Chapter Text
It was like Shouta had blinked and here he was in his overgrown clothes and capture scarf in some dark ass park. Everything spun, as if he had just come off the teacups at the fair. He was supposed to be in third-year math right now, not wherever here was.
When he turned he saw a mom and her kid, the woman kept bowing and bowing. Her kid, a mirror image of her, bowing just as deep. Her lips were moving, but the words didn’t reach him. His head was spinning less, so at least that was a start. Bit by bit his senses acclimated to these new surroundings, first, his eyes were able to focus better, he could feel his binding cloth between his fingers. It was familiar, that calmed him down somewhat.
The ringing in his ears slowly faded enough for him to focus on what this woman was trying to say. “--I’m so sorry! My daughter is still trying to control her quirk. Thank you though for saving us. You really gave that mugger a run for their money.” Aizawa blinked, his mind trying to catch up with the situation.
“Where...am I?” and why was he wearing an eyepatch? He ripped it off, blinking a bit as he did. It wasn’t a medical eyepatch like the one’s Recovery Girl had him wear on occasion. It was black, simple, though a little on the big side. No wonder it just slid right off. Why was he wearing it to begin with?
And not just that, but the clothes that he was wearing felt a little big on him too. His jumpsuit was never skin-tight, but surely that was no excuse as to why his sleeves were just centimeters from engulfing his hands, or why his pants were sagging over his shoes like wrinkles on an old dog.
The woman stood up from her bowing. “She turned you back to half your age. It’ll only last a couple of days, I promise. Please forgive us.” She went right back to bowing.
It took a minute for the words to process, but once they did, he wasn’t sure what to make of them. Maybe he’d misheard.
“Half my age? As in..older to younger?” Shouta felt his mind begin to race as the woman nodded, going back into a rant of apologies. Her voice faded into the background. Half his age. Half his age. If he was half his age, then what was double of seventeen?
Thirty-four.
He counted again. Thirty-four again. That couldn’t be right. The woman in front of him seemed sure of it though, as sure as the little girl beside her looked on guiltyly. It would explain a couple of things. His clothes, maybe the eye patch, but what about his memories? He was Aizawa Shouta, UA student, and hero-in-training, but nothing passed that. No memories of his graduation or life during his twenties.
His head perked up, eyes cast out to observe the world around him. It didn’t look any different from the one he knew. He peered down at his baggy jumpsuit again.The black color was faded in some places, remnants of nicks and tears strewing the fabric in random patterns. And none of which he remembered making himself.
Something fell off his person when he unconsciously took a step back. He hadn’t even noticed until the little girl with big eyes picked it up and held it out to him to take. At first, he didn’t recognize it and almost turned her away, until he took a closer look.
“My...goggles?” They didn’t look like any goggles he’d ever seen before. They were heavy and cold in his hands. The strap looked worn and steadily losing its elasticity. Without so much as a thought in between, he brought them up to his eyes. The frame didn’t have lenses - instead, small bars protected the eyes from the outside. No one would be able to see his eyes from the outside either. A smart design - for someone with a quirk like his, anyway.
His thumb brushed over the UA watermark engraved in the side. If his body was rewound to half his age, it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume the possibility that his mind had also been rewound.
Did the universe hate him so much?
The woman, who had been watching him with nervous eyes, gently caught his attention with a small voice and a wave. “Do you have anyone you can call, so I can explain the situation to them. Maybe your parents?”
Shouta made a face, bringing the goggles to rest around his neck. His parents were the last people on earth he wanted in his life, he was sure that was something that not even seventeen years could change. That being said, his choices were limited, but who would he call then? The only people consistently in his life were his classmates and teachers. Was he even still friends with Hizashi or Nemuri? And even if he was, what were the chances their numbers were still the same? Not that he could remember either of their numbers off the top of his head...
As if someone was listening to his thoughts, the buzz of a ringtone went off in his oversized pockets (He’d never been more thankful for his belt)
He pulled it out and had to marvel at how weird it looked, still recognizable as a phone but with all new bells and whistles. The caller ID read ‘ Hitoshi ,’ which meant nothing to him. Maybe he was a business associate or another hero he knew. It was easy enough to figure out how to pick up the call and he held it up to his ear.
“Hey Dad, are you done with your walk yet? I gotta ask you if I file form A or B for--” The voice was young, young enough that it could have been Aizawa speaking. But he’d called him Dad. DAD?
Shouta’s face went pale. He had half a mind to hang up a call and forget it ever happened. But before he could, his thoughts decided to speak for him-
“What the fuck?” He blurted, forgetting about himself, the mother, and her very young daughter freezing up in front of him.
There was a long awkward moment before the voice on the other end snarled, his tone low as it was cold. “Who is this? Where's Aizawa?"
That answer was obvious. Probably, anyway. Hell, he barely believed any of this himself. Aizawa opened his mouth to respond but no words came out. What was he supposed to say in a situation like this? His mind was still reeling from being called ‘dad.’ There’s no way he was a parent. No winter days in hell.
Meanwhile, the sounds of shuffling and low clattering became more intense on the other end. The hard voice from before turned biting the longer the silence drew on. “I know you can hear me. I’m only going to ask this one more time. Where is Eraserhead?”
Hearing his hero name made him snap out of his long enough to get out one word;
“Here.”
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, because the guy hissed, voice tight, “Yeah? Do me a favor. Tell him that if I don’t hear from him within the next minute, the guy on his phone is going to have to talk to me instead.” His voice dropped an octave as he added, “And he might not like talking to me, because I always expect good answers, teeth or no-”
“Oh, goodness no!” the woman fumbled for Shouta’s phone from his grip. “I’m sorry sweetie, your father was just affected by a de-aging quirk. It’ll be temporary, three days tops. No need to get violent, honey. My daughter is only four so her quirk is still a bit unpredictable.”
The caller at the other end was silent for a couple of moments. He cleared his throat, voice coming back up.“O-oh, and who might you be, ma’am?”
Aizawa had to stand there and listen to the woman explain the entire situation over the phone. He dimly caught the words, “Would you send his location ? I’ll come and pick him up.”
“Of course. Again I’m so sorry about that.” The woman put the phone on speaker as she went and sent his location. ‘Sending his location?’ He thought that was just a hero and movie thing. All this new technology gave him a sad understanding of old people and what they had to deal with. He was in for a lot of fun in the future.
“No worries ma’am, it's a part of the job.” A shuffle of clothes over the receiver. “Thank you for staying with him and explaining the situation to me. We’re heroes, so you can leave this to us.”
Shouta was still trying to process all this new information, ‘future’ Shouta had a child named Hitoshi, and he was a hero. And Shouta was still a hero too; were they in the same agency then? God , he had a son . The woman was trying to talk to him but he couldn’t listen. A list of causes and effects filled his mind, all of them were more terrible than the last.
Not a few minutes later, someone turned the corner. A young man was decked out in a capture scarf, though his uniform was distinctly not Shouta’s, still black but it was sleeker and more intimadting. He had purple hair that defied gravity, much like Shouta’s when his quirk was in use, and baggy eyes that screamed strong coffee and insomnia nights. And this kid was way taller than him. So, he got Aizawa’s eyes and everything else from his mother.
His ‘son’ did a once-over. Then another. Then another. He couldn’t see Hitoshi smile, but he could hear it behind the amused lift in his voice.
“ God Dad, were you really that tiny?” his son blurted out through wheezing laughs. “I’m gonna send this to everyone I know. You look hilarious.” He whipped out his phone and took a picture before Shouta could protest. The flash went off and he had to squint, probably only making the picture worse if the way Hitoshi laughed harder was any indication. “I’m gonna treasure this forever .” This was something Shouta doubted future him would ever be able to live down. This was off to a great start.
Did he not teach this kid any manners? Of all the things he expected to fail a child in, that wasn’t one he’d predicted. Or maybe, they were just close enough to joke around? That was hard to imagine. Not even he played along with Hizashi and his banters ninety-nine percent of the time. But Shouta wouldn’t know what a father-son relationship looked like anyway.
The question left his lips too fast to stop himself, “Are you really my kid?”
“Yeah. I really am.” Hitoshi pulled down his mask to reveal a grin, sharp and wide. “I know you must have a lot of questions, but let me ask a few first. Like, how old are you anyway? You look like a middle schooler.”
Shouta crossed his arms, he wasn't gonna rise to this kid’s bait. “Seventeen. How old are you ?”
“Eighteen. Almost Nineteen.” He smiled wider, which eerily reminded him of himself, Hitoshi must’ve gotten some of his genes.
Confusion lit up Shouta's face as he said, “That doesn't make sense though. That would mean I would've had to-” Shouta scrunched up his nose. “Have sex with a person a year ago.”
“I’m adopted, genius.” Hitoshi rolled his eyes.
“Oh.” Adoption made more sense. He doubted future Shouta changed his option on sex over the years.
Hitoshi waved his hand. “On a more serious note, let's get down to the station and write a report on whatever this is. I know it's gonna be a lot of paperwork so the faster the better.” He ushered the woman, her child, and Shouta out of the alleyway they’d wandered behind off the busy side-walk.
“Don’t forget your leg Dad.”
“Wha - leg?” Shouta turned his head just in time to see Hiotshi jog back to pick up a very expensive-looking prosthetic. Hitoshi must like seeing him suffer, because he got the idea to toss it towards Shouta who barely caught it.
And that wasn’t even the worst part of it all. He stood with wide eyes staring at the leg in his hands. What the fuck had happened to him in the last seventeen years?
It took hours to finally be done with all the hoops they had to jump through. If Shouta never saw another sheet of paper with a blank signature, It’d be too soon. And still, in all that time they spent together, Shouta had yet to find any of the right words he could use to ask Hitoshi anything. Maybe part of him didn’t want to know. He kept staring at his future son and his prosthetic leg that laid on the table. He remembered the eyepatch hidden away in his pocket.
According to the woman, knowing about the future wouldn't disrupt the time-space continuum. He would simply turn back to his normal age without any memory of this de-aging experience once the quirk wore off. If only that was enough to relieve all his worries. Cowardly, Shouta bit his tongue as Hitoshi gave the leg back for him to hold. Yippee.
They walked back to Hitoshi’s- their apartment in silence. Hitoshi had all but given up trying to ask him questions. The mechanical leg was heavy in his grip, it almost looked dystopic with all its sleek lines and hard edges. At least technology got better in the future.
It all caught up to him too quickly. The apartment was on the fifth floor, it was a wholly average building in a very normal neighborhood. Hitoshi put in the key and opened the door for Shouta, who walked in with small steps as if to test the water. This was a glance into the life he would lead. Granted he wouldn't remember it when he was back in his thirty-something body. Should he feel relieved about that? Maybe it was too soon to tell, or maybe he just wanted to feel hopeful.
The inside was normal too, even with the massive cat tree in the corner. It was clearly lived in without being messy; mugs on the coffee table, books on the shelves with knick-knacks only future Shouta would know the meaning of in between. There were pictures on every wall, though he couldn't see their contents with only the dim light of the street below filtering through the closed shades. That was a good sign. Pictures meant people. People in his life.
Shouta turned to Hitoshi for some sort of direction, awkward in this new environment that was clearly his, but not at this point. But Hitoshi was too busy with the multi-locked door that one would only see in a cartoon to even notice.
“Why so many locks?”
Hitoshi looked surprised that he was talking again, but he answered right away. “You made a lot of enemies. Though I always asked why all these locks would stop someone with a powerful quirk like decay or cremation and you told me ‘to just lock the damn door.’” he smiled at the memory. “You're kinda paranoid.”
“Did these enemies take my leg?” The words slipped out before Shouta could think to keep his mouth shut.
Hitoshi’s hand stilled at the chain lock. “Yeah. They did. They took your eye too.” His voice was filled with an emotion Shouta couldn't place as the kid continued to lock the door in a more robotic fashion.
“Did they hurt you too?” Shouta tentatively asked, he didn’t think he could live with himself if someone he was supposed to protect got hurt because of him. He had already failed Oboro. He couldn't fail this future person too. The pictures on the walls. Oboro was one face he wouldn’t see on them.
Hitoshi turned to look at him. “No. I didn't have my license at that point. You were leading your students with the rest of the pros when it happened.”
“My students ?”
The smile didn’t reach his eyes, but it was there nonetheless. “You're a teacher too, at UA. That’s your main job now. Now you don’t really do patrols on a regular basis because the mechanical leg can only be used for a few hours due to strain. But you began teaching long before you got your injuries.” Hitoshi walked past him and Shouta followed.
God have mercy, he was a father of children? And now a teacher of children? Why were people trusting him with real-life kids? Shouta didn't say these things out loud, he just stared at the tiles of the kitchen, and the cat-shaped rug in front of the sink as he set the fake leg on the table.
“De-aging seems like a strenuous activity,” Hitoshi said this as less of a question and more of a demand as he opened the fridge.
Truly, Shouta never noticed his own hunger, choosing to focus on other things instead. But now he could feel its angry claws grip his stomach as Hitoshi brought attention to it. His stomach growled in response and Hitoshi laughed.
“I hope past you still likes leftover yakisoba.” He popped the noodles in the microwave even before Shouta nodded.
Shouta looked everywhere besides Hitoshi. What could he even say to him? His eyes landed on the fridge, half-filled with children’s drawings stuck on with magnets and a whiteboard calendar with three different colored markers on it detailing this domestic life he would live. Next to the pens themselves were his name, Hitoshi’s, and someone named Eri.
“Who’s Eri?”
“She’s your daughter.” Hitoshi grinned at the bomb he had just dropped on him and the chaos that would ensue.
Shouta froze, sweating bullets. “How many kids do I even have ?” He was floundering in the possibilities of what that entailed. Again the question of why people kept trusting him with children popped into his mind. Children just were too messy and emotional, something Shouta couldn't reason with. A roadblock to rationality.
The timer beeped. “Just us two, not counting all your students, don’t worry. You aren't married either if you were wondering.” Hitoshi pulled out the piping hot yakisoba and handed it to Shouta. He fiddled around in a drawer for some chopsticks and handed them to him.
“Where is she?” He asked as he took a bite. It tasted exactly like the one from a restaurant right next to campus. It was nice that some things hadn't changed.
“She’s at some horse camp. She had been so hyped to go even though I told her that these were horses and not unicorns and that unicorns didn't exist. You almost didn't let her go since…” Hitoshi stopped himself and moved the subject along. “The camp ends tomorrow, so you’ll get to see her before you switch back to your old self.” Oh, goodie.
“She sounds young.” What else should he say? Could he handle meeting another piece of his future?
Hitoshi shrugged. “She’s nine.” he leaned against the countertop. “And before you ask, yes she’s adopted too.”
“Are you two related?”
“Nope.” he popped the ‘p’ as he used his probably dirty hands to steal a noodle from Shouta. Bitch.
Shouta was about to tell him off but was cut off by a frantic knocking. They both turned to the noise, only Hitoshi went over the door, it was his house after all and Shouta was practically a stranger (and it didn’t matter how much that sentence wasn’t true). He opened the door (after unlocking four locks) and Shouta peaked around the corner to see but was only met with shadows. With how paranoid his future self seemed to be, this person must be important in his life to know where he lived.
“So is he really like five feet now?” A voice boomed. “You said he was only temporarily de-aged.”
“Hi to you too. And yes he’s a baby.”
This newcomer’s voice became frantic. It was strangely familiar. “What do you mean baby? He looked like-”
“I’m joking.” Hitoshi deadpanned and opened the door wider. “Come see him for yourself.”
A man with the most obnoxious blonde hair stopped dead in his tracks as he stared at Shouta, and Shouta immediately knew who it was. Only one dumbass would use so much leather in a hero costume.
“Hizashi?” It was both a relief and a shock to see him- even if he was worlds apart from the Hizashi he knew. The man in front of him had the same green eyes behind a ridiculous pair of glasses. He grew a mustache? He'd be in hysterics if this whole day hadn't already exhausted him. So instead he shook off his shock and put on a wry smile.
“Why do you look like an overripe banana, Hizashi? Really, how is that practical in a fight?”
The question broke Hizashi from his speechless trance. "Holy shit- it really IS him! Look at how tiny you are! I forgot how short your hair used to be- did you shrink in those clothes?"
Before Shouta could reply, Hizashi switched his demeanor, suddenly putting his hands on his hips like he was some teacher. “-and also, rude. Is that any way to talk to your best friend?” He leaned into ‘whisper’ to Hitoshi. “I forgot how much of a little shit he used to be.”
“Uncle Hizashi, you say that as if he isn't one still.”
So they were still best friends in the future? Even after Oboro? It filled Shouta with a relief that almost made his knees buckle. He had been pushing and pushing Hizashi away all year, but here, they were in the future, best friends. Hitoshi even called him uncle; here they were still entangled in each other’s lives. Hizashi was still there. Still here .
“You must be seventeen right? Sho here didn't get his growth spurt till he was about eighteen.” He smiled down at him, he got tall. Hizashi better not be taller than full-grown him, swear to god.
“Yeah I’m seventeen, why does it matter?” Even now he couldn't help but push Hizashi away from him. All his insides hurt doing so but his mouth seemed to always just move on it's own. When did he stop pushing Hizashi away? Or maybe Hizashi was the one who never stopped staying close...
“Hey kiddo, don’t bite my head off. We can talk over tea. And you also should get some clothes that fit you. Hitoshi, how about you give him some of your old clothes, pj’s preferably, that’ll fit him. He's looking a little dead on his feet.”
Hitoshi gave a thumbs up and went over to a door left ajar that could only be his bedroom with weird stickers on the door that Shouta didn't understand.
“I’m not tired.” Shouta defended himself, he could take care of himself. Hizashi needed to bud out of his issues. He was just like past Hizashi, worrying where he wasn’t needed.
“You're always tired,” Hizashi said matter-of-factly. He was right of course, but he didn't need him telling him what to do. Whether he was younger or older, it was all the same to Shouta.“Why don’t you go with Hitoshi and pick something out, I’ll make us some tea.”
Shouta was about to snap at him to back off, but he did need new clothes to wear. He was practically drowning in these ones and he had to pull up his pants every five seconds. It was almost like he was dressing up as a child in his father’s clothes. When he had actually done that when he was young he was yelled at for an hour for wrinkling a perfectly good suit. He wanted to end this conversation already.
Not because Hizashi asked, he followed Hitoshi into his room.
The room was neat and clean for a teenager, though there were papers on every surface. It was wholly normal. Pictures and posters hung on the walls and his bedspread was purple as was the bike in the corner of the room.
Instead of asking real questions like if Shouta had fucked up his future children as his parents had done to him or if he had actually gotten over any of his own bullshit, he asked, “Why do you have a bike in your room?”
“Cause I like to bike. It was an adoption gift from my last foster family, more like an ‘I told you so’ gift.” Hitoshi snorted. “God damn optimists.”
“It's purple.” was all Shouta could find to reply to.
Hitoshi chuckled as he rifled through his dresser. “Yeah, I gotta be color coordinated.”
When Hitoshi had said that Shouta was expecting all his clothes to be purple, but as this kid rifled through his drawer and pulled out a pair of black sweatpants with kittens on it, Shouta got the impression that he was gonna peg Hitoshi wrong in just about everything.
“You can wear these for tonight,” said Hitoshi as he put them over his arm and went to his closet. Inside there was a mostly black array of clothes, damn this kid was emo. He pulled a black hoodie off the hanger and turned back to Shouta.
He gawked. That was his favorite hoodie but it was different now; worn edges hung on the sleeves, the black less intense, the strings chewed on. Shouta had vowed to be buried in this hoodie, but here it was in Hitoshi’s room and hanging in his closet.
“It doesn't really fit me anymore. It was yours as a kid, and you're a kid right now I guess it should fit.”
“Of course I know it’s mine.” Shouta snapped and snatched it out of Hitoshi's hands. “And you chewed on the strings!”
“It's a nervous tick.” Hitoshi didn't look as ashamed as he should. This was his, not Hitoshi’s.
Shouta turned or else he would punch this guy. “Now can I change in peace?” he seethed.
In response, Hitoshi laid down the pants on the bed and left without another word.
He put on the pants and they were so soft, he wanted to scream. How dare he have this soft of pants, the little clothes stealer. When he put on the hoodie, all that rage simmered out as he hugged himself in it. It smelled different but held him the same.
Shouta let out a breath, he probably shouldn’t have been so harsh to him, he was his future son apparently. Turning to leave and get the tea Hizashi had been making, his eyes were drawn to the picture frame on Hitoshi’s desk.
It was him. In a suit, which was a surprise in itself. There was the eyepatch and scarring on his face, he wasn't clean shaven but his hair was in a neat ponytail, he only looked half homeless. Future him was holding a little girl that had waist-length white hair and a horn with one hand, and in the other, he had it around Hitoshi’s shoulder.
They all were smiling, including himself, big and wide. He had already known that Hitoshi smiled like him but it was strange to see his smile on an angelic little kid.
Shouta went back to focusing on himself in the picture, it was an out-of-body experience to know exactly what he would look like, and he kinda looked like shit; scruffy and his tie all wonky.
Shaking his head, Shouta was about to look away but he noticed what Hitoshi was holding up in the picture, a framed document of some kind. He squinted to read the words, and bit his lip.
The adoption papers. That must have been important enough for himself to get in a suit willingly. Shouta didn't wanna think about that, there hadn’t been anything important enough to get into a suit for since Oboro’s funeral last year, and honestly nothing really before that.
Shouta bit his lip and looked away, like he had been making eye contact for too long.
When he opened the door, Hitoshi and Hizashi were whispering to themselves at the dining table. Hitoshi noticed him almost immediately and stopped to give Shouta a small smile, it was edged in sadness. Hizashi was a little slower on the uptake but after a couple of moments, he stopped too.
Flustered a bit, he squawked. “Why don’t you sit down.” the kettle on the stove whistled. “Oh! Our tea’s ready! It’s pretty late so it’s the sleepy time stuff. And you must be tired, going from thirty-four to seventeen.”
Shouta sat without saying anything, side-eyeing Hizashi as he fiddled in the kitchen. On fast feet, Hizashi came back and poured each of them a cup and in a sign of familiarity, he put two cubes of sugar into Hitoshi’s.
“I’m gonna stay here the night just in case of anything. Anyways, we have to go get Eri in the morning and you're… unable to drive.” Hizashi laughed at his own little joke, his seeming weirdness washed away by the tea.
“We should probably send out a mass text on Dad’s phone to tell everyone that he isn't dead or anything.”
Hizashi nodded and took a sip. “Well neither of us have all his contacts, so we’ll have to get his phone’s password from Toshinori.”
“Why does this ‘Toshinori’ have it?” Was that his boss? And why would Hizashi be calling Shouta’s boss by his first name?”
“Secret,” Hitoshi said with mischievous eyes, taking a long slurp from his tea with his pinky high in the air as if he were some sort of TV supervillain.
“It’s my life I should get to know.” Shouta readied his hands to strangle this kid. Every time Hitoshi spoke, Shouta reacted so viscerally. He had a special talent of getting under his skin even though he’s only known him for less than a day, rationality be damned. But Hitoshi knew future Shouta very well.
Hizashi put hands between them. “Let’s just all calm down guys. We can explain anything you want in the morning. And Hitoshi, stop antagonizing him, you're an adult. Shouta come on, where's that rational attitude?”
Shouta was about to shove rationality up Hizashi’s ass if he didn't shut up, but he wouldn’t dignify Hizashi with a response.
They all just drank their tea in silence. Both Hizashi and Hitoshi would keep glancing at him throughout with unreadable faces. Shouta ignored them and pretended the tea wasn't amazing. Damn Hizashi, he used to make such shit tea, he really did grow up.
Clapping his hands suddenly, Hizashi stood up. “Welp, I think it's bedtime!”
Shouta finished the last of his tea, keeping his mouth shut.
Hitoshi listened to Hizashi and all three cups in the sink, before saying “‘Night guys. I can’t wait to ask you probing questions tomorrow, Dad.” Promptly, he shut his bedroom door behind him.
Rolling his eyes, Shouta stayed planted in his seat.
“What about you Sho’? Aren't you always gearing up to take naps?” Hizashi said as he sat back next to him.
Shouta didn't want to admit how much he had missed that nickname. He stayed silent, since Hizashi already knew the answer.
“I’ll give you some time, it must be a lot to take in. I’m going to bed too, it's been a long day.” Hizashi got back up and headed for the living room. “Your room is on the left.” And then he was out of sight.
Slumping in his seat, Shouta stared at his, no Hitoshi’s pajama pants. At least in the future, he was able to afford something so soft for his kid. Underground heroes didn’t exactly make a lot of money and neither did teachers. That's not why he was going into it anyway.
He really should be getting to bed, it was about two am according to the microwave clock that glowed in the kitchen. The thing was he was so bone-tired that he couldn't sleep, he should at least lie down.
Finding the master bedroom was easy. Softly, he opened the door. He didn't know what to expect as he turned on the light. And again he was struck by how seemingly normal his room was. A very big bed was the only thing out of the ordinary and maybe that all his linen was black.
A cat was fast asleep at the end of the bed. It was a big orange thing, nothing like Sushi though. Because he was a gentleman, he left the cat alone even though all he wanted to do was pet it.
He turned off the light, letting the moonlight and streetlights outline his path to the bed. It was unimaginably comfortable as he flopped down onto the mattress, the comforter so downy enveloped him like a sleeping bag without even him climbing under.
Sighing, he moved under the covers and laid his head on the best pillow he’s ever felt.
Hopefully, this was all a bad dream.