the mugs on the pile and threw it against the nearest wall as hard as he possibly could.

“That was a weak throw, Sensei,” Bakugou told him.

“I’m not trying to play softball here.”

Bakugou snorts. “Well, if that’s the kind of arm you got, I doubt Mic’ll do any better.”

“Oh, he’s not going to throw it,” Shota said.

Hizashi set the glass on the ground and flicked it with his finger. He listened very carefully to the noise it made, took a deep breath, and let out a carefully controlled piercing note at the exact same pitch. The glass shattered within seconds.

“You can do that?!” Midoriya burst out. “That’s an insane amount of control! So how high can you go, exactly? Can you make sounds higher than humans can hear? What about lower than humans can hear?”

It was, admittedly, pretty impressive. Hizashi had more control over his quirk than anyone Shota knew, mostly out of necessity.

“That was cool, Zashisan!” Eri cheered.

She glanced at Shota, and her smile faded a little.

“I broke your mug,” she blurted. “I, I didn’t mean to, I just dropped it, and I’m really sorry.”

“It’s all right. That’s why I bought so many of them. Adults break things all the time.”

To punctuate his point, Shota picked up a plate and threw it like a frisbee.

Shota had broken plenty of things in his life, all of them far more precious than mugs.

Chapter Text

Shota’s relationship with sleep was like that between a clam diver and the ocean—he dove in, got what he needed, and quickly resurfaced. As such, he’d always been both easy to wake and able to drop into full REM sleep at the drop of a hat. Hizashi, meanwhile, slept as quiet as the dead and twice as still. They were the ideal candidates to share a bed: Shota’s popping in and out of catnaps wouldn’t wake Hizashi, and Hizashi’s deep sleep meant there wasn’t the slightest peep to wake Shota prematurely. Shota usually went to bed when Hizashi was already asleep, and he could even turn the light on and change into pajamas without Hizashi stirring.

Sharing a bed was nothing new to them—they’d forgotten to get an extra bed for about a month after they’d moved in together three years after graduation, and they’d always saved money on hotel bookings by getting a single bed. They had it down to a routine: Hizashi lay flat on his back like a man in a coffin, and Shota just took the shape of his container. Usually, he ended up with his back pressed against Hizashi’s side, his body confident that if someone were to slot a knife between his ribs at least the attack would come from the front.

When Hizashi woke up, so did Shota. Usually, this was in the morning, when Hizashi’s unerring inner clock yanked him out of dreamland at precisely 7:00.

Sometimes, though, it wasn’t.

When Shota opened his eyes, they were met with the half-formed shape of a room in the darkness of night. At first, he didn’t quite know why he was awake. Then he saw Hizashi, sitting upright, hands shakily cradling his jaw. It was probably the movement of sitting up that had wakened Shota. Present Mic’s screams were overdramatic and his voice rose at the slightest provocation, but when waking from nightmares, Hizashi Yamada was silent as the grave.

“Hey,” Shota mumbled. “Why’re you awake?”

Hizashi gave him a smile and no answer. He looked like he was about to cry, and his hands were shaking minutely. His fingers kept prodding the side of his jaw, as if expecting to find glass embedded beneath the skin. To anyone else, he would look like the picture of happiness.

He looked so delicate in his pajamas, as if the armor of his normal black leather added muscle mass rather than highlighting the lack of it.

“There’s no one to pretend for here,” Shota whispered. “You don’t have to pretend for me.”

He was the only person Hizashi didn’t have to pretend for even before the fake engagement.

“It’s just nightmares,” Hizashi muttered. “You know how it is.”

Yeah, Shota did.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really. Just…just Eri, and the mug, got me thinking about…never mind, it's stupid, that was almost a month ago anyway.”

Hizashi didn’t talk about his own childhood much, and Shota didn’t ask him about it. He knew that the parents whose ears Hizashi had made bleed weren’t the parents who raised him through middle school and those weren’t the parents that sent him to UA. He knew that the first time Hizashi had broken a glass with his quirk during training, he’d expected their teacher to yell at him and nearly had a panic attack. He knew that Hizashi couldn’t stand wearing anything over his mouth, even support items. Especially support items.

Hizashi didn’t ask about Shota’s childhood, either. They pretended that their choice to reject a traditional Japanese wedding was because of convenience, not because of the four conspicuous gaps that ceremony would highlight.

“It’s all right.”  Shota pushed himself into a sitting position. Well, it was more of a slouching position leaning against Hizashi’s shoulder.

“Sorry for waking you up.”

“Don’t apologize. I was having a bit of a shitty dream myself.”

If they kept score of the white lies they told to keep each other from feeling guilty, their leaderboard would be in the hundreds and climbing by now.

“You know,” Shota continued, “we’re going to be better than our parents.”

Hizashi snorted. “Well, that’s not a very high bar, huh?”

“You want some tea or something?”

Hizashi shook his head. “No, I think I can go back to sleep. I’m fine, Shota. Really. You don’t have to fuss.”

Shota poked him in the side. “You’re my fiancee. We’re getting married in three days. I do have to fuss, legally speaking.”

Hizashi gave a tired, slightly hysterical laugh. He obviously wasn’t fine, but wouldn’t admit it. Just like Shota wouldn’t admit it in his place.

“Come here,” Shota said. “You woke me up, least you can do is be my pillow.”

He pulled Hizashi down under the covers and wrapped him in his arms. Hizashi was colder than usual, and he folded in Shota’s embrace like a camp chair. Shota cradled Hizashi’s head in one hand, stroking his golden hair, and Hizashi finally started to cry into his shoulder. His sobs were all wet tears and shaking shoulders, no sound except for his heaving breaths.

Hizashi’s hair was greasy. Shota didn’t comment on it. He just held his friend.

Chapter Text

It was his wedding day, and Shota was crying in the bathroom.

Everything was all set up and ready. Things would no doubt go smoothly. There was nothing to be stressed about. And there he was, hunched over the sink in the little park center bathroom, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Get yourself together.”

He stared at himself in the mirror. His stubble was trimmed but not shaven—he hated how his face looked clean-shaven—and his hair was pulled back in a bun threaded with decorative vines that contrasted nicely with his black hair and montsuki. He looked the picture of a handsome groom, about to head off to a perfect wedding. He was looking forward to it, and he couldn’t have picked a better husband. And yet he was crying in the bathroom. In his defense, weddings were an emotional time. He would bet, however, that most grooms didn’t experience the precise cocktail of emotions he did.

He couldn’t help but compare his features to his father’s. He’d always looked more like his father, even before he’d transitioned. Thankfully, the long hair helped soften his cheekbones. His eyes, however, were just like his father’s, dryness and all. He had his mother’s nose. He’d inherited nothing else from his parents, except an inability to deal with emotions in a healthy way.

His parents had looked so happy in their wedding photos. They’d gone with traditional attire, and as much as Shota wanted nothing to do with his parents, he had to admit the montsuki did wonders for the Aizawa family complexion.

His parents were the reason he’d never imagined himself getting married. They were clear evidence that a happy marriage didn’t guarantee a family that stuck together. Sometimes, people chose someone to love, and then didn’t leave room in their hearts for anyone else.

His parents didn’t know he was getting married. If he called them right now, they could probably be at the park within the hour.

Whatever. He didn’t need them. His family was Eri and Hizashi, not the parents that had thrown a middle schooler out on the streets. Shota was a self-sufficient man. He didn’t need to be given a family. He’d make one himself.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Just a sec!” Shota called, hastily wiping his eyes. At least they weren’t painfully dry anymore.

“Sho? You in there?” Hizashi asked. His voice sounded…congested. Like he was also about to cry. Shota wouldn’t be surprised.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m in here. Just come in.”

Hizashi opened the door, took one look at Shota’s face, and laughed a little. “You too, huh?”

Shota nodded and, before he could stop himself, threw himself into Hizashi’s arms.

They embraced, both crying a little, and said nothing. Shota knew they were both thinking the same thing.

When they walked arm in arm down the aisle, there would be someone missing from the wedding party. He’d jokingly insisted on being the best man at both their weddings—nearly fought Hizashi over it, until Shota reminded them that there was no rule against having two best men.

He’d have made such a good uncle for Eri. Eri would not grieve for him—she had never known him. But Shota would grieve on her behalf, for a family member that never was.

Shota’s life had been in limbo since graduating UA, just drifting between jobs and apartments and injuries so that the words “I’m 32” felt like a lie every time he said them. Now, though, he was getting married. He was experiencing a milestone that hammered in his loss with every beat of his heart. He was getting married, and Oboro should have been there.

Tensei was an excellent best man, but he wasn’t Oboro.

“Come on,” Hizashi finally said. “We’ve gotta tie the knot.”

Thinking of Eri gave Shota the strength to steel himself against his tears.

“We gotta stay strong,” Hizashi continued. “If we start crying, so will Midoriya. And then his mom will start crying. And then Yagi will. And then everyone else will.”

Hizashi stepped back and took his hands. “You ready?”

Shota took in the man in front of him. Hizashi’s hair was braided in an elaborate flower-woven plait down his back, gold hair and red petals standing out against a stark white tuxedo. His eyes shone bright green behind his red-framed glasses. Hizashi had always been a colorful man next to Shota’s black and white.

“You look good,” Shota said.

Hizashi tucked an errant strand of hair behind Shota’s ear. “Says the handsomest groom ever.”

They did make a beautiful couple, Shota had to admit. Hizashi was far more attractive, though. Objectively speaking. He was the kind of guy that got hit on in bars and noticed on the street—when he was out of his hero costume, at least. Shota had been referred to as “sexy in a rat kind of way” and drew just as many nervous glances as he did interested ones.

“Thank God it’s a short ceremony,” Shota mumbled. “It’s way too hot out.”

“Don’t be nervous,” Hizashi told him, though Shota could tell he was really talking to himself. “It’s just a fun party.”

They left the bathroom, stepping out into the bright sunlight. They walked together to the back of the rows upon rows of chairs leading up to where Thirteen stood, holding a copy of Educational Theory for Dummies like a Bible. There were far more many people than they’d initially planned—Shota and Hizashi had apparently made the perilous mistake of accumulating tons of friends.

“Can I start?” Eri asked. She was cute as a button in a little pink dress that Uraraka and Yaoyorozu had helped her pick out, and she carried a woven basket full of petals. Shota hadn’t even known what a flower girl was before she’d insisted on being one, but he was glad to give her an opportunity to participate. He nodded to her.

Eri took her role as flower girl extremely seriously. She did not simply scatter the flowers up and down the aisle. She stopped, sprinkled a few petals by a row, took a few steps forward, and sprinkled some more, tiny face screwed up in concentration. Shota couldn’t help but smile fondly at his daughter.

Wait. Daughter?

Ah, shit. He was already thinking of her as his daughter. That was a dangerous road to walk before the adoption was finalized, when there was every possibility she would be torn from them. He put a pin in that thought and filed it for future consideration. For now, she was his ward, nothing more. With that, his mind turned to the looming threat of the commission. He shut down that train of thought before it could leave the station.

He could take a break from worry for just a few hours. It was his wedding, after all, and Hizashi would be upset if he got distracted.

Hizashi took his hand and squeezed it three times, a little code of reassurance they’d developed the first time one of them was unable to talk in the hospital. Hizashi’s hand was even softer than normal—he’d insisted on both of them going to a spa and getting manicures the previous day, and though Shota had protested at the time, his hair had never been softer. He’d nearly fallen asleep in the sauna.

Eri finished scattering the petals and sat down in the front row between Mirio and Midoriya.

Hizashi linked his arm in Shota’s with a flourish.

“Ready?” he asked.

Shota nodded. “Let’s do this.”

Every step down the aisle felt like a step off a cliff. Surely people were looking at him, but he didn’t notice them. Shota’s hands shook like they were expecting an attack—and they were. Something was bound to go wrong. Something always went wrong.

He had tunnel vision. It was just him, Thirteen, and Hizashi. That calmed him down a bit. Maybe something would go wrong, but at least he had Hizashi by his side.

Finally, after an eternity, they reached the flower-woven archway. Shota would probably take a moment to appreciate its beauty if he weren’t so nervous—the decorators and florists had done a great job, as well as the many students who had insisted on helping them for what they claimed was “work experience.”

They stood under the arch facing each other, Shota on Kayama’s side, Hizashi on Tensei’s. Shota didn’t like big crowds of people, even though no one was at the wedding that he wasn’t personally comfortable with. He just focused on Hizashi. His best friend’s hands in his, running comforting thumbs over the back of his knuckles. His green eyes and wide grin.

“It’s hot out,” Thirteen addressed the crowd, “and Aizawa specifically requested that we get this over with quickly because, I quote, an extended ceremony is ‘not logical.””

A smattering of laughter spread out through the guests, which Shota took offense to. He was right. Even this was highly illogical. At least he’d managed to streamline it down to vows and rings. And they’d already done all the paperwork—legally speaking, they were already married. Hizashi didn’t feel like his husband yet, however. He wouldn’t rest easy about the marriage until they’d kissed.

“Friends, heroes, students, coworkers,” Thirteen said, “we have been invited here today to share a very important moment in Aizawa Shota and Yamada Hizashi’s lives, as they are joined in matrimony. In the many years they have been together, their understanding and love for each other has grown and matured, so that they have now decided to be joined as husbands. If anyone can show just cause why these two should not be joined, speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

Shota held his breath, hands shaking, but no Commission goon sprang out of the bushes with solid evidence that they weren’t truly in love. And, thankfully, Ms. Joke stayed quietly in her seat. Hopefully this wedding would shut her up once and for all.

He glanced at the guests for a few seconds. Midoriya was already crying, Mirio was patting his back, and Eri was offering him a little handkerchief. By the looks of it, his entire class was there, as well as several students from Hizashi’s homeroom and a few graduates. Shinsou was sitting in the third row, and he’d actually managed to tame his hair. Shota saw several known vigilantes sitting in the back next to Hawks and decided to pretend not to see them. They knew not to cause trouble or talk to him at a public event. Several people had their phones out—they didn’t have a photographer and had given everyone a blank check to take pictures.

“This pact is not to be entered lightly,” Thirteen continued. “Through danger and peril, injury and fear, these two heroes have chosen to intertwine their lives, finding love more important than risk. May their unity be a strength stronger than any quirk.”

Thirteen nodded. “Aizawa, your vows.”

Shota was no good at prepared statements. He’d spent hours writing and rewriting his vows, trying to figure out the words that would best sell a love that did not exist to the government that breathed down their necks. He’d even run them by Kayama, who had been thoroughly unhelpful and suggested multiple innuendos. Tensei had just told him to write from the heart. As if Shota would ever bare his heart in front of a crowd of people.

Whose idea was it to write their own vows, anyway?

“Hizashi Yamada,” he said, “about a year ago, I was in the hospital, unable to move or speak, in the worst pain of my life. But when I think of that time, the first thing I remember isn’t my shattered arms and face. I remember you, by my bedside, talking my ear off to distract me. And it worked.” He took a breath. He could do this, as long as he kept looking at Hizashi’s steady green eyes. Wait, shit, Hizashi was starting to tear up. That wasn’t part of the plan. He bulldozed on. “I’ll stand by you in sickness and in health, in famine and plenty, for better or worse, in joy and sorrow, in noise and in silence.” He squeezed Hizashi’s hands. “We all know I’m not good with words, and I’ve never held much stock in promises. But I vow to keep this one.”

The wedding may have been a rational deception, but not a single word in Shota’s vows was a lie. Someone let out a hastily silenced sniffle from the front row. Shota didn’t even have to look to know it was Midoriya.

“Yamada, your vows.”

“When I was 15,” Hizashi said, “a very handsome guy absolutely demolished me in the final round of the UA sports festival. And as I lay on my back, sore as hell, looking at the champion, I remember thinking: oh I have got to have him.”

The guests laughed. This one wasn’t quite a lie either: it was the moment Hizashi had decided they were going to be friends, and there was absolutely nothing Shota could have done about it. He hadn’t even given Hizashi a thought at the time—he was far more concerned with the thumb he’d dislocated in the final blow of the match.

“And I did! Somehow, after years of hard work, I snagged the best man anyone could ask for: you, Shota. Here’s to 15 more years and beyond. I promise to not get mad when you remind me to do the dishes. I promise to always keep you stocked in jelly pouches and play your favorite song on your birthday. I love you so much that I’ll let you have the last can of Sprite, even though there’s only one store in the area that sells it.”

Shota’s lips quirked into a smile. He wasn’t making any promises he hadn’t already kept. Cheater.

“But most of all, I promise to always have your back: in battle, in chores, awake and asleep. I will share my life and my heart with you. I will honor and tenderly care for you, because I love you like I’ve never loved anyone else.”

Shota’s eyes were already getting wet. He desperately tried to hold back the tears. There was no way he was crying in front of all these people.

A shit-eating grin spread across Hizashi’s face.

“So help me All Might,” he concluded.

Shota burst into a shocked laugh, along with half the guests. He didn’t look, but he just knew Yagi was bright red with his head in his hands.

“I told you not to write All Might into your vows,” he muttered. Hizashi just winked at him.

“And now, the rings,” Thirteen said, holding out a pillow with the rings.

Shota selected the one he’d picked for Hizashi. A simple gold band, with winding music notes and a stylized sun engraved on the inside.

“I, Aizawa Shota, give you, Yamada Hizashi, this ring as a symbol of my love and commitment to you.”

He slid it onto Hizashi’s thin finger, where it would only be for the rest of the day before getting locked away in a special compartment in Hizashi’s directional speaker. Heroes couldn’t exactly wear wedding rings, especially ones that focused as much on hand-to-hand as they did.

“I, Yamada Hizashi, give you, Aizawa Shota, this ring as a symbol of my love and commitment to you.”

Shota looked down at his hand as Hizashi adorned it. The ring was simple, the same silver as his capture scarf. It was perfect.

“By the power vested in me by All Might—”

“Thirteen!” Hizashi laughed.

Thirteen shrugged. “I couldn’t resist going along with the bit! I pronounce you legally wed. You may now kiss.”

Hizashi didn’t hesitate a moment. He was like an actor with his lines known by heart. He took Shota by the waist, pulled him close, and kissed him. His hands were solid and his lips were sure—no wonder he got so many dates in his 20s.

Shota had never kissed anyone in front of this big of an audience, so he was glad Hizashi was taking the lead. It was just a short kiss, thankfully. No use making out in front of their students.

“I now present the newly married couple,” Thirteen said, “Yamada Hizashi and Yamada Shota.”

Legally, one of them had to take the other’s last name. Since Hizashi already had a brand, Shota had decided to give up his own name. He’d still go by Aizawa, though, since otherwise his poor students would get very confused very fast.

The Yamada surname would bind them together, show that they were a family. Shota was happy to bear it. Hopefully, Eri too would leave behind her old family name.

The guests were supposed to stand and clap at this point. The response they got was a tad more enthusiastic—class 1-A threw themselves out of their seats like Bakugou had blasted them upwards and cheered so loudly that Shota was sure they were going to get a noise complaint, and the rest of the guests followed suit.

“Do they have to be so loud?” Shota muttered.

“They’re excited, Sho,” Hizashi told him. “That’s teenagers for ya.”

“It’s just a wedding.”

“As if you won’t be sobbing once one of them get married.”

Shota didn’t dignify that with a response.

“HEY!” Hizashi addressed the guests. “Reception’s over at those tables, yo! Follow us! We’re gonna have a nice dinner, then some dancing, so stick around!”

Hizashi took Shota’s hand, which Shota was extremely grateful for. He liked having an anchor when he was the center of attention. He glanced over his shoulder to check on Eri. She was riding on Midoriya’s shoulders, smiling brightly.

“Ready for dinner?” Hizashi asked as they led the guests over to the reception area. “I’m starving!”

Shota cast a wary glance over at Kayama, who was looking over some notecards with wicked glee. She whispered something to Tensei, who burst out laughing.

“I’m not looking forward to the speeches,” he replied.

Chapter Text

Many weddings had some sort of cocktail hour or time to mingle before dinner, but that was highly inefficient and everyone was obviously hungry, so they just went straight into toasts. The chattering guests filed into the rows of wooden picnic tables. Hizashi and Shota sat at a table with Kayama, Tensei, and Aizawa Himari, the one family member that was actually invited. She was a quiet woman, not comfortable with speaking in front of crowds, and seemed content to watch the proceedings with a slight smile.

Kayama hit her glass with her fork several times until the guests quieted down.

“Everyone,” she said, “thanks so much for coming. If anyone here doesn’t know me, my name’s Nemuri Kayama, and I’ve been friends with these dorks for ages. We went to school together, and now we work together at the same school—in our circles, it’s pretty much impossible to escape UA. I see plenty of familiar faces in this crowd—I think I actually know everyone here, because the Yamadas are incapable of making friends by themselves.”

Shota opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again. Hizashi giggled. She was right—the two of them had a knack for getting pulled into other people’s orbits.

“Iida Tensei is the best man, and I know he’s going to say a bunch of heartfelt stuff, so I’m going to take this opportunity as my one and only free reign to tell embarrassing stories about these two to a whole crowd of people. I know you want to hear them.”

The guests cheered. Class 1-A was all sitting together at the table right next to the Yamadas’, and they looked like they’d smelled blood in the water. Midoriya had taken out one of his notebooks, but he still hadn’t stopped crying, so who knew if he’d be able to actually write things down.

Normally, students did not come to their teachers’s weddings, and certainly not an entire homeroom class. But any hope of a standard teacher-student relationship between Shota and his class had died at USJ. They’d almost died together, and there was no surer way to spark a bond.

Eri scooted up next to Shota. “Are these gonna be fun stories?”

Shota patted her head, careful not to ruin her cute hairstyle. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Shota took a long sip of his champagne, and Hizashi mirrored him. Shota looked decidedly uncomfortable and a tad peeved, but with some laughter and a bit of alcohol, Hizashi knew he’d loosen up. Hizashi wondered what sort of stories Kayama would recount. He barely even remembered half the stuff him and Shota got up to in high school—he passed that off as bad memory, even though his therapist said it was a “trauma response.” He hoped she’d stay out of the high school anecdotes—they’d all have a conspicuous Oboro-shaped hole in them.

“I’ll start with telling you all about the cat named Bandit.”

Hizashi hid his blushing face behind his hand. He really was never going to hear the end of this. Half the party had probably already heard this story, since she insisted on telling it at every single social gathering.

“So we all know that Aizawa—yeah, he’s still Aizawa, there’s no way I’m gonna survive working with two Mr. Yamadas—loves cats, right? Well, Yamada also knew this. So one night, he was out after a long patrol, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses. He was stone cold sober, guys, keep that in mind. He can’t use alcohol as an excuse. Anyway, he sees this cat all alone in an alleyway and decides that his boyfriend is gonna love it.”

It was odd to hear them referred to as boyfriends in the past tense in a tone that wasn’t sardonic. It was odd to hear them referred to as husbands in the present tense. This would take some getting used to. Well, they did have plenty of time.

“So he picks up this cat, right. And it struggles a bit, as feral cats do, but he’s a pro hero and he is not letting that cat slip through his grasp. There’s no way his boyfriend would forgive him if he just let that cat sleep in that alleyway, even if it does mean he gets all scratched up. He takes the bus all the way to their apartment, waiting to surprise his lovely partner, ignoring all the weird looks he’s getting from the other passengers because they’re normal for someone with hair that looks like a banana. He walks through the door with this cat he’s been cooing over, and Aizawa looks up from the couch to see his boyfriend walk in,” Kayama paused for dramatic effect, “carrying a raccoon.”

The room erupted in laughter.

“And they kept it. For three days. Until it escaped.”

Kirishima laughed so hard he fell off the back of the picnic table bench. Bakugou caught him by the front of his blazer without even looking.

“It was a very well-behaved raccoon,” Shota muttered.

“And, you know, I feel like that’s a pretty good metaphor for their relationship,” Kayama continued. “They love each other enough to go along with whatever stupid bullcrap happens. May we all find someone who takes care of our figurative raccoons.”

“Not a good metaphor,” Shota whispered. Hizashi shook his head in disagreement. It was a great metaphor. There was no better way to solidify a friendship than caring for a feral raccoon together, and there was no animal that fit their personalities better than a bemused and enraged trash scavenger.

“I mean, I have never met a couple more ride or die. If one of them committed a murder, we’d never know, because they’d both cover it up. I’m still not convinced they can’t communicate telepathically.”

“Yeah, it’s called JSL!” Hizashi yelled at her. Kayama waved him off.

“Oh, here’s a good one: when Aizawa was first learning to use his capture scarf, he ended up tying himself to a fire escape and had to call Yamada to get him down. While he was there, he ended up with three cats using him as a sunbathing spot.”

Shinsou burst out laughing, probably feeling much better about his own failings with the capture scarf.

“I can neither confirm nor deny if they did a Spiderman kiss, but Yamada did send me pictures of Aizawa all tangled up—PG ones, I’m sure he keeps the saucier ones to himself—that I will show to anyone who asks for them. And they’ve been rescuing each other ever since,” Kayama said.

“The scales aren’t exactly balanced,” Shota said under his breath. “You’ve saved me way more times.”

“Yeah, but just cuz you’re useful to be around,” Hizashi whispered back. “And you’re way too reckless. I actually go in with an exit plan.”

“Next time, I’m not taking the spider outside.”

“Wait, no! I take it back!”

They grinned at each other, secure in the knowledge that Hizashi would never stop saving him, and Shota would never stop carrying the bugs outside.

“I’ll cut this short, since all the other stories I have are ones that Aizawa will tackle me for if I tell them in front of his students and his kid. A toast to the happy couple!”

Glasses clinked, and everyone took a drink in tandem. Champagne and sake for the adults, sparkling cider for the students.

“Oh, and are you all familiar with this American tradition? Apparently, if the guests start clinking their glasses, the newlyweds have to kiss!” Kayama held up her glass and fork with a grin. “Wanna test it out, everyone?”

Hizashi rolled his eyes as the sound of metal against glass echoed in his ears. It was a matter of instinct at this point to lean in to kiss Shota in a quick, chaste brush of lips. A practiced performance. Their students wolf-whistled, and just to be cheeky, Hizashi deepened the kiss and wound his hand in Shota’s hair for just a moment before they separated. Shota went along with it—the fake relationship hadn’t affected the synchronicity they’d build over the years.

“And that’s a wrap from me! Over to you, Tensei.”

Tensei grinned and took the microphone from her.

“Hello, everyone! Haven’t seen some of you guys in ages. Thanks to the grooms for giving me the honor of best man. Thank you to all of you, coming here to witness this union. And thank you to Kayama—let’s be real, there’s no way this thing would have come together without her. The woman’s terrifying when she breaks out her color coded highlighters. I’m Iida Tensei, former pro hero and current eligible bachelor, and I’ve also known these two since school. So, raise your hand if you had no idea these two were dating before you got the invite.”

Only about a third of the guests raised their hands, and only a quarter of the students. All those years of not correcting people’s assumptions were starting to pay off.

Were they really that interdependent? How many of these people were joking or not paying attention, and how many genuinely thought they were dating before this? And why? They weren’t particularly affectionate in public. Maybe because of Kayama’s endless jokes.

“I know, right? I honestly can’t tell if they were trying to keep it a secret from me or if they presumed I already knew. I mean, these two turning out to be dating was about as surprising as Sunday following Saturday, but I would have appreciated a heads-up. The Yamadas share everything with each other and nothing with anyone else.”

Well, that much was true. They were both very private people who trusted each other implicitly. Hizashi felt even more confident in their plan—he was a better fake spouse than he’d thought. If most of the people they knew had bought their lie before they’d even told it, then they’d have no problem fooling the Commission.

“I cannot overstate how utterly perfect these two are for each other,” Tensei continued. “I can’t imagine the Yamadas without each other—they’ve been a matched set long before they shared a name. I think the thing that most shows off how whipped these two are is the fact that Eraserhead will do things just because his husband asks him to. For as long as I’ve known him, Eraser’s been like a cat—you can’t make him do anything! And yet somehow Mic managed to get him in to the broadcast booth at the UA sports festival! He even got Eraser to provide some commentary! Absolutely no one else would be able to do that. I wish I could have seen it, but I was busy getting stabbed in Hosu.”

Hizashi burst out in a shocked laugh, along with half the tables.

“That’s not funny!” Kayama hissed at Hizashi.

“It is funny!” Tensei argued. “That’s why I said it! My therapist said humor is a healthy coping mechanism. You can laugh, it’s okay. On a slightly less morbid note, these two are teaching my brother, and I was really happy to hear that he was in Eraser’s class and had Present Mic as his English teacher. They’ve always been amazing with kids, no matter how hard they’ll deny it. Except Iida. The only time they babysat him they lost him for a solid ten minutes.” He raised his glass to Eri. “I have it on good authority that they’re adopting, and I couldn’t be happier, because they’re going to be amazing parents. Here’s to many more years of happiness. A toast to the grooms!”

Hizashi took a long sip of champagne, grateful for the chance to hide his blush. Somehow, hearing people talk about how in love they supposedly were made him more flustered than actually kissing Shota. Maybe Tensei was somehow in on the ruse, and that’s why he was overselling their relationship. Most of what he was saying was ridiculous.

As if reading his thoughts, class 1-A started clinking their glasses with an accompaniment of conspiratorial giggles.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” several of them chanted, banging their fists on the table.

“I’m gonna assign them extra homework for this,” Shota muttered.

“What?” Hizashi teased. “You’re not gonna jump at the chance to kiss your husband?” He needed to say that word as many times as possible to get used to it, so the word “husband” didn’t send a little thrill down his spine every time he said it. He was married! “Your beautiful husband who you love very much? Your handsome, newly—mmmmph!”

Shota cut him off with a hand in his hair and lips on his. Hizashi’s hand rested on Shota’s shoulder, pulling him closer. Shota wasn’t a bad kisser. He obviously had quite a bit of experience. As far as kissing people under false pretenses rated, Hizashi gave him a 7/10.

“You happy now?” Shota asked him as they broke apart.

“Never been happier.”

Hizashi was, in fact, very happy. This was the best party he’d had in a long time, and he’d always take an opportunity to spend time with Shota. Shota loved to grumble about being dragged along in Hizashi’s wake, but Hizashi knew he was happy too. Their lives had only gone uphill since Hizashi had found Hawks on their balcony.

“I love you,” Hizashi said, just because he could. There was so much love and happiness overflowing in his heart, and he had to put it somewhere, even if it was just channeling it into a performance.

Shota didn’t reply—he’d never been one to verbalize his feelings. Instead, he took Hizashi’s hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed his knuckles with tenderness. Hizashi couldn’t help his blush, and Shota gave him a little smirk.

If Hizashi didn’t know Shota so well, if he’d been feigning marriage with anyone else, he would have been worried that such cavalier displays of affection would put strain on their friendship or lead to awkwardness. But him and Shota were well trained in the art of friendly competition. Competing to see who could fluster the other more with little touches was the only way they were going to stay sane and keep up the charade.

The caterers began to pass out the food. It was hearty, traditional fare. Nothing too expensive. Shota had wanted a simple buffet, but then Hizashi had gotten in contact with some restauranteur they’d apparently saved once and who insisted on catering the wedding at half price.

Eri glared at the food before her with suspicion. She was still getting used to having access to a variety of food. Hizashi had instructed the caterer to prepare some udon on standby in case she wanted some of her favorite comfort dish instead, but he wanted her to at least try the various wedding foods first.

“The kombu’s pretty good,” he advised her. “See, even Shochan’s eating it, and you know how picky he is.”

Eri took a little sip of kombu, and immediately screwed up her face. She glanced at Hizashi and took another sip.

“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to,” Hizashi told her. “There’s plenty of other food. You like sweet stuff, right? Datemaki’s sweet.”

“Are you sure I don’t have to finish it?”

“It’s good for you,” Shota told her.

“It’s a wedding!” Hizashi reprimanded him. “Eri doesn’t have to eat anything she doesn’t want to.” He leaned in to Eri, and told her in a conspiratorial whisper: “I told them to make some candy apples just for you for dessert.”

Eri’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Of course! It’s not a party without candy apples!”

“Can I share if I want? Toko-niichan says he likes apples too and I want him to try them.”

According to Tokoyami, him and Eri bonding had been as a result of their shared love of apples. Hizashi rather suspected it was actually because of the sword.

“That’s very nice of you, Eri-chan. Of course you can share.”

“Can Tokoyami even eat candy apples?” Shota muttered. “He’s got a beak.”

“I’m sure he’ll do his best,” Hizashi replied. “And he’s got teeth.”

“He’s got teeth?” Shota repeated blankly.

Hizashi sighed. “I’m not going to make fun of you, because it’s our wedding day.”

Hizashi ate a spoonful of kombu—it was some of the best kombu he’d ever had, and he couldn’t tell if it was good food or if the context elevated it by association.

“Hey! Hey! Sensei!” Ashido waved at them from about five seats down. “I have so many questions!”

“You don’t have to call us Sensei outside of school,” Hizashi laughed.

“Then what do we call you?” she asked. “It feels weird to call you by your hero names at your wedding, and I can’t call you Yamada because you’re both Yamada.”

“You can keep calling me Aizawa,” Shota told them. “I’ll still be going by that to avoid confusion, considering we have two of the same jobs.”

“You have to tell us the story of how you started dating!” Ashido insisted. “I was hoping Ms. Midnight would tell us, but she didn’t!”

They’d planned for this eventuality, of course. They’d spent several late nights filling whiteboards with timelines and cover stories.

“Yeah, tell us!” Kaminari agreed. “That’s kind of a required thing at weddings, right? You tell stories about your relationship!”

Hizashi expected Iida or Yaoyorozu to say something about boundaries, but they were both listening intently with the rest of the students.

“It’s not a very interesting story,” Hizashi told them. “He asked me out a year ago at dinner at a ramen place, and I said yes. There wasn’t much of an adjustment—we already lived together and were each other’s emergency contact.” He laughed. “If anything, we waited too long. We probably should have gone out in school.”

“I’m glad we didn’t,” Shota said. “High school dating is miserable and friendship-ruining. None of you should try it.”

“You do have a point,” Hizashi sighed. He’d had many relationships at UA, all of them ill-advised. Dating in school probably wouldn’t have ruined their friendship, but it might have strained it quite a bit.

“Who proposed?” Midoriya asked. “Yamada, you seem like you’d do a big flashy proposal, but I know that Aizawa would definitely propose as soon as it made sense.”

Shota gave him a smug little look that just screamed “told you so.”

“On our one year anniversary dinner, we both showed up with rings in our pockets,” Hizashi said. “Except it was the ring the other person had bought, because we were both hiding our ring boxes in the same drawer and we got them mixed up. It was hilarious.”

“That’s so cute!” Mina squealed. “How are you guys so in sync?”

“Years of combat training,” Shota deadpanned. “Near-death experiences are key to any good relationship.”

“Don’t encourage them,” Hizashi scolded. “They’re already insistent on running into danger even without thinking they’ll find love as a result.”

To some extent, he was right. Their dangerous experiences had certainly cemented their bonds of friendship. Heroes were very good at making close friends. They were also very good at losing them.

Like what almost happened at USJ.

Hizashi grabbed the steering wheel of his brain and wrenched it away from USJ. He had an inalienable right to not think about that at his wedding.

Heroes’s lives had so few moments of unrestricted joy and relaxation. He had to make this one of them. He had to take this wedding, pretense as it was, and make it one of those precious memories held close to his chest for the next time he was battered and bleeding in some back-alley fight.

He hoped that this memory would become a treasure for Eri, too. They had quite a while to go before her good memories drowned out her bad ones.

Chapter Text

After dinner, they ate sushi cake. After cake, the music started playing, and Hizashi grabbed Shota’s hand and dragged him onto the makeshift outdoor dance floor. Bass thudded through the space lit by fairy lights and sunset as Jirou plugged her ear jacks in to start her set. Shota was fairly confident she’d do a good job—she had Hizashi’s taste in music, but understood Shota’s vulnerability to overstimulation thanks to her sensitive ears. She was starting things off with a fast-paced number, and would probably slow the music down later. That would be the most logical course of action.

They’d elected to offer dancing alongside a buffet table of little aperitifs, so the guests could mingle and dance at the same time. It would make the dancing more casual, since a structured period of only dancing sounded like Shota’s worst nightmare.

“When was the last time you danced?” Hizashi asked as Shota stumbled slightly over his own feet.

“Undercover mission two years ago,” Shota replied. He awkwardly placed a hand on Hizashi’s shoulder and felt Hizashi’s hand rest lightly on his waist, a brush he could barely feel. “And I didn’t have nearly this many people looking at me.”

The guests were starting to pair off, but Shota could feel that he and Hizashi were the center of attention. It raised gooseflesh on the back of his neck—in underground hero work, being noticed meant he was about to get in a fight, and that was a hard instinct to shake. His body was tensed, ready for an attack, more concerned with remembering the motion of a punch than the rhythm of a dance.

“Hey, hey! It’s just you and me, Mr. Yamada.”

Shota raised an eyebrow. It very clearly was not just the two of them.

“It’s not like we’re about to get attacked,” Hizashi added. “And even if we were, the villain would be in for a rude surprise.”

“If I’m facing you,” Shota said as Hizashi guided him towards a darker side of the floor, “you can’t watch my back.”

“Yeah, that’s true. But we got a bunch of other pro heroes here.” Hizashi smiled at him, soft and beautiful in the sunset light. “It’s your wedding, Shota. You can stop worrying about your job for a few seconds.”

“I don’t trust any of them to watch my back like you,” Shota grumbled. If he couldn’t fight with Hizashi, he’d rather just fight alone.

“Hmmm, you’re being a bit of a control freak, Sho. Tell you what, you take the lead.”

“Fine,” Shota sighed. He took Hizashi’s hand and placed a hand on his back, pulling him into a half-assed foxtrot.

“Put your back into it,” Hizashi told him.

“You were the one who told me to take the lead. This is me leading.”

“Try something fancy, yo! Who knows when we’ll get to dance again?”

“Thank goodness. Think fast.”

Shota slid his hand down to Hizashi’s waist and plunged him into a dip. Hizashi squeaked in surprise, but kept his footing. Shota looked into his eyes as romantically as possible—they were still trying to keep up the charade.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Hizashi whispered. “Are you gonna use your quirk or something?”

Okay, so maybe Shota wasn’t the best at being romantic. He leaned down a bit and gave Hizashi a quick peck on the lips. He wasn’t great at all the little intricacies of their marital charade, but at least he always had kissing to fall back on. Any rational person would conclude that two people who kissed were in a romantic relationship.

“Aren’t you the casanova?” Hizashi teased him.

For the thousandth time, Shota thanked his lucky stars that it was Hizashi who he was putting on this performance with. Faking marriage with anyone else would have been unbearably awkward at the very best. He couldn’t imagine kissing anyone else without feeling embarrassment strong enough to kill him instantly.

With Hizashi, though, it was just an extra step in a dance they’d already learned by heart, a dance that Shota was far better at than the foxtrot.

“Do we have to keep dancing?” Shota asked.

“Not if you don’t want to. Wanna pretend to dance while we watch everyone else?”

Shota pulled Hizashi upright. “I am so glad I married you.”

He wondered why they hadn’t thought of getting married earlier. It was extremely logical, given how much of their lives they shared. They’d probably be getting some great tax benefits now.  It also gave Shota an excellent excuse to wave off all of the inconvenient flirting that kept coming his way for some incomprehensible reason.

They swayed back in forth, hand in hand and hand on waist, surveying the room. They’d successfully moved away from the center of attention, and had been replaced with Kaminari and Ashido, who were doing some sort of wild and technically impressive dance that Shota assumed was hip with the kids. The rest of the students were also dancing like their generation was wont to do, except for Bakugou, who looked like it would take a miracle or Shinsou’s quirk to get him on the floor. Tensei was trying to engage him in conversation. Shota wished him the best of luck.

“Look over there,” Hizashi laughed, gesturing with his chin.

Shota followed his gesture and saw Midoriya and Mirio teaching Eri how to dance. Mirio was demonstrating a waltz with Tamaki as his partner while Eri watched them attentively. It was perhaps not the most efficient demonstration, since Tamaki was blushing too hard to function and Mirio clearly had only the most rudimentary grasp of dance.

“You know,” Shota said, “Mirio might make a good teacher.”

“I know you’re already thinking of mentoring him, and I’m going to stop you right there. No work right now. We can talk about it in the morning.”

Shota rolled his eyes and looked back over at the center of the dance floor—and blinked in surprise. A miracle had apparently occurred. Bakugou and Kirishima were dancing together. They appeared to be in some sort of competition with Kaminari and Sero, which explained why Bakugou had agreed to participate.

Hawks and Emi had met by the drink table, and Shota made a mental note to keep as far away from that table as possible until the two were separated. Shota was pretty sure if he had to interact with them both at the same time he would have an aneurysm.

His feet were starting to hurt. How many late nights had he worked lately? How many fights had he been in in the past month between paperwork sessions?

“Wanna sit down?” Hizashi asked.

“I’m fine.”

Hizashi was obviously enjoying the dancing. He had a lot of pent-up energy that could only be let out through movement. Shota could hang on a little longer.

He leaned his head against Hizashi’s collarbone for support—normally, he’d rest his head on Hizashi’s shoulder, but Hizashi was wearing heeled shoes. Probably just to be petty about the single inch he had on Shota. He could feel the rise and fall of Hizashi’s lungs with every breath.

“Maybe we could get those heartbeat rings,” Shota said. “The ones where you can feel your partner’s heartbeat.”

“We’d both drive ourselves nuts just waiting for that ring to flatline,” Hizashi replied.

“But we’d know if the other person was in danger from their elevated heartbeat.”

“Shota. No tactical analysis at our wedding.”

Their wedding. Likely Shota’s only wedding. A huge event in anyone’s life, one that would determine the course of it. And yet, despite this day heralding a new era in his life, Shota didn’t feel as if he was on the cusp of some great change. He just felt like he did at any party—tired, more happy than he’d admit, and hanging onto Hizashi like an anchor.

Hizashi squeezed his hand, and Shota squeezed back. For them, tactile intimacy was like a game of call and response, and Hizashi was almost always the one yelling “Marco.”

Jirou started playing a slow dance song, and Shota knew Hizashi would be immensely sad if he didn’t get to slow dance at his wedding.

“Slow dance time,” Shota said. “You take the lead. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Hizashi rested a hand on his waist. Shota couldn’t really feel it through the layers of his montsuki. But he could feel the hand in his own. There were callouses on the pads of Hizashi’s fingers—when had he found the time to pick up the electric bass again? And how had it taken Shota this long to notice? They’d held hands a lot lately.

“Just step with me,” Hizashi told him, and Shota did. “You’re doing great.”

“Thanks,” Shota muttered. “I know it’s a lie, but thanks.”

“Dancing isn’t about skill,” Hizashi said. He twirled Shota under his arm and right back against his chest. “It’s about connection!”

Shota leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “How’s that for connection?”

“Shameless flirt.”

They didn’t talk for the rest of the dance, just stayed pressed chest to chest, hand in hand, feet moving languid and slow to the rhythm of the song. Usually, Hizashi would keep up a running commentary in times like these, but he seemed lost in contemplation—or perhaps just happiness, a quieter sort of happiness than his standard high-energy elation.

The fabric of Hizashi’s suit jacket was soft against Shota’s cheek. It was nice.

“I could use some food,” Hizashi said as the song finished. “Howzabout we sit down and mingle, huh?”

“You just ate.”

“Yeah, but they have shrimp! I love shrimp! You can snack on some black licorice or something. C’mon, let’s sit over with Toshinori and Inko.”

“Nah, I don’t wanna third wheel them.” Shota found conversations with Toshinori highly awkward—he respected the man highly, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed small talk with him. “Let’s sit with Aunt Himari.”

Himari was sitting with Nezu in a darker corner, which seemed ideal. The party was already going well without them, and Shota would rather just relax a little bit.

Ideally, weddings would last twenty minutes. This whole affair had dragged on for far too long.

“Hey,” Shota greeted her as he pulled up a seat. “Thanks for coming.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Himari replied. Her hair had gotten far more grey since Shota had last seen her, but her eyes were as bright and twinkling as ever. “Hey, Yamada. It’s been a while.”

“Eyyyy, Hamari! How’s it going? Hope ya don’t mind me stealing your nephew.”

Himari waved her hand. “He’s your problem now. Honestly, I probably should have seen this coming. I was worried you were shutting me out, until Tensei revealed you hadn’t actually told anyone.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, really, Sho. You didn’t even tell me you were dating?”

He’d told her about the wedding as soon as they’d decided the date, but that was still far too late. He had to come up with some excuse—she’d raised him for five years and deserved better than being informed a month before the wedding.

“You two already knew each other,” Shota deadpanned. “It seemed like a waste of time.”

Himari grinned. “You sure are efficient, aren’t you?” She leaned over to ruffle his hair a little, like she’d always done since he was little. 

“He just wanted a streamlined courthouse wedding,” Hizashi told her. “Can you believe that?”

“I absolutely can,” Himari replied. “Seriously, kid, I’m happy for you. You sure caught a good one.”

Of course Himari approved of his choice in a partner—the first time Hizashi had come over to their house, he and Himari ended up singing along to some American rock so loudly the neighbors had complained. Shota grabbed Hizashi’s hand. He was convinced that any onlooker could tell he was just pretending. God, he was bad at this.

“Yeah,” Shota said. “I did.”

What had he done in his life to deserve Hizashi? How could he possibly have earned the loyalty that would compel Hizashi to agree to marry him?

Because it wasn’t for him. It was for Eri, of course. There was no way Hizashi would have agreed to marry him for any other reason.

Shota mentally scolded himself for feeling sorry for himself. He wouldn’t have wanted to marry Hizashi if not for Eri’s sake, either. And if they hadn’t gotten married, Hizashi still would have stuck around. At this point, they were stuck together, for better or for worse.

“So,” Nezu said, “when are you two thinking of moving in to the Village?”

“Probably next Saturday,” Hizashi said. “We’re gonna take a week to take it easy.” He glared at Shota. “Isn’t that right, babe?”

Shota huffed in frustration. Now he knew why Hizashi’d been so insistent on getting the preliminary adoption paperwork in before the wedding—he’d started on it not minutes after they got home from the courthouse.

“I even got us the week off from hero work!” Hizashi added. “And got someone to take over my show. It’ll be just teaching.”

“And newlywed bliss,” Himari said with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows.

Hizashi just burst out in a peal of bright laughter, thankfully distracting from Shota’s visible embarrassment. That was the nice thing about being close with Hizashi: he shone so brightly he left a massive shadow for Shota to comfortably hide in.

“I’ll make sure not to give you too much work next week, then,” Nezu said.

“It’s not like we’ll be on sick leave,” Shota scoffed.

“Consider it my wedding gift to you!”

Traditionally, gifts to hero weddings were in the form of favors, so Shota couldn’t even argue. Most of their gifts were in the form of offers to grade tests for them, babysit for free, or, in the case of Class 1-A, help them move. Just another addition to the pro hero web of owed favors.

Hawks had already given them an incredibly valuable gift on that balcony, but he’d brought them a new rice cooker anyway. Shota had tried to turn it down, saying he’d done enough already, but Hizashi insisted on keeping it since their rice cooker only worked half the time.

“Speaking of gifts,” Himari said, “I got one for you.”

“Oh, you really didn’t have to do that,” Shota protested.

“Of course I did.”

With a flourish, she pulled something wrapped in tissue paper from her silver purse. She unwrapped it to reveal an elaborately carved bone comb—a comb that Shota recognized immediately. It was the Aizawa family comb, passed down to each eldest son at their wedding to wish the new family a good life, designed for the husband to help brush his wife’s hair every morning. A comb that Shota had long since accepted he’d never receive.

“How did you get that?” he breathed, touching it with a trembling hand.

“Let’s just say the Aizawas moved recently, and a few things got lost in the shuffle. I figured the Yamadas could get better use out of it.”

Shota didn’t have a wife, but Hizashi’s hair was certainly long enough to make good use of the comb.

Shota picked up the polished comb with reverence. It had been in the family for generations, passed down in a chain that he thought he’d broken.

“Thank you so much,” he whispered. He was definitely not going to cry. That would be irrational—it was just a comb.

“Don’t thank me. It’s rightfully yours.”

Shota tucked the comb into an inside pocket—Hizashi’s tailor was a saint for making haori with inner pockets.

“We’ll treasure this gift,” Hizashi assured her. “Thank you.”

“I also got you something else, but the box was big and I didn’t want to carry it around, so I’ll drop the box off once you’ve moved.” Himari patted Hizashi on the back. “You take good care of my nephew, you hear?”

“Of course I will!”

“Shochan! Zashichan!”

Eri ran up to them and quickly attached herself to Shota’ side. She tended to alternate between people to hang on to, like a monkey swinging from tree to tree, never feeling secure without someone trusted by her side. The number of people she classified as “trusted” had been getting higher and higher.

“Hey, Eri-chan!” Hizashi greeted her. “You met Aunt Himari yet?”

“We talked a bit at the head table,” Himari said. “Sweet kid.”

“Aunt Himari says she flies planes,” Eri said. “Can I go up and fly with her sometime?”

“I’m sure you’ll get a chance to fly on an airplane someday,” Shota told her.

“Or with Hawks,” Hizashi suggested.

“We are not letting Hawks take her flying.”

“Pretty please?” Eri asked.

“I’d be happy to take you up as a birthday gift,” Himari told her. “Call me when she turns 7, Shota.”

Shota almost objected, but the look of pure joy on Eri’s face stopped him in his tracks. He was being too overprotective—she could go flying if she wanted. He’d come on the plane with her, of course.

“Why’s Aunt Himari here but your parents aren’t?” Eri asked.

“She raised me instead of my parents,” Shota told her.

Just from middle school, but he wished he’d moved in with her earlier.

Eri nodded sagely. “Just like you and Zashichan instead of my parents!”

“Exactly.”

“When I get married, will you be there?”

“I think you’re a bit too young to be thinking about marriage,” Hizashi laughed. “But if you decide that’s what you want someday, of course we’ll be there. Hey, you look tired, little listener!”

“I’m okay,” Eri insisted. “I’m not tired. Everyone’s having fun!”

Her eyes were obviously sleepy. It was a half hour past her bedtime.

“We can have Tamaki drive you home, if you want,” Hizashi told her. “I’m sure he’s looking for an excuse to leave, so you won’t be inconveniencing him or anything.”

Eri clung tighter to Shota. “It’s okay.”

Shota hoisted her up onto the bench to sit beside him. She immediately leaned into his side, and Shota in turn leaned against Hizashi like a domino. He was tired, and unfortunately it would likely be considered “rude” to take a nap at his own wedding. Hizashi put an arm around him, and Shota gave in, closing his eyes and nestling his head in the crook of Hizashi’s neck. It had been far too long since he’d napped. Hizashi really ought to leave his neck uncovered more often—it made a prime napping spot.

“You look comfortable,” Nezu teased.

“Don’t patronize me,” Shota mumbled. Hizashi smelled like fresh laundry and sugar.

“You certainly don’t look ready to party all night,” Hizashi remarked.

“It’s supposed to be a small, understated affair,” Shota complained.

“Everyone’ll be heading home in an hour,” Hizashi reminded him, “and we hired someone for the cleanup. So just hang on for another hour, okay, babe?”

The “babe” was unnecessary, in Shota’s opinion. He would have thought Hizashi’d be more creative with his pet names.

Shota decided he should probably take the hour to have a short conversation with every guest he hadn’t talked to yet, fulfilling his social obligations in the most efficient manner possible, but he very much didn’t want to. Also, getting up would disturb Eri, who looked almost halfway asleep.

Whatever. No one who knew him well would expect him to socialize with them anyway.

“Pardon me.”

Shota cracked an eye open to see who’d approached their table—and immediately stiffened, putting an arm around Eri protectively. He felt Hizashi’s muscles tense.

Tokudo Taneo smiled pleasantly down at him.

“I don’t remember inviting you,” Shota told him bluntly.

He did not like Tokudo Taneo, the only journalist Nezu had let into UA all year. He hated the way the man had nosed around the dorms, ingratiating himself with the students and asking personal questions. At least his students had decent media training, which was probably the only reason the vulture hadn’t turned some irrelevant fact into a grand expose. The feature hadn’t contained anything objectionable, and Yagi had been in good humor about the whole meat bun thing, but Shota still didn’t trust Tokudo. He didn’t trust any journalists, especially not those that had already caught the scent of a story at UA.

“Chill out, Sho,” Hizashi told him. “I said he could come. He’s got a press pass.”

Right. Of course it would be advantageous to have a member of the press here, so they could turn their tendency to hop on any mildly interesting hero story into an advantage.

“I just took a few pictures for Juzo’s entertainment column,” Tokudo told him. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to include any embarrassing rumors in my story.” He held out a sheaf of photos to Hizashi. “I noticed you didn’t have a professional photographer, so I thought you might appreciate some copies.”

Hizashi took them before Shota could say anything rude. “Thanks, man! We appreciate it!”

“No problem. I hope I didn’t intrude too much.”

“Not at all, not at all!”

Shota kept his mouth shut. Hizashi’s patience was indomitable—his disdain for the mass media rivaled Shota’s, but that didn’t stop his smile. He gave the pictures to Shota, and Shota decided to take a look before tucking them away in his pocket.

Most of them were just basic shots of the party and procession, with a few shots of the guests. But one photo stood out—him and Hizashi at the altar, looking into each other’s eyes like the only two people in the world. Shota had a soft smile on his face that he certainly didn’t remember wearing at the time. Sunlight streamed through the flowers of the metal archway, lighting them both in an ethereal glow. It was the ultimate candid, a simple snapshot of a moment of happiness, and Shota knew instantly they were going to have to frame it.

So maybe Tokudo had some talent as a photographer. That didn’t mean Shota had to like him.

He tucked the photos away in his pocket.

“I’ll let you get back to your conversation,” Tokudo said. “I just wanted to stop by and give you these before I left.”

Shota scowled at his back as he walked away, but he didn’t have enough energy to keep up his frown for long.

As he said his goodbyes to the party and, finally, slouched into the passenger seat of Hizashi’s car, he couldn’t stop thinking about the pure, soft joy on his face in that photo—and how Hizashi had returned it in equal strength.

Chapter Text

Hizashi woke up to sunlight on his eyes and warmth against his skin. He stretched a little, slow and languid, relishing in the stretch of his muscles and the comforting weight of the blankets. He hadn’t taken off his ring the previous night, and it had reached the temperature of his body.

Shota grumbled a little and slung an arm across Hizashi’s chest. He was pressed to Hizashi’s side like a cold cat—and he was actually facing Hizashi. His long black hair was sprawled across the pillow and totally obscured his face. Shota was always messy in the mornings.

The exhaustion of last night’s festivities wrapped itself around him like cotton, making him feel pleasantly bleary. Judging from the quality of the light, it was getting late in the morning. Hizashi idly twirled some of Shota’s hair around his finger. If he didn’t want him to fidget, Shota shouldn’t have let it get so smooth.

It was an excellent morning. His first morning as a married man. And, yeah, the whole thing was a logical ruse, but Hizashi was going to take what he could get. His future was set! He knew what he was doing for at least the next twelve years! And his best friend would be there for the whole ride. He was allowed to feel just a little bit of wedded bliss.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Hizashi sang, poking Shota on the forehead.

Shota mumbled something incoherent and pulled Hizashi closer to his chest.

“It’s late.” Hizashi checked his watch. “Shota, it’s almost 10. If we don’t get up now we’ll feel miserable tomorrow.”

“M’be you will,” Shota muttered. “M fine.”

Usually, Shota sprung awake, no exhaustion remaining from the night even if his tiredness did show beneath his eyes. He could fight ten villains in a day and wake up the next morning without hitting snooze once–as long as he could take a nap two hours later—but social situations where he had to be the center of attention drained him to the point that he was tired for days. Hizashi usually tried to save a spot on the sidelines for him, but that wasn’t exactly possible at their wedding.

“Okay, well, I’m getting up.”

Shota forcibly held him down with a surprising amount of strength for a man half-awake, not allowing Hizashi to leave the covers.

“Five more minutes,” he demanded.

“You usually wake up pretty quick, Shota. What’s up with you?”

“I’m tired. You made me go to a party.”

“You mean your wedding? Your own wedding?”

Shota pulled the covers almost all the way over his head with his free hand. He looked so cozy that Hizashi couldn’t bring himself to leave.

“We do have to do some packing today, you know,” Hizashi told Shota as he snuggled most of his body back under the blankets, so the two of them were facing, their faces a few inches apart.

“We’ve earned a break,” Shota replied. “We need to talk about something.”

“I thought you were tired, man! We’re gonna have a serious conversation while all cuddled up like two pigs in a blanket?”

“Better here than out of the covers. I’m quitting my patrols.”

If Hizashi had a drink, he would have choked on it. “W-what? Hey, hey, do I need to get my ears checked?”

“Think about it logically, Hizashi. There are three reasons. First of all, I can’t work two jobs and be an involved parent. Second of all, since I’m the only person the Commission will let keep Eri, I have to at least try to reduce my chance of dying. And third of all, I don’t think it’s a good idea to directly work for the organization that’s become our enemy.”

Hizashi laughed, a bit hysterical and relieved. They were on the same wavelength once again. “Yup, you’ve got that right. I was gonna bring it up while we were moving, but I honestly thought it would take ages to convince you.”

Shota blinked, slow and lazy like a cat. It wasn’t how he blinked in combat, quick and rushed, letting his eyes spring back into use as soon as possible. “What? You were thinking the same thing?”

“Yeah, ‘course. You’re right, it makes sense. Work means a lot to us, but Eri’s more important. I’m starting to train some people for my radio show, and I’ll probably take on a coordinator role working from home.”

“You’re a saint,” Shota mumbled. “Couldn’t have designed a better husband.”

Well, then he obviously wasn’t thinking about it enough. Shota definitely could have designed a better husband. Hizashi got lost in his work, he was too loud sometimes, he fidgeted with anything he could reach, he froze up at his own emotions.

He wasn’t going to be the best father. But he was going to try his hardest.

“I’m going to get up, see how Eri’s doing, and start making some breakfast,” Hizashi said. “You go back to sleep if you need to, kay?”

“But you’re nice and warm,” Shota complained.

“You can’t just use me for my body, Shota. I’m hungry.”

Shota glared at him, gathering the covers close around himself as Hizashi got out of bed. They only had one more week in this small bed before they’d be moving into a proper master’s suite. Hizashi had no doubt that most of the space in their new bed would not be used—Shota loved to glue himself to Hizashi’s side. Hizashi didn’t mind. He was nice and warm.

Sharing a bed with a friend was great. Hizashi had no idea why more people didn’t try it. He gave Shota a facetious kiss on the top of his head before leaving the room.

He’d anticipated the conversation about quitting their patrols would be long and contentious. Apparently not.

Hizashi would miss patrolling, he thought as he read the manual on their new rice cooker. He’d miss hitting the streets and smiling at passerby. He’d miss the pulse-pounding rush of fighting villains. He’d miss doing what he’d trained to do as a hero.

Patrols weren’t worth missing Eri’s birthday parties. Patrols weren’t worth Eri coming home one day to find herself a parent short. And they certainly weren’t worth her being taken away.

He started the rice and began cooking the eggs as he chopped the vegetables. He always had to have at least two things going on during meal prep at once, or he’d get bored and totally forget about whatever was on the stove.

Hizashi took great pride in making sure Shota and Eri were eating properly. He’d practically memorized an entire list of foods that Shota would accept as a substitute for nutrient pouches, and he was quickly learning what Eri liked. It was hard to tell sometimes what was typical childish pickiness and what stemmed from her trauma.

He turned on the little radio on the counter and started singing along to the American music echoing from the speakers. He loved mornings like these, full of soft light and music and the smell of dashi. He felt safe here at UA, safe enough to indulge in his mornings in a way he’d never felt at their old apartment, where a villain might attack outside the window any moment.

Normally, he’d spend at least 20 minutes of his morning getting his hair ready, and another ten getting dressed. But he wasn’t Present Mic today. He was Hizashi Yamada, and Hizashi Yamada wore his blonde hair loose around his shoulders and his eyes bordered by thick red frames. Hizashi Yamada was also allowed to make breakfast in a tank top and flannel pajama shorts.

Eri actually got up before Shota. She padded in to the kitchen, still in her unicorn pajamas, just as Hizashi was finishing up the rice bowls and mixing the sauce.

“Morning, marshmallow!” Hizashi sang. “How are you feeling on this fine day?”

Eri yawned and rubbed at her eyes. “Tired.”

“Me too, little listener. But there’s no time to be tired with a bright sunny day to face! How d’ya feel about rice bowls? I made one just for you, and I even put a little cat face on the tamagoyaki!”

Eri nervously twirled a strand of hair around her finger. Probably a habit she’d picked up from him. “Can we eat even though Shochan’s not up?”

“Well, if he wanted his breakfast, he should have gotten up earlier. You can eat whenever you’re hungry, Eri-chan.”

“I’m getting up!” Shota called from the bedroom. “Give me a minute!”

“We’re starting soon, Sho! And don’t worry, I put a cat face on your tamagoyaki too!”

Shota emerged from the bedroom bleary-eyed and somehow bedraggled despite all the effort they’d put into making him presentable for the wedding. Hizashi stifled a giggle—Shota was wearing one of Hizashi’s “Put Your Hands Up!” t-shirts and a pair of pink sweatpants. The shirt was too big on Hizashi, but was tight against Shota’s muscled chest.

“Don’t you have your own shirts?” Hizashi asked.

“Yes,” Shota replied. “I want a rice bowl. Morning, Eri.”

“Good morning,” Eri replied.

“We have the whole day off today!” Hizashi announced as he set the table. “Eri, is there anything you’d like to do? I know we kinda dragged you to the wedding yesterday, so if there’s anything fun you got in mind, we’d love to hear it!”

Eri shook her head, but seemed like she wanted to say something as Hizashi pulled out her chair. After a muttered itadakimasu, they dug into their food. They didn’t compliment it, and they didn’t need to—Hizashi glowed with pride at how Eri smiled at her first bite, and how Shota devoured his bowl.

As they idly drank their tea, Eri hesitantly said, “do you think we could go for a walk?”

“Of course we can!” Hizashi replied. “Where do you want to go?”

She curled her little hands around her cup of tea. “Through the trees. I wanna look at bugs, too.”

Shota nodded as if being told some sort of attack plan. “That’s a great idea, Eri.”

Eri straightened up a little in her chair, emboldened by his approval. “And can we go to the frog pond?”

“Wouldn’t be a walk without the frog pond!” Hizashi cheered.

“Eri, I was thinking,” Shota said. “When we move into the new house, would you like a garden?”

Eri had been rather hesitant about the new house at first. It had taken a few tours and many assurances that nothing would change and all their things would come with them before she’d been okay with the idea, and they knew it would still be a big adjustment for her.

“A garden?” Eri repeated.

“Yeah. You could pick out some flowers and vegetables.”

The garden would also have a practical application. Plants were the perfect test subjects for her to practice control of her quirk with few risks.

Eri nodded. “I like flowers.”

“Then you think about what sort of plants you want, okay?” Hizashi told her. “I heard Sero has a few succulents, maybe you could ask him for advice!”

“You don’t have to make any decisions now,” Shota said. “I just thought I’d suggest it.”

Hizashi swept up everyone’s dishes and deposited them in a prominent place on the counter next to the sink. When they’d first moved in together, Shota had habitually moved all the dishes into the sink, and quickly discovered that Hizashi wouldn’t do them unless he was confronted with them every time he entered the room.

“You guys ready for a walk?”

“Do I have to get dressed?” Shota muttered. “These are barely even pajamas.”

“Hmmmmm, I think that’s up to Eri,” Hizashi responded. “Eri, should we have a pajama day?”

“I wanna wear the dress Momo got for me,” Eri told him. “But Shochan can have a pajama day.”

Most of Shota’s normal clothes were just pajamas, anyway.

“Way to take charge, Eri,” Hizashi complimented her.

For most children, encouraging them to order their parents around was not recommended. Eri was not most children, and they’d figured out early on how useless most books on parenting were for them.

While Eri got changed and Shota lay on the couch quite possibly napping, Hizashi threw on some stylishly ripped jeans and a band t-shirt, logo faded with time. Perhaps not the most fashion-forward outfit, but with the addition of his favorite casual leather jacket and some combat boots, he at least looked presentable. At least he wasn’t Shota, who wore Uggs at every opportunity and even occasionally Crocs. While Shota was overall a good influence on Eri, Hizashi was very worried that she’d ask for her own pair someday.

When he returned to the living room, Eri was already waiting for him.

“Everyone ready?”

Eri nodded. Shota’s eyes immediately opened, but that didn’t discount the possibility that he’d been sleeping.

“Alrighty then. Eri-chan, lead the way! It’s your walk!”

Eri didn’t look secure until she’d grabbed Shota’s hand in one hand and Hizashi’s in another. Hizashi gave her hand a comforting squeeze as he threw open the door, ready for them to step out into the beautiful sunny day that awaited. Today, they were one step closer to being a proper, legal family.

It was almost the end of the school year, Hizashi abruptly realized. It always seemed to sneak up on him, even though he attended literally every event that marked the progression of time throughout the school year. It was spring, a time of endings and new beginnings. Rather fitting, Hizashi thought. Their lives as bachelors had ended, and they were just starting on a new road as a family. Shota would move up as class 1-A became class 2-A, and Hizashi would get a new homeroom as he saw class 3-B off.

There was a not insignificant part of him that already hoped Eri would never end up in the hero course.

Eri led them off the beaten path, wandering in the vague direction of the frog pond. She didn’t seem to mind dodging the underbrush and fallen logs.

“A bug!” Eri exclaimed.

She quickly let go of their hands to examine a nearby branch with fascination. Hizashi peered over her shoulder and winced—a house centipede had caught her attention. A thoroughly unpleasant creature.

“That’s a house centipede,” Shota told her. “They eat a lot of other bugs that are pests.”

Eri reached out to the centipede, completely unfazed by its terrifying and numerous appendages. She giggled as it climbed obligingly onto her hand, and Hizashi took a discreet step back. He’d never been that afraid of bugs, but after the ill-fated final exam against Jirou and Koda, he regarded them with a healthy dose of caution.

They were supposed to control the snakes, which would have been unfazed by the sound waves that Hizashi had carefully kept to the air rather than the ground. It was supposed to have been snakes. Shota had been so sure that Koda’s fear of insects would keep him from using them. Damn Plus Ultra.

“It’s so pretty!” she exclaimed.

Hizashi clenched his fist, feeling the ghost of creepy legs through his pants. It occurred to him just how many bugs were likely infesting the plants around him.

“It’s certainly useful to the ecosystem,” Shota said.

“It’s nice,” Eri said. “Bugs are nice.”

Hizashi begged to differ, but didn’t say so out loud. Thankfully, she set the centipede right back where she’d found it rather than asking to take it home or something.

“So, Eri,” Shota said as they kept walking, “you…like bugs?”

Eri was one of the only people with whom Shota attempted what might be classified as “small talk.” It was adorable.

Eri nodded emphatically. “They’re everywhere. So even when you’re all alone, bugs are there.”

Hizashi found the prospect far more terrifying than comforting. But, well, his most notable experience with insects had been with a swarm of them. He thought of Eri before her rescue, alone in an underground concrete cell with no friendly company. No wonder she’d turned to the ever-present insects for comfort—what else did she have?

If she wanted to get some pet bugs, Hizashi would make that sacrifice.

“Do you like bugs?” Eri asked Shota.

“They’re important to the ecosystem, apparently,” Shota said. He forced his expression into a smile. “I guess I do like bugs.”

“What’s your favorite bug?”

“Probably Hizashi.”

“Hey!” Hizashi protested.

“Don’t be offended. I said you were my favorite, didn’t I?”

They emerged out of the trees and onto the jogging path that curved around the frog pond. In the distance, Hizashi could see Mirio out for a run.

He’d been having a tough time of it lately. Though Mirio was still enrolled at UA, no one was quiet sure what to do with him. Obviously he wasn’t getting his hero license once he graduated, and he’d been exempted from all his quirk-specific courses and shunted into a few general studies classes that he often skipped to teach Eri basic mathematics or train. He said he was just trying to graduate high school and hang on until he could get his quirk back.

He’d never said what he was going to do until then. It would likely be years before Eri had that level of control, and Hizashi doubted there was another way.

They entered the trees on the other side of the trail, cutting off Mirio from view. It was only a short walk to the frog pond, which was just an overlooked little pond full of submerged pipes and some scraggly plants. Frogs loved it, and Eri loved to chase them.

“Frogs!” she cheered as soon as they reached the pond’s shores.

“Go get ‘em, kid!” Hizashi told her.

She ran up to the pond’s edge, heedless of the mud getting on the hem of her dress. Fortunately, she was wearing her rubber ladybug boots. She splashed around in the shallows, chasing every frog that caught her eye.

“You wanna chase some frogs?” Hizashi asked Shota.

Shota shrugged. “Not really.”

Shota sat down on an old, withered stump about five feet from the water’s edge, watching Eri. She nearly caught a little frog, but it slipped between her fingers and jumped away. Undeterred, she kept chasing the frog.

“I wonder if she’d like a pet frog,” Shota said.

“I think it’s more about the chase than the frog at the end,” Hizashi replied.

Chapter Text

Moving morning had arrived, and Hizashi was being way too enthusiastic.

“Good moooooorrniiiiiing listeners!” he announced at full volume as he did the cha cha slide in the kitchen, which was full of the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Eri giggled as he grabbed her hands and dragged her into a messy little dance. “Are you ready to move into our new place?”

Hizashi had been turning the smiles up all the way since they’d started planning for the move, trying to get Eri comfortable with the idea. His enthusiasm was a bit infectious, and Aizawa found himself tapping his fingers to the imaginary beat Hizashi danced to. He was certainly getting Eri hyped. Usually, enthusiasm just tired Aizawa out. He tolerated it, but he could only deal with other people’s energy when he was on the sidelines watching. Hizashi had always been different. Maybe because, unlike everyone else, he didn’t think Shota was weird for not responding in kind.

What luxury, to spend the rest of his life with the one who understood him the most.

Most of their stuff was already packed up into the boxes strewn around the living room. The furniture all had to stay with the dorm, so they’d be buying more to supplement the bare minimum that came with the house. All of Shota’s possessions fit inside two boxes. The rest was all of the knicknacks and punk clothes Hizashi had hoarded over the years and the hodgepodge of possessions they’d started accumulating for Eri. Plus all the clothes that Hizashi had bought for Shota that he never wore, electing instead to wear his jumpsuit or clothes stolen from Hizashi’s closet.

“Make sure to pack that up when you’re done,” Shota grunted, gesturing to the coffee pot.

The dorm was unsettlingly bare now. It had never really been a home, though. Just a place in transition. Hopefully, they’d be in the Village for some time. They could actually settle down.

The thought scared Shota. He’d never looked farther ahead than his next lesson plan, and now he was supposed to care for a family. Suddenly, his life was something that had to be preserved, and he had to fight to keep that Village house from becoming empty.

The move felt practically over already—they’d gotten used to the idea of the house being their new home. All that remained was to portage some boxes.

Shota took the mug of coffee Hizashi offered him and grabbed some grocery store sushi from the almost-empty fridge for breakfast. Cherry blossom petals drifted past the open window—the school year would be over soon. Shota wasn’t keeping track of how close the end of the year was, but he was sure it would sneak up on him like it did every year.

“Can I have some coffee?” Eri asked.

“You can try some,” Aizawa said, offering her his cup, “but it’s pretty much the opposite of sweet.”

Eri considered the cup, then shook her head. Aizawa took another sip. Hopefully they could keep Eri from developing a caffeine addiction for at least another seven years.

When their students had offered to help them move, Shota had thought they were just coming up with something to substitute for a gift. He hadn’t anticipated them to take it seriously, and he certainly hadn’t anticipated them all showing up.

Of course, that was an oversight. He should have seen it coming, really—his class didn’t make promises they couldn’t keep. At precisely 9:00 while Shota was taping up the last of the boxes, someone knocked on the door. Hizashi opened it to reveal the literal entirety of their class crammed into the hallway.

“We’re here to help!” Iida announced. “We have already come up with an organizational system that should get your possessions from this dorm to your new house as quickly as possible!”

“Wow, you guys really turned up!” Hizashi laughed. “Well, what’s your plan?”

“We’ll work until noon, and then take a break for lunch,” Iida said with his signature chopping gestures. “Everyone, get into the positions we discussed!”

It barely took Iida and Momo five minutes to organize everyone into the caravan position they’d come up with. They’d determined it would be most efficient for a trail of students to ferry the boxes from the dorm to the nearby house, with Shota overseeing the dorm and Hizashi on the other end unpacking with Eri. The true genius of the plan was how they avoided contending with the three flights of stairs down to the lobby.

“Box out!” Uraraka yelled. She tapped the box with her hand and shoved it out the window.

“Box down!” Sero called from the ground. Strips of tape ribboned into the air and wrapped around the box before gently tugging it down.

“Box running over!” Midoriya’s voice echoed, already getting farther and farther away.

Aoyama and Tokoyami handed Uraraka another box.

Shota started wandering through the rooms of their dorm suite, making sure nothing was left behind. He found some leftover toothpaste in the medicine cabinet, a forgotten scribbled set list in Hizashi’s nightstand, and one of Eri’s stuffed animals behind her bad.

Hizashi would probably return once the boxes were all sent over to give the dorm some sort of sentimental goodbye with Eri. The dorm had served them well for its time, and had offered an excellent place of safety.

“Thanks,” he muttered to the dorm, feeling a little silly.

By lunchtime, the dorm was totally empty of all their possessions. It looked just like it had the day they’d moved in, but no longer tinged with the dim aura of failure that had lingered around Shota since the training camp. It was no longer a symbol of his failure and a reminder of his fear. Instead, it was just a empty yet cramped suite, filled with memories of healing to send them off.

Iida popped his head in the doorway. “Lunch is ready over at the 1-A dorm! The lunch team made more than enough for everyone!”

Uraraka gave him a thumbs-up from the couch. She looked exhausted, but a grin split her face.

Shota could smell the shabu-shabu and hear the sounds of excited teenage chattering before he even entered the building. He walked in to a typical scene of 1-A mealtime chaos, with everyone falling over themselves to get at the food the lunch team had made. Bakugo, Sato, and Tsuyu were certainly formidable allies in the kitchen.

Once they were finally all settled at the table, Hizashi stood to address the kids.

‘Thank you all for your help, listeners! Have a great lunch, and we can take it from here!”

“Absolutely not!” Iida insisted. “We’ve already divided into two teams, one to help you unpack and one to clean the old dorm!”

“Kids,” Hizashi protested weakly, but he was quickly overwhelmed by a chorus of voices insisting on helping them.

“Don’t bother,” Aizawa sighed. “You can’t argue with them once they’ve decided on helping someone.”

With twenty helpers, they handily finished the move by 19:00. The kids trudged back to their dorms, yawning and stretching, tired and satisfied from a job well done.

Shota stood in the living room and looked around. It didn’t feel that different from the old place, except for the knowledge of permanence.

“It really doesn’t feel homey,” Hizashi remarked. “We should totally go shopping. We need some couches and seating, and some better nightstands, and a dresser for Eri.”

“We don’t need any of that stuff.”

“Yeah, we do! C’mon, Sho, we’re probably gonna be here until we retire. I’m totally gonna put up some posters. Oooo, and I can finally bring my speaker system out, maybe put it over in this corner…”

Hizashi kept chattering about what sorts of decorations he was going to buy. Shota had no idea if they’d look good or not, and he didn’t really care.

“It’s up to you,” he said. “I have no opinions one way or another.”

“I’ll make sure to get plenty of comfortable blankets for ya,” Hizashi said. “Hey, hey! Now that we’re not doing patrols, we can get a cat! I mean, probably not right now, but something to think about!”

A cat! Shota had already resigned himself to not having time for a cat, but his life had changed, and now it was a distinct possibility. He could have a cat! He could pet a cat without going to a cat cafe!

“I’d like that,” Shota said. “But I don’t think we should get an animal until Eri has control of her quirk.”

Hizashi nodded. “But we’re definitely going to get a cat eventually.”

“Of course.”

Shota gave the house another once-over and imagined it once the adoption was secure and everything was under control. A cat, maybe two, winding around their feet. Drawings on the fridge. Loud decorations and furniture in accordance with Hizashi’s alternative tastes. A speaker system in the corner, perhaps with a stack of records. Plenty of soft blankets piled on the beds and couches.

It was a nice image, and Shota desperately wanted to hope it could come true.

“Well,” Hizashi yawned, stripping off his shirt. “Here we are. First night in our new bed.”

Shota shed his own clothes and pulled on his cat-print pajama pants. Modesty was a thing of the past in their relationship—after Hizashi had nursed him through recovering from top surgery and witnessed him cry in front of a mirror for five solid minutes at the sight of his bare chest, it would be kind of ridiculous to feel embarrassed about undressing in front of him.

“So,” Hizashi asked as he slid under the covers, “how are you feeling so far?”

“About what?”

“Our marriage.”

“I’d say pretty good. Everyone seems to believe us, we’ve sold it pretty well, all the paperwork is in order, and there aren’t any holes in our story.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Hizashi said. He pulled back a corner of the blankets, gesturing for Shota to join him. “How are you feeling? Any boundaries we need to redraw? Have you been feeling uncomfortable at all? I know I can be a little…much with PDA.”

Shota snuggled under the covers, back turned to Hizashi. The bed was extremely comfortable, and his pillow was nice and firm. Hizashi had bought them some very nice sheets. Just as Shota had predicted, half the bed was left empty.

“I’m fine. If I were feeling uncomfortable, I’d tell you. You’ve always been pretty affectionate, and I’ve never minded.”

“Really? I’d kinda assumed you were just putting up with it.”

In response, Shota grabbed Hizashi’s arm and draped it across his midsection.

“I like affection,” he admitted. “Just not from everyone.”

“Aww, Sho! I can’t sleep with my arm like this, though.”

“You don’t need to. It was a demonstration.”

Hizashi moved his arm to run his fingers through Shota’s hair. Shota closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. His head automatically tilted back, expecting a kiss, before his brain caught up and reminded him that they were alone and Hizashi had no reason to kiss him. Stupid neck going on autopilot.

Shota wondered if maybe he was in too deep. Was it weird to get accustomed to his best friend kissing him? Probably not.

Hizashi would probably be kissing him for a very long time. It had only been a bit more than a month out of at least eleven years, and Shota had already gotten complacent. It was probably a good thing, actually. Less chance for a slip-up.

“You’re totally like a cat,” Hizashi hummed.

“Thank you,” Shota replied.

For a few minutes, Shota thought Hizashi was trying to fall asleep. But then he finally spoke.

“I know you’re okay now,” he said, “but will you be okay with this for the next couple of years? Look, Sho, neither of us are really good at admitting when we’re having trouble emotionally, and it’s…I don’t know what kind of toll pretending to love someone you don’t actually love takes on people, but I don’t think it’s a good one.”

“Who knows,” Shota deadpanned. “Maybe we’ll end up falling in love.”

Hizashi swatted his back. “Shota. This is serious.”

“Hizashi, I don’t think it’s a big deal. We already both put on several layers of repression in public anyway. This is probably the least of our traumas.”

“You’re probably right,” Hizashi sighed. “Y’know, this would be a lot easier if we were actually in love.”

“No, it wouldn’t. The relationship we currently have is stable, and that allows us to offer stability for Eri. Can you imagine the nightmare it would be if we got together now and found out we weren’t compatible?”

“I like to think we’d be mature enough to have a stable breakup.”

“The last time you had a breakup you pulled 14-hour work days until you passed out in the bathtub.”

“That’s fair,” Hizashi admitted.

“Anyway,” Shota said, “it’s not like we’re doing much pretending besides the kissing. We already pretty much acted like a couple before this.”

“Well, it’s not much for me. But you’re not much of an actor.”

“Excuse you,” Shota scoffed. “I’ve done plenty of undercover work. Way more than you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hizashi poked him. “We should have a safeword. If we’re uncomfortable with whatever ruse we’re pulling, we can say, um…maybe, uh…”

“How about a nonverbal sign,” Shota suggested. “Maybe the JSL sign for the sound ‘me.’”

“Yeah, sounds good. Lemme see, that’s—”

“Here, it’s this one.”

Hizashi craned his head to look at Shota’s hand and immediately glared at him.

“Who taught you that,” he demanded. “Don’t even try to tell me this is a coincidence.”

Shota snickered. “Kaminari said it’s a popular joke among the kids.”

“Unbelievable. I can’t believe I married you. You are a cruel and unjust husband. I’m going to sleep. Good night.”

“Night.”

Chapter Text

Shota woke up in the dark hours of the morning. A squinty-eyed look at the never-used alarm clock on his nightstand told him the time was 4:32 a.m.

On mornings like these, he thought about Oboro. There was something liminal about the earliest morning, something that inhibited his normal ability to control his thoughts. There was no familiarity to ground him, either—their house was still new, and he hadn’t gotten used to this bedroom yet. The smell of paint and wood was only slightly covered by the minty cologne Hizashi wore occasionally.

Out of all of them, Oboro was the best with kids. If he’d lived, there was no doubt he’d have accepted a position at UA and dragged all of them with him. And he would have been the first on the front lines to rescue Eri.

Perhaps, if he’d lived, Oboro would have been the one to offer to marry Shota for Eri’s sake.

Shota turned around with a rustle of blankets so he was facing Hizashi. He could barely see the outline of Hizashi in the dark, so he reached out a hand and brushed his fingertips against his face. There was plenty of empty space around them on the bed, and yet Shota would rather remain close to Hizashi’s side.

The prospect of being married to anyone else, even Oboro, left an odd taste on Shota’s tongue. Hizashi had probably only agreed to this because he knew he was the only option, but people would have believed he was dating Oboro as well. So why was the prospect so weird?

Shota internally scolded himself—that train of thought was going nowhere productive. Oboro was dead and gone, and Shota had moved on. Oboro was gone, and Hizashi was the one lying warm and trusting by his side. They had the peace of finality—Oboro was never coming back, and all that was left was to allow that old wound to heal.

Shota used to think that he had some sort of responsibility to suffer as some sort of twisted atonement for Oboro’s death. His students had changed that—though they had suffered, he’d never in a million years blame their classmates for failing to do the impossible and beat the tides of evil back. He knew better now. Suffering would not bring Oboro back, and his death had been nothing more than a tragic accident. Their only option was to find happiness in his honor, and hurt to protect the living rather than mourn the dead.

On Friday evenings, Aizawa presided over tea parties in the 1-A common room. Yaoyorozu was in charge of providing the tea, a job which she took very seriously. She provided a wide selection of perfectly brewed teas and biscuits to match. Even the students that usually took their evenings to study in their rooms moved to the common room on Mondays, enjoying a cup of tea with their notes, explaining their coursework in simple terms to Eri whenever she asked. Overhaul had denied her a proper education, and as a result she’d developed an unflinching curiosity.

Once the tea party was in full swing and he could step away unnoticed, Shota asked Mirio to talk with him in the dining room.

“Did you need something from me, sensei?” Mirio asked.

“Sit down. I want to talk with you about something.”

Mirio sat down. He was smiling, of course. Mirio’s smile was sunny and achingly familiar, nothing like the annoying grin of All Might.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do after graduation?”

Mirio’s smile cracked a little at the corners. “I’ve…I’ve talked with Hound Dog a little about maybe taking up a secretarial and support position at Nighteye’s agency. Just until I get my quirk back, and then I can be a full sidekick.”

It wasn’t Nighteye’s agency anymore, but no one called it anything else. They hadn’t renamed it yet.

“It sounds to me like you’re planning your future around getting your quirk back.”

“I’m going to find a way.”

Shota sighed. “You might not. And even if you do, it might be several years.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do? Suddenly plan a career around being quirkless? I can’t be a hero without my quirk, and I have to be a hero.”

“I know how you feel, Mirio. When you experience a loss, it’s hard to adjust your plans around that loss…”

“Because that means accepting the loss happened,” Mirio finished. “Yeah, I know. Just because I’m optimistic doesn’t mean I’m in denial. I know I’m going to come back from this!”

“I know you will. And I have a proposition for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“Be a teacher.”

Mirio laughed, bright and hearty. “Sensei, I didn’t know you had a sense of humor!”

“I’m serious. You don’t need any official qualifications to teach at UA. I could use a teaching assistant to deal with my problem class, and Eri’s going to need homeschooling. You’re good at demonstrations, you have a good head on your shoulders, your mastery of heroism rivals any pro’s, and you’ve got the kind of positive attitude I can’t bring to the table.”

“You’re missing something, sensei. All the teachers here are heroes. You all have quirks.”

“But we don’t need them. You don’t have your quirk anymore, but that bullet didn’t erase your training. You have all sorts of useful knowledge to pass on.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Mirio took a deep breath, the smile finally falling from his face. “Wow, this is, uh…Aizawa-sensei, I appreciate this, I really do. I just need some time.”

“Don’t take too much time,” Shota said. “I don’t want to see you running away from this.”

“I’m trying not to. I’m really doing my best.” He ran a nervous hand through his hair. “It’s just…this was my whole life, y’know? My quirk was my future. And now…now I have to build it from the ground up.”

“Things often don’t work out the way we thought they would in school,” Shota replied. “In my second year, I thought I’d form a front-line agency with some friends. Rescue, entertainment, and everything.”

“Why didn’t you? Your quirk is totally suited for teamwork.”

“One of them died,” Shota answered simply. “I cut the rest off because I was young and stupid and hurting. And it took me years to rebuild my life. I don’t want that for you, Mirio. You’ve got too much potential.”

“I’m sorry, sensei. If it makes you feel any better, I’m not cutting Hado and Amajiki off anytime soon.”

“That does make me feel better.” Shota stood up. “Anyway, that’s all I wanted to talk with you about. I’d like an answer within the month, if possible.”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

Shota left Mirio at the table. No doubt he had a lot to think about. Shota hoped very much that he’d take the offer. He was already practically Eri’s big brother. He’d shown himself to be quite adept at teaching class 1-A lessons. And, quite frankly, Shota was pretty sure running support for a hero agency would drive him insane. There was nothing worse than being on the outside looking in on a dream.

Mirio had to move on and find purpose without his quirk.

Shota paused in the doorway, watching Eri in her little princess crown pour some more tea into Hizashi’s cup. He’d managed to build himself a family. He’d managed to move on, pull together the fragments of himself that Oboro’s death had left.

His various therapists had always said that being proud of small victories was important, and this was a pretty big victory. All of his grand fights against villains were nothing next to this, the quiet satisfaction of knowing he’d wake up every morning next to someone he could trust. He’d have dinner every night with a family. He would do his laundry, maybe get a cat, and have a shoulder to cry on when the past came back in his insecure moments.

He wanted that for Mirio. He wanted that for all his students. He wanted it for Eri. He wanted to be proof for them that it was always possible to build something beautiful out of ashes.

After the tea party, it was time for a movie. Class 1-A was making their way through Studio Ghibli’s entire catalog, and Shota joined them just for the cats. Studio Ghibli was very good at animating cats. Shota was rather excited to watch My Neighbor Totoro, as the cat bus was a particular favorite of his.

When the movie played, Eri was absolutely fascinated. Movies and TV weren’t new to her—apparently Overhaul had just let the TV play to keep her occupied—but she’d never had real movie nights like these. She was wrapped like a burrito in a fuzzy blanket, curled up against Midoriya’s side.

As soon as the credits ran, the class burst into excited conversation, just as they did after every movie. The subject matter ranged from extolling technical details of the animation to discussing whether or not there were soot gremlins secretly living in the laundry room.

“Man,” Kirishima said, “Tatsuo is such a good dad.”

“I like movies with good dads,” Kaminari said. “Reminds me of my dad.”

Eri stared at him, fascinated. “Your dads are good? Overhaul said he was my dad but he wasn’t very good.”

Kirishima shook his head emphatically. “Yeah, that guy sucked.”

“A good dad’s someone who takes care of you,” Kaminari said. “And protects you.”

“And you get to decide if they’re a dad or not,” Mina said.

“A good dad promises to always be there for you when you need him,” Midoriya told her, his voice a little sad.

Eri nodded solemnly. “And comforts you after you have nightmares.”

“Exactly!” Sero said. “I still call my parents sometimes when I have nightmares.”

Sometimes, the kids called their parents. More often, they sought solace in each other or in the nighttime quiet of the common room. Mostly, they just suffered in silence.

“And I get to choose?” Eri asked Mina.

“Well, in our case, yeah. My dad didn’t marry my mom till I was 12, and he never tried to make me call him dad, which is why I felt comfortable enough to see him as my dad.”

Eri nodded thoughtfully, like she did when she learned a new word. “What are other things that make a good dad?”

“They don’t force you into things you’re not ready for,” Todoroki said bitterly. “And they support the things you like even if they don’t like them.”

“Like how Zashi-chan doesn’t like bugs but still says I can show him cool bugs I found?”

“Yeah, exactly!” Jirou told her. “My dad supports me being a hero even though he never liked heroes much."

Shota checked his phone. “Eri, it’s past bedtime. We should head back.”

“May I appeal?” Eri asked. The class exchanged looks of glee—hearing her say that would never stop being cute. “I wanna stay up.”

“Hmmm. Your appeal is considered. But if you stay up tonight, you’re going to be too tired tomorrow to make cookies with Mirio.”

“You always stay up,” Eri pointed out.

“She’s got you there,” Kaminari snickered.

“Yes, but adults need less sleep. And I get tired a lot anyway,” Shota told her.

“We should all go to bed,” Iida addressed the group.

“Thank you, class rep. C’mon, Eri.”

Eri yawned and reached up her arms. Shota obliged and picked her up.

“Good night, class.”

“Good night, class,” Eri parroted.

They received a chorus of “good night”s in response. Shota was pretty sure someone said “good night, dad,” but there was nothing he could prove.

They stepped out of the 1-A dorm into the cool twilight air. The UA campus was peaceful in the evenings. It felt like a pocket dimension removed from the chaos of the city, making the dim sounds of traffic feel more surreal than grounding. It was all trees and modern architecture and academic brickwork, laced with a peace that felt like it would shatter with a single word.

Their house was just across the path from the 1-A dorms, just far enough to feel like an independent unit but plenty close enough to offer comfort and support. Shota loved coming home at night—there was something special about opening the door to let out a flood of warm light.

When they entered, the living room light was on and Hizashi was sitting on the couch writing a lesson plan.

“How was the movie?” Hizashi greeted them.

“It was great!” Eri told him. “I liked the cat bus, and there was a big tree, and these little black puffballs…”

She kept up a running commentary about the plot all the way to her bedroom. Shota and Hizashi tucked her in nice and snug, like they did every night.

“Good night, Eri-chan,” Shota said.

“Don’t forget we love you while you dream, marshmallow,” Hizashi said.

Eri yawned and nestled under the covers.

“Good night, dads,” she murmured.

Shota and Hizashi’s eyes met, wide and incredulous. Shota’s breath and words caught in his throat. He could only pat the top of Eri’s head.

As soon as they shut the door of her room behind them, Hizashi’s face split into a wide grin.

“Shota!” he whispered. “Holy shit!”

Shota walked over to the dining table, pulled out a chair, sat down, and rested his head in his hands.

It was all in now. Everything on the table. He was a dad, HIzashi was his husband, and Eri was his daughter. The little spark of hope that he’d been trying to keep under control was a conflagration and its smoke was choking him.

He thought of Midoriya and a thousand broken bones. He thought of USJ, all his students near death as he lay broken and useless. He thought of Bakugou, chained in a run-down bar. He thought of Kirishima shattered in the hospital. He hadn’t been able to protect them. How was he supposed to protect Eri?

“I wish Oboro could be here,” Hizashi said softly. “Shota, he’d be so proud of us.”

Shota snorted. “We’re flying by the seat of our pants.”

“Well, so was he most of the time.”

Somehow, his name didn’t hurt to hear in that moment, as if this new home made their grief safe.

Oboro would have been such a good dad. Probably better than either of them. He’d always known just what to say to people. Hizashi hid his true feelings behind ten layers of enthusiasm and Shota just didn’t understand conversation. With a kid as traumatized as Eri, it was only a matter of time before they said something damaging.

“You’re getting in your head again,” Hizashi said. “Chin up, Sho! You’re a dad! Eri said so!”

“We’re dads,” Shota said, just to try it out.

“Yup!” Now we just gotta made it official!”

The reminder of the task ahead of them made Shota’s limbs freeze up in dread. If the Commission won now, it would totally ruin all three of them.

Hizashi rested his chin on the top of Shota’s head, draping lanky arms over his shoulders. His presence was comforting, like a weighted blanket.

“I know you’re hard on yourself,” Hizashi said, “but Eri’s so lucky to have you.”

Shota laced their fingers together, and Hizashi squeezed his hand.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Shota said. It was not a prediction, but a promise.

Eri seemed nervous the next morning at breakfast. In contrast, Hizashi was practically doing a dance routine through the kitchen as he made pancakes. Shota tried to rope her into some morning art to get her spirits up before school, but her heart obviously wasn’t in it, and she just hovered the crayon over the page.

“What’s going on, Eri?” Shota asked her gently. “You can talk to us, you know.”

“Who’s ready for pancakes?” Hizashi announced.

“Are you ready for pancakes?” Shota asked her. She nodded, and grabbed his hand for the short walk over to the dining room table.

Hizashi had outdone himself—he’d made the pancakes in the rice cooker, and they’d come out thick and fluffy. The table was outfitted with all sorts of syrups from the American section of the grocery store, complete with whipped cream.

“I got plenty of extra sweet stuff for you,” Hizashi told Eri. “I even made some Eri-size pancakes!”

He doled a pair of adorable mini pancakes onto her plate. Eri looked like she was about to cry.

“Hey, hey,” Hizashi said. “What’s wrong, marshmallow?”

“I’m sorry I called you dad,” Eri blurted. “I’m sorry.” She drew her knees up to her chest. “I know you’re just taking care of me because no one else can because my quirk is dangerous and horrible and no one else wanted me—”

Hizashi knelt at her left side, and Shota rushed to her right. They didn’t try to hug her—she had curled into a ball like a pillbug, and they’d learned that meant she’d freak out if they touched her. But the pain of the USJ was nothing to watching her cry.

“—and I don’t want you to have to keep me,” Eri sobbed. “I’m sorry. I just—I just don’t want to go. But I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have thought you’d want to be my dads just because you’re taking care of me.”

“Eri-chan,” Shota breathed. “Eri, it’s all right. It’s okay. We’re taking care of you because we care about you. Because you’re part of our family. We’ve already started the process of legally adopting you, so we’ll be your dads forever.”

“We love you so much, Eri,” Hizashi told her. “We’d love to be your dads.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Shota assured. “We’ll always be here for you.”

“Every time someone’s there for me,” Eri hiccuped, “they get hurt. Everyone just gets hurt and I don’t want you to get hurt. People get hurt and then they leave.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Shota promised. “You’re just a kid, Eri. It’s not your fault if people get hurt.”

“Can I have a hug?” Eri asked, her voice tiny.

Shota and Hizashi didn’t need to be asked twice. They wrapped their arms around around her, as if their feeble flesh could somehow keep her safe from the world, and let her cry.

“It’s okay,” Shota murmured. “It’s okay.”

Eri’s crying was quiet, muffled, as if she’d had practice hiding it—which she almost certainly had. Shota wished he could snap Overhaul’s neck for taking away her ability to cry freely.

“We’re here,” Hizashi said. “We’re here, we’re not going anywhere, and we’re perfectly willing to be you’re dads if you’ll let us.”

Shota didn’t know how long they sat there, wrapped around each other, Eri clinging to Shota’s shirt like a lifeline. Eri finally started to calm down, her crying fading as her shoulders stopped shaking.

“I’m gonna get you some juice, all right?” Shota said. “I bet you’ll feel better after some juice and some breakfast.”

Eri nodded and turned to cling to Hizashi instead. He pulled her close to his chest.

When Shota returned with the glass of juice, Hizashi had already cajoled her into taking a few bites of her pancake. Such was the beauty of childhood—tears faded fast. She still looked miserable and on the verge of tears, but at least she was getting some food.

“Drink this, all right?” Shota said. “It’ll make you feel better.”

Eri sipped the juice. She didn’t look quite happy about it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hizashi asked her.

“Did you mean what you said?” Eri asked, her voice impossibly quiet. “That you’re adopting me?”

“Course we did!” Hizashi said. “We didn’t tell you earlier because it’s not finalized yet, but we started the process of adopting you a while back. It’s your choice, but we’d love to be your dads.” He grinned. “Might get a little confusing though, if we’re both ‘dad.’”

Shota sat down and took a bite of his pancake. It was, of course, delicious.

“It’s okay if you need a bit of time,” Shota told her. “We’ll be right here. Always.”

He’d repeat it as many times as she needed to hear it. Until she trusted Hizashi and Shota to stay as much as they trusted each other.

They’d fallen apart in the aftermath of Oboro’s death, both spiraling into unhealthy coping mechanisms. Their trust was not an idle holdover of their coincidental high school meeting, but a bond forged anew, hard-won and strong. And now their friendship would be tested as it formed the bedrock for a family.

Shota missed Oboro every day, but it least it was a sleeping grief, a grief that always stayed with him but rarely woke up. It was not something he could run away from, like he’d tried to in the aftermath, but at least he would never have to relive that pain.

Shota’s phone rang.

“No phones at the table!” Hizashi chided him.

Shota frowned. “Everyone who has my number knows only to call in an emergency.” He checked the screen. “Why is Gran Torino calling me?”

He held the phone to his ear. “This is Eraserhead.”

“We need you and Yamada to come to Tartarus,” Gran Torino’s gruff voice told him. “It’s about Kurogiri.”

Chapter Text

The Heights Alliance common room had borne witness to countless breakdowns. It was no stranger to tears and anger. Hizashi felt right at home flopped face-down on the couch, shoulders tight with more fury than he’d ever possessed in his life.

He had seen Oboro’s face. And it was in pain. He’d struggled so hard just to get Shota’s name out, face shifting and swirling.

How aware was he? How much pain was he in? Did he know he was trapped? Had Oboro been aware at USJ, screaming within his misty prison as the nomu shattered Shota’s body?

When Shota had told him about what Iida Tenya had done in Hosu, he’d been disappointed in his student. But now he understood completely. If he ever found who’d done this to Oboro, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep the more deadly wavelengths of his voice in check.

“Is he even alive, Hizashi?” Shota whispered. “Or did we just see fragments of him?”

They had no way of knowing. An ugly part of Hizashi hoped it was just an echo, a painful reminder of a boy long dead. Oboro being alive in that thing gave him a hope that hurt more than any wound. He didn’t even dare to think about the possibility of actually separating Oboro from Kurogiri—that would be a pipe dream.

“I hoped it wasn’t true,” Hizashi said. “But he’s in there. I know he is.”

“So now we just have to get him out,” Shota said. “We won’t leave him behind.”

Hizashi was cold. He always ran cold. But he was absolutely freezing at the thought of going back to Tartarus. He’d seen how much seeing Oboro had ruined Shota. It had cut both of them to the bone. It would be so much easier to pretend this had never happened. They’d go back, of course. But it would hurt, and Hizashi wasn’t sure it was a pain they could afford.

After 14 years, Hizashi still hadn’t fully come to terms with Oboro’s death. Maybe this was a second chance. After all, it was his quirk that had killed his friend.

“I can’t even think straight,” Hizashi confessed. “I’m just so damn mad. When I find whoever did this, I’m challenging them to a karaoke contest and I’m not holding back.”

Hizashi had never actually tested the true upper limit of his quirk on a person. He had a feeling he was going to find out what that limit was sometime soon.

“I’ll be right there with you,” Shota said, because of course he would.

“Eraserhead! Present Mic!”

Hizashi didn’t have the energy to lift up his head as Mirio entered. They’d left Eri with the Big Three when they left—hopefully there wasn’t a problem. Hizashi didn’t have the energy to deal with any more problems. All of his energy was currently occupied with being pissed.

“Sorry to bother you,” Tamaki said. “It’s Eri. Her horn’s acting up a little.”

Hizashi stood. They didn’t need him, technically—if it was just Eri’s quirk, all they needed was Erasure. But if her horn was acting up, Eri was likely in distress.

She was in the kitchen, ensconced in Nejire’s arms. Her eyes were screwed shut and filled with tears, and sparks danced around her horn. It was getting far too long for comfort. Under ideal circumstances, they would have started training her a while back, but the sooner she got her quirk under control, the sooner the Commission got to take her away.

Shota’s hair fluttered up as he activated his quirk. The sparks faded, and Eri’s little body finally relaxed.

“Thanks for looking after her, yo,” Hizashi told the students.

“Don’t mention it!” Mirio said.

“She’s a sweet kid,” Tamaki muttered.

Hizashi looked at Shota, who was comforting Eri with a little pat on the head. His face was composed and expressionless, in contrast to Hizashi’s plastered-on smile.

“You feeling okay?” Shota asked her. Eri nodded. “All right. I think it’s an early bedtime night.”

“I can tuck her in,” Hizashi said.

Shota liked to stay up and look at the stars when he was struggling with something. Hizashi trusted him not to isolate himself now, but if this had happened five years ago, Hizashi would be clinging to his side and not letting go.

Hizashi took Eri’s hand in his and led her out of the 1-A dorm. She seemed preoccupied, and worried her free thumb with her teeth.

“How was your day with the Big Three?” Hizashi asked her.

“Fun,” she said. “Did you know Tama-chan can make himself wings?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool, huh?”

“We blew some bubbles, too. And Mirio got me a candy apple!”

“That’s so nice of him!”

“I wanna go to sleep,” Eri yawned. “I’m tired.”

She stumbled over her feet a little, and Hizashi was struck for the thousandth time with how achingly small she was. She was about as old as those kids had been when Oboro had saved them. The kids that Oboro died to protect.

“Me too, kid,” Hizashi said.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to fall asleep without immediately having a nightmare. Or maybe Shota had the right idea about avoiding sleep after trauma.

Hizashi had to turn on the light when they walked in the door. He didn’t quite know this house by heart in the dark yet. Eri stumbled over her feet, so Hizashi scooped her up. She leaned into his shoulder, already half-asleep.

“You’ve had a long day,” Hizashi said sympathetically as he tucked her in. “Sleep tight, marshmallow. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “And remember that we love you very much.”

“Love you too, papa,” Eri murmured.

He gave her a kiss on the forehead and left, making sure to leave the door open. He had a little sticky note on her doorframe to remind him to do so, since he automatically shut the door of any room he left. Eri hated being in any room with all the doors closed.

Before quitting his patrols, Hizashi would always stay up late doing work. Now, he had more time than he knew what to do with, and he was going to go to bed. He’d earned an early bedtime. He just didn’t want to think about Oboro anymore.

Unfortunately, Hizashi was a creature of routine, relying on habits to function. And him and Shota had been going to bed at around the same time almost every night since they’d quit their patrols. Which meant Hizashi had gotten used to them falling to sleep together. He lay on his back, desperately trying to convince his body that it was bedtime, but the side at which Shota usually lay felt empty and cold. He put Shota’s pillow there, but it wasn’t an adequate substitute. It wasn’t warm like Shota was. The man was practically a space heater.

He’d fallen asleep without Shota there without a problem three nights prior. But now, something deep in the pit of his stomach ached for his friend. Just like he’d needed Shota after Oboro’s death.

Shota had shut him out then. He’d totally shut down, focused on nothing but the task in front of him, rebuffing any attempts at sincere connection. Hizashi was no better—he’d thrown himself into laughter and parties and the Present Mic persona, choosing to keep moving rather than process his grief. They were grieving Oboro all over again, the old scar of mourning torn into a bleeding wound, and here Hizashi was, alone in an empty bed.

His breathing started to speed up and his hands began to shake. What if this was the last straw for them? They’d barely weathered Oboro’s death—could their friendship survive his return? What if Shota pushed him away again?

He curled into the fetal position, hands over his ears. No, no, Shota wouldn’t do that. He’d learned. Hizashi trusted him. Shota wouldn’t shut down again. If not for Hizashi’s sake, Shota would hold it together for Eri.

Finally, Hizashi started to cry. It was long overdue. He was tired and he just wanted to fall asleep. Even a nightmare would at least distract him from the day’s events. But he couldn’t sleep because Shota wasn’t there and he might not be ever again. After all, who would know if they slept in separate beds? It wouldn’t ruin the ruse. Most people probably wouldn’t notice if Shota’s anguish turned him once again to apathy.

He took his phone from the nightstand and just stared at the darkened screen, blurred through his tears. Would it just push Shota away if he called? Shota needed his time alone. He needed time to process. Hizashi would be selfish to pull him away from that. It wasn’t healthy for them to rely on each other to process this—Kayama had a point when she called them “codependent.” He put the phone back down.

They’d talk tomorrow, and Hizashi would try to reel Shota back if he was drifting. For now, he could suffer through a bit of insomnia to let Shota have his space.

The door slid open with the small, barely-audible steps of someone trying to keep quiet.

“Eri-chan?” Hizashi asked, desperately trying to keep from audibly sniffling, “Is that you?”

“It’s me,” Shota’s voice said, low and familiar.

Hizashi heard the soft sounds of fabric rustling as Shota undressed in the dark. He didn’t hear Shota put on his pajamas—Shota just slid under the covers in his boxers.

“I thought you’d want some time alone,” Hizashi said.

“Why is my pillow here?” Shota muttered as he rearranged the blankets. “I did want some time alone. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be alone right now.” He threw an arm over Hizashi’s chest, drawing him close. “And I didn’t think you’d want to be alone.”

Hizashi rolled onto his side, pulling Shota into an embrace. He buried his face in Shota’s shoulder. He smelled like sweat and cinnamon from the morning’s pancakes.

“Thank you,” Hizashi whispered.

He needed Shota. He needed him so much. But he didn’t know how to find the words to say it.

“I’m gonna deal with this better than last time,” Shota whispered. “I promise. I owe you that.”

Shota was solid, present, and warm beneath his fingers. He was here. He was here and he wasn’t going anywhere.

“We’re gonna get through this,” Hizashi vowed. “We’re both going to come out the other side of this. With Oboro.”

That was what heroes did. They made impossible promises and then made good on them.

They fell asleep like that, tangled in each other, Hizashi taking Shota’s closeness as assurance he would stay.

“Hizashi!” Oboro called.

Hizashi turned and saw Oboro, smiling, waving, the blue of his cloud-soft hair fading into the sky. He opened his mouth to respond, but instead of an enthusiastic greeting, a sonic scream ripped from his throat, blasting away Oboro’s cloudy form until all that remained was scraps of fog on the floor.

Hizashi fell to his knees, desperately trying to scrape together what remained of the friend he’d killed. But it was the wrong color. There were no clouds left, just purple mist that bit at Hizashi’s hands where they touched it.

A figure stood before him, back to him, slouching, clad in black with a scarf like a noose around his neck. Hizashi didn’t dare say his name, lest that horrible voice destroy him. He just knelt on the floor, desperately clutching the purple mist to his chest in the vain hope he could piece it back together.

Shota walked away, fading over the horizon, and Hizashi said nothing. He just trembled. He wouldn’t be able to put Oboro back together alone, but he couldn’t risk killing Shota, and he’d kill Shota if he opened his mouth.

He’d failed them both. The ring on his finger was as cold as ice.

His eyes flew open and he clawed his way out of the dream, gasping into wakefulness in the darkness. He couldn’t see anything through his eye mask, but he could feel that Shota was warm at his side, breathing softly. One hand was resting on Hizashi’s collarbone, the other curled against his ribs.

Shota was there. He was there and he wasn’t leaving.

Hizashi twirled a strand of Shota’s hair between his fingers. Shota’s hair was as soft as silk, making it ideal for fiddling with. Shota mumbled a little in his sleep, leaning his head into Hizashi’s touch.

He wanted to whisper a “thank you,” but he was afraid of opening his mouth. He hadn’t lost control of his quirk since middle school, but he was somehow certain that if he tried to say something it would come out in a blast that would permanently deafen Shota at best.

Hizashi took off his eye mask and turned his head to Shota. Their faces were inches apart and the moon’s light streamed in through the window, but Hizashi couldn’t see his face clearly. It was a bit of a blur, and only the solidity of Shota’s skin against his reassured him he wasn’t still dreaming.

Hizashi could just make out the little arcs of his eyes, since his eyelashes were lit up in the moonlight. His hair fell behind his ears, so Hizashi could see the strong line of his jaw. He was beautiful. Hizashi could see why Ms. Joke flirted with him so much. He’d long since come to terms with the fact that all of his friends were far hotter than him.

I could kiss him, he thought, and catching himself in that thought felt like catching himself on the edge of a building.

He didn’t know why the thought rattled him so much. He’d kissed Shota plenty of times, after all. But never here. Never in the dark, away from prying eyes, no one to bear witness but themselves. Not that he wanted to kiss Shota here. He had no reason to want to. They weren’t actually dating. So why had the thought occurred to him? He was probably just rattled. It had been a long day.

Hizashi wrapped Shota up tighter in his arms, put his eye mask back on, and went back to sleep.

Chapter Text

Shota’s students were extremely obnoxious. They just wouldn’t leave him alone. The only way he could get any rest was by allowing them to drag him into the common room to listen to Hizashi’s radio show while they worked. He’d moved the timeslot to Tuesday and Thursday evenings since their retirement from patrols had allowed them to have an actual sleep schedule, meaning their students could actually listen to it. Shota had always listened to it, of course, but that was because he hadn’t gone to sleep consistently for most of his life.

“Hellloooo listeners, and welcome to Put Your Hands Up radioooo! Just wanna start with a big ol’ thank you to all of you for bearing with me through the change of schedule. I’m getting old, and I can’t stay up til 5, yo! Anyway, before we get the nonstop music rolling, it’s listener hour! We’re now taking calls, so ring us up with all your questions. Advice, hero talk, personal questions—anything goes! Ah, we’ve got our first caller. Caller, you’re on the air.”

“Hey, Present Mic. Glad to talk to you, I’m a big fan. So, Juzo magazine said you got married, but they didn’t say much. Can you tell us more? We had no idea you were even dating anyone!”

Hizashi laughed. Even when he was fully in the Present Mic persona, Shota just heard Hizashi Yamada.

“Wow, we’re getting right into it! Yeah, I did get married recently, to the love of my life.”

Shota studiously ignored the “awwww”s from his students.

“He hates the spotlight,” Hizashi continued, “so I figured I wouldn’t drag him into it. But we can be a bit more open now that we’re not doing active hero work anymore.”

Hizashi’s retirement from active work had been a bit of a hot story when it broke. It wasn’t as big of a deal as it would have been if he’d fully retired—they were both still on the hero network and on call for assignments.

“Eraserhead seems like your total polar opposite, from what I’ve seen,” the listener said.

“We’re more similar than you might think, you know! We both like our coffee black, for example. But our differences complement each other. I make him go to parties he ends up enjoying, and he makes me take breaks I end up needing. People often say we make an odd couple, but I honestly can’t imagine myself with anyone else. Yowza, I’m rambling! You got any other follow-up questions for me before our next caller?”

“Yeah, does he have a nice ass?” the listener joked.

Hizashi cackled. “Ha! Well, I know for a fact that our students are listening, so all I can say is that he certainly doesn’t fit into my jeans. Thank you so much for letting me talk about my lovely husband, listener. And Shota, if you’re listening, I love you. Next caller!”

Shota wished he was wearing his scarf to bury his blushing face in. He settled for pretending to be totally engrossed in Ashido’s disappointing essay.

“Awww!” Hagakure cooed. “That’s so cute!”

“No it’s not,” Shota told her.

“Hello, you’re on the air! What’s on your mind, listener.”

“Um, hey,” a shy voice said. “I’m in a hero course right now, and I’ve always been a fan of yours, and it just really means a lot to me to have some openly LGBT heroes to look up to, but I don’t know whether to be out when I debut. Could you give me any advice?”

“Oh, wow, this is a great question! First off, listener, there are waaaay more queer people out there than our culture would have you believe, so hang in there. You’ll find your people. I gotta say, when I first debuted, I had no idea if I wanted to be out or not—and the sad truth is, sometimes that decision gets made for you. I didn’t really have a choice, since some, ah, unscrupulous reporters blasted a picture of me kissing Iida Tensei all over a bunch of tabloid covers.”

Hizashi’s next few words were drowned out by a chorus of unintelligible demands for information directed at poor Iida.

“I can’t believe your brother’s ex married our homeroom teacher!” Ashido said gleefully. “Does that like, make Aizawa your stepbrother-in-law once removed or something?”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Todoroki said blandly.

“Shut up, extras!” Bakugo snapped. “I wanna hear what he’s saying!”

“…part of your brand or whatever,” Hizashi said. “Coming out is a decision that can’t really be taken back, and it comes with both good and bad stuff. I don’t want to sugarcoat things and pretend things are easy for an out pro hero. Unlike in other jobs, you don’t really get to choose who knows once you’re out, and openly queer heroes can face discrimination and backlash. I definitely wouldn’t suggest coming out before you’ve landed your first job. But being openly queer in the pro hero community has also landed us a ton of awesome friends and communities we never would have had otherwise. It also really depends on how front-line you wanna be. If you’re looking at being an underground hero, being out to the media is gonna get you some attention that might inhibit your work. If you’re a huge face hero, though, you might get tired hiding a part of yourself from the world. I’d personally recommend coming out as soon as you’ve got job security, but it’s a very personal decision.”

“That’s some really good advice,” the caller said. “Who was the first person you ever came out to?”

Shota’s fingers clenched around his pen. A loaded question at the best of times, and it was decidedly not the best of times.

“It was in my first year,” Hizashi said. His voice remained light and conversational, and Shota wondered if he was imagining the undercurrent of anguish beneath it. “There was…a guy in my class, and we were friends almost immediately. But, well, he was friends with everyone. It’s, ah, not anyone you’ve ever heard of. You know those people that just make any room they’re in better? They just light things up, and you have no idea how you lived with how boring your life was before you met them?”

Shota did know. He’d been lucky enough to have two friends like that, and unlucky enough to lose one.

“Like Kirishima!” Kaminari blurted.

Hizashi continued, “Yeah, he was like that. And not only that, he was openly queer. He was the first person I ever told. Eraser was the second, by the way, because I accidentally found out he was gay and just blurted it out.”

The class burst out laughing.

“Yo, that’s exactly how I came out to Kirishima!” Kaminari wheezed. “Ha!”

“This is the last time I’m listening with them,” Shota muttered under his breath.

“I’ll always owe him a lot,” Hizashi said. “I wouldn’t be the hero I am today without him. So it means a lot to me, listener, that I’m a role model to some youngsters in the LGBTQ+ community! It kinda feels like I’m carrying on a bit of his light. Thank you so much for your call.”

“Wait,” Kaminari said, “that kinda makes it sound like that dude died.”

Shota’s fingers wrapped so tight around the pen that it hurt. Of course, to these kids, a death was something surprising. Something almost unfathomable, even. It was a lesson they had not yet learned.

He wanted to shut down their discussion with a blunt “he did” that brooked no further questioning. But that might be a lie. Oboro was somewhere in the semantic space between life and death, with the closure of neither.

They’d scheduled weekly visits to Tartarus on Sundays. Any more frequent would be too painful. Any less frequent, and Shota wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

Shota scrawled a grade on the bottom of Ashido’s essay, got up, and left the room to listen to the rest of the show in their home. Eri was out getting ice cream with the Big Three, so the house would be empty.

He was ready for some time alone.

When Shota reached home, Himari was sitting on a large box in front of the door.

“Hey,” she greeted him. “I got something for you.”

Shota kept his face carefully composed. He hadn’t told Himari about Oboro—she was good friends with his parents, and he couldn’t risk them knowing. They couldn’t know.

“How did you even get on campus?” Shota asked.

“Ms. Kayama let me in. What, not even a hello?”

Shota sighed. “It seemed redundant. It’s good to see you.”

Himari scrutinized him carefully. “I can tell you have something on your mind, so I’ll leave you alone. Let’s get coffee sometime this week, okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. Friday works for me. See you later.”

Shota opened the box on the kitchen table. It was full of fabric, all manner of blankets and clothing. Probably pilfered from the Aizawa family’s storage.

Hizashi would love the bright colors.

The next day, Kirishima hung back after P.E. This was unusual, since the rest of 1-A was tripping over each other to get changed and get to lunch just like they did every Wednesday.

“What,” Shota demanded.

“I, uh,” Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, “just wanted to say thanks, I guess.”

“For what?” Shota asked. “You didn’t seem very grateful for the intensive training today.”

“Well, it’s just that Mic-sensei’s show yesterday got me thinking. Remember earlier in the year, when you put up some little pride flags at your desk? Well, that kinda gave me the courage to come out to the rest of the class. I just figured I should tell you that it means a lot to me to have another gay pro to look up too.”

Shota blinked. The possibility of him being some sort of role model had honestly never crossed his mind.

Back when he was a student, it had felt like him, Hizashi, and Oboro against the world when it came to their queerness. Very few heroes were out, and they faced regular backlash. The general attitude was that queerness was something to be mocked, something rejected if it didn’t fit into a few predetermined roles. It was a rough way to exist, and Shota certainly hadn’t had any openly queer teachers.

His kids would have it easier. Thanks to him and Hizashi.

“Sensei,” Kirishima said hesitantly, “are you…crying?”

“It’s the dry eye,” Shota replied gruffly. He wiped his eyes. “Don’t thank me. You came up with that courage yourself.”

“I don’t think anyone comes up with courage all by themselves,” Kirishima said. “I certainly never have, anyway.” He showed off a brilliant, shark-toothed grin. “There’s nothing manlier than taking courage from other people!”

Shota awkwardly patted Kirishima on the shoulder. “Get to lunch. I know you’re hungry.”

Kirishima gave him two thumbs up. “Sure thing, Sensei! See ya later!”

He ran off to change and go to lunch. Shota had his own lunch plans—taco rice with Hizashi and Eri at home—but he took a moment to stand in the hot sun, hands in his pockets, eyes prickling.

Thanks to Oboro, Shota and Hizashi had been secure enough in their sexualities to be out and proud to their students. And thanks to that, their students were comfortable with who they were. Thanks to Oboro’s influence and example, they were better parents to Eri. Oboro lived on in Shota and Hizashi, and they had returned those parts to him in Tartarus.

When they saw Oboro again, Shota would tell him all about it. Maybe it would just be talking to a wall, and those blank yellow eyes would show no emotion. But Shota fervently hoped that, somewhere under that fog, Oboro would hear him.

Chapter Text

Shota needed to step up his game.

He was well aware that he was getting complacent. He wasn’t good at pretending to be married to Hizashi when he wasn’t actively trying to. So he had to start developing habits. He already leaned on Hizashi’s shoulder if they sat next to each other long enough and slept at his side if they were in a bed together, but that wasn’t enough.

Next, Shota was going to try pet names.

Hizashi called Eri “marshmallow” as regularly as he said her name. “Babe” and “sweetheart” slipped off his tongue like they couldn’t wait to get out into the world, and he threw around verbal affirmations of their pretended love like confetti. Meanwhile, the word “love” stuck in Shota’s throat and refused to come out. It was a matter of practice, of course. Shota just needed to start using terms of endearment.

Once he’d finished his taco rice, he had twenty minutes of his break left, so Shota looked up a list of pet names and wrote them down, adding all the ones he’d seen Hizashi use. Then he crossed out all the ones that sounded stupid. That turned out to be the entire list.

It wasn’t procrastination. The conversation with Kirishima had given him a lot to think about, that was all.

“Watcha doin?” Hizashi asked.

“Nothing,” Shota responded, tapping his pen against his chin.

He was going to surprise Hizashi. He was going to show Hizashi that he could be verbally affectionate. He was going to prove that he could pull his weight in the relationship—Shota was a hard man to pretend to love, and the least he could do was meet Hizashi halfway.

Maybe he needed to think outside the box. Hizashi had no doubt derived the nickname “marshmallow” from Eri’s white hair and propensity for sweet foods. Hizashi liked loud music and his hair was yellow. What was loud and yellow?

Shota wrote down “cockatoo,” then crossed it out and replaced it with “canary.” “Banana” was stupid. So was “lemon.” What else was yellow? Shota sighed. He really had no idea what was and wasn’t a pet name. He’d heard Kayama use “hot stuff” and “sweet cheeks,” but there was no way in hell he was saying that to Hizashi.

He was overthinking this. He just needed to use things he liked and that sounded nice. That was how pet names worked—they were a substitute for someone’s real name in an effort to associate them with other loved items and concepts, thus conveying affection.

It felt weird to call his friend “cat.” “Licorice” seemed adequate. Sweet things were good pet names, right?

He clicked his pen a few times and wrote down the word “flowers” followed by a question mark. Hizashi liked sunflowers. That could be a good one. Or geraniums. Maybe “nugget,” like a chicken nugget. Hizashi liked chicken nuggets. Or was that too childish?

Ah, he had the perfect pet name. Sprite. They both loved Sprite. They always had some cans of it in the fridge, and it was common knowledge that they both liked Sprite. Therefore, anyone overhearing the pet name would assume that Shota was associating Hizashi with something he loved, thus strengthening their marriage’s credibility.

Time to try it out. He should probably test drive it with Hizashi first, on the off-chance he’d made some sort of grave mistake that would make Kayama laugh at him.

“You ready for your next class, Sprite?” he asked.

Hizashi looked up from the coloring book he was working on with Eri. “Uh, yeah. Do you want some Sprite?”

“I’m calling you Sprite.”

Hizashi blinked. “Is this some sort of insult? You really gotta work on your diss tracks. Yo, I could help you compose one!”

Shota sighed in disappointment, put away his computer, and left for his his next class. He’d take the long route—he needed some time to brainstorm pet names. He’d been going on a lot of walks lately.

By the time he reached the staff room for the post-lunch free period they shared, Shota had accumulated an arsenal of pet names that would hopefully last him a long time if he used them sparingly. He would, of course, use them sparingly—it wasn’t at all in character for him to use pet names often. He would keep careful track of the reaction to each one. The ideal term of endearment would sell their relationship to onlookers while also making Hizashi smile. That wasn’t a high bar to clear—Hizashi smiled a lot.

It was just Cementoss in the room, and he could be trusted to not blab about any horrendous failures. Cementoss was level-headed and relaxed.

“I brought you a sandwich!” Hizashi said brightly as he swanned in through the doorway. The sunshine suddenly seemed a lot brighter. “You always get hungry around this time of day.”

Shota had a stash of jelly packs in his desk, but he took the offered sandwich nonetheless. He’d been eating a lot less jelly packs than usual, since he didn’t want Eri to pick up his habits. He still liked jelly packs, but it was hard to subsist on them alone when he had a husband who knew exactly which foods he would and wouldn’t eat.

“Thanks, licorice.”

“Uh, I don’t have any licorice.”

“I was calling you licorice,” Shota said through gritted teeth. Was Hizashi being intentionally obtuse? “It’s a term of endearment.”

Hizashi stared back at him for a moment before bursting into bright laughter. Well, that was half of the objective achieved. It wasn’t that funny. Hizashi loved laughing at things that weren’t that funny. It made up for Shota, who never laughed at things that other people found funny.

“Licorice!” he crowed. “Okay, bubblegum. My precious candy cane. I hope you enjoy your sandwich.”

Shota squinted at him. “I feel like you’re making fun of me.”

“He is,” Cementoss helpfully supplied.

“Hey, wait,” Hizashi said, “is that why you called me Sprite earlier? Was that…was that supposed to be a pet name?”

Shota glared at him as he took a bite of his sandwich. It was delicious. “I have work to do.”

“It totally was! You totally tried to use ‘Sprite’ as a pet name!”

“Sprite?” Cementoss repeated incredulously.

“I’m trying my best here!” Shota snapped. “It’s sweet. It’s something we both like. That’s a rational thing to call my husband. Why is it not a good term of endearment?”

“Sprite!?” Cementoss said again.

“Can’t you just say ‘honey’ or ‘baby’?” Hizashi asked.

“Doesn’t seem in character for him,” Cementoss said.

“How about ‘jelly pouch?’” Hizashi suggested. “Or ‘rationality?’ Those are things you like.”

Shota buried his burning face in his capture scarf.

Hizashi patted the top of his head. “It’s okay, honeybun. Take your time.”

“How is ‘Sprite’ stupid but ‘honeybun’ isn’t?” Shota demanded. “This whole concept seems incredibly irrational.”

“I think ‘Sprite’ is more of a nickname than a pet name,” Cementoss said.

Shota sighed and returned to his grading. Well, at least this attempt wasn’t a complete failure—Hizashi was grinning, and their bickering had no doubt helped sell their relationship to Cementoss.

Many people assumed Shota was lazy, that he did things halfway. They looked at his scruff and baggy clothes and didn’t look any further. In reality, when Shota set his mind to a goal, he didn’t let go of it until he’d seen it through to the end. He was tenacious, occasionally to an unhealthy degree. And he wasn’t letting go of these pet names. He was going to find the perfect term of endearment for Hizashi.

After he got home, Shota put his hero supplies in his pockets and headed out for patrol. His typical route was near UA, only a ten-minute jog away. Shota was seven minutes into that jog before he stopped in the street and realized he didn’t have patrols anymore.

“Shit,” Shota muttered.

The routine was gone, and the noise of the city rushed at him all at once. Shota was left standing stupidly in the street, feeling like a foreigner in the city he’d lived in for his whole life. People gave him a mixture of odd looks and smiles as they passed.

The sun was starting to set. Shota was suddenly cold.

He turned around and started walking back towards UA. A cloud passed over the sun. There would be rain. Shota hated rain.

Oboro was alive. Oboro might just have a chance at being a hero someday. And Shota had quit patrols before they’d ever have a chance to go on one together as heroes.

His life was so different than it was before the raid. Before the training camp. Before his problem class. Change had snuck up on him more stealthily than any villain. He broke into a jog.

He was no longer Eraserhead, the street-hitting villain-punching pro. He was Eraserhead, the hero on call for emergencies. He was Aizawa-sensei. He was Otosan. He was “honeybun,” apparently.

He liked being Shota Aizawa better than he liked being Eraserhead. When had heroism become such a burden?

He changed direction, heading down a side street. He wasn’t ready to head back yet.

It was starting to rain, and Shota still wasn’t home. Hizashi frowned at the doorway, as if his attention would pull Shota back faster. He didn’t like rainy days. He rather preferred them when they were all safe and warm in the house, as a family.

“Where’d dad go?” Eri asked. “When will he be back?”

“I dunno. He’s probably fine.” Hizashi checked his texts. Nothing from Shota. “Maybe he had to help one of his students with something. Don’t worry, he’ll text if he won’t be back by bedtime.”

Eri nodded and returned to her worksheet. She was having some trouble with her hiragana, but was determined to figure it out. Hizashi had been talking to her plenty in both English and Japanese—he was determined to raise her bilingual to give her a head start on her schooling.

He had set lists to go over and training materials to review for the station’s new interns, but Hizashi’s mind was wandering. Shota had started using pet names. Shota Aizawa, trying out terms of endearment. It was wildly out of character and yet spectacularly adorable. And sure, he’d started out with “Sprite” and “licorice,” but it was the thought that counted. Even those, Hizashi didn’t mind.

“I like ko,” Eri said. “It looks like a little zig zag.”

Hizashi hummed in agreement and took a sip of his tea.

What sort of pet names would he try out next? Hizashi really couldn’t see him using the standards—“babe,” “honey,” et cetera. And why was he doing this? He certainly didn’t need to call Hizashi terms of endearment to sell their relationship—no one was doubting it. There was no one demanding proof. Of all the obstacles before them, people questioning their relationship wasn’t one of them. If the Commission ended up blocking the adoption—still a possibility, given that there were still a few months before the paperwork went through—it wouldn’t be because they weren’t in love.

The door opened, and Shota stepped through looking like a drowned cat. Only Shota Aizawa could make totally drenched look good. He was, admittedly, a fairly handsome man. Hizashi could fairly admit that to himself.

“Where were you?” Hizashi asked. “Out with the kids?”

“Went for a run. Exercise helps clear my head.”

Hizashi nodded. He’d found himself full of restless motion since quitting regular hero work, an energy that manifested itself in obnoxious tapping or impulsive trips to the gym.

“You’re all wet,” Eri noted. “Did you forget your umbrella? Are you cold?”

“I’m fine. I’m gonna go take a hot shower.”

“Nice to see you, starlight,” Hizashi said. He snickered when Shota’s shoulders tensed up at the word “starlight.”

“Are you really gonna be like that?” Shota sighed.

“Hey, you obviously need some help. I figured I could be a role model!”

Shota shook his head and headed off toward the bathroom.

“Make sure to put on actual pajamas!” Hizashi yelled after him.

“I will,” Shota said. “Sunshine,” he added in English.

Hizashi choked on his tea. He could feel his face going bright red. Obviously Shota had done quite a bit of thinking on his run.

Sunshine?

Shota had absolutely no right coming up with that. Absolutely none whatsoever. And it was totally wasted—there was no one to pretend for but Eri.

Hizashi returned to staring at his computer screen, trying to make his brain work on his set list. It was no use. Shota saying “sunshine” played in his brain on repeat. Why was Hizashi so hung up on this? It was literally just his name in English. The most basic, logical term of endearment possible. An achingly Shota solution. No one else would have been able to fluster him like this.

Why was Shota able to fluster him like this? They were just friends. Hizashi shouldn’t feel like his heart was going to pound out of his chest. Why was he blushing?

Hizashi took those thoughts, bottled them up, and kicked them into the corner of his mind. He had a set list to work on. He could talk about this with Shota later. He started working. Eri was working, so there was no excuse for him to slack off.

As always, Shota took ages to shower. He used four separate hair products and yet never bought new clothes. He was a baffling man. Hizashi just got by with 5-in-1 product and copious amounts of hairspray.

“I’m hungry,” Eri announced.

Hizashi sprung to his feet, glad for the chance to move around. “All right, we could use a break! Hey, Eri, wanna be my sous chef? We just gotta heat up some leftovers and maybe fry up some tofu!”

Eri nodded. She loved helping out in the kitchen—really, she was gung-ho about any activity that gave her agency. Hizashi always loved seeing her face light up when he asked her to help. Even if her help wasn’t much. While Hizashi did all the cutting and heating and frying, he gave Eri a little bowl with all the sauce ingredients for her to whisk. While they were preparing the tofu and soaking it in the sauce Eri had proudly mixed, Shota emerged from the bathroom.

“He lives!” Hizashi announced. “Hey, Sho, get over here. I’m gonna teach you how to make marinated stir fry tofu.”

Shota always looked good after he showered. His hair was half-dry and hung in waves down to his shoulders, and his eyes were starting to lose their bags. He looked like he’d much rather be sleeping, but he always looked like that.

“You’re spoiling me,” he grumbled. “How am I supposed to eat my jelly pouches when you make stuff like this?”

“You can still have your jelly pouches for lunch.”

“Can I have a jelly pouch?” Eri asked. “They sound yummy.”

“Trust me,” Hizashi said, “they’re not. They’re just these icky protein pouches that aren’t nearly sweet enough. And when you eat them you get too full to have any good food or even any candy apples.”

Eri made a face. “Then why does dad eat them?”

“Because he likes them. Different people like different things.” Hizashi swatted Shota lightly on the arm. “Shota, you’re being a bad influence on her.”

“I’m teaching her to be rational.”

“Shut up and pay attention, babe. You’re in charge of dinner tomorrow, and you better not serve jelly pouches.”

Hizashi threw the marinaded tofu into the hot wok, adding a bit of extra marinade just to hear it sizzle. Shota leaned in close to smell the tofu, so close that his hair tickled Hizashi’s shoulder, and for some reason Hizashi forgot to breath for a second.

“Go microwave the leftovers from yesterday,” Hizashi ordered. “Be useful.”

“Yeah, be useful!” Eri giggled.

“This family terrorizes me daily,” Shota deadpanned as he obligingly got containers of rice and vegetables from the fridge.

That night as they settled into bed together, Hizashi propped himself up on one elbow and looked at Shota.

“So,” he said, “pet names. Why. What are you doing.”

Shota scowled at him, and Hizashi could just make out a blush creeping over his cheeks. “What, I’m not allowed to call you anything other than your name?”

“It just doesn’t seem like you. It doesn’t seem to come naturally to you, anyway. We don’t need to sell the relationship much more than we already have, ya know. What gives?”

Shota rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “It seemed like something you’d like. You use terms of endearment all the time. At first it was just a passing thought, but then I was bad at it, so I kind of got determined to come up with something good.”

“Well, you certainly did. How’d you come up with sunshine?”

“Seriously?” Shota scoffed. “That’s just your name in English. It’s hardly a creative masterwork.”

“Well, I like it.” Hizashi grinned. “How romantic! I’m your sunshine and you’re my starlight!”

Shota rolled his eyes and turned his back to Hizashi. “Stop being sappy.”

Hizashi just laughed at that. They were married. He could be as sappy as he pleased. It was his right as a spouse to annoy his best friend.

“Good night, sunshine,” Shota said, his voice lower than usual from the tiredness of the night and a bit of congestion from his run out in the cold, and something about those words sent a shiver down Hizashi’s spine.

The thoughts he’d shoved into the corner broke free from their bottles and came flooding back.

He rather liked it when Shota called him “sunshine.” Hizashi had mastered a myriad of social skills, and he was pretty sure that what he was feeling wasn’t what most people felt about the nicknames their best friends gave them.

He hadn’t lied when he said Shota was his starlight, despite his facetious tone. But, well, that was totally normal. They were raising a kid together. He was allowed to care a lot about his best friend.

Shota settled into his sleeping position. His black hair flowed over the pillow, exposing his neck and shoulders. Hizashi was seized with a sudden urge to kiss that neck goodnight, even though there was no one to pretend for but the moon and the stars. He could imagine it now: he would only have to lean over a few inches to press a kiss to the pale skin so often hidden beneath a scarf. Maybe Hizashi could even run a hand over those well-formed back muscles.

Okay. That wasn’t a platonic thought.

Oh, shit.

When had his platonic devotion to his best friend turned into this? Where had this urge to hold Shota close and kiss him goodnight come from? Why did the word “sunshine” from Shota’s lips make him feel warm, as if the sun was shining down on him?

He’d kissed Shota uncountable times out of necessity. He should have had enough of it to last a lifetime. And yet, as he stared at Shota’s back, Hizashi wanted nothing more than to turn him over and kiss him.

Hizashi had been known to be occasionally guilty of self-deception, but he could no longer deny the obvious: he had an unfortunate crush on his husband.

Hizashi lay flat on his back, determined to not so much as glance at Shota. This was bad. This was very bad. Hizashi got crushes quite easily, but usually got over them fast with a bit of distance. There would be no distance from Shota. They behaved like a married couple—how was he supposed to get over this crush when Shota kept kissing him?

He had to get over it. They both knew that starting an actual relationship would be highly irrational—there was no way they could keep up a new relationship while also pretending it was a long-established one for everyone else.

He scooted away from Shota, leaving two feet of space between them. There was more than enough room on the bed for them to sleep in a totally distanced and platonic arrangement. He tried not to think about how cold he felt.

Shota mumbled in sleepy discontent and scooted backwards until his back was pressed to Hizashi’s side, where he belonged. Hizashi sighed. Even the barest crumb of separation wasn’t an option. He could no more distance himself from Shota than fling the moon out of orbit with the Earth.

He’d just have to nuke his feelings from orbit with sheer force of will.

Chapter Text

“Which one would you like to try first?” Hizashi asked.

Eri pointed to a wilted spider plant. Its leaves were almost entirely brown, and its stems were nearly thin enough to snap in the slightest breeze. Hizashi picked the pot up and set it down in the middle of the gym, where she’d be trying to restore its vitality.

“Remember the egg in the microwave,” Midoriya told her. “It’s your power, Eri. You can control it. I believe in you.”

“If anything goes wrong, I’m right here,” Shota reassured her.

Eri nodded solemnly.

“And it’s okay if you can’t do it,” Toshinori told her. “We have all the time in the world, young Eri.”

Eri knelt down and put her hands on the spider plant. She bit her lip and stared intently at it, but nothing happened. Her horn remained inert, with no lights or sparks. Hizashi frowned. She definitely had enough power to rewind the plant, judging by the size of her horn. And she was certainly trying to activate her quirk.

It was fine, really. They’d anticipated that their first quirk training session with her would encounter setbacks. But Hizashi had envisioned those problems resulting from her overusing her quirk, not being unable to activate it.

Being unable to activate one’s quirk just…wasn’t really a thing, unless you were Midoriya Izuku before the age of 14. So why was Eri having so much trouble?

If it wasn’t her quirk, the block was likely psychological.

Hizashi’s brain took him on a tangent wondering about Midoriya’s quirk. It made sense that it wouldn’t have manifested until the entrance exam since it was so destructive to his body. Except for the fact that All Might had mentioned that he was present when Bakugo was attacked by the slime villain—if the quirk only activated because of adrenaline and need, wouldn’t it have manifested then?

Eri screwed up her face in determination. Her hands were shaking.

“What’s wrong, marshmallow?” Hizashi asked.

Eri let go of the spider plant and wrung her hands together. “I’m scared. What if I hurt you?”

“You won’t,” Shota assured her. “Your quirk only works on things you’re touching, and you’re not touching any of us.”

Eri didn’t look convinced. As sound as Shota’s logic was, Hizashi doubted that Eri’s trepidation rested on a bed of rationality. Logic alone couldn’t undo such deep-seated trauma. She’d only ever used her quirk in the service of evil or the heat of battle, and she’d never been in control.

“Yo,” Hizashi whispered to Shota, “I think we might want to bring in a therapist for this.”

There were plenty of therapists that specialized in quirk trauma. Surely they could find a decent one to help her control her quirk.

Shota sighed. “Probably. Let’s see how today goes.”

“It’ll be all right, Eri!” Midoriya cheered. “Your quirk’s amazing! You can do it!”

Eri nodded. She still looked anxious, but a bit more confident. She trusted Midoriya, quite possibly more than she trusted anyone else. Hizashi smiled. He was glad they had each other—judging from their interactions, Midoriya had been sorely lacking a younger sibling.

“Remember,” Hizashi told her, “this is just so you can control your quirk. After you can control it, you don’t ever have to use it again if you don’t want to.”

Eri looked at him. “But what if I really have to, like when I used it on Deku in the fight?”

“Our job is to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Shota said. “You can trust the grown-ups to take care of you, Eri.”

Hizashi glanced at Toshinori, who seemed pensive. Something was bothering him.

Eri nodded and turned back to the spider plant. She placed a single hand on the most damaged leaf. For a moment, all was still. And then Hizashi felt his hair stand on end on the back of his neck. Eri’s horn sparked and glowed. She closed her eyes in concentration.

“Remember the egg in the microwave!” Midoriya called.

The hand that wasn’t touching the spider plant curled into a little fist. Yellow light coursed down her other arm and sparkled from her fingers. Her hair floated gently around her shoulders. The plant began to shiver, and some of its leaves looked just a little greener. For just a moment, it looked like Eri was totally in control.

And then lightning struck, lancing up from her horn, a thunderstorm in reverse that almost reached the roof. Her eyes shot open, wide and afraid, and her hair whipped around her face as if caught in a tornado. The energy raged for just a moment, then vanished as Shota’s hair flew up and his eyes shone red.

Eri fell to her knees like a puppet with its strings cut. They all rushed to her side, hovering. Her forehead bore a sheen of sweat, and she was breathing too fast.

“Are you all right?” Hizashi asked. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re safe. Everyone’s okay.”

Eri turned to Shota and buried her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her comfortingly, if a little stiffly.

“I lost control,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

Shota stroked her hair. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Eri-chan, look!” Midoriya said. “The plant’s a bit greener.”

They all turned to look, even Eri. It wasn’t much, but the leaves had indeed regained a bit of life.

“I couldn’t even heal a plant without losing control,” Eri whispered.

“I don’t see it that way,” Midoriya said. “See, when you lost control in that big fight, you were healing all my wounds. And now, when you lost control, you still healed the plant a little. You’re making things better even when you’re losing control!” He grinned, his smile full of raw enthusiasm. “Your quirk is so amazing!”

Hizashi wondered if that was Midoriya thought about his own quirk, when he destroyed himself to save others. It was a good thing for Eri to hear. He wasn’t so sure it was a healthy mindset for Midoriya.

“I can try again,” Eri whispered, “if you want.”

Shota picked her up. “I think we’re done for today. There’s no rush. You did so well, Eri.”

Eri turned her head again to look at the spider plant. Hizashi could have been mistaken, but he thought he saw some happiness in her eyes.

She was making progress.

Hizashi didn’t have the best hair. It was long and golden, yes, but constant styling and substandard product had turned it dry and brittle. When he washed it out in the evenings, it fell limp and stringy around his shoulders.

Shota, apparently, had reached his limit. When Hizashi came home late, threw off his directional speaker, and started in the direction of the shower, Shota called after him: “Use my product. Your hair’s miserable.”

“Dude, you use so much stuff! How am I supposed to keep track of it?”

“I manage,” Shota said dryly. “Shampoo, then conditioner, then a dollop of the stuff that says ‘leave-in’ after you turn the water off.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

When he emerged after wrangling his hair into dryness, he saw exactly why Shota had insisted on his hair being well taken care of. Shota and Eri had spread their arsenal of hair accessories across the new kotatsu, and Shota was brushing Eri’s hair.

“Seems a bit weird to do our hair this late,” Hizashi remarked.

“Shut up and get over here,” Shota ordered. “I’ll get one braid if you get the other.”

Hizashi, of course, obliged. He sat behind Eri and started braiding half of her hair.

“I’m probably not gonna do this right,” he muttered. “I haven’t braided hair in ages.”

“You’ll do great, papa,” Eri told him.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Eri.”

“What’s your favorite way to have your hair done?” Shota asked.

Eri didn’t answer, like she didn’t understand the question. Was that a weird question to ask a six-year-old? Hizashi had no idea. He was trained to deal with high schoolers, not kids, and none of the books he’d read were really relevant to Eri.

Maybe she was upset about the training. She didn’t look upset, but Eri tended to manifest her discontent in silence, curling up in on herself like an emotional pillbug.

“I like Ochaco’s hair,” Eri said softly. “It’s really pretty.”

Shota stared blankly at the braid in his hands, obviously baffled by her statement. He didn’t tend to understand comments on aesthetics.

“Do you want your hair to be like Ochaco’s?” Hizashi asked. “You can have a haircut anytime you want, little listener.”

“A haircut?” Eri repeated.

Hizashi looked at Eri’s hair, which when let down fell to her waist. It looked like it could represent six years of growth.

Of course Overhaul wouldn’t have cut her hair. It was tangled and stringy when they’d rescued her, obviously treated with cursory brushings and infrequent showers. No one had cared for it. And yeah, Hizashi didn’t care for his hair, but that was by choice. She was just six years old. Every time Hizashi thought he couldn’t possibly hate Overhaul more, a new detail proved him wrong.

“Yeah, a haircut,” Hizashi said. “Like when someone cuts your hair shorter and styles it so it looks however you want.”

Shota had obviously brushed her hair well—the braid was going extremely smoothly.

“Am I allowed to get one?” Eri asked hesitantly.

“Of course,” Shota told her. “Your hair is a part of your body, which means it belongs to you and you alone. It’s your choice what happens to your hair.”

“You could put it in a mohawk,” Hizashi suggested. “Or dye it rainbow. Or shave it all off. Or get Kaminari to give you a static shock so it goes in all different directions!”

Eri giggled.

Shota rolled his eyes. “Your father has no idea what to do with hair.”

“But yours looks all scraggly,” Eri told Shota.

Hizashi cackled. “It does!” He reached over and patted Shota’s hair—the action was plausibly condescending, but gave him an opportunity to feel its softness. “So much for your fancy product.”

Eri started to get sleepy as they finished doing her hair. Hizashi didn’t blame her—hair braiding and the kotatsu was a potent combo.

“Do you want us to take it out for you to sleep, or leave it in?” Hizashi asked.

“Leave it in,” Eri mumbled. “I like the braid.” Suddenly, she sat up straight, as though remembering something. “We had dinner without you, papa. Did you eat?”

“Don’t worry, I had plenty of food! Aunt Kayama brought me some sushi.”

He didn’t tell her that she’d brought him sushi because he hadn’t even noticed his stomach growling as he stared at his computer, navigating yet another maze of online paperwork for the adoption process. The bachelor Hizashi would have pulled an all-nighter until it was fully finished. But the same responsibility that necessitated the paperwork also made him come home in the evenings.

He had people worth taking time off for.

Usually, Hizashi did his hair alone in the mornings.

This morning was different.

Shota had cornered him after Eri headed off with Thirteen. They didn’t have classes first period—usually, they’d go into the teachers’ work room even though they didn’t technically have to be in, but Shota had other plans. Hizashi found himself bracketed between Shota’s knees, on the ground while Shota sat on the couch and brushed his hair.

“You need to take better care of this,” Shota told him. “If you keep pulling it into that mohawk and neglecting it, you’ll be bald by the time you’re 40.”

Hizashi closed his eyes and leaned back into the brush. It felt incredibly nice—he hadn’t had something scratching his scalp just right in ages. When he’d come up with the hairstyle, he hadn’t even really thought about his 40s. When he was 21 with such a momentous death so near in his memory, it was hard to believe he’d make it to 35. He was well on his way now, and there was every possibility he’d live to see that gold hair streaked with white. If he didn’t lose it all first.

Hizashi doubted his hair would look good as he got older. Shota, though—Shota would be gorgeous as a silver fox.

“I like the mohawk, yo,” Hizashi said. “It’s part of my brand.”

“You’re not even a patrol hero anymore, and your listeners can’t see you. I just don’t see the point of spending 20 minutes on it every morning.”

Shota worked a tangle free with a little tug. It felt amazing.

The hairstyle was integral to being Present Mic. But the lines had started to blur recently between Present Mic and Hizashi Yamada.

“How would you rather I wear it?” Hizashi hummed.

“I like it down,” Shota told him. “I prefer Hizashi to Present Mic.”

Hizashi knew that Shota just preferred any alternative to the mohawk, but he had to admit that those words sent a thrill down his spine.

“Well,” Hizashi said, “who am I to not wear my hair the way my husband likes it?”

Shota scoffed, predictably flustered.

“You done with my hair yet?” HIzashi asked.

“Be patient. I have to comb it.”

Hizashi felt the comb’s teeth trace down his neck. His breath caught as he realized it was wood. Aizawa was using the family comb. The comb passed down from son to son to comb their spouse’s hair in the mornings. A totem of love and prosperity.

Maybe they’d give it to Eri someday.

Him and Shota had slept side by side, kissed, and shared dances at their wedding, but somehow sitting with Shota’s hands and comb in his hair felt like the most intimate thing they’d done yet. They didn’t need to speak—Hizashi simply turned his head wordlessly with the slightest prompting from Shota’s fingers.

Shota Aizawa was not the type of person to sit down and brush someone’s hair. But here he was, brushing Hizashi’s hair. Hizashi decided he wasn’t going to read too much into that.

When Shota was finished, Hizashi ran a hand through his own hair. It wasn’t nearly as soft as Shota’s, of course, but it now felt more like silk than straw.

No way was he ruining that with hairspray.

“Thanks,” Hizashi said. He mentally congratulated himself for saying so in a steady and casual way.

“Let me pull it back for you,” Shota said.

Hizashi was more than capable of tying his own hair back, but even he was not strong enough to deny himself the pleasure of feeling Shota do so for him. And it felt amazing—Shota’s deft yet strong hands twisting his hair and rubbing against his scalp, tugging on his hair just a little, pulling it competently into an artfully messy bun.

“There,” Shota said. “That looks good.”

Hizashi wondered how to ask Shota to do this again every morning. He couldn’t find the words.

“Want me to do yours?” Hizashi asked.

“I already brushed my hair. Maybe tomorrow.”

Hizashi grinned. Turned out he didn’t have to ask.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

While Eri was earnestly patting down the dirt around a hydrangea, Sero showed up. In his hands, he balanced a tray full of little pots.

“Hey, sensei,” he said. “I heard you guys were out buying plants and stuff, and I thought you might like some cuttings from my succulents? You’d have to keep them inside, though.”

“Thanks,” Shota said. “You can leave them by the step.”

As Sero set down the tray, Eri trotted over to him and looked at the pots.

“Why are there leaves in the pots?” she asked.

“They’re succulent clippings,” Sero explained. “See, if you cut off the leaf of a succulent and plant in and take really good care of it, it’ll grow into a full succulent.”

Eri’s eyes widened. “And then can you cut a leaf from that one and make a new one?”

“I mean, yeah!”

Eri crouched down to inspect the plants. “How long till they grow?”

“Uh, I dunno. I’m not super good with time.”

Eri gently poked one of the leaves. “Thank you, Hanta!”

Sero smiled, all teeth and bashfulness. “It’s no problem. Just make sure you and your dads take good care of them.”

Eri nodded seriously. “I’ll learn to control my quirk so that way if they die I can rewind them!”

“Hey, that’s the spirit!”

Shota smiled fondly and finished shaking the dirt off the bottom leaves of the hydrangea. Eri was getting better and better—she’d managed to rewind a bug with a torn wing the previous day and hadn’t lost control until after the bug was all better, and she’d reined in the sparking lightning to almost nothing before he used his quirk. He predicted it wasn’t long before she could control her quirk, and he knew exactly what she’d do—Eri had blamed herself for Mirio losing his quirk, and desperately wanted the power to undo what had been done.

Shota was smiling a lot lately. His mouth was starting to wear at the corners.

Kayama was the next to show up, carrying Sushi in her arms. Sushi had gotten languid and sleepy in his old age, and had to be carried outside for walks. He had long since refused to have anything to do with the cat harness and leash.

“How’re my gardeners doing?” she asked. She smirked at the sight of Shota’s floppy hat and gardening gloves. Shota didn’t care that they looked a bit ridiculous. They were comfortable and practical. “Thought I’d see if you needed help.”

Shota raised an eyebrow at her perfectly manicured nails. “Are you actually offering?”

“Well, Sushi did need to go out.”

“Auntie Kaya!” Eri cheered. “You brought Sushi!”

“I sure did. You wanna hold him?”

Eri held out her arms and Kayama set Sushi into them. Sushi seemed perfectly content to curl up in Eri’s lap and let her pet him. She could probably comfortably lift him at this point—Sushi was a big cat, but he’d lost a lot of weight.

Eri handled Sushi with the utmost care. She knew that Sushi was very important to her dads and Kayama.

“You two spoil that cat,” Shota muttered.

“He’s retired, he’s earned it,” Kayama responded. “He’s started to slow down a lot lately.”

Sushi was quiet and sleepy on Eri’s lap, not purring like usual. His orange fur had lost its luster.

“I’m taking him to the vet on Sunday,” Kayama said. “After…after our plans.”

Eri’s face was the picture of happiness as she petted Sushi. Shota hoped the the healing power of cats could help an old friend as well.

The Hotta’s cat cafe had flourished since its founding, especially once the UA students had gotten wind of its location. It wasn’t far, making it the perfect place for Shota and Himari to meet. And there were plenty of cats, which was a bonus. As soon as Shota walked in, he had a few winding around his ankles and beeping at his heels. They knew he was easily coerced into giving treats and pats.

Himari was already sitting down with a cup of tea. There was a grey tabby curled up asleep on her lap.

“Hey, Himari,” he greeted her gruffly as he pulled out a chair. She responded with a slight smile.

“How’ve you been, Shota?”

Shota squinted at her in suspicion. Himari wasn’t one to reach out for small talk.

He loved her, of course, and he was sure she loved him, but she’d never been any sort of parental figure. He had never had any illusions that she would become his new mother—she offered him legal emancipation and a bed to sleep in, nothing more. He was a self-sufficient kid. He’d never needed her to take care of him—if he ever needed help with homework, that was what Hizashi was for. She never signed up to have a kid. It wasn’t her fault her brother was a piece of shit.

“I’ve been fine,” he answered. “Adoption process has been way harder than it needs to be.”

Himari nodded. “That’s good to hear.”

Her face didn’t match her words. Something was bothering her. Shota wasn’t one for small talk.

“What’s bothering you?”

Himari chuckled a bit sadly. “You always get right to the point, Sho.” She sighed and scratched the cat in her lap behind the ears. “Shota, I wanted to apologize.”

Shota blinked. “What?”

“I just…” She ran a hand over her face. “You deserved so much better, Shota. I’m sorry. I treated you like a roommate when I should have treated you like the kid you were, and I didn’t support you enough, and I didn’t give you what you needed. “ She wiped her eyes. “I was just thinking about it because, well, you’re adopting, and I can’t stop thinking about how much better a guardian you’ll be than anyone in your life ever was, and you deserved so much better, and I’m so sorry, because I know that’s why we haven’t been in contact much and I just…I was resentful, at first, you know? Because I raised you for years and you didn’t even tell me you were getting married, but now I know it’s my fault, and I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Shota said, dumbfounded. “It’s not your fault. We just…I kind of forgot that you didn’t know already?”

It hurt to lie to Himari, but it was a necessary deception. Perhaps someday he could tell her the truth.

“I mean,” he continued, “you always knew we were best friends, and our relationship developed naturally from that. The change felt so natural that we just didn’t really tell anyone. Even Kayama didn’t know until we started planning the wedding.”

The key to deception was only telling lies that could be true. Given the closeness of their friendship, it would be more than plausible for Shota and Hizashi to slide into a relationship naturally.

Himari gave a watery laugh. “Only you two would pull something like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Shota said, and it wasn’t a lie, it just wasn’t an apology for what Himari thought it was. A lie by omission, a stand-in for the apologies they should be making for the deception they had no choice but to weave. “I should have told you.”

Himari placed a warm hand over his. “It’s all right, Shota. You can make up for it by telling me if there’s anything at all you and Hizashi need,” she said in a teasing tone.

Shota thought of Hizashi, at home squinting at a computer screen. He thought of the papers she’d had to sign and the documentation she’d had to collect when he was in middle school.

“Call Hizashi and ask if you can help him with the adoption paperwork,” Shota said. “You know your way around that system.”

Himari nodded. “I will. I’m not sure how much help I’ll be—you were pretty easy to get custody of.”

The unspoken “because no one else in the family wanted you” lingered in the air.

“I’m sure you’ve got plenty of babysitters for Eri,” Himari continued, “but I’d love to babysit sometime.”

Shota and Himari hadn’t been family back when they should have been. Himari was away for work all the time and had no idea what to do with a teenager. Shota was withdrawn, responding to any statement with one or two words until Hizashi and Oboro brought him out of his shell. Sometimes they’d go two weeks without seeing each other, and Shota always hid a bag of essentials under the bed in case Himari decided her family was right about him.

She was right. He should have had a parent. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t be family now.

“That would be great,” Shota said. “I want you to be a part of her life.”

Eri would grow up with as much family as possible.

Shota got home late. Hizashi was still up, cup of coffee steaming at his side as he typed away at his laptop. His eyes, no longer hidden behind his sunglasses, were tired and red with just the barest hint of green lingering around his irises. His foundation was starting to wear off, revealing dark eye bags and stress acne mingling with the freckles on his nose. The light of the laptop screen cast his face in a deathly pallor, and his shoulders were far too hunched to be healthy for someone who wore support gear around his neck all day.

“Any way I can help?” Shota asked.

Hizashi smiled at him. “Thanks for offering. Not really your area, Eraser.”

Not really his area. Adopting Eri was a task that required far more social clout than actual paperwork—letting Shota interact with anyone involved would likely get her permanently taken away out of spite.

“I’m making progress,” Hizashi continued. “They’re sending over someone to approve our house.”

“When?”

Hizashi shrugged. “We’re on a waitlist. Which I’m pretty sure isn’t supposed to happen.”

Shota sighed and tried to look on the bright side—if the Commission was stalling the adoption, it meant they hadn’t found a way to shut it down outright yet.

“Are you sure I can’t help?”

Hizashi’s smile seemed a bit too tight. “I’m sure.”

“I can take over the cooking for a bit,” Shota said. “And the cleaning. And looking after Eri.” He sighed. “I’m sorry you have to be the one to deal with this.”

Hizashi shrugged. “Can’t be helped.”

He ran a hand through his hair, a habit that had gotten far more common since he’d started using Shota’s shampoo and conditioner. His hair was smooth and shiny, like the golden thread demanded by villains in fairytales.

“Back massage?” Shota offered. “Your posture sucks right now.”

“Says the guy who gains five inches when he stands up straight.” Hizashi rolled his shoulders back and winced as an audible pop sounded out through the living room. “Er, yeah, maybe I could use a back massage.”

“Okay. Sit down on the floor, and I’ll sit on the couch above you.”

As Shota sat down behind Hizashi, Hizashi grabbed his laptop from the coffee table so he could keep working through the massage. The man just didn’t have an off switch. No wonder he got sick so often.

From the moment Shota’s hands touched Hizashi’s shoulders, they were met with some serious knots. Hizashi’s muscles felt like a mound of rocks. Shota dug in the heels of his palms, and Hizashi made a little noise somewhere between a yelp and a moan.

“That good?” Shota asked.

“Please keep going,” Hizashi told him. “Even harder.”

So Shota kept going. He dug his thumbs into the muscle along Hizashi’s spine. He rolled his knuckles across Hizashi’s back. He kneaded at Hizashi’s shoulders with all the strength he’d developed over years of hard fighting. Hizashi’s typing grew slower and slower, as though his arms could go on no longer.

Shota dug his fingers into one of the pernicious knots where Hizashi’s neck met his shoulder, and he sighed and leaned into the touch. He’d been working so hard while Shota was out gardening and talking with his aunt, and Shota couldn’t do a thing to help. He didn’t understand computers, paperwork, or people, and teaching him would take Hizashi longer than just doing the task himself.

As always, Shota was useless while Hizashi burned bright like the sun. The problem was, a person could only burn that bright for so long before burning themselves into ash.

“Take a break soon, all right?” Shota said. “You need to take care of yourself.”

Hizashi made a dismissive noise.

“For Eri,” Shota continued. “You can’t take care of her if you don’t take care of yourself.”

Hizashi would run himself to the bone if left unsupervised, but he cared about Eri.

“All right,” Hizashi sighed. “I’ll be there for you two.”

As Shota worked at the knot, he worked at the lump in his throat. Hizashi knew he didn’t need to take care of Shota. They were both adults. But Hizashi wanted to be there for him.

Shota was so lucky. Hizashi would do anything for Eri. Hizashi wanted to be there for him.

“I’m so lucky to have you,” Shota said.

Hizashi laughed softly. “That’s what marriage is for, yo.”

Shota wasn’t good at reading tone, but he was good at reading Hizashi, and those words didn’t sound like a joke. Nor did Shota want them to.

“You didn’t have to give me a back massage,” Hizashi said.

“I know. But I wanted to,” Shota said. Because I love you, Shota thought but didn’t say.

Shota’s thoughts caught up with him about three hours later, and he jerked out of half-sleep.

He loved Hizashi. He was in love with Hizashi.

When the fuck did that happen?

Shota prided himself on his combat awareness, and yet his feelings had snuck up on him without him catching them in the act. His hands trembled. This wasn’t an ideal development.

He ran a hand over his face, letting out a shaking breath. Hizashi’s deep, steady breaths were constant and comforting at his back. There were no butterflies in his stomach. Instead, Shota felt a steady warmth in his heart.

Maybe this wasn’t love. Maybe this was just close friendship and Shota didn’t know what love was. He liked being married to Hizashi, yes, but he’d always liked having Hizashi close. He liked kissing Hizashi, but it would be irrational to not get used to something so essential for their charade.

Would he like to kiss Hizashi in the privacy of their room, though? Would he like to whisper words of love with only them to hear? Would “sunshine” sound right in the darkness?

Shota turned over, watching the silhouette of Hizashi’s chest rise and fall. His breaths were low and even, and far slower than the average person’s in sleep. Even in the darkness, Shota knew exactly what Hizashi looked like asleep.

“Sunshine,” Shota whispered.

It felt right. The word settled well in the heavy night. It felt right, too, to lean over and kiss Hizashi on the cheek, but Shota didn’t do so.

That errant impulse didn’t mean he was in love. It just felt like the thing to do. It was just the routine getting to him.

“I love you,” Shota breathed, just to test it out. Trial and error were key to discovering truth, after all.

That felt right, too.

“I love you,” Shota whispered again, to get a larger sample size.

Something settled in his chest, something he hadn’t felt all the times he’d said those three words to keep up the act. It was the familiar weight of unfiltered truth.

He didn’t dare say it a third time, lest Hizashi hear.

What would Hizashi think, if he heard Shota whisper words of love in the darkness? He’d probably laugh it off, give Shota the plausible deniability to wave it off as a joke, maybe even tease him a little to cement it as nothing serious. Hizashi was kind like that. But he wouldn’t forget, and he wouldn’t be fooled. He’d be overwhelmed, maybe—he had enough on his plate without dealing with Shota’s ill-conceived affection.

Shota had to either get rid of these feelings or take them with him to his grave.

Chapter Text

Tartarus was cold.

Hizashi did not shiver, but he clenched his spindly hands into fists to keep his fingers from freezing. The stark white walls and smell of foreboding made the whole place seem far more chilly than it actually was. He wondered how Kayama was coping in her thin jumpsuit. At least she had Sushi in her arms to warm her up.

The hallways got longer every time they visited. Hizashi was convinced that the guards took them through a different route each time, because none of the halls and intersections ever looked familiar until they reached Kurogiri’s cell. He didn’t have the brainpower to keep track of the twists and turns.

Finally, they arrived at the door. That door had started to show up in Hizashi’s dreams, both the good ones and bad ones. It took several keys to open. Kurogiri wasn’t getting out of here anytime soon.

Standing in front of the door was Dr. Kinoshita, one of Japan’s top neurologists. She was small and fidgety, with oversized round glasses and a nervous yet enthusiastic demeanor.

“Welcome back,” she greeted them. “Ah, Ms. Midnight! It’s nice to meet you! I do wish it could be in better circumstances.”

“Any progress?” Shota asked.

Dr. Kinoshita flipped through her clipboard. “Well, he mentioned he liked cats yesterday when I said Sushi was coming to visit. I think that’s just Kurogiri, though. No major changes in his MRIs or personality screenings, but we are seeing restoration of some neural pathways, which has me optimistic. I don’t think another major breakthrough like your first visit is going to happen, but with slow progress and reminding him of events in his past, we might see some real improvement.”

“Might,” Kayama repeated.

Dr. Kinoshita shrugged apologetically. “We can’t know anything for sure. We’re not even sure if Kurogiri and Shirakumo are separate people or personalities at this point. It’s an entirely unprecedented situation. Which is good for those of us that are researching nomus, and bad for pretty much everyone else involved. I’m sorry. But I am optimistic that we can make some progress with him.”

Hizashi bowed to her. “Thank you so much for your help.”

“I thank you,” Dr. Kinoshita responded. “Your involvement will be invaluable in his recovery.”

As the door creaked open, Kayama took a step closer to Hizashi.

“Will I see his face?” she whispered.

“We hope so.” Hizashi told her.

Kurogiri’s faceted remained misty and indistinct despite their best efforts. Oboro’s face hadn’t reappeared since he’d choked out Shota’s name and the word “hospital,” as if even that had exhausted him beyond recovery. As if there was nothing of him left.

There were three chairs set up in front of the glass. Kurogiri was awake—they’d developed a restraint material that could keep him from teleporting. Hizashi wondered what he was thinking about. Did he think about them at all? Did he wonder why they kept coming back?

They sat down, Hizashi on the end, Shota in the middle, and Kayama on the other side. Kurogiri stared back at them through the glass. His yellow eyes narrowed.

“We’re back, Oboro,” Shota said. “We brought Nemuri Kayama with us.”

“Hey,” Kayama said. “I brought Sushi. Remember Sushi? You saved him from the rain when he was a kitten.”

“I don’t pick up strays,” Kurogiri said primly. “Once again, I believe you’re talking to the wrong person.”

“You picked up Tomura Shigaraki,” Hizashi pointed out.

“He was entrusted to my care. I would not betray that trust.”

Oboro must always have been buried deep—Shouta had faith that, if Shigaraki had been raised by Oboro, he would have turned out a lot better. Yet Kurogiri would not talk about Shigaraki with such care if no part of Oboro remained.

“Do you like cats?” Shota asked. “I know you do. You saved the kitten I couldn’t save. All I could do was put my umbrella over the box.”

Kurogiri’s form flickered for a second. Hizashi leaned forward.

“You picked him up and carried him to UA in the rain,” Shota continued. “Then you came in through the window and stripped naked in front of everyone.”

“That doesn’t sound like something I would do,” Kurogiri said primly. His voice sounded distant.

“I remember it well,” Hizashi chuckled. “I’ll be honest, it was a bit of a bisexual awakening for me. After that, all three of us were openly queer.”

“I’m straight,” Kurogiri said. He sounded like he was in pain.

“Are you sure this is Oboro?” Kayama whispered to Shota. “Damn. They really did a number on him.”

“That’s not true,” Shota told him. “You had a crush on Tensei Iida, remember?”

“That’s not good evidence,” Hizashi muttered. “Even straight guys had a crush on Tensei Iida. That dude’s a catch.”

Shota leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring intently.

“We interned together, remember?” Kayama said. “I got you your internship with His Purple Highness. We made a great team. You were so excited to be a hero and save people. Even when we were chasing down villains, you always made time to smile at people who were scared. What happened to the man who wanted so badly to be a hero?”

“I…I don’t…”

Hizashi’s breath caught in his throat. Kurogiri was losing his composure.

“What happened to the hero who stopped to save Sushi?” Kayama continued. “What happened to the hero who used his cloud to shield a group of children from falling concrete? That was you, Oboro Shirakumo. That’s the kind of man you are. You want to protect people. You’ve always wanted to be a hero. And you’re my friend.”

Kurogiri’s breathing was loud and raspy, and the mist of his head snapped and writhed as if caught in a breeze.

“I don’t know you,” he insisted.

“I’ve changed a lot,” Kayama replied. “We all grew up. But that doesn’t mean we’re leaving you behind. We’re your friends, Oboro. We’re never leaving you behind. We’re not giving up until you’re yourself again.”

“Then you’ll be disappointed,” Kurogiri hissed. “I am Kurogiri. I am the one who protects Tomura Shigaraki.”

“And yet you work for the man who keeps sending him into danger and grooming him to destroy society,” Hizashi replied.

Kurogiri flinched from his words with a cry of pain.

This was progress.

“If you care so much for Shigaraki,” Hizashi pressed, “why did you take him to the USJ, where any reasonable person would realize he’d probably get hurt?”

“Those were my master’s orders. I have to follow them.”

“If your master told you to kill Shigaraki, would you do it?”

“Of course not.”

“See, if you were just a nomu with none of Oboro left, you wouldn’t say that. I know you’re in there, Shirakumo. I know you care about Shigaraki, and that’s okay. We aren’t trying to take that away from you. We just want you to remember the caring man you are. Come back to us, Oboro. Sushi misses you.”

Kurogiri was silent and hunched in on himself.

“I don’t remember,” he said, but it was not Kurogiri’s voice. It was not quite Oboro’s voice either. It was broken, small, and earnest. “Kayama…wasn’t it…”

“Yes, exactly. Kayama Nemuri,” Kayama said. “You know me. We interned together. We fought together. We went to a burger place one time. You asked me on a date once and I never got to ask if you were joking. We met when my skirt ripped during lunch and you covered me with your cloud while I went to the bathroom to fix it. All the other guys were trying to take pictures.”

“I don’t remember,” he whispered. “I don’t…”

“Please try to remember,” Kayama begged. “Please remember us. We’re right here for you. All you have to do is remember.”

The mist swirled around Kurogiri’s head like a thundercloud. Hizashi saw the flash of a nose and the hint of a scar. His breath stopped for a moment.

“Oboro!” Shota yelled. “Oboro, please!”

Hizashi’s fists clenched against his thighs. Oboro was there. He was right there.

The mist peeled back into the shape of a face, and Kayama gasped.

His eyes were so blank, but shone yellow. Three uniform scars traced over his right eye. Maybe it was Hizashi’s imagination, but he seemed more defined than last time.

“Oboro?” Kayama whispered.

“S…Sushi,” Oboro gasped. “Sushi.”

Kayama sprung up, rushed forward, and held Sushi up to the glass. Sushi looked at her in vague annoyance, obviously displeased at his comfort being disturbed. He didn’t seem to recognize Oboro. Not that Hizashi had been expecting him to, but the fact that Sushi didn’t recognize Oboro hurt more than it should have.

The mist flickered across Oboro’s face and then peeled back again.

“Kaya…Hiz…”

“Hang on!” Shota shouted. “Fight it!”

Maybe it was Hizashi’s mind making shapes out of the swirling mist, but he saw a tear running down Oboro’s cheek.

“Oboro!” Hizashi yelled.

And then he was gone. The mist snapped back and Kurogiri was once more Kurogiri. He looked down at the three of them with narrowed yellow eyes.

“This prison is bad enough,” he said, “without you coming here to torment me.”

“We’re coming back here at least once a week for the rest of your time in Tartarus,” Hizashi said. “You’re not getting rid of us.”

You’re not getting rid of me, Hizashi had said, laughing, to Shota once.

Kurogiri’s expression was hard to read, but Hizashi was pretty sure he was annoyed.

“Take your confessionals somewhere else,” Kurogiri said. “I will not speak to you further. I’d like to go to sleep. Your blathering exhausts me.”

They dropped Kayama off at the veterinarian on their way home and pulled into the UA parking garage. Shota was silent on most of their walk back to the dorm. He paused at the threshold of Heights Alliance.

“This is good,” he said, “right? We saw him again.”

Hizashi nodded. “I think so. I think this is progress.”

Shota’s eyes were distant. Hizashi hadn’t seen that faraway look in a while, and his stomach plummeted a little. He didn’t have the energy to bring Shota back from the brink again, not while tangling with an army of HPSC bureaucrats.

“Hey,” Hizashi said. “You good?”

Shota snapped back to attention. “Yeah, just thinking.” He smiled with half his mouth. “Funny how Sushi and Kayama managed to do what we couldn’t, huh?”

Hizashi stroked his chin for a moment, then stopped himself. Shota really was rubbing off on him. “I think I remember Kinoshita saying something about that. How familiarity is necessary for his stability but new stimuli might be able to incite breakthroughs.” He patted Shota on the shoulder. “Yo, you look tired. We’re back early—wanna go grab some fries?”

Shota looked off at the 1-A dorm.

“Eri will be fine. Tokoyami will take good care of her.”

“What is it with you and asking to go get food?” Shota sighed.

“You’re my husband. I’m just making sure you’re well-fed.”

Shota snorted in laughter. “I calculate my intake down to the calorie. You’re practically a twig. All right, let’s go get some food.”

Hizashi grinned and started skipping back to the car. Yeah, sure, Shota ate plenty of nutritionally correct jelly packets, but Shota living on gatorade and protein had never sat right with Hizashi. He loved the smile on Shota’s face when he took a bite of good food. He loved the pleased little noise Shota made when he smelled particularly well-seasoned meat. Hizashi barely had to try to remember what kinds of foods Shota liked, because those smiles lived in his head rent free.

Since his marriage and their shared meals, Hizashi’s jacket had gotten tighter and he could no longer wrap his thumb and middle finger around his forearm. He actually looked like a hero when he took his shirt off now.

He loved Shota. He wanted both of them to eat well.

Half an hour and one phone call later, Hizashi and Shota stood unnoticed in the doorway, watching Eri put Tokoyami’s D&D dice into stacks under Tokoyami’s close supervision.

Hizashi’s hands were cold even in his gloves. He wanted to hold Shota’s hands, but didn’t feel like his touch would be welcome. They had no room for acting in their grief.

“Papa taught me the English numbers,” Eri explained. “So I can read the English ones.”

Tokoyami nodded seriously and presented her the face of a D20. “What’s this one?”

Eri stroked her chin, and Hizashi smiled. Children sure were impressionable. The whole family was picking up Shota’s habits.

“That’s a one, and that’s a nine…” Her face brightened up. “Nineteen!”

“How quickly you gain knowledge,” Tokoyami hummed. “This is the second best number in D&D.”

“So 20’s the best?”

“Exactly.”

“What’s the worst?”

“A one.”

“But Ecto says that zero’s the smallest number.”

“Well, technically, it’s not. There are negative numbers.”

Eri blinked. “Why aren’t those on the die?”

“I don’t know. They just decided to go from one to twenty when they made the game.”

Eri nodded. “See, this one’s a six.”

“You are very observant, Eri. You’ll be better at math than me soon.”

Eri shook her head. “No, you’re really good at school. I heard dad say so. He thinks everyone in his class is really smart and he says you’re all gonna make great heroes.”

Hizashi chuckled softly.

“Did he?” Tokoyami squeaked.

Before the conversation could continue, Shota stepped into the room and made his presence known. Hizashi smirked. Eraserhead had a reputation to uphold.

“Dad!” Eri stood up and ran to him, wrapping her arms around his legs like he’d been away for months. Like she was afraid he’d never come back. The desolation on Shota’s face melted away at her embrace.

“We’re back!” Hizashi sang in his happiest tone. Eri didn’t need to know about Sushi. “Did you guys have fun?”

“Twas a mad banquet of darkness,” Tokoyami said.

“Yeah!” Eri agreed. “Papa, is Auntie Kaya back? Denki says he can get catnip and I wanna give it to Sushi.”

Hizashi and Shota met each other’s eyes.

“Thanks for looking after her, Tokoyami,” Hizashi said. “We can take her home.”

Tokoyami bowed his head. “Have a good night, Eri.”

Eri waved her little hand. “Night night, Toko-san. Thanks for letting me play with your dice!”

She raised her hands, and Shota lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

When they returned to their house, Eri said, “Can I see Sushi next week? Denki says that’s when he’s going out shopping and can get me some catnip.”

Shota set Eri down on the couch and sat down next to her. Hizashi sat down on her other side.

“We’ll have Sushi over sooner than that,” Shota said. “Eri…Sushi isn’t going to be back after next week.”

Eri stared up at him, uncomprehending. “Is he going away?”

“Sweetie,” Hizashi explained, “Sushi is very old for a cat. The vets found out today that Sushi is very, very sick, and he’s going to die soon. So we’re going to do our best to make his last week extra special, and send him off by celebrating how happy his life was.”

Eri looked confused. No tears yet. Hey, maybe Hizashi wasn’t so bad at this.

“So he’s not coming back?” she asked.

“Well, when someone dies, they go off to a different place and can’t come back. So after a week, we won’t see Sushi again.”

Eri frowned, tears brimming in her eyes. God, Hizashi wished he could pretend. He could get a cat that looked like Sushi and present it to her, insisting that he was on his second life.

“No!” Eri said.

“I’m sorry, marshmallow,” Hizashi said. “There’s nothing we can do.”

Jeez, fighting villains was way easier than explaining death to a six-year-old. The parents of the world sure had it rough.

“Death is a permanent thing,” Hizashi told her gently. “It’s a part of life. Just like every album needs an ending song.”

“No!” Eri repeated, as if it was the obvious answer. She glared at Hizashi like he’d lied to her. The tears in her eyes were overflowing. “No, that’s not fair!”

Shota hovered a hand over Eri’s back. “Every living thing has to die eventually. I know it doesn’t seem fair, but everything must come to an end.”

“But I died a lot of times and kept coming back even though it was to hurt p-people,” Eri sobbed.

Oh. Well, that explained her confusion. Hizashi felt like he was going to vomit.

How was he supposed to explain the permanence of death to a child who’d seen that rule as an lie?

“Oh, Eri,” Shota whispered.

Eri drew her knees up to her chest. She was shaking. Hizashi ached to draw her into his arms and hold her until nothing could hurt her anymore, but touch might only make things worse.

“It’s not fair!” Eri sobbed. “Mr. Nighteye came to save me and he died forever and Sushi’s gonna die forever and my father died forever because of me and then I ran away and he killed the guard and didn’t bring him back but he kept bringing me back even though I was hurting people and it’s not fair!”

Shota’s breath caught in his throat. Hizashi impatiently wiped tears from his eyes. This wasn’t the time for him to fall apart.

“Do you want a hug, Eri?” Shota asked softly.

Eri leaned into his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Hizashi leaned over and wrapped his lanky arms around Eri and Shota.

This scenario wasn’t covered in the online guide to introducing children to death.

“You weren’t hurting anyone,” Hizashi whispered. “It’s okay. None of that was your fault, okay?”

“Mr. Nighteye would still be alive if I hadn’t been brought back,” Eri whimpered. “He’d still be alive and then Lemillion wouldn’t cry.”

“It’s Chisaki’s fault,” Shota told her. “It’s not your fault. And Lemillion would cry if you weren’t here, too.”

“Nighteye was a hero,” Hizashi said. “Even if he knew what was going to happen, he would have done it anyway. That was his choice. That’s what heroes do—they risk death so no one else has to.”

And he could have known. He did know a lot of it.

Hizashi thought that was a pretty good explanation, but it only made Eri’s shoulders shake harder and her sobs get louder.

“But all my friends are gonna be heroes!” she wailed. “I don’t want them to die!”

Hizashi’s chest seized like it did every time he was reminded of the danger their students would be in soon—the danger they’d already faced. The danger him and Shota had stepped back from. The students were strong, but strength only went so far when luck ran out. He lost the battle to hold back the tears in his eyes, and they traced warm down his cheeks. At least he had the vocal control to keep silent.

“It’s okay,” Shota murmured, stroking Eri’s hair. “It’s okay, Eri.”

Hizashi rested his head on Shota’s shoulder and his arm around Eri. He closed his eyes. Eri didn’t need reason or explanations. She needed to feel safe. Kids could only cry for so long, after all.

“You’re safe,” Hizashi told her. “You’re safe here. We’re going to make sure no one hurts you like that ever again.”

They kept murmuring words of reassurance while Eri cried into Shota’s shoulder. Her sobs petered off into silent tears, then little hiccups.

“Eri,” Shota said, “we don’t know who’s going to die, and when. But we do know that you’ll always have people to love you and take care of you. And we love you always, no matter what.”

Eri sniffled and gripped his shirt. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re safe, Eri,” Hizashi told her softly. “From now on, your blood won’t be used to hurt anyone. There are tons of people who are going to protect you. I know it’s not fair that Sushi’s going to die, but it’s going to be okay.” He patted her gently on the back. “I’m going to go get some water for you, okay? Crying really dries you out.”

In the kitchen, Hizashi took a moment to brace his hands against the counter and take a deep breath. He took off his glasses to scrub the tears from his face.

Heroes weren’t supposed to hate, so he’d buried the flames of his anger deep under layers of denial and civic duty. But he couldn’t anymore. There was too much fire and it was going to burn him alive. All the love he felt was tearing him in half.

If the universe didn’t want him to hate so fiercely, maybe it shouldn’t have dished out so much pain to the ones he loved.

Hizashi got a plastic glass from the cabinet and filled it with water. He could not kill the hurt within him in one blow, but maybe he could start with this.

He brought the water back and pressed it into Eri’s shaking hands. She gratefully gulped it down. Her face was red and splotchy.

“You hungry, marshmallow?”

Eri didn’t respond. She probably didn’t know, or didn’t want to say, or didn’t feel like she could ask.

“I taught Sho-chan how to make udon,” Hizashi continued. “With pork and soft-boiled eggs. You want some? Because I do. I’m starving.”

Eri handed the glass back to Hizashi and curled up at Shota’s side, clinging once more to his shirt.

“You’re mad,” she whispered. “I’m s-sorry.”

“Oh, Eri.” Hizashi set down the glass. “You’re right. I am mad. But I’m not mad at you. I’m mad because you’re my kid, and it makes me so angry that people hurt you. I get mad when people hurt my family.” He patted the top of her head. “You never need to apologize for other people’s feelings, okay? If you want to stay here with Sho-chan, that’s all right. I’m going to make us some dinner.”

“Can I have apple slices?” Eri asked, voice tiny and trembling.

“Of course. You can have apple slices whenever you want.”

After giving Eri a plate of apple slices, Hizashi started on the noodles. About halfway through cooking the onsen tamago, Shota joined him in the kitchen, Eri in his arms. He set Eri down on the counter with her apple slices.

“I came to help,” he said. “I can make the pork.” He ruffled Eri’s hair, and she gave him an attempt at a wobbly smile. “Eri’s here to supervise and make sure we do it right.”

Hizashi was tired, and leaned his head against Shota’s shoulder for just a moment as a wordless thanks. Before he could correct his untoward show of affection, Shota’s hand reached up and stroked his hair.

The timer beeped, and Hizashi jerked upright.

“The eggs,” he explained unnecessarily. “I gotta get out the eggs.”

Shota was pretty new to cooking with others, and as they continued assembling the meal, they kept getting in each other’s way. Hizashi didn’t mind, though. Getting his noodles across the room was far less important than getting to bump up against Shota. He smelled very nice. Yeah, sure, Hizashi couldn’t have him, but that didn’t mean he had to be miserable and deprive himself.

Eri occasionally broke into tears again, and one of them was always quick to go to her and hold her until she stopped crying. No honor Hizashi had ever received as a hero compared to Eri trusting him enough to reach out to him when she was upset.

“It smells good,” Eri said as Shota finished cooking the pork. “I’m hungry.”

Hizashi grinned. “Thanks for telling us! Don’t worry, it’ll be ready soon! We just gotta put it all together.”

He pulled out three bowls and assembled the udon. Broth, noodles, pork, chopped scallions, corn, and some butter. Chopsticks and a spoon in each one. Black ones for Shota, wooden ones for Hizashi, cute plastic cat ones for Eri. They didn’t bother setting the table. Instead, they ate in the kitchen. Shota abandoned his utensils in favor of slurping down his meal like a drink. It was a definite improvement over the meals Hizashi had eaten in his 20s while feeling similar emotions. Those meals mostly consisted of alcohol.

It wasn’t the best noodle bowl he’d ever had, but it was full of butter and umami and salt, and Eri wasn’t crying as she ate it. That gave it three Michelin stars in Hizashi’s book.

Halfway through her bowl, Eri’s eyes were looking rather sleepy. Hizashi could sympathize. It had been a long day, and he was too tired to keep track of his emotions. He would deal with them tomorrow.

Eri did finish her noodles, though. She must have been starving. Crying tended to do that.

“Thanks for the meal,” she said.

“Thanks for helping us, little chef,” Hizashi replied. “You look just about ready for bed, huh?”

Eri yawned and rubbed her little fists against her red-rimmed eyes. “Yeah.”

Hizashi lifted her up, and she put her arms around his neck. She was half-asleep by the time they reached her bedroom. He made sure to tuck her in with extra love—she needed it after tonight.

Shota sat down on the edge of her bed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“When you go to sleep tonight,” Shota said, “remember that we love you very much. You’re safe and sound at UA.”

“You love me always?” Eri whispered hopefully. “Even when I lose control and cry?”

“Of course,” Hizashi told her. “We loved you this morning, when you got up. And we loved you when you ate your breakfast. And we loved you when you spilled your orange juice. We loved you when Shota taught you how to play checkers. And we loved you when we had to leave you with Tokoyami. We loved you when you cried about Sushi. We loved you when we made udon together. We loved you when we tucked you into bed. And we love you always, no matter what.”

Eri smiled, small and fragile and shining brighter than any star. “I love you too, dad and papa.”

Hizashi kissed her forehead. “Sleep well, okay?”

“I will.”

He drew her blanket all the way up to her chin.

After they shut the door to her bedroom and sat down the living room, Hizashi dragged a hand down his face.

“How’s that for progress, huh?” he said to Shota. “Used to be, that would’ve shut her down for a week.”

Shota didn’t respond. He had on his thousand-mile stare. Hizashi sighed.

What was he even supposed to do about that? Not even udon had driven away Shota’s vacant look, the look that meant he was retreating into himself. Frustration spiked in Hizashi’s chest. How the hell were they supposed to take care of Eri if Shota kept checking out?

Hizashi wanted a drink. He wanted to grab Shota by the shoulders and shake him. He wanted to grab Shota by the shoulders and kiss him till his teeth hurt. He wanted to go out to a bar and dance and hook up with some strangers until he couldn’t remember his own name, let alone Shota’s. He wanted to drive over the speed limit in the starlight, blasting American music. He wanted to go out on patrol and fight until he lost his voice and his knuckles bled.

“Talk to me, Shota,” he said.

Shota sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s progress.” He looked at Hizashi, but wouldn’t meet his eyes, looking at his mouth instead.

He was drifting again, and Hizashi didn’t know what to do. His first instinct was to make sure he drove Shota away before it could happen naturally. Kissing him would do the trick.

But that wasn’t an option. They had to stay close. And Hizashi wasn’t going to be the one to put all the work in.

“You asked how you could help,” Hizashi said. “Help by staying with me. Don’t do what you did after Oboro died.”

Shota took his hand and leaned on his shoulder. If they were in public, maybe Shota would kiss his neck. Maybe he’d call him “sunshine.”

“I’m right here,” Shota said. “Just like I said I would be. I don’t go back on my promises.”

“I’m tired,” Hizashi whispered. “I can’t do this without you.”

“You’ll never have to,” Shota replied.

Chapter Text

Dr. Nakamura was a tall, thin man with drawn cheekbones, half-moon spectacles, and bony hands. Eri called him “Mr. Birdman,” a nickname which Nakamura appreciated and Hizashi had picked up. Despite his severe appearance, he was one of the kindest men Hizashi had ever met, and he owed Nakamura’s treatment a lot for Eri’s comparatively stable emotional state. Even then, it took awhile for him to earn their trust, so they were only just now telling him about Eri’s quirk problems.

Nakamura pushed his glasses up his nose after Shota finished recounting her recent incidents. Hizashi’s leg was bouncing. The previous night, Eri had failed to even activate her quirk to try to heal a fly they’d found without a wing. She’d cried for ten minutes, and Hizashi had been powerless to do anything but hold her.

“It’s useless,” she’d sobbed. “All it does is hurt.” And Hizashi hadn’t known what to do or what to say.

“I just don’t understand,” Shota said in frustration. “Her control over her quirk was very good when we rescued her, and now she can’t even heal a fly.”

Nakamara nodded understandingly. “So the last time she was able to control her quirk was while the heroes were in the process of rescuing her? And she lost control when the villain was defeated?”

“That’s right,” Shota confirmed.

“That makes a lot of sense,” Nakamura said.

“Really?” Hizashi asked.

“It’s a trauma response,” Nakamura told them. “It’s fairly well-documented that humans gain greater control and power over their quirks for short periods during times of crisis, as the body goes into survival mode. When the body is safe again, it no longer needs to suppress emotions and trauma. I don’t know if you’ve ever cried after a traumatic event rather than during it—it’s a similar principle. I believe it will take some time before she’s recovered enough to completely regain control over her quirk, now that she no longer needs it for survival.”

Hizashi had been angry with himself in his last year in middle school, when every hiccup had boomed from his mouth and his voice was always either too quiet or too loud. For the first time, he was staying with people who didn’t punish him for quirk slip-ups, and he remembered hating himself for making things hard for them. At the time, he’d blamed it on puberty—his quirk was bound to make voice cracks even weirder. It had taken him half a year to regain control, and then he’d suddenly had better control than he’d ever had before.

Nakamura’s explanation made more sense. It gave Hizashi hope, too—he had gotten through that period in his life, so surely he could guide Eri.

“So, how do we help her?” Hizashi asked.

His fingers curled against his thighs, tense at the thought of Eri crying again. Maybe there was some advanced treatment or miracle product. Maybe Hizashi would have to quit teaching and radio and any hero work at all. He didn’t care. He’d do it. He’d do anything to slay the ghosts of Eri’s past.

“I think the best you can give her is love and time,” Nakamura said. “I know it’s frustrating, but rest assured that this sudden lack of control is a temporary result of the fact that she feels safe with you. She already subconsciously knows how to control her quirk, so there’s every chance that the regaining of control will be sudden.”

Hizashi relaxed back into his chair, taken aback. He just had to stay the course. There was nothing he could do. There was no grand action to take or villain to fight.

“So it’s not serious?” Shota asked. “We don’t have to worry about this?”

Shota’s blunt words made Hizashi wince. His first reaction was anger—how could Shota brush this off? Hizashi tapped his fingertips on his knees and kept his face stoic. This was just how Shota was. Hizashi had known that when they got married. Of course he was worried.

“I would say no,” Nakamura replied. “Of course, this could be resulting from another underlying issue, but in my professional opinion, it’s nothing to worry about. You just need to continue doing what you’ve been doing. I wouldn’t be surprised if her quirk starts working perfectly very soon.” He smiled, thin-lipped yet genuine. “She’s very lucky to have you two as parents.”

“Lucky” was a strong word for it. Hizashi and Shota hadn’t been remotely prepared for parenthood when they took her in, and they both had plenty of baggage. As far as the parental lottery went, Eri could do a lot better than two traumatized and overworked pro heroes that had never accounted for a child when planning their lives.

“Really?” Hizashi squeaked. “Every day, I feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

He took a deep breath. This attack of self-doubt would pass, he knew. Imposter syndrome was an old enemy to Hizashi, and one he had yet to learn how to keep at bay.

“That’s normal for new parents. I assure you, I’ve seen no big problems. Every parent makes mistakes, but I can tell you truly love and care for her.”

Nothing about their family was normal, and Nakamura knew that—except for the fact that the marriage was fake. Hizashi trusted Nakamura’s judgement, and that judgement had come down in his favor. The falseness of their matrimony had nothing to do with the quality of their parenting.

Hizashi grinned. “Hell yeah!”

Shota snorted fondly and rolled his eyes.

Hizashi felt like he might cry. He was doing a good job! It was the most important job he’d ever take on, and he was doing well! Screw his many failed sets of foster parents—he could be a dad, and a damn good one, even without anyone modeling what that meant for him as a kid.

“You hear that, Sho?” Hizashi poked Shota in the arm. “We’re good dads.”

“I always knew you were going to be a good dad,” Shota mumbled.

That, of course, was because of Shota’s rose-colored glasses. For all his cynicism and rationality, Shota liked to put his friends up on a pedestal. But that didn’t mean Hizashi minded.

“Sho!” Hizashi gasped gleefully.

Nakamura checked his watch. “I believe that’s our time for today. I’ll see Eri on Wednesday?”

“Yes,” Hizashi replied. “Thank you so much, Mr. Nakamura.”

Shinsou hadn’t actually been to their house—he’d babysat Eri at the apartment once, but had never had cause to come over to their house. But when they returned from therapy, Shinsou was sitting on their doorstep, head in his hands. He looked up as the two approached.

Hizashi barely knew Shinsou—his class didn’t even have Hizashi for English, and the two of them had never held a proper conversation. He only knew the kid because Shota was training him. He knew plenty about Shinsou, though, since Shota was very proud of his protege.

He knew that Shota trusted Shinsou a lot, and vice versa.

Shinsou was obviously upset. Hizashi frowned. This had to be related to hero training, somehow. He vaguely remembered Shota saying something about Shinsou having an appointment off campus that afternoon—something about an opportunity? That kid needed all the opportunities he could get.

“Hey, Shinsou,” Shota greeted. “What’s going on? How’d your meeting go?”

Shinsou sighed and ran a hand through his hair—a habit, judging from how teased upward his hair was. It was reaching levels of altitude that Hizashi could only achieve with gel.

“I have news,” he said bluntly. “I think it’s good news? Either it’s good news or I’m about to get my kidneys stolen.”

“Come inside,” Hizashi offered. “We’ll talk about it before we go pick up Eri from Midnight’s.”

Shinsou nodded and accompanied them inside. Hizashi didn’t let anyone talk about the news until they were all seated with a cup of tea, so they could give the conversation its proper place.

“So,” Hizashi said, “what’s going on? Shota mentioned you had a meeting?”

“I got scouted by a Commission official,” Shinsou told him. “Offer of a lifetime. They said my quirk has real promise, and offered me a spot in a Commission training program. Elite stuff. The one program considered better than UA, apparently. I’d get a hero license in two years if I signed on with them for a job for five years after graduation. Apparently it’s how Hawks got his start, and he’s number two.”

Hizashi’s eyes widened. The Commission was known to occasionally train hand-picked heroes with promising quirks. Those heroes always shot to the top of the charts, had impeccable control over their quirks, and had the full backing of the Commission.

There were darker stories, of course. Rumors about what they were asked to do. Derisive talk of them as “dogs.” Regardless, if they wanted to recruit Shinsou, that kid could be a top twenty hero in less than a decade.

Hizashi didn’t trust the Commission, and he wasn’t about to just let them take another kid Shota cared about.

“What’s the catch?” Shota asked.

Shinsou scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t know, but I feel like there is one. Maybe that’s just cuz of how much you told me you didn’t trust the Commission. But, well, I’m pretty familiar with people trying to manipulate me, and this feels like it. They specifically said they wanted me after seeing the footage of me saving Midoriya from his out-of-control quirk. They also said I’ll be working with another person they plan on recruiting who might have issues with control. Makes me feel like I’m just gonna be there as a babysitter, but I don’t even know who I’m gonna look after. Maybe some hero with anger issues.” He snorted humorously. “Maybe I’ll be looking after Endeavor.”

“Oh, fuck,” Hizashi swore.

Shota frowned. “I don’t understand. And don’t swear in front of a student.”

“His quirk, Shota. He can stop other people’s quirks from going out of control. For the Commission.”

Shota’s eyes widened. “Shit.”

Shinsou’s eyes darted between them. “So I’m guessing I was right to think there was a pretty bad catch.”

“Did the recruiter say anything else?” Hizashi asked.

Shinsou sighed. “My quirk’s not easy to trust. Quirks like mine need extra psychological screening, and the Commission has final say before issuing a hero license. And the Commission agent said that me cooperating with them for the greater good would show that I’m cooperative and focused on society enough to pass that test with flying colors…”

“Implying the corollary is also true,” Hizashi concluded. “So they’re blackmailing you.”

“If I don’t join,” Shinsou said, “I don’t think they’ll let me have a license, hero course or no.”

Shota massaged his temples with his fingertips. Shinsou frowned.

“You guys seem to know something I don’t,” he said. “What’s the catch here?”

“It’s Eri,” Shota said bluntly before Hizashi could even open his mouth. “They want Eri’s quirk. The only reason they haven’t taken her from us is because they can’t control her.”

Shinsou’s eyes went wide. “But she’s your kid.”

“Not yet,” Hizashi told him. “They have final authorization over the adoption. All the paperwork is in, but it won’t go through until they say so.”

“Shit,” Shinsou breathed. Shota didn’t reprimand him.

“Yeah,” Hizashi replied grimly. “That’s part of why we quit our patrols. We don’t know what the Commission might do. I just never thought you’d get dragged into it.”

He should have seen it coming. Some part of him had probably thought that the Commission would never target a student. How naive he was—if they were thinking of taking Eri, why should he assume that a teenager would be off-limits? The Commission saw the students as cannon fodder—why not jailers?

How fucking dare they? How dare they offer to withhold a prospective hero’s future to force him to be the jailer for a little girl? Hizashi’s cheeks were hot. He kept his teeth firmly clamped together.

What kind of farce was the HPSC, anyway? They weren’t interested in public safety, just power. How could Hizashi have ever been stupid enough to work with them? Why were they still held up as the paragon of good? Hizashi knew his quirk was strong enough to bring down their entire headquarters if he found the right frequency. Shit, there was probably a villain out there who wanted to bring them down. Hizashi wasn’t at the point where he’d team up with a villain, but he’d certainly look the other way.

The next time a Commission agent came to their house, Shota would have to be the one to deal with them, because Hizashi breaking their nose would definitely give them a proper excuse to never let the adoption go through.

“So what did you say?” Shota asked.

“I told them I’d think about it, but I’m going to call him back and say no. They can’t control Eri without me, right? I mean, they might find something, but at least this buys some time.”

“Shinsou, we could never ask you to—” Hizashi began, but Shinsou cut him off.

“If I let a kid be taken from her parents, I’d never be a hero no matter what license I had. I’ll go through the hero course and see if anything’s changed by the time I graduate. If not, I can always get a license overseas.”

Shota got up, walked around the table, leaned down, and enveloped Shinsou in a hug.

It took Hizashi aback a little—Shota was very careful, very deliberate in his physical contact. He gave it freely, but always with intention. The ghost of a smile tugged at Hizashi’s lips. Even after everything, there were little things he could count on.

“Thank you,” Shota muttered. “I’m so proud of you, kid.”

Shinsou patted Shota’s back awkwardly.

“At least she has you guys,” Shinsou said after Shota sat back down. “That’s really good timing, huh? That you guys got married just when she needed…adoption…” He trailed off and his eyes widened. “Wait.”

Well, shit. No wonder Shota had chosen to mentor this kid—he was bright as hell. Shinsou’s sense for people could practically be a second quirk. He’d definitely be able to navigate the world of pro hero marketing without getting swindled.

“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,” Hizashi told him.

Shinsou grinned. “Fair enough. I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

“Shinsou,” Shota said, “I promise I’m going to do my best to keep you out of this. Hopefully they’re just bluffing, and they won’t remember this in two years when you graduate.”

“If not, I can always become a vigilante,” Shinsou deadpans. “Maybe get an interview with the League of Villains.”

Hizashi burst out laughing. Shota punched him in the arm.

Shinsou stood up. “Thanks for the advice, sensei. Guess I’m staying with UA.”

“You feeling okay?” Shota asked.

Shinsou shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

“Go hang out with some friends,” Hizashi advised him. “Treat yourself. Kaminari’ll totally pay for a movie ticket for you if you ask him to see one.”

Shinsou smiled. “You know, I think I will.”

Shinsou left, and Hizashi turned to Shota.

“Well, there’s no way they’re letting us adopt her, whatever he says. They won’t give up on Shinsou.”

Shota’s expression was grim. “It doesn’t matter. The plan stays the same. Try our best, be the best parents we can be, and leave if they try to take her. There’s nothing else we can do.”

Shota was right. They were trapped. It was as if they’d never adopted her at all. All they could do was buy time.

“Let’s go pick up Eri,” Shota said as he stood.

Hizashi followed, and then rage hit him like a sack of bricks.

“How dare they!” he exploded. “It wasn’t fucking enough to try to kidnap a little girl, they had to bring Shinsou in it too? What kind of monsters—I swear, if I were a villain those people would be dead! What kind of spineless worms would do this? Eri and Shinsou deserve better! We deserve better!”

Shota placed a hand on Hizashi’s arm and said nothing. He’d learned that no one could talk Hizashi down from anger, but it would go away by itself in a matter of minutes. There was nothing that could calm Hizashi down faster than Shota’s steady, unflappable presence.
“I’m sorry,” Shota said. “It seems I asked you to marry me for nothing.”

Hizashi took a deep breath. He leaned his head against Shota’s shoulder. He felt Shota’s hand on his back. He wanted very badly for Shota to kiss him. This whole thing would be so much more bearable if he could just kiss Shota behind closed doors, where he knew there was meaning in it.

“It wasn’t for nothing,” Hizashi said. “Let’s go pick up our kid.”

Kayama’s dorm was on the second floor, and was easily distinguished by the potted plants outside of the door. Her interior design skills were amazing—any space with Kayama in it felt like home. It was part of why Hizashi loved having Eri stay at her place. He hoped that Kayama’s place would be like a second home to her.

Hizashi didn’t bother to knock, just walked right in. Healthy boundaries for the two of them had died with Oboro. Kayama looked up from her romance novel and grinned. Eri was on the floor, petting an asleep Sushi with a sad look on her face. He didn’t have much time left. She didn’t look inconsolable or fragile, though. Maybe it wasn’t sadness. Something was different.

“Hey, boys,” Kayama greeted. She set her book on the side table—Kayama always devoted her complete attention to conversation. She wasn’t much of a multitasker.

“Thanks for watching her,” Shota said.

Kayama waved him off. “Oh, don’t thank me. She’s an absolute peach. I love having her here. We learned about cats today!”

“Thank you, Auntie Kaya,” Eri chirped. “I like it here. Dads can’t keep their houseplants alive.”

“We have a garden!” Hizashi protested while Kayama laughed. She made an amazing aunt. He was so glad Eri would grow up with such a woman in her life. “Whatever. You ready to head back, Er-bear?”

“Can I have a few more minutes?” she asked. “With Sushi?”

“Can we join you?” Shota asked her. Eri nodded.

Sushi’s cancer was in its final stages. They all had scheduled the day off for his euthanasia, and planned on sitting in the Yamada living room and crying afterward.

They sat on the floor with Sushi on Eri’s lap receiving pets from all three of them. Eri seemed pensive, but not sad.

“Watcha thinking about?” Hizashi asked.

“She’s been thinking all day,” Kayama laughed. “Your kid’s pretty introspective.”

“Sushi’s going away soon,” Eri said. “You’re all really sad.”

“Yeah,” Shota sighed. “It is sad. But that’s life.”

Hizashi scrutinized Eri’s face carefully, but she didn’t seem on her way to another meltdown.

“Mirio says that a hero keeps people from having to cry,” Eri said.

“Sometimes, people have to cry,” Kayama said. “It’s a healthy way to deal with emotion.”

Hizashi could probably stand to cry a lot more.

Eri nodded. “That’s what Deku says. And Shoto. That it’s okay to hurt, and it’s okay to cry, but a hero’s job is to see the hurt and the pain and do their best to help. And then Auntie Kaya read me some of a book. It said that our gift is our responsibility.”

“What does that mean?” Shota asked.

“It means that you’re allowed to take,” Eri explained. “And you’re allowed to give. And that’s what you’re supposed to do. And whatever you’re good at, what you’re gifted with, you give it.”

There was a quiet resolve in her voice.

“Pretty advanced stuff,” Hizashi said lightly. “What are you going to do with that, Eri?”

“It means that quirks are something you give, I think,” Eri said. “Like Deku. He has a great quirk and he says it’s a gift, so he uses it to save people, and then that’s a gift to them. And gifts are something you give. So saving one person can save a lot of people. That’s what Mr. Yagi says.”

There was a boy named Atae in last year’s graduating support course. Hizashi had him in his English Literature class. He designed beautiful inventions, but unlike the other students, which focused on weapons and mobility, Atae designed costumes. Specifically, armor for costumes. Armor to protect heroes, to save them with the fruits of his labor.

In his second year, Hizashi asked Atae why he was so determined to save heroes from danger. And Atae had told him a story. How, when he was almost too small to remember, two hero students had been ushering his class away from a villain attack. Rubble fell from the sky, and one of the heroes covered them with a cloud as blood spurted from a blow to the head.

Hizashi had cried that night, but not from grief.

Eri looked down at Sushi, determination in her eyes. Before Hizashi could say anything, her horn lit up, and she placed a hand deliberately on Sushi’s ribcage.

“Eri!” Shota gasped.

The light faded, and Sushi woke up with a surprised little chirp. He got to his feet and rubbed his cheek against Eri’s hand.

“Eri,” Shota asked gently, “what did you just do?”

“Sushi was sick,” Eri explained. “And I asked Tenya about cancer and he said it develops over time so I thought…maybe…” She met Hizashi’s shocked eyes. “Did…did I do something wrong?”

Hizashi put a hand on Eri’s shoulder. “Marshmallow, it’s fine. I’m surprised, is all. We’ll take Sushi to the vet to see if it worked. Just tell us beforehand next time, okay?”

“How did you do that?” Shota asked in awe. “Just last week you were having trouble.”

“A plant doesn’t need my help,” Eri explained. “But Sushi did, so it was easier. And one time I was having a nightmare while I was staying over at Kaya’s, and Sushi snuggled with me until I felt better. He saved me from the nightmare. And Deku saved me. So now I give.”

Hizashi remembered something he hadn’t thought of in a long time. The first time he really controlled his quirk after middle school was when he let loose a sonic blast to obliterate a robot in the entrance exam—an exam he was about to fail. It was his only chance to make himself worth something. And now he’d saved countless lives.

Sushi stepped off of Eri’s lap and climbed onto Hizashi’s shoulders with an agility he hadn’t shown in years. His muzzle seemed less gray. Hizashi scratched Sushi behind the ears with a little chuckle of wonderment.

“So all it took was someone to save? Your quirk really is amazing,” Hizashi told her. “It’s...it’s a gift.”

Kayama got up from the couch and knelt down by them.

“Did you just heal my cat?” she asked Eri incredulously. “Dang, kid. Good job! All that work on controlling your quirk is paying off, huh?”

Hero work was dangerous, but in that moment, Hizashi felt immortal. They would bring Oboro back, and then it would be the four of them and Eri and Sushi. They’d have gained a family, not lost one. Things would be perfect. He could imagine Eri now on her first day of high school, getting her photo taken in her uniform with her dads. Maybe Nemuri was behind the camera. Maybe Sushi would still be alive and in Shota’s arms.

Hizashi kissed Eri on the top of his head. Yes, things were going to be good.

Or maybe Hizashi was just stupid and naive enough to believe everything would be okay just because Sushi would be.

“Eri, listen to me,” Hizashi said. “You can’t say anything about this, okay?”

Eri blinked up at him. “Why not?”

They’d taught her not to keep big secrets unless it was to protect herself or others. Damn their good parenting.

“Because there are some bad people out there,” Hizashi told her. “They might want to use your quirk, but they won’t try to if they think you can’t control it. We can protect you, okay? We won’t let them near you. But that’ll be a lot harder if they find out you can control your quirk.”

Eri nodded vigorously. “I won’t tell anyone. Not even Deku.”

“Good girl.”

“Can I still save people?”

Hizashi smiled and ruffled her hair. “We’ll find ways for you to give.”

Chapter Text

Hizashi watched Shota navigate his way through dinner and resolutely didn’t think about their situation. That was a problem for tomorrow’s Hizashi. 

Hizashi was a greedy man, and what he had with Shota was no longer enough. The more problems he had, the more he wanted his husband in his entirety, not just as a facade. 

Shota’s black hair was pulled back, revealing his neck, and Hizashi wanted so badly to kiss it. The ever-present capture scarf made the sight of Shota’s bare neck all the more rare and enticing. Hizashi wanted a future where he could come up behind Shota, wrap arms around his waist, and kiss his neck. Maybe Shota would give him a taste of his cooking on a wooden spoon. Yes, that sounded nice. 

“Why are you staring at dad?” Eri asked. 

“Because he looks pretty,” Hizashi told her. 

Eri nodded. “Like Shoto?”

“What do you mean?”

“Deku says Shoto’s pretty. Are they going to get married?”

Hizashi chuckled. “Not anytime soon, I hope. They’re a bit young.”

“Why do people get married?” Eri asked.

One day, maybe they’d tell her the true reason. Maybe by then they’d be married for real.

“Because they love each other very much,” Hizashi told her, “and want to spend the rest of their lives together.”

“Why’d you marry dad?”

“Because he’s an amazing, beautiful, wonderful man. I knew since I met him that I wanted him with me for the rest of my life.”

“Are you going to be together forever?” Eri asked. 

Hizashi looked over at Shota fondly.

“Yes.”

He wasn’t letting Shota go. Once it was safe to try something new, he was going to go for it. Even if he had to wait thirteen years. Even if a real relationship crashed and burned, they’d always be friends. He couldn’t imagine his life without Shota. 

He was willing to wait. Patience was not one of Hizashi’s virtues, but for Shota, he’d do anything. 

Someone knocked on the door. Hizashi sighed. 

“I’ll get it,” he said. Shota didn’t like answering the door. 

He got up, opened the door, and immediately almost bit his tongue with how fast his teeth snapped together. It was that damn reporter, Tokuda. 

“Can I help you?” Hizashi asked coldly.

They had enough on their plate without dealing with a fuckin’ journo.

“Sorry for intruding,” Tokuda said with a smile. He seemed a bit disheveled, like he’d run all the way here. “I would have called, but this is on short notice.”

“I’m not doing press anymore,” Hizashi told him. “I’m a backup hero now, not a face.”

“This isn’t about any publicity,” Tokuda assured him. “I’d like your help with an investigation. May I ask you a few questions? Ah, and I’d also like to talk to Shinsou Hitoshi.”

The smart thing to do would be to play along and flip the interview on its head. He could ask him some questions, find out what he wanted, and cut any problems off at the pass without giving him any information.

But Hizashi had been playing 4-D chess with the Commission for so long, and fuck, he was tired. He was tired of his wit being the only thing standing between his family and the world. He was in survival mode. He couldn’t even celebrate his daughter controlling her quirk, because it brought her one step closer to prison. All his joys came with unsurmountable fine print. 

Tokuda smiled pleasantly. At any moment, camera lenses could spring from his skin and flash. Fucking journos.

“I don’t like talking to journalists,” Hizashi said.

“You have a degree in journalism, if I remember correctly,” Tokuda pointed out.

“With a focus in radio broadcast. The opposite of photojournalism. We don’t want to talk to you.”

“I understand, Mr. Yamada, but—”

Hizashi shut the door in his face.

“Who was that?” Eri asked.

“Someone nosy, “ Hizashi told her. “No one to worry about.”

Hizashi grabbed a sharpie from his pocket and wrote “block Tokuda’s email” on the inside of his arm. He’d dealt with more than enough cameras on the scene of Oboro’s death.

Hizashi took a deep breath. 

Shota continued to cook. The house was starting to smell nice, and if he closed his eyes and blocked out his thoughts, he could pretend they were just celebrating Eri’s breakthrough with her favorite food, and nothing bad was going to happen, ever. 

Couples were supposed to be able to seek solace in each other. He should be able to talk this out with Shota. And he could, he supposed. But he wanted more. He wanted Shota to melt away his frustration with a kiss. 

“I’m gonna take a shower before dinner,” Hizashi said. 

He shut the bathroom door behind him, stripped, and stood under the hot spray begging the water droplets to pound the stress from his shoulders. He wanted to deal with his frustration by talking to Shota. He also wanted to hold those broad shoulders down into a mattress and—

Hizashi cranked the spigot over to cold and yelped at the freezing water. Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. If he let those thoughts go unpoliced, he was going to have so many more goddamn problems that he couldn’t afford. For the foreseeable future, his libido was on lockdown. 

His hands couldn’t help but wonder how Shota’s skin felt—all of it. He wanted to see how Shota looked underneath him—

He turned the water as cold as it would go so he could barely think for the shivering. Good. 

He slept with his back to Shota that night. 

Indefinitely postponed.

Shota had been expecting this, but it was one thing to know something was coming and another to see the evidence right there on his screen.

Indefinitely postponed. The adoption process for Eri was indefinitely postponed.

At least they weren’t taking her. Silver linings and all that. They didn’t have anything concrete—Hizashi’s public influence and Shinsou’s intransigence were keeping them from making up a reason to take her. But they wouldn’t be allowed to adopt her. It would keep being postponed until they recruited Shinsou.

Shota loaded their monthly report to the Commission full of videos he’d taken of Eri losing control. Hopefully that would keep them at bay a little bit.

Hizashi didn’t know how long he could keep seeing Oboro like this.

The suits were breathing down their neck to get some useful information out of Shigaraki’s babysitter, and as much as Hizashi hated the higher-ups right now, they were right. The raid on the hospital was fast approaching, and they were basically going in blind. Oboro hadn’t given them anything else.

He’d talked to them a few times, barely ever more than a few fragments of words. It hurt him, Hizashi could tell. He felt guilty. This was his fault.

All his fault. His fault that Oboro died, his fault that he kept clawing his way to a painful and temporary resurrection.

…Could Eri fix this? Could Eri turn back the clock and make Oboro 16 and alive again? It would take an enormous amount of energy, probably more than she could store up. And she wanted to fix Mirio first.

He left the prison exhausted, but forced his eyes open so Shota could fall asleep in the passenger seat.

They probably shouldn’t have both gone to the hospital. They should have left someone behind for Eri, just in case.

But the man who did this to Oboro would be there.

So they left her with Shinsou and Mirio, and they prepared to bring the League down.