Chapter Text
Home. Home. Home.
Hitoshi continued the chant inside his head as he forced one foot in front of the other, trying to keep his balance on the sidewalk. It was hard with his left leg threatening to collapse underneath him, and his right one sparking in pain with each step. But he kept going. Once he was home, he could sleep, and the pain would be gone for a time.
It hadn’t even been a hard shift. Or perhaps, in retrospect it was. He had been awake for over twenty-four hours now, and his twelve-hour shift extended to eighteen after a hostage situation turned bloody.
Thankfully, no one had died, but he escorted the victim to the hospital. She had escaped her house and followed a stray cat into the street where she bumped into the villain. She was only eight, with pink wild eyes and even wilder hair that curled in every direction. It was like looking into his past. She held Hitoshi’s hand until her parents arrived, who cried and held onto Hitoshi, thanking him so profusely that it sent a blush to his cheeks. He assured him that he hardly did anything, and it was his job, but they didn’t stop and hugged him once more, almost squeezing the breath out of him.
By the time he finished giving his report to the police, the streets were quiet and dead. Even all the drunk businessmen had retired for the night. It was too cold even with the slosh of alcohol on their stomachs.
He wrapped his arms around himself to chase away the chill as he continued his way home, staring at his feet with blurry vision. The nurse at the hospital gave him a quick check-up and confirmed that he didn’t have a concussion, but Hitoshi’s head continued to thump, and his vision doubled.
‘Probably overused my quirk,’ he thought to himself as he rubbed at his heavy eyes. Before the hostage situation, Hitoshi hadn’t found himself bored. It was almost as though every petty criminal on the streets decided to fuck with his night and all come out as one to rob and steal. They were nothing serious, just purse-snatchers mostly, but one did manage a good hit on him…well, a few goods hits. His whole body was sore, his legs hurt, and his head was loud with noise and thick with fog. The sooner he got home, the better.
A yawn escaped him as he finally came up to a familiar building. He fished the keys out from his pocket and took his time climbing the three steps to his studio apartment building.
He had moved out from Shouta’s and Hizashi’s place only three weeks ago. It felt surreal to think that he had his own flat, all those summer jobs finally coming to fruition. A sense of pride filled him when he’d first emptied all the boxes containing his things into his mediocre room. The flat was nothing to ride home about, but it was his.
Though, if he was honest with himself, he missed coming home to Hizashi’s loud cheer after patrol. He missed Shouta’s firm hand on his shoulder, his smile soft and yet proud as he tried to pretend he wasn’t checking him over for injuries. He missed Eri’s bright enthusiasm, always asking how many people he saved, before showing him what she’d been up to while he was on patrol.
Going home to an empty flat wasn’t quite the same.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Hitoshi pushed the keys into the building's front door, and turned-. The key didn’t budge. Hitoshi frowned, turned the key upside down and tried again. Nothing. The key refused to move.
“Come on,” Hitoshi groaned, resting his forehead against the cold, glass front of the door. “Not now. Just let me in.”
He tried again. And again, and again until he forced himself to stop, or he’d snap the key in frustration. Taking a deep, calming breath and running his hands through his dirty hair, Hitoshi gave the key one last turn, but still, it stayed locked. His eyes stung as he pulled the key out. It was stupid to cry over such a trivial thing, but all he wanted was his bed.
He stepped back down into the street and looked up at his window. It was only three stories high, and he knew how to budge the window open. He had plenty of practise when he still lived with Shouta. There were too many drunken nights with Class 1-A, and too many times where he tried sneaking home without waking up his parents. It never worked, of course. They were Pro-Heroes who somehow always knew when Hitoshi was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, and that included climbing through windows at three am.
Uncoiling his capture weapon from his shoulders, Hitoshi swung and lifted himself up onto his window ledge by the tips of his toes. He pulled a knife from its sheath and tucked the blade between the bottom of the window and the ledge. With a hardened shove, the window popped open with a quiet bang. He just hoped that none of his neighbours thought he was breaking into his own flat.
Pushing the window up, Hitoshi slipped into his living room. The lights were off, and he could barely see his own hands in front of him once he re-closed the curtain, shielding the room from the orange glow of the streetlights.
He knew he needed to ditch his hero costume, and at least take a quick shower to get rid of the dried blood and grime sticking to him. But the thought of lugging himself to the bathroom seemed too impossible, even though it was only a handful of steps away. Instead, he threw his capture weapon off from his shoulders and dumped it onto the floor. If Shouta were here, he’d lecture Hitoshi about taking better care of his weapon. And Hitoshi would normally do so, but the floor looked like a good place to drop it for now. He was too tired to wrap it up and clean it. He kicked it aside, so it got lost somewhere in the dark.
Resigning to washing the sofa tomorrow, Hitoshi stumbled forward towards it, ready to crash and sleep the whole day away.
He made it two steps before he bumped into the coffee table, jostling his injured leg.
“Fuck!” Hitoshi grabbed at his leg, all but dramatically before spinning around and throwing himself down onto the sofa. He didn’t remember the coffee table being that long. “Stupid thing,” he cursed at it as he rubbed his shin.
With an exhausted sigh, Hitoshi grabbed the blanket that draped on the back of the sofa and cocooned himself. He’d have to soak the hell out of both it and the sofa tomorrow if he didn’t want to bloodstains on them, but that was tomorrow Hitoshi’s problem. Current Hitoshi simply buried his head into the soft sofa cushions and closed his eyes, praying that his insomnia wouldn’t keep him awake.
A floorboard creaked behind him.
Hitoshi stiffened. All thoughts of sleep vanished. Slowly, he reached for his capture weapon, silently cursing when his fingers only met his uniform, the weapon discarded somewhere on the floor.
Someone was in his apartment.
Taking a slow, evened breath, pretending he was still asleep, Hitoshi prepared himself to fight.
Whoever was behind him stepped closer, their footsteps so quiet Hitoshi could barely hear them, as though the person was trained in stealth.
The person moved, looming over Hitoshi. But he moved too, flipping himself over the back of the sofa. Something wrapped around his body, right and suffocating, as he charged towards the darkened figure. The intruder met him halfway and made a grab at Hitoshi’s wrist. Sharp pain shot up his arm as they twisted it back, spinning him around so he was pressed into the intruder's chest, his feet scrambling to alleviate the pain. Unable to escape, Hitoshi pushed back, using all his weight to shove the intruder into the wall. Their bodies crashed into it with mirrored pained grunts before the world tipped. Below them, Hitoshi’s discarded capture weapon tangled around their ankles, tripping them up, and together they fell, stuck as a mess of limbs. Hitoshi’s head smacked around the floor with a resounding thump and stars lit up the room.
The intruder recovered first, shifting until he sat on Hitoshi, their weight pinning him to the ground. Hitoshi struggled, but the room twisted once again as he was shoved onto his front, a knee jammed into his back and his arm yanked behind him, strained in the intruder’s hold.”
“Move, and I’ll break your arm,” A gruff voice said behind him.
Confusion swept through Hitoshi. He recognised that voice.
“Dad?”
The weight was gone in an instant. And then the lights flickered on, blinding Hitoshi before he saw a familiar figure standing over him, their confusion mirroring his.
“What…? Hitoshi, what are you…?” Aizawa stuck out a hand and helped Hitoshi to his feet, who swayed and almost tumbled into Aizawa. “Kid…” Aizawa looked at the door, and when Hitoshi followed his gaze, he saw the deadbolt and locks still in place. And in unison, they both turned to look at where the curtains were blowing with the window still ajar. “Did you break my window?”
Hitoshi winced, barely holding back the giggle that was building inside him. “M’sorry.” He didn't know why he was laughing. Some part of him was completely mortified that he had broken into his parent's home. But the other half still longed for a nap, even if it was for ten minutes.
“Shou?” They heard Hizashi before the man popped his head around the corner. He too mirrored their confused state as he narrowed his eyes at them, trying to see without his glasses. “Hitoshi?”
Shouta braced his hands on Hitoshi’s shoulder and frowned up at him. Hitoshi let his smile grow smug at the reminder that he was now taller than him.
“Kid, what are you doing here?”
“Must’ve come here.” Hitoshi yawned, moving out of Shouta’s hold to rub at his eyes. The adrenaline that spiked through him was gone and left him feeling more exhausted than before his fight with Shouta.
“Is he okay?” He heard Hizashi ask as he came into the living room. And then he felt Shouta scrutinising stare on him.
“M’okay. Just tired. And my legs hurt.”
Shouta let out a large, tired breath and deflated like a balloon.
“Let’s get you fixed up.” He grabbed Hitoshi’s elbow and guided him towards the bathroom, steering him when he started to sway towards the wall.
The bathroom light was too bright when Shouta turned it on, and for a ridiculous moment, Hitoshi wanted nothing more than to bury his face into Shouta’s shirt and block it out. He fought the urge. He was too old to do such things now.
“Sit.” Shouta pointed at the toilet, and Hitoshi did his best to do so gently and not slump down on it. He'd already broken it once before doing such a thing.
Shouta worked quietly as he slipped off Hitoshi’s shoes and helped him shimmy down to his boxers. They both winced at his legs. Bruises painted his skin in patches of violent purples and darkened green. His left ankle bulged without his shoe, and there was a gash on the underneath of his right foot. It was then that he remembered the woman with the knife quirk. He had tried to kick her, but instead, she stabbed through his shoe, which was impressive since they were built thick, ready to absorb the shock from jumping from rooftop to rooftop.
“Knife quirk.” Hitoshi supplied the answer as Shouta began to clean the wound. It stung, but he was already aching and sore all over, so he barely felt it.
“Why didn’t you go to the hospital?” Shouta asked, his voice stern. But Hitoshi knew that any lecture that came from Shouta was one coming from worry and love. It warmed Hitoshi and filled him with guilt at the same time.
“I did.” Hitoshi tapped his head. The headache was still there, but he pushed it back, ignoring the way it spiked whenever he looked at the lights. “They checked me for a concussion.”
Shouta made a noise that meant for a Hitoshi to continue.
“I’m fine. I just forgot about the rest. There was a kid, she was waiting for her parents. I didn’t want to leave her for too long.”
Shouta sighed, but there was an amused smile to it.
“And it’s not like you go to the hospital when you’re injured.”
“I always say not to do as I do, and instead what I teach you," Shouta said, grabbing a damp, soapy cloth and began dabbing at the dirt and grime on Hitoshi’s face. “Now hold still.”
“Dad!” Hitoshi pushed the cloth away, but Shouta chased him with it, continuing to wipe at his face. “Stop. You don’t have to treat me like a toddler with a runny nose.”
Shouta smirked with a small chuckle as he finally pulled the cloth away, before he tossed it at Hitoshi face, letting it land with a wet smack. Hitoshi ripped it off and threw it back at Shouta, who ducked out of its way. The cloth stuck to the wall before it slowly slid onto the floor with a wet thump.
“You sure have tantrums like a toddler,” Shouta said, his voice taunting as he cocked an eyebrow at him. Hitoshi simply rolled his eyes as he pushed himself up onto bandaged legs. “Hizashi probably has your room ready by now."
“I should go home…” After all, he hadn’t meant to break into his parents’ house. He still had his own place to crash and sleep. He was nineteen, an adult, and adults didn’t have sleepovers at their parents’ house.
“You’re already here.” Shouta placed a hand on his shoulder and grounded his thumb into a tense muscle. Hitoshi was weak against it and almost slumped back into Shouta’s chest with a small whimper. Shouta chuckled warmly behind him. “Come on, time for bed.”
“I’m not a kid.”
“Mhm.” Hitoshi could hear how amused Shouta was. Smug, and overconfident, like he knew everything and whatever argument Hitoshi came up with was naive nonsense. Hitoshi pouted at it.
Though, it faded when he saw his old room. It was exactly how he left it. The bedsheets were dark, and his curtains thick and black. His old band and hero posters still stuck to the walls. Even the photos of his friends and family sat proudly at his desk.
“I thought you would have changed it back into an office.”
Hizashi frowned, though there was a small smile to it, however, it was one of disbelief.
“This is your room, Hitoshi. Whether you live here, or not.” Hizashi patted the bed. “You look dead on your feet.”
“I feel dead.” Hitoshi threw off the rest of his uniform as he stumbled into his room and flopped onto his bed. He grabbed his duvet and curled it around him until he resembled a burrito. The sheets were soft and smelled like lavender. He couldn’t help but bury his face into them and sniff.
“All bundled up?” Long, piano fingers coaxed through Hitoshi hair, gently untangling the knots.
“Yeah,” Hitoshi breathed, his eyelids drooping.
“Get some rest. We’ll see you in the morning,” Hizashi’s voice was soft and warm. It was like when Hitoshi had first moved into their home, a little nervous and hesitant. During the day, Hizashi was as loud as ever. The room would shake with his overly excitable babble and greetings. But during the night, he was calm and soft. Hitoshi remembered always feeling soothed and actually tired whenever Hizashi came to say goodnight to him during those first few weeks.
“Goodnight, Dads.” Hitoshi yawned, burying his face further into his pillow.
“Goodnight, Hitoshi.”