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Its nearly two AM when Shouta’s phone rings. He’s still up grading papers, partly because he needs to get them done by Monday, and partly because he was expecting this call. Sure enough, Hizashi’s face pops up on the call display. He sighs, and answers.
“Heyy Sho,” Hizashi’s voice is slurring heavily and has had to talk annoyingly loud to be heard over the sounds of the club. “Sooo, I’m a little drunk right now, you think you could come pick me up?”
“Where are you?”
“’s called Club RISK. Shouldn’t be too far from you.”
Shouta sighs again. He knows that he really shouldn’t do this. He’s only enabling Hizashi’s behaviour, and in a sick way, his own. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”
Nearly an hour later, Shouta is leading Hizashi to his apartment. The car ride seems to have mellowed Hizashi somewhat from the hyper-active excitement of the club, and he’s having trouble standing upright, so Shouta has to hold him by the arm. Hizashi digs out his keys, but fumbles and nearly drops them.
“Give me those,” Shouta says as he grabs the keys from his hands and unlocks the door.
“Thanks man, I really owe you one,” Hizashi mumbles as he staggers into his home.
“For opening the door?”
“For coming to pick me up.”
Shouta pours a glass of water and hands it to Hizashi. “Drink.”
Hizashi gets about half of the water down before it slips out of his hands and falls to the floor, shattering. He makes no move to clean it up, he just stands there staring at the broken glass. It was only a small accident, and yet it completely changed the mood of the small apartment. It no longer feels comfortable, but claustrophobic.
“I’ll get it,” Shouta says. This has happened enough times that he knows where Hizashi keeps the broom and dustpan. “You really should get some plastic – What are you doing?” When he returns, he sees that the blond is on his knees, scooping up the glass with his bare hands. One of the shards slices across his palm and he has a delayed reaction. But his eyes were already wet with tears beforehand.
“Sorry,” He responds listlessly, dumping the glass into the dustpan. This is the part that always kills Shouta inside. The part where the mask starts to slip, and Hizashi’s vulnerabilities start to make themselves known. It doesn’t always happen, but something as small as a breaking glass is enough to trigger it. The worst part of it isn’t seeing the emotional toil his friend is going through and being completely helpless. No, the worst part is knowing that the next time he sees Hizashi, it’ll be like none of this ever happened. Seeing him plaster on a fake smile every day, pretending that he’s fine even when he’s so clearly not, it hurts.
Shouta cleans up the rest of the glass and the few drops of blood on the floor before heading to the bathroom, where Hizashi is holding his hand under the running tap. Without saying anything, Shouta pulls the first-aid kit that every pro hero has from the bathroom cupboard where he knows it’s stored. He used to come here after rough patrols to get patched up, it was better than going to the hospital. The kit looks to be mostly empty though, it seems that Hizashi hasn’t stocked up in a while. He makes a mental note to remind him when he’s sober and fishes out an antiseptic wipe and a bandage.
The tears are rolling down Hizashi’s face now, and Shouta has to avoid making any kind of eye contact as he treats the wound. Seeing him like this stings, but in a way that Shouta can only describe as cathartic. He refuses to cave and show his emotions like this in front of another person, but to see them reflected in his friend feels oddly validating. He feels dirty for thinking this way, though, as though he’s gaining some kind of masochistic pleasure in Hizashi’s suffering.
When the injury has been treated, Shouta guides Hizashi to his bedroom and tucks him into bed, making sure that he’s laying on his side in case he ends up vomiting. He’s about to leave the room and spend the night on the living room couch (as he’s done so many nights before) when Hizashi speaks.
“Why am I like this?” He’s never been so quiet before.
Shouta’s grip on the doorframe tightens for a moment. “I dunno. You tell me.”
“Sometimes I think about what happened to Oboro, and I think ‘what if I was the one who died that night’, you know?”
“Hizashi.”
“I know, it’s stupid, right? But I know you think about it too, don’t you?” His voice is still small, but it has a hysterical edge to it. “I know how you felt about him. I saw the way you looked at him. I saw – I saw because I was looking at you the same way. I – “
He doesn’t get a chance to finish before Shouta turns around and activates his quirk, cutting him off in an instant. Once he realizes that it’s hopeless, he shuts his mouth pretty fast. Good. Shouta doesn’t want to talk about this. He can’t talk about this.
“That’s enough, Hizashi.” Shouta says, closing his eyes. He doesn’t like using his quirk on Hizashi. It feels wrong to just take away his voice, something that’s so integral to who he is. He can add it to the laundry list of reasons that he shouldn’t have picked up the phone in the first place. Silence falls over the room. Shouta knows he should be going, but he can’t bring himself to leave Hizashi alone when he’s like this.
“I just… wish we go back to the way things used to be.” Hizashi mumbles.
“You know that’s impossible.”
“Yeah, I know. But do things have to be like they are now? It’s like, what do I have to do to get you to pay any attention to me? Any at all? The only time you’re ever nice to me is when I’m drunk like this.” His tone is bitter now, and that somehow hurts even more.
That’s because it’s the only time you’re willing to talk, Shouta wants to say, but he knows that it won’t help at this point. The dead air between them is suffocating now, and he knows that he needs to leave before he says something he’ll regret.
“Goodnight, Hizashi,” Is all he says as he leaves the bedroom and closes the door.
From the other side of the door, he can faintly hear Hizashi mumble: “Night, Sho.”
Shouta manages to hold himself together until he reaches the couch. And then he falls apart.