Chapter Text
The storm started early in the evening, around 8 o’clock. It was gentle with light rains, soft winds, but enough to block out the persistent sounds from the outside world. Blaring horns, chattering folks, the stumbling of drunks attempting to make it back home after their jobs, all of it washed away with the rain. Shota knew better than to tuck himself in early, but he wanted to give it a try. Getting a few hours of sleep was better than staying awake all night, hopelessly tossing and turning, only being able to catch a break an hour before his alarm rang. Unfortunately for him, the rain shower only lasted for a few hours, and the noise slowly filled his persisting thoughts, forcing his eyes to open. The man slowly sat up, rubbing the bridge of his nose, having to take in a sharp breath. Now it would be impossible to fall asleep again. Especially with the constant meowing outside of his window sill.
“I’m coming I’m coming,” he said, hoping to shut the animal up. He struggled to pull his tired body off the bed, having to use the bedside table to prop himself up. This had now become a part of his routine. It would be strange not to hear the cat’s meows even if it did annoy him. Reluctantly, Shota walked into the cramped kitchen, having to move aside a few empty, discarded boxes before finding something somewhat edible. Although he didn’t have any cat food, he made do with whatever he had laying around. Tonight, it was bread. Just bread. Shoving the guilty feeling building down in the pit of his stomach, the man finally opened his window, resting his arm on the sill.
“You just keep coming back,” he spoke aloud, gently resting his hand on the creature’s head. Despite the rain that fell a few hours ago, the cat was dry, its fur as soft as the blanket he had on his bed. “I must just have to stop feeding you,” he continued, reaching into the bag to pull out a piece of the bread. The cat looked at the bread then back up to Shota, tilting its head. “Sorry, that’s I got tonight,” he responded, putting out another one. Still, the cat wouldn’t touch it, causing the man to roll his eyes. “What do you want me to rip it up?” he asked, sighing as his hands grabbed the food. “You’re a little bastard,” he joked, tearing up a few pieces, holding it out to the hold who slowly moved its head, finally eating. “At least you can stomach down a meal …” he commented, dark eyes drifting outside.
The apartment was shitty. The few people that came over loved to point it out. ‘Aizawa, why don’t you clean?’ ‘Aizawa, you don’t have any food in your fridge,’ ‘All of you bowls are dirty,’ The comments and questions frequently came up so he merely stopped answering. No point in making excuses at this stage. It hurt just to get out of bed, how was he supposed to get around and clean the place up? He couldn’t even hold down a meal anymore with the medication he had been taking. It was either eat a tasteless soup or painkillers to help with the sharp, aching pain in his leg and arm. Even if he wanted to eat, he couldn’t bring himself to hold a knife as it never ended well. The last time he tried to chop up some vegetables, he accidentally sliced the edge of his finger and bled all over his cutting board. Dinner was spoiled and he had to get rid of the board, so now he had nothing to cut his food on. Merely thinking about the experience made Shota bring his thumb over his index finger, rubbing the small hole the knife left.
“I wish I was a smoker,” he spoke aloud, again. “Maybe it’d ease this tension,” he sighed, glancing down to the cat who began to meow. “Think I should give it a try? I don’t know, it’s never been my thing. Stays in your hair and clothes and all that. Booze is way better,” he made a few gestures before feeling the white soft fur graze against his hand. “Oh, you probably just want more bread, eh?” he pulled out a few more slices, breaking them up into smaller bits before finally closing the plastic bag. “That’s all you get for tonight. I’m going out,” he affirmed, pulling himself off the sill.
As much as Shota refrained from wandering about the streets late at night, he couldn’t help himself. The thought of maybe finding release from cigarettes fueled the man, and even if he didn’t buy himself a pack, maybe he could get himself some booze. It had been a few weeks since his last drink, he deserved a bit of a treat. Limping back towards his bed, he pulled one of the multiple shirts littering the space, tugging it over his shoulder. A sharp breath left his lips as the material came into contact with his shoulder, immediately rubbing the burning pain before falling onto the bed. The dark letters on the digital clock blended in with the darkness, but Shota made out the numbers. One in the morning. That explained all the folks he saw staggering down the streets. Clubs normally stayed open until much later, but anyone that had a job the next morning needed to be out of there before the sun moved over the mountain. As much as he wanted to say he was like them -- a man simply going on a late-night stroll before work tomorrow morning -- he couldn’t. Not anymore. The mere thought forced a frown to spread across the hero’s face. Retirement was his decision and a good one that, but a part of him missed being a hero. Instead of pondering on his decision, he simply shook his head, slipping his shoes on and grabbing his wallet before leaving the apartment.
He was looking -- no, he needed release. It was his reason for leaving the apartment for the first time in days, but the second he stepped outside of the building, he could feel regret building in his throat. There were so many people around, more than he expected. No one tells you when you buy an apartment in the middle of the city how many people you’re surrounded by. Locals, tourists, out of town folk, all of them blend into one crowd during the night time since well, they were all looking for one thing. Fun. None of them had to worry about their safety with heroes around the corner, waiting at a moment’s notice. Patrols were more limited at night as only a few heroes voluntarily gave up their free time for it, but it was needed. Shota used to be one of those heroes. He would willingly go on patrols during the night, being sure activity in criminals was higher when they could hide underneath the darkness. There was a bigger crowd to blend in with as well.
The man was doing it now. His disheveled yet menacing appearance somehow blended in with all the other faces, allowing him to easily slip in and out of corners without drawing too much attention to himself. Although he had been retired for a few years now and was underground before that, he still always managed to get fans to track him down. It was always for the dumbest things too. Autographs, photos, hugs, occasionally he’d get a civilian asking to become his sidekick which he’d promptly dismiss. No civilian should worry about the job of being a hero. It was too difficult for a normal person, their body nor mind was ready for such a violent and overwhelming job, so he always told them to stick to their company office jobs, and leave the heroics to the professionals. A part of Shota wished he listened to his gut feelings all those years ago and stuck with the advice he gave everyone, but alas he didn’t. Now, he was walking down the aisles of a convenience store, hoping to find a snack to accompany his cigarettes. Shota couldn’t stomach any meals, but he did always enjoy eating small candies. Spotting the colorful candy he always got, he paused in his tracks, having to search through the different packs.
“Hey, how did that host club end up going?” asked a girl on the other side of the aisle.
“It was pretty fun, actually,” responded a boy, who couldn’t have been any younger than twenty. “I mean the hours were pretty hectic, but it pays pretty well. I saw a lotta pretty girls too,”
“Oh? So you wouldn’t mind me paying a visit?”
“Wait, I didn’t say that!”
“Aw c’mon! It’d be fun.” the girl pleaded. Tell me where it is again, pretty please? We’ll just talk for a bit and it could be like your break!”
“Ugh fine,” he reluctantly agreed, telling her the address of the club.
Shota was never one to get into other people’s business, always keeping to himself, but the pair were talking so loud he couldn’t help but overhear them. A host club though . . . He distinctly remembered being dragged along to one with an old friend of his in his youth. It was -- different. Different from anything he had done in his life up to that point, and he promised himself he wouldn’t return to one, but now? It was either go back up to his apartment and wait out the night until he eventually passed out, or spend his night at one of these host clubs and talk to someone for a few hours. The retired hero wasn’t even the social type, but spending the night talking with someone else sounded pleasant to him. Even if he wasn’t doing the talking, merely being around someone else sounded nice. Hopefully, he didn’t end up with someone annoying. Shota grabbed the bag of candies off the rack, moving to the register, glancing through the shelves of the cigarettes as the man behind the counter rang him up.
“And give me a pack of Mevius,” he said, rummaging through his wallet for cash. The man quickly paid for his things and left the store, blending back in the crowd. A distasteful look began to manifest across his features as he saw all the different groups of people. Earlier, he spotted businessmen scurrying to get back home to their families, but now the only people left were university students looking for a quick fuck, and girls allowing them to do what they wanted. Not only that but other drunks who had nowhere to be so they stumbled around aimlessly. The only difference there was now from when he was younger was the lack of any criminals around. Not to say scrum wasn’t lurking in every corner, just waiting for some helpless girl to walk in just to mug her, or do whatever else they wanted, but now it wasn’t organized. Thanks to All Might, it had gone down, making the job of many other heroes -- including himself -- easier. Not to say all the streets were cleaned up. Aizawa was still skeptical every time he walked past an alleyway, shadows that lingered on for too long forced him to turn his head, clutching the plastic bag tightly. Shota never wanted to admit it, but he could feel his body getting weaker and if a group of punks decided to mess with him . . . He may not win the fight. It was a grim thought that always gnawed at the back of his mind. A reality he never wanted to face, so he quickly walked past any sketchy area. Then again, at this hour, any wrong turn could lead someone into a dead zone. He was afraid to even ask someone for directions, so he had to make do with the limited information he overheard. All the bright signs that littered the streets began to meld together and the kanji was difficult to understand, blinking on and off. The only sign that he had were the different faces that were plastered outside of the building, advertising the different hosts they had.
Occasionally, he paused outside of them, looking at the faces. Most of them were women, which reminded him of Nemuri. Before she became a full hero and a teacher alongside him, he remembered when she would do something like this. Shota never understood the idea behind the -- profession, but he could understand now. Not everyone was fit to work in an office or even go out and be a hero, but someone couldn’t live without money. Although it was unsavory and he doubted anyone publicly said they worked at one of these places, it was still better than working as a call girl. Then again, the retired hero had no right to speak. He was currently on his way to one of these places to speak to one of these said people, so he was no better. At least he’d be putting money in someone’s pocket tonight. The thought only was the only thing keeping Aizawa going on his little journey, searching for a place to spend the night.
Finally, after wandering around aimlessly, he found the place he was looking for. It was a mixed club, with male and female hosts. A bit strange for him, but he hoped that he’d get a nice girl, hopefully, someone his own age not to make things weird. Although, a man in his mid-thirties visiting one of these places was already odd. As he walked through the door, he could already feel a few stares, specifically, a man in a suit passed him, giving him a short dirty look which forced Shota to clear his throat. Maybe coming wasn’t the best decision. His outfit could barely pass off as casual, having thrown on a basic plain shirt and still in sweats, but they still let him inside. The man always valued comfort over style, so he wouldn’t start a fight over something as trivial as clothes.
“Good evening sir,” said the man at the entrance. “Welcome to Jewel. Please come inside when you’re ready,”
Having paid at the previous door, Aizawa assumed the man was simply there to guide him to a table. “I’m ready now,”
“Perfect. Would you like to request a specific host?”
The pictures of the girls and guys briefly came up in the man’s head, forcing him to pause and think before he shook his head. Although there were a few ones that stood out to him, he couldn’t remember any of their names. “No preference,” he simply responded.
“No preference? Alright. Right this way then,” the man politely said, assuring Shota to an empty clean booth. “Someone will be you soon, feel free to view the drink menu,” he gestured to the menu on the table, respectfully bowing before leaving.
The man nodded, quickly letting his body fall on the cushioned booth, sighing in relief. His shaky hand rubbed his knee, attempting to ease the burning feeling that frequently flared up after walking for so long. Hesitantly, he leaned over, glancing over the various drinks, his dark eyes widening at the prices. He was better off going to a bar and drinking there! Scoffing at the menu, he quickly pushed it aside and instead decided to wait for whoever they were going to send him. Hopefully, the host or hostess wasn’t looking for a drink because he was not going to waste 62,000 yen for a bottle that he would be forced to split. At this point, Shota wanted nothing more than a nice conversation, or to even be able to take his mind off the thoughts that frequently haunted him at this point in the night.