Chapter Text
Hizashi doesn't know how the kid Shouta picked up ends up halfway through his window far too late at night for them to be awake nor does he particularly want to know right now.
But, well, that's a straight up lie because he really, really wants to know. There's no way they could have followed him home from the studio, no way they knew beforehand because he was only introduced to the kid less than a week ago. And yet.
They stare up at him with wide green eyes and dirty fingerprints all over the outside of the glass pane. His screen is missing, too, and they look sickly in the bright fluorescent lights of his kitchen. Hizashi stares back, incredulous, and glances down to check that his cup of water didn't somehow transform into a halluncinogen while he wasn't looking. Slowly, they slide further down the wall toward his throw rug.
Their shoes are filthy in a way that makes his skin crawl, same with their jeans, and he's honestly surprised they don't leave a streak of dirt against the pale yellow Shouta convinced him to paint the kitchen in.
Izuku gives him a brief little wiggle of their fingers once they're no longer hanging out the window. Two stories up.
"Hey there, kiddo." He says. "Shouta know where you are?"
Speaking of Eraserhead, wasn't he still on patrol? His shift normally finishes long after Hizashi's time at the studio, so it's weird to see the kid out and about. Never mind crawling through places they shouldn't be able to reach. If this is anything like the time Mic the Cat got out, he can reasonably expect a frantic phone call later.
They pause, eyebrows scrunching together.
And - ah, it's completely possible they've never actually heard his friend's name because there's no way Shouta ever introduced himself. On brand, at least.
"Shouta; the one you've been staying with?" Hizashi repeats, slowly adding his name sign with one hand. Understanding lights up their face, though it's not much more than a twitch, which is great. They shake their head a moment later, which is decidedly not great.
Hizashi downs the rest of his water and mentally prepares to get yelled at later.
His silent lament is thoroughly interrupted by the crinkle of paper and when he looks back at the kid, they've taken their shoes off, unfolding a smudged square of his friend's spare printer paper and uneasily holding it out to him. He does his best not to loom over them, accepting it with quiet thanks.
The back is taken up by several overlapping variations of Izuku's name, Shouta's neat kanji printed near the top from where they tried to figure out how to write it. The writing on the front is shaky and almost unreadable with grammar mistakes that make him itch for a red pen, but the message is clear enough. Thank you for teaching me, it is very hard but very fun. Please teach me more.
And, well, Hizashi can't really say no to that.
"Of course, kiddo." He says after a moment, watching Izuku's face lighten out of the anxious worry it'd been sinking into. "It's a bit late, though, so why don't we pick back up tomorrow? There'll be plenty of time to practice then."
They nod, sharp and quick, and dart forward to wrap their arms around his waist for less than a second before grabbing their shoes and wriggling back out the window. There isn't even a thump of something hitting the ground; only what sounds like scrabbling feet over his roof before it fades. He blinks - once, twice - and rubs the heel of a palm against his eyes with a sigh.
But he can't really help the smile tugging at his lips, setting his glass in the sink and digging around in the junk drawer for a magnet.
Shouta, surprisingly, doesn't call.