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Hitoshi wakes slowly, the light from his partially opened blinds turning the inside of his eyelids a dull yellow. He scrunches his nose, rolling onto his side, and blinking his lavender irises into focus with a dull un-interest for his surroundings.
His gaze catches on the side table, overflowing with a collection of orange pill bottles, his name printed on each and every one. They stare at him accusingly, as if wondering why he even bothers to take them if he still can’t drag himself out of bed like the 19-year-old functioning adult he’s supposed to be.
He can’t even remember the last time he left his house, save for his nightly patrols and trips to the convenience store for cat food.
With a sigh, Hitoshi unplugs his phone, pops in his headphones, and scrolls through hundreds of notifications from messages he hasn’t bothered to reply to.
He hasn’t talked to his friends in weeks, and though they see him on occasional hero business, it’s not the same as a casual hangout. They’re not in school anymore either, and they can’t drag him out of his dorm wherever they think he’s being too much of a shut-in.
Hitoshi knows they’re worried, but he’s too numb to try and come up with an excuse for his absence, and he knows that he’ll decline any offer to meet up, so he clicks the power button, watching as his social obligations fade, and the screen turns black.
His face is reflected in the fingerprint smudged surface, and he takes a moment to stare blankly at the dark eye-bags standing out on his too-pale face, skin long past sunlight deprivation.
I should do something about that. He thinks to himself, pushing his blankets aside.
The next time he blinks, he’s standing in front of the subway station, staring at the train schedule.
He’s not sure how he got there, but he’s also not surprised. These blank spots in his memory have been coming more frequently as he spirals, and a quick glance at his phone shows that it’s only been a few hours.
It’s better than the time he’d blanked out for an entire day, and honestly, he’ll take it.
People are starting to give him concerned looks, and he realizes with a start that he probably hasn’t moved in some time now, so he picks a route at random, and shuffles away from their prying eyes.
He doesn’t bother to get off at any specific stop, watching the world aimlessly as it passes by in a blur of colors, and only disembarks when the cheerful automated voice informs the few people still sitting that this is the: ‘Last stop! All passengers please take your exit through the automatic doors. Remember to check the overhead racks, and have a wonderful day!’
The sign on the platform reads ‘Musutafu Prefecture’, and Hitoshi’s startled when he realizes that he rode the train for four and a half hours. He could’ve sworn that he was only sitting for 20 minutes.
Feeling like the world is too big and he’s nothing more than an insignificant speck of dust, he picks a direction at random, and begins to wander the achingly familiar streets.
He passes the convenience store that he and Aizawa used to get jelly pouches at after training, that one back alley that probably still has his blood staining its walls from the numerous times his face was kicked into it during middle school, and before he knows it, he’s standing in front of the entrance to UA.
Somewhere in the distance, a bell rings, and students begin to pour out of the gate, shoulder checking him as he stands listlessly in their midst, an island in a sea of people, blind to the confused looks and barely-concealed stares.
Hitoshi takes a particularly hard hit to the shoulder by a rowdy student, and something in him snaps. Suddenly everything is too much; too loud, too bright, too many unknown faces, and no one that really cares.
With no regard to the people around him, Hitoshi begins to run.
He remembers Aizawa and Yamada telling him that they’d always be there for him, no matter what, and for once, he believed them. The day Eraserhead found him on the roof, the shared tears and laughs. The elation of becoming their foster child, and the blank emptiness of his own apartment once he moved out.
He’s standing in front of the couple’s door before he knows it, Yamada’s bright yellow doormat greeting him with a shitty English pun as he chokes on a sob.
He’s not sure if he knocks, but the next thing he knows, the door is opening, there’s a cat in his lap, and he’s sitting on the sofa crying his eyes out while his Dads hover anxiously around him.
“Do you ever get a little bit tired of life?” He asks, startling the two men with his rough and unused voice. “Like you’re not really happy but you don’t wanna die? ‘Cause I’m hanging by a thread, but I’ve gotta survive. Not for any reason, I can put into words, I just gotta survive.”
He takes a shuddering breath, and continues. “And do you have moments where your body's in the room, but you're not really there? Like you have empathy inside, but you don't really care? ‘Cause I keep feeling like there’s something I’m missing, but I can’t seem to find it no matter how hard I try. And when I think about it, I run out of air.”
Hitoshi looks up through his tear-soaked lashes, voice lowering to a whisper. “Am I too messed up to repair?”
Warm arms wrap around him, and he breathes in the scent of cats, coconut hair conditioner, and vanilla-scented perfume that lingers around Yamada.
“Oh kiddo. It’s okay to be tired of trying to care when you don’t. I’m just glad that you came to us when you needed help.”
A low timber joins the reassurances as Aizawa leans in to card a hand softly through Hitoshi’s gravity-defying lavender hair. “This job is hard on the body and mind. We’ve all got our quick repairs to cope. It just sounds like you need some new ones.”
“I just feel like I’m sinking again. Like something’s broken inside me and I’m barely holding on, trying to stay afloat.” Hitoshi chokes out, reveling in the warmth of his Dads’ touch and accepting the hot drink the man presses into his hands as he pulls back from Yamada.
“Then we’ll find you something new to focus on.” Aizawa reaffirms, “You’re not broken, and what you’re going through is felt by hundreds of other heroes as well. It’s normal to get burned out, and I promise you’ll be okay.”
“We love you, kiddo.” Yamada whispers, exuberant voice filled with emotion, but no less kind.
Hitoshi relaxes into their casual support, taking a sip of the all too familiar cat-chocolate he’s loved since the day he’d entered his Dads’ home, and releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
Sitting in the apartment he’d first discovered the meaning of family, surrounded by the support of his parents and their small army of cats, Hitoshi smiles. It’s small and weak, and it fades as quickly as it came.
But for the first time in weeks, he feels something other than numb.