Chapter Text
Six months before the incident with Dabi
Hitoshi Shinsou limped besides his mentor Shouta Aizawa as they made their way down a sidewalk. A building’s shadow, cast by the setting sun, shrouded them in cool darkness. They had spent the afternoon traversing rooftops as part of his training. And he had been improving; he’d only managed to get stuck on a roof once this time.
To his teacher’s annoyance, he had to rescue his student and thanks to an unsteady railing, they both wound up tumbling into some unfortunate shrubs. The pro hero, used to falls and mishaps, had been able to stick the landing. Shinsou, however, was not as plucky and twisted his ankle.
“Is it just me, or has your limp worsened?” Aizawa interrupted Shinsou’s thoughts and gestured down at his ankle.
“What?” He had been so wrapped up in his post-training analysis he hadn’t even noticed.
“Let’s take a break; give it a quick rest,” Aizawa glanced around and spotted a nearby park bench. “There.”
Before Shinsou could respond, Aizawa took him by the elbow and led him towards it.
“Hey,” he protested and jerked his arm free. “I’m fine.”
“Sit,” Aizawa pointed at the bench, ignoring the blatant lie.
Shinsou gave him a peeved look as he reluctantly took a seat. Homework waited for him at home and he wanted to finish it up as soon as possible. A chunk of peeling black paint on the arm rest caught his attention and he gave it a frustrated poked. Something about the bench and its location was oddly familiar . . .
Suddenly, he raised his head and scanned the space around him. A swath of grass stretched out before him and several trees dotted the small park. It looked like any other green spot in the city, except his memories told him it wasn’t.
Noticing the change in his behavior, Aizawa tilted his head.
Without regard for his ankle, Shinsou stood up and limped towards a tree. He came to a direct stop besides it and then proceeded to circle it. After several rotations around it, he lifted his head up. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he inspected the branches. Spotting something white, he grabbed a branch and pulled himself up without a second thought.
“Shinsou, wha—” Aizawa shook his head in confusion. Had the boy finally cracked? Had training really been that hard on him?
Thanks to his workouts and training, Shinsou pulled himself up just using his upper body strength, which allowed him to avoid using his injured ankle. With surprising speed, he made his way up the tree.
“And what are you trying to prove?” Came his mentor’s voice.
“Nothing! I’m looking for something,” he said as he reached the upper branches. Tangled around several middle branches was a weathered white cord. The sight of it caused him to pause. All these years later, it was still there.
“What, how-,” Shinsou breathed. After finding a comfortable position, he pulled out his pocket knife and cut it loose. He held the cord in his open palm and stared down at it. “H-how is that even possible . . . ?”
“Now is not the time to make a nest,” Aizawa now stood at the base of the tree with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed in confusion. It was unlike his student to just randomly climb up trees and admire cords.
His voice cut through Shinsou’s thoughts yet again. He looked down at him and tightly clenched the cord in his hand. He wasn’t about to let it go.
“Come down here now,” Aizawa ordered, sounding like a cat owner admonishing his tree climbing feline.
“Geez, alright,” Shinsou tentatively placed his good foot on a lower branch and began his descent.
“That one is not sturd—”
Realizing it too late, he came tumbling out of the tree. Not wanting to be squashed, Aizawa swiftly stepped to the side. Seconds later, Shinsou crashed to the ground.
“Oof!” The fall knocked the wind out of him but he maintained his vice like grip on the cord.
Perplexed and completely fed up, Aizawa glared at him. “You fell out of a tree for that . . . ?”
Shinsou slowly sat up, in an effort to spare his aching body from more pain. “Y-yes . . .” Tears stung his eyes. “Ugh, sorry,” he quickly wiped them away.
Just earlier he had been giving it his all during training; observing and listening to his mentor, eager to improve, eager to make it into the hero course and finally realize his dream of becoming a pro hero. But now, he was sitting on the grass, on the verge of crying over a cord.
Thoroughly embarrassed, he slowly got to his feet. “Y-you wouldn’t understand.”
Aizawa shoved his hands into his pockets and responded with a tilt of his head, as if to say: try me. The action caused Shinsou to grimace. As bizarre as his behavior was, he didn’t feel like explaining himself, especially to the emotionally devoid and rational teacher. He feared that he would look like more of a fool than he already was.
“Let’s go,” Shinsou turned to leave but his injured ankle buckled under his weight, causing him to collapse to the ground.
A long sigh escaped Aizawa; it really wasn’t his day. He leaned over and unceremoniously offered his hand to him.
“I’m fine,” he quickly replied, pushing the helping hand away. He just wanted to be alone, to stew in his misery without an audience.
Realizing he wasn’t getting anywhere, Aizawa took a seat besides him. “. . . take your time.”
Shinsou eyed him uncertainly. A part of him wanted to explain himself but he didn’t feel that he could. He hadn’t talked about it in years; almost as if he had forgotten how to speak about it.
Several silent, awkward minutes passed. Aizawa still sat besides him and had taken to watching the people that passed by.
Realizing that he wasn’t going anywhere, Shinsou decided that he should at least try. “. . . th-this . . .” He paused and twirled the cord in his hand, uncertain of how to proceed.
Aizawa maintained his patient silence.
“This was from a kite that my father made me . . .”
He refrained from raising an eyebrow. The realization that he had never heard his student speak of his dad hit him. He had mentioned his mother many times but nothing had been said of his father.
“We flew it in this park,” Shinsou stated slowly. “Eleven years ago—it got tangled in the tree. My dad managed to pull the kite free . . . but the cord was a lost cause.”
Nodding slowly, Aizawa waited for him to finish.
A quiet sigh escaped his student. “I remember insisting that we get it too but he said we didn’t have time. Because I was stubborn and refused to give up on it he said we’d get it next week . . .” Shinsou slowly lifted his head and stared up at the indigo sky.
Aizawa quietly watched his grieving student.
“But that never happened,” he whispered. “Dad didn’t make it to next week. A stupid string lasted till I was 16 . . .” The misery that had tormented him years ago came back; slamming into him like a tidal wave. It dragged him below the surface and despite his best efforts, he couldn't escape the dark ocean. Tears blurred his vision and he lowered his face into his hands. “B-but not my dad.”
Uncertain of what to do, Aizawa simply sat there. He wanted to comfort him, but he wasn’t sure how. One could not simply say something and make him feel better; he understood that all too well.
“. . . sorry to bother you with my sob story,” Shinsou spoke through his hands.
“Hitoshi,” Aizawa finally spoke, his voice sounded oddly weak.
He paused at the use of his given name and peaked through his fingers to look at him.
“I do understand.”
Cautiously, Shinsou lifted his head up and wiped his eyes. A look of doubt crossed his face. He couldn't help it; it didn’t seem like Aizawa could be capable of understanding or empathizing.
“My father is still alive but . . .” Aizawa paused, as if at a lost for words. He chewed his lip, deciding if he should proceed.
“Yes . . . ?”
“I had twin sons.”
Shinsou's eyes grew wide and he gaped at him in shock. Realizing it wasn’t very polite, he quickly set his face straight again. Questions now bombarded his mind. Not once had the thought of him being a father crossed his mind; nor had he ever imagined him being with anyone. Aizawa, having children? The idea was so alien to him.
Aizawa sighed. That was one of the reasons why he never spoke of them.
“I’m sorry, I . . .” Shinsou hastily apologized.
“I had two boys.” He wrapped his arms around himself, as if to ward off a sudden chill. “I hardly had a chance to be with them. The first born died shortly after birth. He didn’t even have a name . . . And I lost my other son a week later . . .” He cleared his throat and stared straight ahead. “So no, I haven’t lost my father, but I understand.”
Shinsou stared down at the rope in his hand; he now understood that there was more to his teacher than he first thought. Life had robbed him of his father and Aizawa of his fatherhood.