Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hitoshi crouched down next to Aizawa and scanned the alley below. He’d asked to stop, sure that he had seen something, and Aizawa had humored him. Just as he was about to give up and admit it was probably nothing, a flash of movement caught his eye. He nudged Aizawa and pointed towards an overflowing dumpster at the opposite end of the alleyway. There was more movement from behind it and a few pieces of garbage fell to the ground.

Aizawa narrowed his eyes, as if he were calculating the perfect way to handle the situation. It never failed to impress Hitoshi how quickly his mentor could come up with a coherent plan—he couldn’t help but get frustrated when his own never worked out so smoothly.

“Good eye, Mindjack,” Aizawa said under his breath. While Hitoshi relished in the small bits of praise that he handed out so casually, he’d never admit such a thing out loud.

“Thanks,” he muttered back.

Aizawa looked at him before returning his gaze to the figure below. “What do you think the best course of action is?”

Hitoshi frowned. That wasn’t the first time he’d been asked that, and he knew it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but every time the question arose he worried any answer he gave would be wrong.

“Standing behind a dumpster isn’t exactly illegal, so I guess the best idea would be to monitor the situation.” Hitoshi spared a glance at the man beside him before hastily adding, “If nothing happens then maybe continue on the patrol, but alert the police of suspicious activity…”

“What can the police do about the situation that we can’t?”

“They could…” he trailed off, unsure of how to best answer. He didn’t want to disappoint Aizawa by answering incorrectly, especially after everything the man has done to help him. “They might have connections to get access to security cameras in the area and search for anything strange or suspicious.”

Aizawa seemed to ponder that for a moment before saying, “Not a bad plan, in theory.”

“In theory,” Hitoshi echoed, glancing at him expectantly.

“That assumes there is any security footage to access in the first place,” Aizawa noted. “Personally, I would move to get a better vantage point and try to assess the situation, then reevaluate. With two people, it would be beneficial to have one investigate the situation, and the other keep watch for anything else that could pose a threat.”

“So we move closer then…” Hitoshi said hesitantly, careful to keep the question out of his voice. Sure, Aizawa was okay with him asking questions during training, but this was different. He probably wouldn't like him taking such a risk on patrol where so many things could go wrong.

The corner of Aizawa’s mouth twitched up into an annoyingly smug smirk. “You decide. You’re the one who identified the threat, you can decide how best to handle it.”

“What?” Hitoshi said incredulously, unable to stop himself from asking. The moment he realized his slip up, he clicked his jaw shut. Aizawa’s smirk was gone in an instant, replaced by an expression Hitoshi couldn’t quite read.

“You’re allowed to ask me questions, you know this.” He fixed his gaze on Hitoshi before continuing, “I mean what I said, this is your decision.”

Hitoshi thought for a moment, his gaze lingering on the figure below. “I think we should go with your plan,” he said finally. “It's more cohesive and better planned out.”

Aizawa hummed a note of acknowledgement and gestured for him to follow, moving swiftly along the edge of the rooftop and closer to the dumpster. Hitoshi made sure to move quickly so he was just behind Aizawa. When they got to a satisfactory vantage point, Aizawa turned to him again. “I’m going to scope this out, you watch for anything else nearby. Always be on guard.”

Hitoshi nodded, gripping his capture weapon as he watched Aizawa swing down to the ground near the dumpster with a shocking amount of grace. He scanned his surroundings, searching for any possible threats, occasionally shooting a glance to where Aizawa lurked near the figure.

He heard a shuffle behind him and whirled around, securing his voice modulator onto his face as a precaution. His hands tightened around his weapon as he scanned for threats, eyes landing on the person a small distance in front of him. A tall, muscular man was leering over him and grinning maliciously, revealing his disgustingly yellowed teeth.

The man’s hand shot out so suddenly that Hitoshi barely managed to dive out of the way. He flung out his capture weapon, letting it wrap around the man’s wrist, and pulled down hard. The villain stumbled forwards under the force, and grabbed the weapon with his other hand as Hitoshi tried to pull it free. This time, Hitoshi had the pleasure of being yanked forwards, though it was less of him stumbling and more of him being sent flying towards the man. Fucking great.

He cried out in surprise as he fell to the ground, finally pulling the scarf free of the man’s iron-hard grip. Hitoshi took a deep breath and yelled as loud as he could manage with the panic crawling up his throat. “Eraser!”

Immediately, Hitoshi heard footsteps from the alleyway below. He pushed himself to his feet and backed away from the villain towering over him until he was standing at the very edge of the building.

Hitoshi cursed himself for not paying close enough attention to his surroundings. Maybe if he’d had he wouldn’t have been caught so off guard. He shook his head, now was not the time to get stuck in his head and fuck up again.

The man charged towards him, now brandishing a metal rod. Where he had even gotten that, Hitoshi couldn’t be sure. He ducked as the weapon swung in his direction, shuffling to the side to try and get around the villain. He didn’t move fast enough and the metal rod collided with his chest, knocking the wind out of him and leaving him breathless. He fell backwards, just barely managing to not fall over the edge of the rooftop.

“I didn’t think Eraserhead would be one to take such a weak little shit under his wing,” the man sneered. He swung the rod again, aiming for Hitoshi’s head and he barely managed to block the blow with his arm. There was an audible crack under the force and he let out a pained, pathetic cry. Nausea rolled in his stomach and it took all of his energy to not lose his dinner.

The man lunged forward and Hitoshi scrambled backwards, completely forgetting he was a few stories up on top of a roof. Before he could even think to correct the mistake, he was falling. Desperately, he threw out his capture weapon, hoping he’d have at least some semblance of luck and that he would be able to stop himself before he hit the ground. He braced himself, waiting for the scarf’s tell-tale tug on his arms.

It didn’t come.

“Mindjack!” Aizawa yelled, a strange twinge to his voice that Hitoshi almost thought could be caused by concern. It was enough to force him to at least do something, opting to focus on the rapidly approaching pavement rather than the buzz of fear in the back of his mind.

He twisted in the air, doing his best to maneuver in such a way that, should he hit the ground, he would take as little damage as possible. His scarf flailed above him, unraveling in the wind as he fell. He managed to grasp onto part of it and fling it out again, aiming for the fire escape of the nearest building.

Before he was given the chance to find out whether or not he was successful, something tight wrapped around his chest. The air was forced from his lungs yet again as the material wound around him went taut, grinding into his ribs. He forced his eyes shut as he gasped for breath, not wanting to know how close he’d been to his possible death.

Hitoshi was vaguely aware of Aizawa yelling something as he lowered him to the ground, but the only thing he could truly hear was the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He pried his eyes open when he hit the ground, finding Aizawa’s hardened gaze staring down at him from halfway up the fire escape.

Despite being several stories above Hitoshi, it was clear that Aizawa was studying him for any serious injury. Hitoshi gave a meek thumbs-up, opting to ignore his very clearly injured arm for the moment. They had more important things to deal with than some stupid broken bone.

Aizawa gave a curt nod, then pointed near the dumpster where the suspicious figure from before was laying, presumably unconscious. The message was clear enough to Hitoshi: make sure they don't try anything.

Hitoshi inched closer to the figure to get a better look. All he could really see in the dim lighting was a mess of long, dark hair and something shining in their hand. He approached cautiously, slowly. He really wasn’t looking to get stabbed, should whatever they held in a death grip be a knife like he suspected.

He crouched down once he got closer, one hand wrapped around his capture weapon, the movement jostling his broken arm. He bit down a cry of pain, desperate to keep whoever lay in front of him from knowing how close he was, should they be conscious in the first place.

In hindsight, Hitoshi should’ve realized that things were going too well because a loud crash from behind and the following string of various cuss words had him whirling around. The villain who’d attacked him before struggled in the confines of Aizawa’s capture weapon, but the man in question was nowhere to be seen. Hitoshi tried his best to ignore the panic building in his chest, knowing very well that it would only lead to rash decisions.

He moved forward, intent on assisting Aizawa now that the fight was so near. Of course, with his luck, he didn’t get very far. A hand gripped the back of his shirt and pulled. Hitoshi struggled, trying desperately to maintain any footing as something sharp was pressed harshly to his throat. Great.

Hitoshi bit back his anxiety, his frustration only doubling at how familiar the feeling was becoming. He moved and thrashed as best as he could without pushing the point further into his skin, but it proved to be a harder task than he'd hoped it would be.

“Ah, ah, ah,” A soft, feminine voice tutted in his ear. “Move again and I might just have to stab you!”

Hitoshi cringed at the chipper tone. Just his luck to be held at knife point by a fucking sociopath. Aizawa was clearly occupied, likely too busy keeping the larger villain at bay to even notice the predicament Hitoshi had managed to get himself stuck in.

“Who are you?” Hitoshi said steadily, praying to whatever deity that might possibly exist that he’d get an answer. Much to his dismay, he didn’t even get a hum of acknowledgement. He tried again, “What are you even trying to do?”

Hitoshi flinched as the knife was pushed harder against his throat with such a careful, precise pressure that he barely even dared to swallow.

The woman’s hair brushed lightly against his face as she leaned in uncomfortably close, giggling softly. “Don’t worry little dude, we’ll make this quick.”

Hitoshi barely held back a disdained scoff. Little dude? He wasn’t a fucking child.

The woman’s hand hovered just over his injured arm and, given his unfortunate position, Hitoshi didn’t dare move. There was always the obscure chance that she would get distracted by the fight in front of them and he’d be able to get away from the almost choke hold and the knife that had definitely drawn at least a little bit of blood by now.

He was gauging his options, trying to push his muddled thoughts into some sort of coherent plan when the larger villain came barreling towards them.

The woman grabbed Hitoshi by the arm and yanked him out of the way. Her nails dug into his skin as her grip tightened around his broken arm. He let out a pathetic whine that definitely would have been embarrassing in any other circumstance. He was pretty sure she was saying something, but everything sounded distorted and watery. All he could focus on was how much it hurt. Which was a lot.

Finally, the grip loosened and Hitoshi found himself on his knees panting and blinking away the black dots dancing across his vision. He had no idea how he’d ended up on the ground, nor for how long he had been there. He also had no clue why the woman, who could have easily killed him, had let go, but hey, who was he to complain?

Hitoshi scrambled to his feet, nearly falling face first into the loose gravel, and threw out his capture weapon. He used it to pull himself away, swinging over to the far end of the alley. His landing was far from graceful and his knees nearly buckled under the harsh impact. At the very least, he would have a few moments to think. Maybe even come up with an idea or two on how the fuck to get out of this situation.

Hitoshi traced his hand over the small dials and buttons of his voice modulator. If he could just get one of them to answer a question then maybe he could actually be helpful, rather than stand around like a useless liability. The problem was, they already seemed to be avoiding doing so. Did they know what his quirk was, or were they just not the talkative type? He honestly wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.

There wasn’t much time to contemplate the situation as the fight, once again, seemed to close in on him. The woman was nowhere to be seen, hidden somewhere behind the chaos of the main fight.

Hitoshi twisted the dials, adjusting his mask in preparation. He needed to be at the ready, needed to not dig himself further into a hole. Taking a grounding breath, he scanned his surroundings.

When he saw a blur of dark hair just to the left, he cast out his capture weapon. The woman squirmed in its hold and Hitoshi couldn’t help but feel a shimmer of pride at his accurate throw. This was his chance.

Desperately attempting to throw his voice, and careful to keep a quizzical tone, he yelled, “Hey!” Hitoshi cringed at the sound of the other man’s voice coming from himself, it was something he didn’t think he would ever get used to.
However, he did revel a bit in his success when he heard a quiet, grumbled response of acknowledgement from the woman. He could feel the invisible thread his quirk formed from the response, however weak it may be. He pulled on it and took control.

Hitoshi had always thought it a bit disconcerting how suddenly his quirk took hold. He’d never been as grateful for it as he was now, almost laughing in relief when she stopped moving, her face expressionless and devoid of emotion.

There was no time to celebrate his success. The other villain had heard him too, and he didn’t seem to appreciate Hitoshi borrowing his voice. His eyes glistened murderously as he met Hitoshi’s eyes. It was all he could do to not shrink back under the man’s gaze, desperate to maintain the few shreds of dignity he still had left.

The man barrelled towards him, grinning churlishly. Hitoshi watched as silver cloth quickly wrapped around his arm, but before he could so much as sigh in relief, the villain jerked his arm wildly and Aizawa went flying. A painful thud echoed against the buildings of the alley as Hitoshi watched his mentor slam into the nearby dumpster.

All sense left him as he broke into a dead sprint. “D—” Hitoshi shook his head, quickly correcting himself, “Eraser!”

Aizawa didn’t so much as stir. As Hitoshi neared, he could see the steady rise and fall of his mentor’s chest. He tried to choke down a sob, instead making some mangled noise of relief. At least he wasn’t dead. That fact alone was enough to ground him—even if only a little bit. It would do no good to get distracted right now, in the middle of a fight. Illogical, as Aizawa often told him when he let his emotions dictate his actions. And so, he steeled himself, preparing to face whatever bullshit the universe had in store.

He turned to move, but before he could get far a rough hand gripped his hair and pulled hard. He fought against the movement, scalp stinging as some strands were pulled free.

Hitoshi flailed about, struggling against the hand buried deep in his hair. He aimed kicks for the man’s knees and for his ankles, tried frantically to untangle the fingers in his hair, but no dice. It was as though the universe had read his mind and taken it as a personal invitation to fuck him over. He tripped over his own feet as the man dragged him along, desperately trying to keep himself upright.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Hitoshi snapped. He was met with silence, only solidifying his belief that the two villains likely had prior knowledge of his quirk. He had no clue where the man was trying to drag him, but he knew damn well he didn’t want to end up there. He would have to try another strategy to elicit a response then, as risky as it might be. Not keen on continuing to sound like the man, Hitoshi readjusted his voice modulator.

“Does your mommy know you spend your nights beating the shit out of teenagers?” Hitoshi snarled, desperately throwing his quirk out like a net. He knew immediately that he’d made a mistake.

The man’s grip on his hair tightened, but he’d stopped dragging Hitoshi along. He didn’t process what was happening until he was already moving at a rapid speed towards the ground. He stumbled and fell to his knees as his head was pushed down even further. There was barely any time to think before his face was slammed into the ground.

The harsh sound of metal against concrete echoed around them. He had the vague sense to be annoyed about the fact that he’d have to replace his voice modulator now. The thought was gone in an instant when his head was pulled up and forced back down again, somehow even harder this time. Stars exploded behind his eyes and everything around him seemed to be spinning.

He grit his teeth and tried to wriggle out of the man’s grip. His struggle was only met with getting his face smashed against the ground yet again. Hitoshi could hear parts of the mask crumple under the impact and the edges dug into his skin. Hot, sticky liquid filled the inside of the modulator and Hitoshi was positive his nose was broken.

His vision was too fuzzy to focus on anything, but he kicked his legs out regardless. He wasn’t entirely sure if he’d actually made contact with anything. Everything around him seemed so dull in comparison to the pounding in his head and the overwhelming nausea that accompanied it.

Hitoshi couldn’t be sure how long the interaction lasted before he managed to finally free himself from the hand that had been wound tight in his hair. All he knew for certain was that his head hurt and that he didn’t appreciate it. He scrambled backwards, desperately trying to get away from the man. He just needed enough time to get his bearings, enough time to remember how to get his body to obey him.

At some point his modulator had been discarded and he groaned. Though it was broken beyond any sense of functionality, a distant part of him couldn’t help but be a bit disappointed at the loss.

In a last ditch attempt to regain any semblance of control over the situation, Hitoshi opened his mouth to ask something. To ask anything. Infuriatingly, all that came out was a pained grunt.

Before he could try again, calloused hands found their way around his neck. Panic seized him as he clawed at the ever-tightening grip with his good hand. He gasped, trying to gulp down breaths of air that simply wouldn’t come. Black clouded the edges of his rapidly fading vision. He could feel his senses dulling the longer he struggled.

Somewhere in the distance, Hitoshi was sure he could hear something shrill and urgent. Whether it was the ringing in his ears or sirens, he couldn’t tell. At this point, it didn’t really matter either way. His lungs burned and the building pressure in his head made it feel as though it would burst.

For the second time that night he wondered if this was really how he would die. He didn’t want to disappoint Aizawa and waste all of his time and effort, but he could feel his grasp on reality dissipating.

Hitoshi was sure he had blacked out for a moment, but consciousness came snapping back when the man was pulled away from him. He collapsed onto the ground, legs refusing to hold him up any longer, and gasped for air.

“—afe. You’re safe,” a gruff voice said above him. He was gently pulled into a sitting position, leaning against a warm mass as he spluttered. “Breathe, Hitoshi, breathe.”

Hitoshi blinked and willed his eyes to focus on the black blob hovering over him. He struggled to place the familiar voice. When his disoriented brain was finally able to connect the dots, he relaxed a bit and let out a pained whimper—something that he would have found incredibly humiliating if he hadn’t been in so much pain.

“D—” Hitoshi choked on the word with a sharp, painful cough. He tried again, “Dad?”

“I’m right here, kid.” Aizawa’s gentle hand carded through his hair. “Everything’s fine.”

Hitoshi wanted to argue that no, everything was not fine, and was actually far from it. That he’d almost gotten them both killed as a result of his inexperience. But, in all honesty, that sounded like far too much work, and so he resigned himself to leaning heavily against his father’s chest. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he realized how exhausted he truly was.

“Eyes open, Hitoshi,” Aizawa said, his voice softer than Hitoshi had ever heard it. Begrudgingly, he opened his eyes, unsure of when he’d closed them in the first place.

“M’ tired,” he complained. His vision was still rather fuzzy and the flashing lights from the emergency vehicles were nauseating.

“I know,” Aizawa said firmly, continuing to run his hand through Hitoshi’s messy hair. “You can rest soon, I promise.”

Hitoshi nodded slightly, trying desperately to keep his eyes open. Aizawa kept talking to him, but his words were beginning to sound more and more foreign. Hitoshi knew he should listen to Aizawa and stay awake, and he tried his best to do so, but his eyelids just felt so heavy and his head hurt so bad. He could feel himself drifting, eventually giving into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

The first thing Hitoshi was aware of was how uncomfortable he was. His chest ached and he could feel the remnants of a throbbing headache just behind his eyes. Even though the bedding was rather soft, it rubbed irritatingly against his skin as he shifted, his ribs twinging painfully at the sudden movement.

He tried to piece together where he was and what was going on, but his thoughts were fuzzy and he struggled to form a coherent idea. He decided to blame it on the incessant beeping that continued to disrupt his every thought. What the hell was making that noise, and why had nobody bothered to turn it off yet? Frustrated, he forced his eyes open, only to be blinded by unreasonably bright fluorescent lights. His headache pulsed and he made a noise of dissatisfaction as he squeezed his eyes back shut.

“Toshi?” The voice was quiet and kind, familiar in a way that had Hitoshi relaxing immediately.

He turned his head towards the voice, squinting against the obnoxious lighting. Concerned green eyes peered back at him. He hummed in acknowledgement, urging them to continue, hoping that maybe they’d offer some sort of explanation. Instead they just grabbed his hand, rubbing gentle circles over the back of it.

Before he could formulate an intelligible statement, the person spoke again. “How are you feeling?”

Hitoshi pried his eyes open the rest of the way. He desperately wanted to just go back to sleep and avoid anything that resembled a conversation. He was about to mutter some response along the lines of fuck off when he finally realized who he was talking to—or rather, who was talking to him.

His words died in his throat and all he managed to choke out was an embarrassingly weak and hesitant, “Papa?”

If it wasn’t for the confusion and pain clouding his thoughts, he would have had half a mind to be humiliated. As it was, all he really felt was relieved.

“Yup,” Yamada popped the p, squeezing his hand a little tighter as he did so. They looked at each other for a moment before Hitoshi looked away, shame coiling in his gut. While he still wasn’t sure what was going on, there was no doubt that it had left his father exhausted, as was evident by the dark bags under his eyes. They looked uncomfortably out of place on the normally peppy blonde.

It took a few more moments of silence, but the sterile smell and god forsaken beeping finally clicked in place to tell him that hey, he’s in a hospital.

“How are you feeling?” Yamada asked again, his voice somehow even softer than before.

Hitoshi shrugged, only to wince as his ribs twinged again. His throat was tight and achy, so he opted to keep his response short and succinct and ever so eloquent, “Sore. Confused.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t for Yamada to laugh. It was just a small chuckle, nothing like his loud and boisterous Present Mic persona, but it made something warm settle in Hitoshi’s chest.

“That’s fair enough. You and Shou both got pretty banged up, but—”

Everything came rushing back to him at the mention of his other parent. Immediately, Hitoshi sat up, his body screaming in protest. He promptly ignored it, instead scanning the room wildly until his gaze settled on Aizawa slumped back in a chair just next to Yamada. How could he have forgotten? His dad was hurt and all he had been thinking about was himself because he’s just so goddamn selfish.

“That’s not true, Hitoshi.” He nearly cried at the sound of Aizawa’s voice, too relieved to be annoyed at his lack of brain to mouth filter. Sure, he could see that Aizawa was fine, if not a bit bruised, but actually hearing him made it all the more real. The man continued, his voice stern, “You’re not selfish for paying attention to your own needs before that of others.”

Hitoshi opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Whether that was because his voice was absolutely wrecked or because he was genuinely left speechless, he couldn’t tell. A gentle hand settled on his back, rubbing small, soothing circles between his shoulder blades.

“He’s right, Toshi. I don’t think there’s a selfish bone in your body!” The volume was enough to make them all wince, Yamada quickly mumbling a sheepish apology as he helped Hitoshi lean back into a more comfortable position.

They sat in silence for a while. While it was a stark contrast from the stifling, suffocating quiet Hitoshi had grown accustomed to in his childhood, it still made anxiety churn in his stomach. After all, he had failed to be of any real help when they’d been attacked. He was a distraction at best, a liability in battle at worst, and he wouldn't be surprised if Aizawa ended his internship here and now.

Hitoshi picked at the edge of the cast that covered his injured arm—the way the plaster made his skin itch only added to his irritation and he didn’t even try to hold back his exasperated sigh. The slight raise of Aizawa’s eyebrow was enough to make him want to scream. His face was as flat and expressionless and just as impossible to read as always, and Hitoshi almost wished that the man would just lecture him already. That he would tell Hitoshi just how much he fucked up, that he’d worried them needlessly and put them both in danger because of his inexperience and—

“You’re thinking too hard,” Aizawa interrupted his spiraling thoughts. His voice was flat, but his scrutinizing gaze had settled into something softer. “What are you thinking about?”

“I don’t know. I just—” Hitoshi sighed, pulling at his hair with his good hand. Yamada was quick to grab it, gently guiding it back down to his lap. Logically, Hitoshi knew it was well intentioned, but right now it only added to his ever-growing list of frustrations and he yanked his hand back, albeit a bit more forcefully than he had intended. Nobody commented on it, instead waiting for some sort of answer. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, “I’m sorry.”

He stared at his hands and waited for them to nod along and tell him just how disappointed in him they really were, but it never came. His eyes stung with unshed tears and Hitoshi prayed that they wouldn’t fall. He was vulnerable enough right now as it was.

Yamada’s smile fell into something more sad—pity, maybe. “Hitoshi, you have absolutely nothing to apolo—”

“Yes, I do,” Hitoshi snapped, sounding far more defensive than he would have liked to admit. “I could have gotten us both killed because I was stupid and inexperienced and reckless. I couldn’t even protect myself, let alone fight back! I just got thrown around like… like I was useless, and I—”

“Nothing that happened last night was your fault,” Aizawa said sharply, moving to the edge of the hospital bed. He set his hand on Hitoshi’s shoulder, dark eyes practically boring into him. “You did nothing wrong. Do you understand me? You held your own better than anybody could expect from someone your age. You did good, Hitoshi.”

“And you are not stupid or useless,” Yamada added softly. He carded a gentle hand through Hitoshi’s hair and he couldn’t help but lean into the touch. “Please don’t talk about yourself like that.”

A few tears slid down his cheek as he nodded. Neither of his parents mentioned it, Yamada simply wiping them away with his thumb.

“Sorry,” he mumbled again. He looked back up at them, continuing before they could scold him for apologizing again, “You’re not… you’re not mad?”

“Of course not!” He flinched at the sudden volume and Yamada was quick to tack on a quiet apology, carding his hand through Hitoshi’s hair yet again. “We’re just happy that you’re okay. You got hurt pretty bad, Tosh. We were just worried…” He trailed off, but the implication hung heavy in the air. If Aizawa hadn’t been there, hadn’t gotten to him in time, he could have died. Of course they had been worried.

Yamada pulled him into a loose side hug, giving him plenty of room to pull away if he wanted. Hitoshi didn’t move. His eyes burned and he had to look away again, if only to hide the few tears that slipped down his cheek.

Aizawa squeezed his shoulder, “Glad you’re safe, kid.”

“Thanks,” he said quietly, scrubbing at his eyes until they were dry. His dads had always made it clear that he was safe with them, that they cared for him in a way that nobody else in his life had ever bothered to, but it was times like this that Hitoshi could tell just how true that was. He smiled despite himself and rested his head on Yamada’s shoulder. “For everything, not just this.”

And if they stayed like that for a long while, well, Hitoshi didn’t mind.