Archive of Our Own

The training session today would be a mock exam, their teacher had announced. They were to be paired up and placed apart in a mock city setting, assigned the role of a hero and a villain respectively. The villains’ goals were to destroy the city’s landmarks and the heros’ were to, well, apprehend them before all the targets were flattened.

“Again, this is practice for the actual exams,” their teacher said, handing out handcuffs to those assigned as heroes. “By then, you’d be facing off against actual teachers. So use this opportunity to get in as much practice as you can.” He added, with a wink, “And have fun. Get in character. Workshop your Pro persona, or have fun acting the Villain!” 

At this, Hizashi gave a loud whoop. Shōta winced. And here he thought their work was done the moment they came up with their Hero codenames.

“I’ve been waiting for this the entire school year,” Hizashi exclaimed. “Shōta, I’ve been working on my Voice a lot. As Present Mic, that is. You’ll be surprised at what I can do. It’s not just about bursting eardrums, you know, because you can get a lot out of people by—“ He stopped himself as the teacher handed Shōta a handcuff and moved past Hizashi’s desk. He let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh, what am I doing, leaking my secrets to a hero! I’ll see you on the battlefield, scoundrel.”

Shōta narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t it more so that you’re the scoundrel—“

“Shush! They’re assigning pairings now.”

Shōta looked at the blackboard. The teacher was in fact writing down the match-ups. 

And of course, because Shōta had all the luck in the world, he would be facing off against his own best friend. Hizashi gave another loud whoop. Shōta groaned. 

Hizashi winked at him. “Present Mic will see you soon, Eraserhead. Prepare for a performance of a lifetime!”

Shōta was sure he would get the migraine of a lifetime.

***

Hizashi’s dedication to his Present Mic persona had been… alarming, at best. “Present Mic should definitely be cool,” Hizashi once said. “Suave, charming, mysterious, double-oh seven type. Right, Shōta?”

He had rolled his eyes. “That would require you to shut up for five minutes.”

“Ouch. But touché, grumpy! It should be something closer to me, but still different. More amped up, maybe? More rock and roll?” Hizashi had banged his hands on the desk in excitement. Shōta really could not imagine him being more amped up than this. “Maybe Present Mic should always play a song while he beats up villains? Or better yet, he can sing it. Defeat the villains with the power of his music.”

“Why are you referring to yourself in third person?”

“Classic Shōta.” Hizashi had shaken his head as if Shōta had missed something completely elementary. “Rule number one of personas is to separate themselves from yourself. Duh! We’re going to be acting and getting in-character. Present Mic is Present Mic. Trust me, you won’t even recognize him as me when I’m done. He’ll be this figure who’s just so cool, and groovy, and—”

“Brave enough to handle a school crush?” Kayama had interrupted. She was smirking. 

That put an immediate stop to Hizashi’s speech. His cheeks had gone pink. Shōta supposed Hizashi was still that affected by the confession letters he seemed to receive every other month. Hizashi was popular (and he liked being popular, always strived to be popular), but he seemed to dissolve into a dysfunctional puddle of goo whenever he had to handle a love confession. “It’s just so tough to let a listener down,” he complained. And Shōta had said, “Listener? Get over yourself.” 

It really was all he could say to come off apathetic. The truth was, he felt a little relieved that Hizashi wasn’t asking for advice to accept the confession. Better his whining than that. Shōta told himself it’s because he’s helpless at the ludicrous art that was high school courting.

Kayama’s quip had ultimately done little to dissuade Hizashi. Shōta found him often practicing in the radio room of the school, lowering his typically frenetic voice into a calmer, lower bass pitch. “Like the late-night radio DJ’s,” Hizashi had said, giving Shōta a thumbs up. “I read that that’s the best tone to negotiate. A good voice to work on for Present Mic while he’s fighting criminals, no?”

Shōta found himself at a loss for words. He’d be lying if he said that Hizashi didn’t sound good. Finally he said lamely, “I guess.” 

Hizashi threw up his hands. “And that’s not all! I’ve been learning a lot from movies and stuff, Shōta. How these heroes and villains charm each other and stuff. You’ll see.”

Which is why, standing in his corner in the simulator arena, Shōta couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. Hizashi’s radio voice could do little in battle, he’s sure of it, but what else had Hizashi been working on? Shōta would be the first to admit being emotionally inept, but even he couldn’t deny that his best friend could throw him off his game with as little as a flick of a finger. One time Hizashi had worn his hair down because he’d run out of hair spray, and Shōta found himself unable to concentrate the entire day. His eyes kept drifting back to Hizashi — how he would flick his head to get his hair out of the way. It really didn’t help that Kayama and Tensei kept exchanging looks. “No napping during English today, Shōta?” Tensei had teased. “Wonder what got you so interested. Is it the chapter on prepositions?” Shōta wanted to slap the smugness out of them.

The only explanation was that Hizashi was a big part of his life. And Shōta liked routine, so of course any deviation from normalcy would distract him. That was all it was.

Shōta grimaced, slid his fingers under his collar to loosen it. Focus! He’d beaten Hizashi before, and he’d beat Hizashi now. All that talk about Present Mic was likely just to throw Shōta off his game. Hizashi was sneaky that way.

Finally, their teacher’s voice boomed over the arena: “Eraserhead vs Present Mic — commence!”

Shōta immediately clambered up a telephone pole, seeking to jump onto a nearby rooftop and claim it as his vantage point. He’d planned on letting Hizashi destroy one of the targets, and from there, he’d be able to pinpoint Hizashi’s location and begin his pursuit—

“Eraserhead! Come out, baby!”

Shōta almost fell headlong into the ground. He gripped the pole a little tighter, feeling the tremor running through the metal. Hizashi’s Voice Quirk was no joke.

And ‘baby’? 

What even was Hizashi’s strategy? Somehow lure Shōta out with that ridiculous call and take him out? And what the hell was he saying? Shōta had been friends with Hizashi enough to be at least familiar with English slang, and he knew that baby didn’t always mean a term of endearment, like how the Terminator would say hasta la vista, baby  — and of course the fucking Terminator did not mean that in any affectionate manner because he was saying goodbye to his enemy — and so Hizashi was clearly also using baby in an ironic way, in the extra Hizashi way, and not at all flirtatious—

“I’m really starting to miss my favorite hero now.” This time, Shōta really did fall to the ground, hands quickly slapping over his ears. “Don’t break a guy’s heart, eh? I can’t take all this pining anymore!”

Ears strained, eyes watering, Shōta was more horrified by the heat creeping up to the tips of his ears. He could only imagine what the other students were saying at this point. Snickering probably, seeing how absolutely mortified he was. Not to mention what Hizashi was saying. Shōta really should not feel hopeful at the mention of pining, but he really couldn’t quite help it.

Which was probably Hizashi’s strategy in the first place. Or rather, Present Mic’s. Shōta gritted his teeth and jumped to his feet, quickly slinging himself up onto a rooftop by his capture weapon. So Hizashi wanted to take advantage of Shōta’s social awkwardness? Fine. At least he’d revealed his location. Now all Shōta had to do was find him.

Hizashi wasn’t even hiding. He was at the top of the first landmark — a short, three-storied tower. He was grinning smugly, oblivious to the distance that Shōta was gaining on him. Hizashi lifted the megaphone on his right hand to his mouth then, and this time Shōta readily ducked and pressed his hands as closely to his ears, bracing himself for the impact.

Except nothing really could prepare him for—  “C’mon, baby.” And this time Hizashi’s voice sounded lower, smoother, sending a shudder down Shōta’s body even when his eardrums thrummed in complaint. He didn’t know that was even possible. “Your eyes really do make me weak in the knees. What do I have to do to get one of those sexy glares?”

Shōta’s entire ears felt on fire now. It’s official, the class was probably laughing at this display. And worse — even worse — he could not stand the swooping feeling in his stomach when Hizashi (Mic!) called him sexy in that tone of voice. 

It was flitting, of course, because he reminded himself that Hizashi was doing all this just to win. And it was weird to feel that hope falter so easily into disappointment, then desperation for the match to end, and it made Shōta charge towards the tower, doubling his pace to get to Hizashi and gag him for good.

So he may have gotten sloppy in his panic. When he reached the tower, Hizashi was nowhere to be seen, slipped away from his sight in a blink of an eye. Shōta cursed. He may very well have given up his only advantage of stealth.

And he knew Hizashi was near. Hunting. Against his volition, Shōta began to think back to a couple months back, when they were doing a training session focused on expanding the use of their Quirks. Shōta’s had always been straightforward, simple — it was all about the stamina of his eyes, how well he could hide his Quirk’s activation from the enemy. But Hizashi’s was surprisingly versatile. 

He had arranged a few bottles in a straight line, a few meters away from them. If one were to tip over, it would send the others crashing down like dominoes. “Look, Shōta,” Hizashi had said, then turned to face the row of bottles. He inhaled, cupped his hands to form a funnel around his mouth, and exclaimed — “Bam!”

From where Shōta stood, Hizashi had sounded surprisingly quiet. But then the row of bottles exploded, one by one, stopping short of the last two bottles. They wobbled and fell over, rolling away from the mass of shattered glass. Hizashi had groaned in disappointment. “Damn it,” he said, grinning and scratching his head the way he always did when he felt embarrassed. “I can never get a full strike. think I need some accessory to focus my voice waves better. But isn’t that cool, Shōta? That I could work my Voice like that, like a bullet?”

And Shōta had found it very cool indeed, in awe at his friend’s creativity.

Even now. As he turned and finally noticed Hizashi, hiding behind one of the generators in the neighboring rooftop, Shōta really could not help but feel that same awe brewing in his chest. Well played, he wanted to say, and suddenly he just wanted the match to be over and to rush to Hizashi and ask if he meant any of the remarks he made. 

Instead, Shōta hastily activated his Erasure. But it was too late, because Hizashi had already cupped his hand over his mouth, and uttered the landing blow.

Got you, Shōta heard. Two words, surprisingly soft, then slamming with full power to the side of his temple, knocking him back onto the ground and mottling the sky with patches of red, purple, indigo — then pitch black.

***

“Are you mad at me?”

This was the fifth time that Hizashi had asked. Also the fifth time that he had come with some sort of offering — this time, his pudding cup from lunch.

“No,” Shōta said, refusing to take the pudding. Hizashi had a ridiculous sweet tooth, and Shōta really felt bad for taking away his dessert. Even if Hizashi deserved it a bit.

“Does it still hurt?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. As the person dealing with the concussion. I know how I’m feeling.”

He must’ve sounded a little terse because Hizashi winced and looked even more deflated. And as much as Shōta hated losing, he hated the idea of hurting Hizashi more.

“I’m really okay,” he said, gentler this time. “Don’t worry, Hizashi. You don’t have to stick by me this entire time.”

“I don’t have to. I want to.”

Shōta could feel the familiar heat rising to his ears. Hizashi seemed to have that kind of effect on him since their match.

The fallout from that had surprisingly been… tame. He woke up in Recovery Girl’s clinic, and Hizashi promptly burst into a barely-volume-controlled babble of “Are you alright,” and “Shōta, I’m so sorry,” and “Is everything okay? Can you hear me just fine?” Shōta had to erase his Quirk then and there, much to the relief of Recovery Girl and the other patients.

That was two days ago. Hizashi had glued himself to Shōta since. Their homeroom class didn’t seem too perturbed; they were aware of their unlikely friendship, and surprisingly, no one brought up Shōta’s dismal performance at the match. In fact, they were more fixated on how Hizashi had been so distraught that he forfeited his remaining match-ups against the other victors, just because he refused to leave Shōta’s side at the clinic. “You have to keep going. Mental fortitude is also the mark of a Hero,” their teacher had scolded, and Hizashi had apparently shaken his head stubbornly and said, “Well then, good thing I’m a Villain.”

Shōta really didn’t know what was worse, being knocked out so easily or seeing Hizashi waste away his well-earned victory. Although he supposed it also wasn’t… the worst thing ever to be doted on. Right now Hizashi’s busy peeling the lid off the pudding cup, dipping the plastic spoon into it. He then hovered the spoon near Shōta’s lips, face cocked to one side, fully expectant.

The heat in Shōta’s ears was now unbearable.

“You don’t have to feed me,” he hissed, and he took the spoon from Hizashi’s hand a tad too aggressively. Feeling a little guilty, he began eating the pudding, just to satisfy Hizashi. “Fine. See? I’m eating it.”

Hizashi didn’t look quelled. “I just want you better,” he said, still far too soft. “I really didn’t mean to knock you out, Shōta. I thought it would just make you fall. Or I don’t know, get you dazed. I never seemed to be able to hit full-force with that much distance, so…”

“Hizashi.” And this time, Shōta braved himself to reach over the lunch table to pat at Hizashi’s hand — a gesture that sent electricity down to his gut. He quickly pulled his hand back. “It’s fine. Really. It was a good move.”

“But if I hurt you—“

“You didn’t,” Shōta said. And it was true, because he really felt much better in a matter of days, all thanks to Recovery Girl’s Quirk. “I’m healing just fine. They say I can get back to training by end of week. So really, we’re even.”

“Even?”

“I beat you during the sports festival, remember?” Shōta quirked his eyebrow. “Gave you a black eye and some bruised ribs?”

At that, Hizashi actually grinned, and Shōta could not help but feel so relieved. 

“Right,” Hizashi said, resting his face on his hands, staring so hard at Shōta with that brilliant smile that he could’ve burst into flames. “Right, you did.”

Shōta cleared his throat. “I don’t recall you being mad at me then, and I for sure wasn’t giving up my dessert for you. Instead, you just kept talking to me in class.”

“Well, you were just so cool while beating me up. Beating the entire school up. I have to talk to you.”

Shōta almost choked on his pudding. My favorite hero, Present Mic’s voice echoed in his head. Shōta  shook it off. “My point is,” he said, looking down, now hyper-focused on the half-empty cup. “That you don’t have to feel guilty. And we don’t ever have to talk about that match.”

After a short silence, Shōta looked up to see Hizashi nodding.

“Okay,” he said.

And Shōta really thought that that was the end of it. He’d have his peace of mind, knowing he’d never have to think about Hizashi as Present Mic ever again.

***

Although of course, being in UA, it wasn’t ever going to be permanent. As they walked out of the school gates that evening, Ito Ayumi from Class B stopped them in their tracks. She pressed a perfumed letter into Hizashi’s hands and leaned in to whisper, just loud enough for  Shōta to hear, “If you ever need someone else to practice that Voice on, Mic.” She then teleported off, leaving a red-faced Hizashi to shove the crumpled paper into his pocket.

Really, Shōta wasn’t bothered. So not bothered that he quipped, “Getting fanmail already?”

“Shh!” Hizashi had grabbed Shōta by the arm and dragged them away from the school. He began laughing then, running his hand through his hair and messing up his hairdo. “It’s just… gossip. You know. All I did was lower my pitch but I think some people are spreading around that I sound like some celebrity or something— I mean that’s nice and all, but I don’t think I quite got it yet—”

“It’s not gossip if it’s true.”

Hizashi whipped his head around and stared, a question loading in his expectant expression. Shōta quickly clarified, “That you’ve worked a lot on your Quirk.”

“Oh.” Hizashi smiled. “Well. I think people are still exaggerating.”

“I don’t think so.”

There was an awkward pause between them, and Shōta sighed. So much for not discussing the match. “It’s good, you know,” he muttered. “Your tactic.”

Hizashi straightened. “My tactic?”

“You know.” Shōta shrugged. “The flirting.”

Hizashi grew even redder. His pale complexion really was unforgiving. “I’m not—“

“Teasing, then,” Shōta said, beginning to walk again. He could feel his own ears heating up. Thank goodness his tell wasn’t as obvious as Hizashi’s. “You can’t deny that you were trying to get me off my game.”

“Well…”

Shōta was beginning to feel irritated by Hizashi’s avoidance. Was it even flirting? He was pretty sure it was. They’re high school students, for god’s sake. They don’t say baby or sexy in normal conversations. Movie stars do, when they look deeply into the eyes of their romantic interests. Unless that was all Hizashi was doing — mimicking them blindly.

“Would you have said all that to anybody else?” Shōta asked. He might as well. The cat was out of the bag. Hizashi stuttered something under his breath, and before he could answer, Shōta quickly said, “Because it’s kind of mean if you’re messing around with me just because I’m inexperienced with that kind of stuff.”

“What!” Hizashi had caught up with Shōta now, grabbing him by the arm and turning him around to face Hizashi. “O—Of course I would say it to anybody who’s facing off against me. Like I said, I was workshopping my persona, and I had to improvise because I was assigned a villain, so I decided to give it more of a dramatic flair and — and what are you talking about, inexperienced!” Hizashi had began to laugh, a nervous tic. “Anyone would have you, Shōta! Anyone. So you know. No one would ever think of you as, uh, as inexperienced.” 

Shōta shrugged. “Well. I am the class outcast, so.”

“Shōta!” Hizashi grabbed his hands, and Shōta felt again that rush of heat to his ears. “Never say that! You know outcasts don’t typically have friends, plural, right? So unless you’re saying that we were never friends, or if you want me to tell Kayama and Tensei that you all were never friends and have them beat you up — or at least Kayama will—“

“Alright, alright,” Shōta said. He could not help the small smile tugging at his lips. “I get it, Hizashi.”

“I hope so.” Hizashi was worrying his bottom lip. “I really wasn’t trying to make fun of you or anything, Shōta. I was— I got carried away. That’s all.”

“Okay.” Really, what was there more to say? It’s not like Shōta would have a way to confirm if Hizashi really would try to flirt — tease — anybody else in the class. He’d forfeited all the other matches. So Shōta nodded and said, “It’s still a good tactic.”

“Right.” Hizashi threw up a thumbs-up, pulling a rather unconvincing grin. “Tactic. That’s all.”

Shōta sighed. Well, at least he knew that Hizashi wasn’t making fun of him.

***

Dealing with Hizashi’s increasing number of admirers was still rather annoying, though. Shōta sat next to Hizashi in homeroom, and it was becoming harder and harder to look over to his friend during recess or breaks because he always seemed to be surrounded by a cloud of people. And Hizashi was right about gossip, because Shōta would hear the most inane questions—

“Are you secretly a Siren?”

“Have you thought about commissioning personal audio messages? You know, uh, for a friend.”

“Did puberty boost your Quirk?”

“Or maybe you developed an Influence Quirk?” 

At that, someone giggled and said, “No way! If he had, he would’ve just made Aizawa forfeit the match immediately.” They then threw Shōta a sympathetic glance, which irritated him to no end and made him stand up too quickly, his chair wobbling and almost falling to the floor.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he announced to no one in particular, and he thought he heard Hizashi exclaim a weak, “Wait for me,” but Shōta didn’t stop, breaking instead into a run once he was in the hallway. 

He didn’t need to go to the bathroom. He wasn’t even that bothered by people talking about him losing the match. What really bothered him was the ugly sear in his chest when he saw his classmates touching Hizashi’s arm, cooing over him. Shōta paced around in the bathroom, thankfully empty, trying to clear his mind.

The door suddenly burst open and Kayama came blazing in, followed closely by an anxious Tensei. “Kayama, I really don’t think you should be in the boys’ room—“

“Aizawa!” Kayama pointed at him. “Come on. Are you really folding over so easily?”

Shōta narrowed his eyes. “I’m not ‘folding’.” He quickly followed with, “And besides, folding over what?”

“Oh, cut the crap. I’m so sick of this.” Kayama tapped Tensei on the shoulder repeatedly. “Tell him off, Iida. Come on.”

Tensei sighed. He folded his arms and said, in the tone of voice one would use for an intervention — “We think that you two should just talk it out, Shōta.”

Shōta bristled. “What even are you two talking about?”

“Well, you’re clearly bothered that the competition for Yamada’s attention has increased drastically, and—“

“No,” Shōta cut in. “I just can’t stand listening to them. Siren? Influence Quirk? Come on. How dense can they be?”

“Well…” Tensei sighed. “They’re not being entirely logical. But you can’t deny that it was interesting to see Hizashi use his Voice like that. He’s never done that before. And on top of that, he managed to get you of all people flustered.”

Shōta narrowed his eyes. “Of all people?”

“Shōta, you have the emotional range of a piece of brick.”

“That’s true.” Hard to argue with that. “But anyone would be flustered if someone’s calling them baby and sexy and…”

“Hello!” Kayama exclaimed, waving her arms agitatedly. “I called you baby and sexy and offered you so much more than what Yamada did. Remember? During our first match-up?” Kayama shook her head. “I mean, come on. He talked about your eyes? Amateur.”

“That’s different,” Shōta said. He furrowed his brow. “That’s just how you are. You do that to everyone to trip them up.”

“But you didn’t know me back then. I must say, Shōta, I would’ve been insulted that you weren’t the least bit drawn by this.” She gestured towards her body with a flourish. “Well, until I realized how cute your hardcore pining for Yamada is.”

Tensei looked at Kayama. “I thought we agreed we weren’t going to use the word pining or crush in front of him.”

“Oh, I’m sick of it, Tensei. Enough with the kids’ gloves!”

Shōta tuned out their bickering, shell-shocked at what Kayama had just said. He did have an inkling that his feelings for Hizashi had taken form into something not quite normal for just friends. But for it to be laid out in words like that — had Shōta just been so obvious?

“Anyways,” Tensei said, still using his best professional voice. “Our point is that you two really should talk it out.”

“And by ‘talk it out’, we mean confess,” Kayama said.

It was just all too much to process. “It’s not like that,” Shōta muttered eventually.

“Shōta. Come on.”

“I meant for Hizashi.” It felt even more bitter, to admit it out loud like this. “He said he’s only doing it to practice his Present Mic persona.”

Kayama and Tensei exchanged a look. “Have you ever thought,” Tensei said, “that maybe he’s also afraid to be honest?”

Hizashi? With his filterless mouth? Who easily slipped into some other facade and said all those nice things about Shōta without meaning it? “Yeah, right.”

“Don’t you think there’s a possibility that he can only say those things when he’s Present Mic? When he’s pretending to be someone else?”

Shōta’s brow furrowed. Still, he repeated, “Yeah, right.”

“Now I wish I have an Influence Quirk,” Kayama muttered, and Tensei quickly stepped closer to Shōta, hiding her from view. 

“Just think about it,” Tensei said, squeezing Shōta in the arm. “Really. Did you ever see Hizashi take care of someone the way he took care of you the past week? Have you ever seen him accept any of those love letters he kept getting?”

Well. No. But Shōta was too stubborn to say it out loud.

Somewhere in the distance, the school bell rang. Kayama sighed. “Well. We tried. Come on, boys, back to class. At least it’s the last period. Hope it’s something easy, I’m just so done with today.” 

“It’s combat,” Tensei clarified.

Kayama groaned. “Fantastic.”

Just Shōta’s luck as well. He’s sure some of Hizashi’s fanboys and fangirls would sneak out of class to take a peek and see if he’d be in action. 

Kayama slugged one arm around Shōta. “Don’t worry, Aizawa. If you two get matched up again, I’ll just put everyone to sleep and you two can foreplay however much you want. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Shōta could only grumble under his breath.

***

As it turned out, Shōta wasn’t paired with Hizashi after all. He was paired with Kato Tetsuya, a boy with a Telekinesis Quirk that he controlled with a flourish of his hands. That had made Kato massively popular amongst their cohort and by effect, incredibly arrogant. Which would work to Shōta’s advantage, because today’s training banned the use of their Quirks, and Shōta had observed Kato to be overly reliant on his. “This will be a simple hand-to-hand,” their teacher said. “Whoever can get five hits first will win the match.”

It was clear that Kato resented this, because he groaned and complained until the buzzer rang on their match. Shōta immediately kicked off, charging at Kato. This would’ve been the quickest match had he been allowed to keep his capture weapon, but he’d settle any day for hand-to-hand. A win over Kato would more than make up for his last performance.

Before his fist could connect though, Kato had spoken up. “Take it easy there, baby,” he said, half-laughing, half-wavering, like he was unfamiliar with his own words. “Don’t you want to get to know me first?”

Shōta was left careening, his momentum lost. This allowed Kato some room to counteract, swiping his leg out and making contact with Shōta’s side. He blocked it just in time to minimize damage, but it was too late. “Kato, 1, Aizawa, 0!”

Shit. And worse, Shōta could not believe what Kato had just tried on him. If he seemed unsure before, he was now growing in confidence, full-on smirking and cocking his hips in an exaggerated gesture. He puckered his lips at Shōta. “What’s the matter, baby? Come on, charge at me again. Didn’t know you liked it so rough.”

There was a howl of laughter from the bleachers. No doubt Kato’s groupies. “Come on, Shōta.” Kato had stretched out Shōta’s name the way Hizashi liked to, even though Kato would never have the privilege of calling Shōta by his given name. It only made Shōta’s gut aflame with both anger and embarrassment. “You’re so sexy when you glare, you know that?”

The laughter from the bleachers was deafening. Shōta could not begin to plan his next move. He was paralyzed with humiliation, and anger — mostly at himself, because he wanted to just turn away and throw in the match and—

“Aizawa, focus!” the teacher had called out. This was against the rules, he knew, because the teachers were never supposed to pick a side during training sessions. Mental fortitude, Shōta reminded himself. What Kato’s doing wasn’t exactly against the rules, even if it is low and crass. He just had to steel himself, tune him out. 

Kato charged then, and Shōta was grateful for his teacher’s sobering call, because this time he read Kato perfectly and dodged him, landing a powerful hook that hit Kato on his cheek. Suits him right.

“Kato, 1. Aizawa, 1!”

Great. Now they’re even. Kato was clearly angered by this, and it made him sloppy, even temporarily forgetting his earlier tactic and allowing Shōta to land two more hits. “Nice one!” someone shouted from the bleachers. Probably Kayama. Shōta couldn’t focus too hard on it. Mental fortitude.

But it was short-lived. Before Shōta could try to get his fourth hit in, Kato had leaped away and put some distance between them.“Shōtaaa,” he said, again in that disgusting imitation of Hizashi’s voice. “Come on, baby. Don’t you want to kiss me with those chapped lips of yours?” He puckered his lips again, making crude wet noises. “Oh, baby, I’d love to run my fingers through that hair. So greasy, did you dip it in a vat of oil every morning?” 

His friends were keeling over with laughter. Shōta felt his ears burning to the tips, could barely hear the teacher scolding the audience, and he stumbled on his feet, knowing that Kato had fully won this round when he charged in with a spinning kick to Shōta’s side—

“HEY!”

The air vibrated around him. Kato’s leg never connected with Shōta’s body. Instead, Kato had been propelled three feet in the air, landing out-of-bounds and skidding across the training field. Shōta’s ears felt that momentum too — not quite enough to make them ring, but he knew immediately what had happened.

Hizashi was standing with his mouth to the megaphone on his sleeve. He had never seen Hizashi that furious — his brow furrowed deeply between his small eyebrows, his teeth gnashed together in a grimace. But it all melted away the moment Hizashi locked eyes with Shōta, turning instead into worry. Hizashi was running towards him. “Are you okay?” he asked, once he reached Shōta. “Good thing I still brought my megaphones to the field. I’m pretty sure I directed it straight at him, so I think your ears shouldn’t even be ringing, but I’m not sure, and—“

“I’m okay, Hizashi.” Shōta still was trying to process what had just happened. “I don’t think you’re supposed to…”

“Well, he was being an ass!”

And right at that moment, Kato screamed with fury. Shōta looked up to see a garbage bin flying full-throttle at them, and he locked his eyes on Kato just in time to activate his Erasure. The bin immediately lost its momentum and flew over their heads, smashing into the ground, but not without splattering them with gunk and — somewhat hilariously — a banana peel over Hizashi’s face.

“Ew!” he screamed, booming over the entire field. Shōta cringed. Hizashi really was a force to be reckoned with — even without meaning to, he could make the ground shake with his voice.

Not enough to shake off Kato yet, though. He had opted instead to run full-charge at them, fist pulled back to deliver a predictable right hook—

“Shōta, break away!”

Shōta did, jumping away and activating his eyes, making sure that Kato had nothing to aid him. And that gave Hizashi a clear line of sight at Kato and to shout, full-force, “STAY DOWN!”

Kato flew across the field and never got back up. What happened after was an uproar of their classmates storming the field — Kato’s enraged clique dogging for revenge, Kayama and Tensei leaping into action and gathering into formation around Hizashi and Shōta, the rest joining in the fray for fear of missing out, or just to get pictures — and it would’ve risen into a full-blown Quirk brawl if not for their teacher’s intervention. Large sprouts of plants suddenly burst from the grassy field, knotting themselves over each student and holding them immobile. Someone whined, “No fair!”

“No fair indeed,” their teacher said. She was a middle-aged woman with a Nature Quirk who never seemed to break her good nature in any circumstance, and Shōta was suddenly rather embarrassed at this spectacle, especially after her earlier defense of him. “Kato, Yamada. Stay back. The rest of you — go back to class immediately. Shower privileges are revoked. Instead, I want a five-thousand-word essay on why your conduct today was shameful, and you’ll have to pick up the other classes’ cleaning shifts for the week.”

The class collectively groaned. “But we didn’t start it!”

“And does it mean you should continue?” Their teacher tapped her foot. “Part of a Hero’s duty is to deescalate. All of you decided to take part instead.”

Shōta was still stunned that he had not been asked to stay back. “Sensei,” he said, when the plant finally lowered him down. “I should stay back, not Hizashi. I started this.”

The teacher hummed. “Not from what I see,” she said. “You defended Yamada last-minute, but you didn’t break any rules up until then. It was Yamada who interfered and used his Quirk.” When Shōta lingered, she smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fair.”

Shōta supposed he had no other arguments. As he passed Hizashi on his way back to class, he shot him a stare — a sorry. Hizashi gave him back two thumbs-up and a bright grin. I’ll be fine.

***

It sure didn’t feel fine. Combat had been the last period, but now they were stuck together for an extra hour at school with the essay and cleaning duty and their body smells stinking up the cramped homeroom. Shōta could also feel Kato’s clique shooting daggers at him, but he couldn’t care less — not with Tensei and Kayama forming a protective shield around him and especially not with Hizashi being punished with god-knows-what. 

He worked hard on his essay, churning out five thousand words in what must be record time. And then he shot up and gathered his belongings quickly. “Damn,” Kayama remarked, raising her eyebrows. “Never saw you this eager to get moving.”

But Shōta didn’t have time to bite back. Instead he felt a remarkable honesty coming up his throat as he said, “I have to see Hizashi. Bye. See you tomorrow. Thanks for today.” And he darted out of the classroom, bounding down the stairs and across the courtyard to wait by the school gates. Hizashi must pass here sooner or later.

And he did, still dressed in his gym clothes and still splattered with gunk. It reminded Shōta that he was also in the same state, covered in grime from the bin that Kato had chucked at them. He had forgotten all that in his anxiety for Hizashi.

“Are you okay?” he asked immediately, coming to stand far too close to Hizashi. At this moment, though, he couldn’t care. “Did she punish you really badly? Are you going to be suspended?”

Hizashi looked surprised at this barrage of questions. “Oh hey, Shōta.” He threw up some finger guns, though it seemed more tired than usual. “It wasn’t bad. She just made us run a couple of laps, no big deal. Plus the essay for homework and cleaning duty and stuff.”

Except Hizashi was stumbling, like his legs were too exhausted to carry his weight. And Shōta must still be stirring from the adrenaline and confusion of the day, because he had knelt down without thinking, shrugging his backpack to one shoulder. “Hop on, I’ll carry you.”

“What!” Shōta could hear Hizashi’s panic. “Shōta, you don’t have to—“

“Hizashi. Just let me do this.”

There was a brief pause, and on any other day, Shōta would’ve lost his nerve and stood up to keep walking, shrugging this off as just another part of his awkwardness. But today he remained crouched, steadfast, even as other students from their class filtered out and giggled and whispered.

And eventually, he felt Hizashi’s weight on his back, his lean arms wrapping around Shōta’s neck. Shōta hoisted him up, and Hizashi’s legs lifted off the ground and dangled loosely from under Shōta’s grip, his sneakers almost dragging across the ground. “I’m too long for this,” he complained, and Shōta simply said, “No, you’re not.”

They walked the next few blocks in silence like that. They must smell something fierce from the sweat and the garbage, but at this point Shōta was desensitized to it. He only hoped Hizashi didn’t mind it too.

“I’m sorry,” Hizashi finally blurted out, as they passed their fourth block. “I shouldn’t have interfered like that. I know you could take out Kato easily, and I don’t mean to make you feel like I was trying to rescue you or anything, but—“

“Hizashi,” Shōta said. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

At that, Hizashi fell silent. So silent that Shōta grew anxious again. “Can you say something?” He gave Hizashi a playful bounce. “This is not like you at all.”

“Shōta, lower me down.”

Hizashi’s serious tone made Shōta taste bitter. He did as he was told. Hizashi came to step in front of Shōta, taking off his tinted glasses and rubbing it on his sleeve. Without them, Hizashi’s eyes were a brilliant green, wide and deep and somber. Shōta realized his heart was beating faster just at this sight. But then Hizashi put his glasses back, hiding them.

“What Kato said,” Hizashi started, and Shōta realized his lips were trembling. “I’m sorry. He was being horrible.”

Oh. Somehow, Shōta had forgotten all about it. “It was,” he agreed. “But I don’t care. It’s just Kato being Kato.”

“It’s not okay!” Hizashi stamped his foot. He was getting worked up again. “I mean, the nerve. How can he say all those things about you?”

“Well, he’s not exactly lying. My hair is a mess. And I could use some lipbalm every now or then.” Even if it hurt a little, to hear all those people laughing at him.

Hizashi gripped Shōta by the shoulders. “Don’t ever say that,” he said, shockingly serious. “You… You look fine as-is, Shōta. Yes you can probably brush your hair more, but greasy?” At this, Hizashi actually tangled his fingers into Shōta’s hair, and it took all of Shōta’s will not to implode. Mental fortitude. “Your hair feels fine. You’re rough and ready, but you’re clean. And you own it, you know? You’re edgy, and I don’t know who else can pull off this laissez faire style that you do. Not me. I have to spend an hour each morning just to style my hair so I can look okay coming out of the house!”

“No you don’t,” Shōta snorted. He was starting to smile, despite himself. “You were fine that day you ran out of hairspray.”

“It was a disaster!”

“It wasn’t,” Shōta said, despite himself. “You look good.”

Oh god. He really needed to get home, shower, sober up from this whole day. But at this point, it was a little too late. Hizashi at least didn’t seem perturbed by the compliment. “Besides,” Shōta said, trying to distract from his blunder. “I don’t care that Kato called me ugly. Really. He’s nobody to me. What bothered me more is the way that he was saying my name.” Shōta scowled. “My given name. Like he was imitating — well, you.”

He looked up to see that Hizashi’s expression hadn’t changed. So he had noticed as well. “I know,” Hizashi said, softly.

“He’s probably just jealous that you’re starting to get all this attention for your Quirk.”

“But…” Hizashi was back to being deflated, his shoulders hunching down. “I just feel like this is all my fault,” he said. “I started this whole… er, teasing thing.”

Except it had felt different when Hizashi said it. It had been kinder. More sincere, if Shōta would let his hopes up. But he shook off that thought, since he’d already discussed this with Hizashi before. “Like I said,” Shōta said. “It’s a good tactic. Other people are going to try and copy it.”

“That’s the thing,” Hizashi murmured. “I don’t want other people to do it.”

Shōta  snorted. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but it’s not exactly new. Kayama does it all the time to everyone.”

“But not to you!” Hizashi blurted out. “And… and that’s just Kayama! I just don’t want— I can’t stand seeing Kato say those things to you!”

Shōta furrowed his brow at this passionate outburst. “I don’t like seeing people say mean things to you too, Hizashi. Or to Kayama or Tensei. That’s a given.”

“Not that, Shōta.” Hizashi was now fully bouncing on his feet. He seemed to have forgotten his exhaustion. “I don’t… I don’t like seeing other people flirt with you. Not that Kato was flirting, not sincerely at least, but…”

“But you weren’t either,” Shōta panned. There it was again, that dreadful hope, rearing its ugly head. He pushed it down with another, “But you were faking it too, Hizashi.”

“What if I’m not?”

Shōta’s head was reeling. Now he was the one may need to be carried home. “But you said— Present Mic—“

“Present Mic is still me, Shōta.” 

“But you said that Present Mic is a persona and a persona is completely separate from yourself and…”

“And I was lying! Bluffing!” Hizashi was practically wailing at this point. “Seeing how horrible Kato was today, I just can’t keep it to myself anymore. I don’t want you to think that I’m like him. And seeing how you were so upset the other day — it just… it isn’t worth it anymore.” He took a deep breath, almost as if he was getting ready to activate his Quirk. Instead, what came out was Hizashi at his softest, a quiet confession. “All those things I said during our match were things I’ve always wanted to say.”

Shōta blinked. Now his brain was trying to rack back all those words he had tried so hard to forget. My favorite. Sexy eyes. Weak in the knees. Baby. 

I can’t stand all this pining anymore.

“I just thought it would be easier to say if I were to hide behind my Present Mic persona,” Hizashi said, taking off his glasses again to wipe them. And whatever doubt Shōta felt, washed away when he saw Hizashi’s eyes. “Sure, I dressed it up a bit. But I thought, hey! Here’s my chance to say all of it without you ever suspecting, especially when I was assigned as a Villain. I didn’t expect you to think that I’d be making fun of you, though— or that I’d knock you out like that— or for Kato to then actually make fun of you.” Hizashi had buried his face into his hands, his glasses squeezed in his grip. “I’m sorry, Shōta. I really messed it up.”

It took a few seconds for Shōta to process this outburst. The truth, Hizashi had said. It was all truth. Not tactic, but truth. Slowly, Shōta touched Hizashi’s wrists, lowering them down. Hizashi looked at Shōta, his eyes still bare without his glasses. They looked particularly pleading in this light. 

“So you really think my glare is ‘sexy’,” Shōta said, “and that I make you weak in the knees?”

Hizashi let out a little squeak. But he nodded, slowly, his face now red.

Shōta didn’t relent. “And that you’ve been pining this whole time?”

“God,” Hizashi said, hands attempting to fly up to hide his face again. But Shōta held them in place, and this made Hizashi finally meet Shōta’s eyes, tentative and questioning. Waiting.

Shōta tugged on their grasped hands then, closing the distance between them and crashing his lips against Hizashi’s. It was his first time doing this, and their noses collided awkwardly, their lips meeting in more of a warm peck than an actual kiss. But Shōta took it all in gratefully, gladly, excitedly. Hizashi’s face was warm, so warm, and he found that seeking that warmth came naturally when his hands snaked to Hizashi’s waist, pulling him even closer to Shōta.

They broke apart, though Shōta didn’t let go of Hizashi’s waist, holding their bodies flush to each other. This wasn’t exactly how he’d quite pictured their first kiss — certainly not in their gym clothes reeking of sweat and days-old garbage, but it made sense, he thought, and it was hard to complain when he could see that Hizashi, too, was beaming.

“I like you too,” Shōta said, simply.

Hizashi could only blink, his eyes big as an owl’s. But the grin on his face was undeniable. He really seemed to have melted in Shōta’s grasp now, fully clinging onto him. “Really?” he whispered. 

“Really.”

“What about me?”

It really wasn’t in Shōta’s wheel of expertise to be this honest, but Hizashi had done so for him, so he’d try. “Your eyes,” he said, feebly. But staring into them now, he found the courage to go on. “How green they are. Like, uh, like I could get lost in them.” God, this was hard. And Hizashi had managed to say all that with ease? How much had he practiced? “The way you’re so good at English. At any language, really. The way you like to talk a lot but you still listen, and remember everything about your friends. How you’re so smart and so strong with your Quirk but it doesn’t make you arrogant, or disagreeable, or cruel.” 

Once Shōta started, he really found it harder to stop thinking of more things. He liked how long Hizashi’s legs were, how adorable they were dangling off Shōta’s hands when he carried him on his back. How good his hair looked, up or down. In the moment, he couldn’t quite voice it all, and so he settled for — “And it really was quite nice to kiss you.” 

Hizashi was grinning from ear to ear at this point. “I like kissing you too.”

So Shōta answered by leaning in again, this time taking care to angle his face and press their lips deeper, parting them for a moment if only to feel more, to taste a little of each other. And when it was all too much, they broke apart. There would be time, so much time from now on.

“So,” Hizashi said. “I guess it’s a good thing after all that I worked so hard on my persona?” 

Shōta rolled his eyes. “As long as you don’t use Mic as a cover for any more confessions.”

“No way. Oh, no way!” Hizashi threw his arms up, grinning widely. “As long as Hizashi is enough for you, my number one listener!”

Oh, he was. A thousand times enough.

***

(

“By the way, Sensei mentioned we’d make good partners. What do you think, Eraserhead? Should we think up of a persona for you?”

“Hizashi. Shut up.”

“Should we make a duo codename? Present Mic and Eraserhead, Shout and Scowl? Sexy Eyes United?

This time, Shōta opted for a kiss. That seemed to be more effective at stopping Hizashi’s words.

)