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Hitoshi loves the rain.
He revels in the way it sounds at night, luring him into a well-needed, peaceful sleep, and how the raindrops feel on his skin, refreshing and cool. One of his favorite pastimes is going out into summer storms, arms outstretched, face tilted, and laughing as it washes over him.
Enjoys how the heavier drops feel like fingertips tapping across his scalp, shoulders, and arms. It’s been a long time since he’s been touched as gently as the rain, but he misses the feeling.
Savors the smell, and how everything shimmers in the sun after a morning shower. Fresh, clean, and new. It’s incredibly calming to take a deep breath of crisp air when the rain becomes nothing more than a light drizzle, and let the scent fill his lungs.
Delights in the puddles that collect fallen leaves, bottle caps, and various nicknacks of the city, creating a new and beautiful, abstract art piece in every dip and pothole of the concrete. He’s got an album in his phone full of pictures, only second in number to his collection of cat photos.
Adores how the flowers bloom brighter, and somehow more cheerful with little drops of diamonds on their petals, turning toward the sun like the cloudy weather never happened.
Hitoshi loves the rain... but he’s never been a fan of storms.
The howling wind, booming thunder, and streaks of lightning darting across a darkened sky always instills a primal fear in him. He’s not sure if it’s the noise, light, or general chaos of them, but Hitoshi hates storms.
So it’s just his luck that he’s been locked out in the middle of one.
A clap of thunder shakes the windows behind him, and Hitoshi jumps. He’s been crouched under a store awning, trying to keep his backpack from getting soaked for the past hour now, debating whether to call Aizawa-sensei.
The man had been training him since the sports festival, and is already suspicious of Hitoshi’s home life, what with the constant rumbling in his stomach and various random bruises, so calling might not be the best idea.
But Hitoshi’s phone battery is draining, and the warning for 15 percent flashes across his screen.
He chews on his lip, debating as a minute stretches into ten, and his battery gets lower and lower, brightness dimming in an attempt to ward off the inevitable.
When the 5 percent notification vibrates the device, Hitoshi gives a mental ‘fuck it’, and presses call.
It rings for a few nerve-wracking moments, Hitoshi pacing in anticipation and hoping against hope that it doesn’t go to voicemail, and he’s left here overnight for nothing, but just when he thinks that he’ll have to resign to his fate, there’s a click, and the rustling of fabric.
“Hello?”
The voice sounds gruff and tired, as if having just been woken up, but Hitoshi breathes a sigh of relief.
“Hey, Sensei.”
“Shinsou? What’s wrong?” More rustling sounds over the other line, and Aizawa’s voice is definitely more awake now.
“Uh, well I…” Hitoshi stutters, not sure what he wants to say, now that he has his mentor on the phone. There’s another loud boom that has Hitoshi jumping and almost dropping his phone.
“Are you outside right now?” Aizawa asks, a note of worry in his tone.
Hitoshi takes a deep breath. “You told me to call if I needed anything, and I sorta got locked out.”
There’s a muffled curse that Hitoshi’s pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to hear, and louder rustling. “Where are you?”
Hitoshi lists off the name of the store he’s huddled in front of, wincing when his phone flashes two percent.
“My phone’s gonna die soon.”
“Okay, just stay where you are. I’m on my-”
The phone in Hitoshi’s hand goes black, and he closes his eyes, sliding it into his back pocket.
The air is growing colder as evening begins to turn into night, Hitoshi’s stomach letting him know that it's far past dinnertime, and he shivers. He’s still in his school blazer, which is better than nothing, but he’d gotten pretty wet in his mad dash to the house, and even more so during his search for someplace dry to wait out the storm, and the lingering moisture is rapidly cooling his skin.
Not to mention, the awning he’d picked wasn’t the driest place he came across, but after getting kicked out of a few convenience stores for lingering, but not buying anything, he decided to settle on what he could find.
There’s a decent amount of wind, and though he looked for a place out of the way, there’s still a breeze or two that'll sweep a gust of rain into his little alcove and soak him all over again.
He’s managed to keep the worst of it off his backpack, fervently hoping his books and assignments can be saved when this is all over, but not counting on it.
After all, life seems to try its best to shit on him at every opportunity.
Five minutes of pacing, partially to keep himself warm, and partially out of anxiety, a pair of headlights cuts through the torrential downpour, coming to a rumbling stop next to where Hitoshi’s standing.
Aizawa-sensei steps out of the passenger side, with an umbrella, rushing to meet his student.
Hitoshi can only stare as a warm, heavy coat is draped over him, and a pair of strong arms wrap around his shivering form. He doesn’t remember the last time he was hugged, but with the soft, dry weight across his shoulders, and the almost painfully warm arms around him, shielding him from the rain, Hitoshi thinks this might be the best thing he’s ever felt.
Aizawa pulls away after only a few moments, setting a hand on Hitoshi’s back to guide him to the car.
“Let’s get you out of this storm.”
The warmth blowing through the vents feels like heaven on his chilled skin, and Hitoshi’s shivering picks up ten-fold as soon as he’s buckled. He pulls the coat more firmly around himself, teeth chattering, and watches Aizawa slip back into his seat, exchanging a few words with the blonde driver.
Hitoshi’s not sure who’s driving the car, but a pair of warm green eyes crinkle in a smile at him through the rear-view mirror, and he figures they can’t be too bad if they were willing to pick up some random water-logged kid in the middle of the night.
“Hey, there little listener.” The driver says, and Hitoshi puts the pieces together with startling clarity.
He’s careful not to put any inflection of a question in his tone, as he says the name, despite his confusion. “Present Mic.”
The skin around familiar green eyes crinkles again as the man laughs. “Wow, you picked that up a lot faster than I expected!”
Hitoshi merely hums, sighing in relief when Aizawa wordlessly turns up the heat.
“What had you out in this weather?” Present Mic asks, casual in a deceptively calm tone.
Hitoshi knows he’s fishing for answers, but he’s not sure what Aizawa told the man, so he settles for a shrug, turning his head to look out at the storm.
It seems more violent now that he’s within the relative safety of a warm car, branches bending from the force of the wind, water rushing down the sides of the road, and raindrops heavy on the metal roof.
From this angle, his situation seems a lot more dire than it was, and Hitoshi frowns. He’s not sure how he can spin this. If he tells the truth about being kicked out tonight, he’ll be removed from his foster home, and though he’d be grateful to escape from this particular set of parents, he has no idea where they’d place him next. The system isn’t kind to those with villainous quirks, and his next placement may be too far away to continue attending UA.
With how close he is to getting into the hero course, that’s not an option.
“Shinsou.”
Hitoshi’s head snaps up when Aizawa-sensei addresses him, unable to even pretend to ignore his mentor.
“You said you got locked out, and I’m assuming you don’t have a key.” the man pauses for a moment, waiting for Hitoshi to nod reluctantly. “Would you like to spend the night at my place? I'm an emergency foster parent and I can get you a change of clothes. There’s a guest room with a shower.”
Lavender eyes widen, as Hitoshi stares at his teacher. He’d assumed that he was going to be dropped off at the nearest fire station or ‘Safe Place’, to wait until social services could get someone to take him back to the house, but an offer to stay at his teacher’s was never even a pipe dream.
The thought of a change of clothes and a shower, followed by a night of privacy in a room all for him is too good to be true, but Aizawa’s expression is completely serious. The gruff man has never lied to Hitoshi before, and if he stays with a pro hero, who holds an emergency fostering license as a byproduct of work, there’ll be no legal repercussions for Hitoshi’s moment of weakness.
So after a moment of consideration, his head bobs without permission, and Hitoshi can’t bring himself to regret it.
“Alright,” Aizawa’s grey eyes soften in something close to relief. “You’re not allergic to cats, are you?”
Hitoshi gives him the most offended look he can muster, and the man downright snorts.
“We’ve got four. Though you’ll probably only meet Beans and Jelly. The other three are skittish little shits.”
“You live with someone else.” Hitoshi states, knowing Aizawa will pick up on the underlying question.
“That would be me!” Present Mic chirps from the driver’s seat, turning up the windshield wipers as a gust of wind blows a particularly heavy bout of rain onto the car.
“Huh. Would’ve thought you’d be too loud for Sensei.”
Aizawa gives his roommate a withering look. “He is.”
Hitoshi cracks a tiny smile, hiding it in the large coat draped around him. It smells like coffee, ink, and cats, with a woodsy undertone that he recognizes as Aizawa's cologne. The scent calms him, and he fully relaxes for the first time since being left on the doorstep of his foster home, shaking from the cold and fear.
Present Mic turns on the radio, and the three of them let the music fill the silence.
They pull up to a high-rise apartment complex an indefinite time later that Hitoshi recognizes from his walk home. They’re close to UA, very close, and this is a well-guarded building.
Present Mic puts the car in park near the front entrance, and Aizawa gets out, opening Hitoshi’s door. The teen glances toward the blonde man uncertainly, as he’s tucked under an arm and lead inside.
“He’ll meet us in a few minutes, but we need to get you warmed up.” Aizawa says in lew of an explanation, pushing the button for the fifth floor.
Hitoshi just nods, too busy studying the expensive-looking lobby before the elevator doors close. He’s never been lucky enough to get fostered by rich parents, probably because of his quirk, so this is a novel experience.
There’s a pit growing in his stomach though when he glances down at his raggedy sneakers, hoping that Aizawa’s apartment isn't filled with fancy things he might break.
“Don’t worry about the water, that can be cleaned.” Hitoshi’s mentor reassures, misinterpreting the teen’s look, but Hitoshi doesn’t correct him.
Instead, he quietly follows the gruff man down a white hallway, stopping at a door with a sunshine-shaped welcome mat. It’s got some kind of pun in English, and the thing is so startlingly American, that Hitoshi can’t help but stare.
“That’s Hizashi’s. It’s an eyesore, I know.” Aizawa grumbles, opening the door, and gesturing Hitoshi inside.
Hitoshi thinks it's endearing, but bends down to untie his shoes instead of commenting. Partway through his left, he comes face-to-face with a small, blue-eyed calico.
They stare at each other for a moment, cautious but interested.
"That's Jelly. She's a stray we picked up a few months ago, but she's the most friendly of the hellions, so you might as well say hello." Aizawa comments, stepping past the genkan and disappearing into what Hitoshi assumes is the kitchen.
With no one to judge him, Hitoshi carefully extends a hand, smiling when he gets a casual sniff, before a soft face is being pushed into calloused fingers.
He's sitting cross-legged with Jelly on his lap when Hizashi opens the door, squeals, and before Hitoshi can object, snaps a photo.
"Delete it." He demands, immediately.
"Absolutely not!" Hizashi cheers, toeing off his shoes and sprinting to join Aizawa.
"Well, there goes my reputation." He tells the cat on his lap. Jelly just murps, and rubs her face into him to demand more pets.
By the time Aizawa returns with a towel and bowl of rice, vegetables, and beef, Hitoshi has gained the favor of what he assumes is Beans, an overweight, grey tabby, who purrs like a motorboat.
He's having the time of his life, honestly, but the smell of food reminds his growling stomach that he hasn't eaten since lunch, and he doesn't protest when he's traded food for cats.
Half the bowl is gone in a few seconds, and Aizawa shoots him a concerned look.
“Slow down kid, you're gonna make yourself sick.”
Hitoshi ignores him and keeps inhaling the food. It's been actual years since he's had a home-cooked meal made by anyone other than himself, and he's not the most talented in the kitchen. This is the best thing he’s tasted in a very long time.
Aizawa frowns, but takes the bowl when Hitoshi's done, and drops the towel on his lap.
“You got any injuries I should know about?” He questions, with a critical eye as Hitoshi rubs the worst of the water out of his hair.
"Nothing recent, I'm fine." Hitoshi lies.
"Hmm." The man remarks, sounding doubtful. "Well, I'll show you to your room. Hizashi dug out some clothes that should fit you and stocked the bathroom, so you can take a shower."
Hitoshi blinks at him, but dutifully lets his mentor pull him up, and lead him through the apartment. It's nicer than anywhere he's stayed before, but cozy in a way he hadn't expected. There’re blankets draped over the sofa, piles of hero files and half-graded assignments on the coffee table, and a clean but lived-in vibe Hitoshi hasn’t witnessed in quite a few years.
Most of the homes he's lived in since entering the system were cluttered and the items were well used and half broken at best. But this space and its entirety is a mixture of Present Mic and Aizawa's tastes, and somehow it works.
It’s not permanent, he reminds himself, trying not to think about how comfy the couch looked for an after-school nap, and how his homework wouldn’t seem out of place strewn about with the other various papers.
“This is the guest room.” Aizawa states, opening a door into a plain-looking room unceremoniously. “Feel free to take as long as you need, there's towels and a few spare changes of clothes in the closet. But I’d appreciate it if you’d meet me in the living room when you’re done. I’d like to talk about tonight.”
Hitoshi keeps himself from scowling by pure force of will. He doesn’t want Aizawa to get the wrong idea, but he’d really rather not discuss the events leading up to his desperate phone call.
“Alright.” He agrees quietly, making his way to the bathroom that promises release from his damp, cold clothes.
Aizawa simply closes the door to the guest room with a quiet click, leaving Hitoshi to his own devices.
. . . .
Shouta sighs as he re-enters the kitchen where his husband already has a pot of milk boiling.
“How’s the little listener?” The blonde man asks, swaying to the beat of a pop song playing from the radio.
“He’s taking a shower.” Shouta informs him, peeking into the fridge for something else to offer the kid when he gets out of the bathroom. The way Shinsou had inhaled the food served to him set off red flags in Shouta’s mind, and no child will go hungry under his roof if he has anything to say about it.
“Good, I hope he doesn’t catch a cold. This is one nasty storm.” Hizashi remarks mildly, a clap of thunder rattling the windows as if punctuating his statement.
Shouta hums in agreement, finally deciding on a frozen pack of bean buns. They don’t have much in the way of nutritional value, but he figures Shinsou could use something warm and sweet.
Hizashi wraps his arms around Shouta from behind as he waits for the microwave, and they watch the numbers decrease in contemplative silence broken only by the quiet music, rain tapping on windows, with an occasional bout of rolling thunder.
The alarm for the stove beeps at the same time the microwave announces its 30-second mark, and both men pull away to tend to their respective tasks, moving around each other seamlessly as they bask in the familiar company.
A door clicks open down the hall, and both men watch Shinsou come padding out of the guest room in a pair of Aizawa’s fuzzy cat socks, too-large clothes swamping his frame, and promptly collapse face-first onto the couch, wrapping himself in several blankets with a content, sleepy sigh.
Shouta barely keeps himself from snorting at the display.
The teen is obviously exhausted, and with the way he’s all wrapped up in blankets, damp hair pressed to his scalp, with an orange tabby cat coming out of hiding to give him curious sniffs, he looks like a wet kitten.
“I see you found Present Meow.” Shouta comments dryly, entering the room as Hizashi ducks into their shared bedroom to give the two some privacy.
The bundle of kid and cats jolts, four sets of eyes blinking up at him in varying levels of apathy and fear respectively.
The lavender-haired teen takes in the two steaming mugs and plate of buns held with calloused hands, and the lack of the ever-present capture scarf with a calculating gaze, before relaxing back into the couch.
“You named him Present Meow.” Shinsou deadpans, looking offended on the orange tabby’s behalf.
Shouta snorts, setting the mugs down on the coffee table. “I didn’t, Hizashi did.”
“Neither of you should be allowed to name cats.” Shinsou mutters, reaching for the cup placed closest to him. It’s hot chocolate with little marshmallows and whipped cream shaped like a cat face because Hizashi has a soft spot for kids, and has been making ‘cat-chocolate’ for Shouta since high school.
Shouta watches his student stare at it for a moment, mouth lifting in a small smile as the teen snaps a picture, sits up, and takes a sip.
“What makes you say that?” Shouta asks, a hint of amusement evident in his tone, as he nudges his student’s legs until he has enough room to sit.
“Beans. Jelly. These are cats, not food items.” The teen huffs, gesturing toward the fluffy calico and grey tabby sleeping peacefully on him, giving a mournful glance toward the cat tree Present Meow had scampered off onto.
A black cat with golden yellow eyes hops onto Shouta’s lap and he pets her absent-mindedly as he takes a sip of his drink. “I’m an adult, I can name my cats whatever I want. This is Ramen. She likes noodles.”
Shinsou looks like the name physically pains him.
“I can’t believe you’d do that to a poor defenseless cat. She’s gonna get bullied.”
Shouta rolls his eyes. “Only by Tensei, but to be fair he bullies the lot of them, so Ramen isn’t special.”
Shinsou raises an eyebrow at the unfamiliar name.
“Ingenium. Iida’s brother.” Shouta supplies, watching as recognition lights up the kid’s face.
“Ah, the class president with a stick up his ass.”
Shouta smiles into his cat-chocolate. “Better not let him hear you say that. He’ll dislocate his arm with hand chopping.”
Shinsou snorts at that, putting his mug down to pet the cats, a serious expression overtaking his features. “So uh… are you gonna report this to Social Services?”
Shouta blinks, not having expected the kid to bring up the conversation he was dreading, but rolls with it. “Should I?”
The lavender-haired teen pauses, giving him a look. “Don’t play dumb. You’re a mandated reporter.”
“And do I have anything to report?” Shouta replies smoothly, hoping the kid will just come out and say it.
Shinsou pauses, confusion flickering across his features, before he closes off, expression blank. “I don’t know, you tell me.”
Shouta sighs deeply, “I’ve seen you come to school with bruises that I certainly didn’t give you, you never seem to have enough to eat if the growling stomach and lack of muscle gain is anything to go by, and you’re always exhausted. Collectively, that doesn’t exactly point to a good home life.”
“If I get moved again, there’s very little chance that I’ll be close enough to UA. All that work will be for nothing, and I… I don’t know if I can deal with that.” Shinsou admits, hands buried in cat fur, his bangs shielding his eyes.
“If I could guarantee that you’d still be able to attend UA, would you tell me the truth about what happened tonight?”
Shinsou startles, glancing up. “It’s not that easy, and the system doesn’t like it when kids get attached. My social worker might move me far away on purpose if you put in a request. But if you could guarantee that I won’t get shipped off to another prefecture… then yeah. I could talk."
Shouta stands, moving to rifle through a drawer, and pulls out a manilla folder. He sits back on the couch, sorting through the papers, making a triumphant noise when he finds the one he’s looking for, and hands it to the kid.
Lavender eyes widen as he reads through an almost complete transfer of custody with ‘Shinsou Hitoshi’ listed in bold at the top.
“All I need is a confirmation that you’re unsafe at your current foster home and I can have those turned in by tomorrow morning.” Shouta mentions casually, watching the kid’s face flicker through a multitude of emotions, landing on disbelieving awe.
“You- you want me?” The teen asks, voice thick with emotion.
“We both do.” Hizashi reassures, apparently having gotten bored in his room, and deciding to eavesdrop. “Shou’s been talking about you for weeks, and we’ve had that filled out since the Sports Festival when he went digging into your file.”
“I- wait. Both ? I thought you were roommates.”
Hizashi gives Shouta an exasperated look. “You didn't tell him we were married?’
“He didn’t ask.” Shouta defends with a shrug, a small smile turning his lips as Hizashi rolls his eyes.
" Married ?” Hitoshi interrupts, looking like his whole world just got turned on its head.
“Is that a problem?” Shouta asks, raising an eyebrow.
“No!” The kid flushes, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m uh, in the community too, so I’m not homophobic or anything, I was just surprised. He doesn’t seem like your type.”
Shouta just sighs. “Yes, well I apparently have terrible taste in men.”
“Excuse you, I’m a delight !” Hizashi squawks, above polite volume level by a few decibels. “But let’s get back to the fostering situation.”
Shinsou slides over the papers with a shaking hand. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Nonsense! You need a good home, and we both like you. They’d be no imposing. All we want is for you to be happy, and if you think you could be here, then we’ll turn the paperwork in as soon as possible!”
“What if- uh.” The kid stops himself, reworking his previous question into a statement. “They won’t let me go that easy. The foster parents I’m with right now are doing it for the money. I’m just another paycheck to them.”
“You can ask questions,” Shouta says softly, making sure to hold eye contact long enough to assure his statement was heard and processed. “And there’s absolutely no way I’m letting you go back there. You’re going to be transferred anyway.”
Shinsou blinks. “Oh. Well then, if you’re sure.”
“We're absolutely sure.” Shouta reaffirms. “The room you showered in is already basically yours. It used to be an office but we cleaned it out after the sport’s festival for this exact purpose. Though I need one thing from you to get this done.”
Hitoshi hesitates, a hint of anxiety in his lavender eyes. "What is it?"
"Tell me what really happened tonight."
The kid heaves a sigh, slumping into the couch dramatically. "It's really not that big of a deal, but one of the straps on my quirk regulator broke when my backpack got caught in the train doors as I was rushing into the station, and I'm not able to fix it. But this house is really strict and my foster parents won't let me inside if I'm not wearing it, so I got locked out. I tried to bargain with my foster father, but he just got mad and slammed the door in my face."
"They purposefully locked you out in this weather?" Hizashi whines, looking distressed.
Hitoshi shifts uncomfortably, Beans letting out a wheezy murp as he’s jostled. "It's not a big deal. This kind of thing has happened before, but I can't stand storms, and it was cold, so I called."
"Why do they have you using quirk regulators as a high school student? And for that case, how did you break it?" Shouta questions, thinking of the metal, state-issued bracelets that limit quirk use to manageable levels for children with out-of-control quirks, but promptly chokes when Shinsou pulls out an honest to god muzzle, and displays a broken elastic strap with a casualness he can tell isn’t forced.
The kid keeps talking, not having picked up on the spike of tension in the room. "It's not for me per say. I've had my quirk under control for years, but the system recommends it because of a few accidents when I was younger, and as I said, this family is particularly strict."
"And you wear that every time you’re in the house?” Shouta manages to say, voice strained.
Shinsou looks up then, seeing twin expressions of barely-repressed rage, and shrinking back.
“I- uh, yeah.” He whispers, knuckles going white on the broken strap as Shouta gestures to the muzzle in a silent request to hold it.
“We’re not mad at you , kid. The system never should’ve given that to you, and no one should’ve forced you to wear it. That’s not a quirk regulator, that’s abuse.”
Shinsou swallows nervously, but passes the muzzle over for Shouta to inspect. The thing is made of plastic, molded to resemble a black-fashion mask, but the edges are hard, and there's not a hint of fabric padding. It's obviously not made for comfort, and that just makes Shouta angrier.
"Can I give this to the police for evidence?" He asks, voice deceptively calm.
"Uh, I mean sure. My social worker isn't gonna be happy, but I can just say you took it if she asks." Shinsou shrugs, still looking uncomfortable.
“Thank you.” Shouta nods, setting the accursed thing to the side and out of sight for the moment, feeling his husband lose some of his tension once the thing is removed from view. “Are you willing to give a statement tomorrow morning when we turn the paperwork in as well?”
“I mean, that was kinda the deal for keeping me from transferring out of the prefecture, so as long as I can still go to UA, I’ll do it.” Shinsou nods, yawning as the day’s events start to catch up to him.
“Why don’t you get some rest, little listener? Tomorrow’s gonna be a busy day.” Hizashi coaxes, finally having shaken off his previous shock at the sight of the muzzle.
“Alright,” Hitoshi agrees readily enough, reluctantly wiggling out of his blanket burrito, and stretching.
He pauses at the entrance to the hallway though, glancing back with the most genuinely happy smile either man has ever seen on him.
“Thank you.”
Beans:
Jelly:
Present Meow:
Ramen:
