Work Text:
“Everybody say yeah!”
“...Yeahhh!”
“EVERYBODY SAY YEAAAAAH!”
“YEAHH!”
With his eyes half closed, sleeping bag zipped up tight, Shouta watches from the back of the classroom as Hizashi does his usual routine of call and response with the students, gesticulating wildly with his arms while the kids of class 1-A stare at him in confusion, not prepared for speaking English this early in the morning.
“Uraraka!” Hizashi calls suddenly, pointing his finger at Uraraka who immediately straightens up in her chair, waiting for his next words.
“You wanna be a Hero, yeah?”
She nods furiously, hair flying everywhere, and Shouta scoffs quietly, burying his face in the capture weapon wrapped around his neck. Her energy is almost a match for Hizashi’s.
“Of course, of course,” Hizashi continues, nodding solemnly. “But that’s not your main gig, ya know!”
He wags his finger in the air, grinning at them expectantly while he waits… and is met with stunned silence.
“Everybody!” he yells then. “Tell me what kind of person you are, in English and no Hero-related talk allowed! Uraraka, you’re up first!”
Slowly drifting off into sleep, Shouta listens to Hizashi tell the students about the importance of defining themselves through something other than Hero work, an impromptu lesson he offered to give Shouta’s class this morning when Shouta stumbled into their shared apartment just after sunrise, exhausted and injured after last night’s patrol.
___
One of the earliest memories Hizashi has of his childhood is sitting in a cold, sterile room, white lights too bright and no windows anywhere, his lips tightly pressed shut as his father’s heavy hand rested on his shoulders. A man in a white coat kept talking about something he didn’t understand yet, shaking a small container with pills in his hand.
Lost and scared, Hizashi searched for the gaze of his mother to his right, his heart racing, but his mother didn’t look at him, instead staring past the doctor in a daze-like state, her eyes wide open like there was a villain waiting for her on the other side of that huge white door.
The doctor thrust the container with the purple pills into his fathers hand and pushed all three of them out of the door, Hizashi’s naked feet ice-cold on tiled floor.
When his father forced the tiny purple pills down Hizashi’s throat during dinner, he doesn't dare to cry, his throat still burning from when that man had wrapped his hands around it this morning, Hizashi’s cheeks wet from crying about his broken toy.
After dinner, alone in his room, Hizashi opens his mouth to sing along to his favourite show’s intro, only to realise in horror that nothing comes out, his lips moving without a sound.
___
“.....outa…!”
Shouta stirs, his eyelids heavy.
“Shooouuuuutaaaa!”
When Shouta’s eyes snap open suddenly, he finds Hizashi leaning down towards him, a grin on his lips and his hands on either side of his hips, green eyes sparkling from above orange tinted sunglasses.
Shouta lets his gaze wander to the left, finding the classroom abandoned, and decides to let his eyes slide shut again with a low grumble.
Hizashi shakes Shouta awake again by the shoulder, kneeling next to him. “Eraser!” he calls again, nudging him. “You hanging in there?”
Shouta forces his eyes open again and glares at Hizashi. “Too loud.”
Hizashi laughs and straightens his body, fixing his gloves, and Shouta watches him, feeling his muscles ache. His dry eye is worse than ever after using his Quirk for too long during that robbery last night.
He yawns and asks, “You traumatise the students?”
Feigning offence, Hizashi furrows his brows and exclaims, “Hey! They’ll thank me for it in a few years!”
When Hizashi’s frown turns into a grin so bright it lights up the empty classroom, Shouta’s body is flooded with the same surge of relief he felt when Hizashi offered to cover for him this morning, his chest warm and soft.
___
For a few years after that horrible appointment, Hizashi didn’t talk at all anymore. Even after the doctor got arrested for dealing with illegal drugs and his parents couldn't force those pills down his throat any longer.
Telling him to keep quiet, his parents shut him into his room. They want to keep him from hurting people, his mother told him. It’s not safe. Your Quirk… it’s dangerous.
You’re dangerous.
They took him out of school and hired a private tutor to help him study. Barricading himself into his room day and night, Hizashi lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and blasting music into his ears so loud he couldn’t hear anything else anymore.
Every day, he kept thinking about how his deaf tutor was probably the only person in the world able to tolerate him. The only person he couldn't harm.
___
Humming to himself, Hizashi spends his rare free morning organising the contents of their fridge and checking their stock, jotting down everything they need to buy onto a notepad, his hair still wet and tied into a low bun at the base of his neck.
Shouta should be home any minute now and the breakfast he prepared for him is still sizzling in a pan on the stove, two fried eggs waiting to be served on a bowl of white rice.
It's been weeks since they could sit down and have a meal together at a somewhat reasonable time so Hizashi has been looking forward to today.
The familiar sound of the front door unlocking alerts Hizashi and he places the pen on the table, wiping his hands on a towel.
“I’m home,” Shouta greets in a low voice, and Hizashi rounds the corner into the hallway, watching as he takes off his capture weapon.
“Welcome home,” he replies. “I made food.”
Hizashi can tell Shouta’s beyond tired, his eyes bloodshot and lined by dark shadows, his head dangerously close to the bowl of rice as he threatens to fall asleep over his breakfast.
He feels a little bit bad for making Shouta feel obligated to eat it instead of going straight to bed but Hizashi knows exactly how much of a toll all those overtime night patrols have been taking on Shouta. The least he should do is keep his body nourished.
When they finish eating, Hizashi pushes the bowl away from him with a loud Thanks for the meal! and gets up from the table, clearing the dishes.
“Now let’s get you to bed, yeah?” he tells Shouta, watching as the other man drags his body upwards and into the bathroom, the sound of Shouta’s naked feet on the floor making Hizashi feel like home.
Grabbing his notepad from earlier, Hizashi lets Shouta know that he’ll be out shopping for a bit before he leaves their apartment, hoping it’s not gonna be a nap filled with nightmares for the other Hero.
___
When Hizashi first met Shouta at U.A. it was love at first sight for him. Or at least that's what he tells himself today.
Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe he was just awestruck by the way Shouta’s body moved, the control he had over seemingly every inch of his muscles, the cluster of bandages in his hands bending and flying at his will.
(At first, Hizashi was convinced that Shouta’s Quirk had something to do with that scarf around his neck. When he eventually discovered the truth, he was even more thunderstruck.)
Their duel during the annual sports festival was over quicker than Hizashi could even get a hold of the situation, Shouta’s capture weapon wrapped around his body in a flash, effectively immobilising him. His new sunglasses knocked askew on his nose, Hizashi stared at the smaller boy standing above him, panting slightly with dark messy hair and half-lidded eyes.
Maybe it was love at first sight. Or maybe it was the fact that someone not even enrolled in the Hero Department could beat him so easily, completely unfazed by the dangers of his Voice Quirk.
Shouta’s expression changed then, the hint of a smirk playing around his lips as he took a step back, proclaimed the winner of this match.
…
…Definitely love at first sight.
Several nights before that fateful day, when Hizashi couldn’t sleep, his heart racing in his chest, he turned on the radio, listening in the darkness of his room.
Of course, he’s heard about U.A. before, an elite academy for children who want to become Heroes, the highest-ranked high school for heroics in Japan.
But this time, when his favourite DJ broached the topic again, he revealed for the first time that he himself actually graduated from U.A., working as a Pro Hero in his spare time now, because there’s no excuse for not making the world a better place, no matter how little time you dedicate to it, no matter what kind of Quirk you were born with.
The ad ends by encouraging any aspiring young kid to give it a shot by applying to U.A. on their homepage, a better society only a click away.
Raking his fingers through his mess of hair, his dirty blonde strands grown too long by now, Hizashi tenses the muscles in his jaw and turns off the radio in irritation, tossing it at the end of the bed.
It wasn't until several months later, when his mother threatened to hand him over to the local authorities after Hizashi had another Quirk-based accident, that he decided to apply to U.A., hoping that would at least allow him to gain enough control of his Quirk to not hurt any more people.
___
“...Hizashi?”
Shouta stirs awake, cracking one eye open, when the bed beside him shifts, Hizashi's long hair falling down his back in waves the first thing he sees.
“Ah– Sorry! Didn't mean to wake you.” Hizashi turns around, throwing him an apologetic smile. “I’m covering today’s radio shift at the station, forgot to tell you last night.”
Shouta blinks slowly against the burning in his eyes and sits up a little, leaning against the frame of the bed. He doesn’t know what he misses more: sleep, or the warmth of Hizashi next to him.
“Stupid radio…” he grumbles, still half asleep. “Can’t you just quit it.”
Hizashi laughs, too loud for a moment before he catches himself and lowers his volume to Shouta’s just-woke-up level.
“Mean! We both know you don’t want me to.” He winks at him, gathering his hair to one side. “After all, you're my number one fan!”
Shouta glowers at him. “I don’t have time for that.”
Hizashi laughs again and gets up from the bed, reaching for his glasses. “All right, all right,” he says. “I won’t push it.”
___
“Aizawa!” Hizashi yelled, throwing open the door of the classroom. “I got the internship!”
He ran up to Shouta’s desk and striked a pose, his body bursting at the seams, not big enough to contain his excitement.
Jerking awake, Shouta blinked up at him in confusion, still bleary-eyed and threatening to fall asleep again any second.
“At the radio station!” Hizashi offered impatiently, drawing up a chair so he could take a seat close to Shouta. “I’m going live with DJ Echo!”
“...Ah.”
“First show’s this Friday night!” Hizashi added, grinning at the grumpy boy next to him. “You'll listen, right? You’ll be there?”
Shouta looked at him out of the corner of his eye before huffing quietly. “I'm not listening to that,” he said, his tone dry. “You’re yelling at me all day.”
“Rude!” Hizashi whined and theatrically clutched his chest. “You’ll regret that when I’m rich and famous!”
“...Annoying…” Shouta mumbled quietly before planting his head on his desk again, the sound of Hizashi rambling next to him lulling him to sleep.
___
On the day of Hizashi’s 17th birthday, Shouta was on his way up to U.A.’s rooftop, his lunch, a jelly pack, clutched in his hand as he ascended the stairs, the warm summer wind blowing through his hair.
As usual on Tuesdays, it was Hizashi’s time to host the weekly show at the nearby station– Put Your Hands Up Radio– his own segment that DJ Echo gave him after Hizashi’s first year of interning with him.
Put Your Hands Up Radio… A stupid name honestly if you asked Shouta. He didn't even know what it meant until Hizashi translated it for him once.
Arriving at his usual bench, Shouta sat down and made short work of his lunch, plugging his earphones in. He turned on the tiny radio he brought with him to school.
“Hello everybody!! Welcome back to Put Your Hands Up Radio!!”
Immediately, Hizashi’s voice filled Shouta’s head and Shouta couldn’t help but notice how much the sound of his voice had matured over the last year alone.
“Everybody say yeah!”
There were muffled cheers of Yeah’s being returned from the station staff and Shouta let his eyes slide shut, listening to Hizashi go on and on about his birthday plans, his graduation plans, what he had for dinner last night and how much he hated all things to do with forests. In between he was also taking song requests.
___
When Hizashi opens his eyes around midnight that day, he immediately wants to squeeze them shut again. It's his 31st birthday today.
The last few weeks, he's not only been covering for Class B's English teacher on top of his own classes but also doubling his patrol shifts in light of recent events, security being tightened all across Japan.
His hair tangled together with sweat and remains of hair gel, Hizashi raises his aching arms and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, his body feeling like an unoiled machine.
“Ugh,” he groans as he sits up, rubbing at his neck, the skin raw from the continuous use of his directional speaker. “Birthdays really do get less fun…”
He finds a particular sore spot and moans quietly, putting pressure on it. No matter how much it hurts though, Hizashi would never choose to live without his speaker again. With it, he never has to worry about accidentally hurting anyone with his Quirk ever again, complete control over his voice for the first time since he was born.
There were times when he refused to take it off, even during the night, too afraid of waking up screaming and harming Shouta next to him.
Tuning into his favourite American radio show, Hizashi starts to get himself ready for the day ahead, a loud yawn escaping him every other minute.
At least he doesn't have to put on his Hero suit for today, his presence during tonight’s radio show as usual only vocal.
After the show, he’ll have to get on with grading those end-of-term English essays from both classes and file all the paperwork from last week’s patrols. If he’s lucky, he might be able to sneak in a little more sleep by going to bed in the early evening.
There's no point in waiting up for Shouta today anyway because he’ll be working until the early morning, probably going straight to school afterwards to prepare for the upcoming Rescue training of Class A.
Their schedules have been a mess the last few months, the most they see of each other in the teachers’ lounge at U.A..
Thinking about the Rescue training, Hizashi’s mind immediately flashes back to USJ, finding Shouta’s body battered and bruised, broken limbs and crushed-in face, blood running down his clothes as he lay limp in the arms of his students. When he thought, for the fraction of a moment, that Shouta might be dead.
Quickly, Hizashi shakes his head and holds his breath, trying to rid himself of that mental image.
As a Hero and a teacher, Shouta’s choice to fight on his own was the only logical one in the moment, Hizashi knows that, and yet, he can’t help but be a little bit selfish in that regard, never wanting to see him like that again.
He thinks about how none of it would have happened if only he'd arrived a little bit earlier, how, if he’d been there, he could’ve protected the one thing he probably loves most in the world so that he never would’ve had to suffer any of that pain.
Gritting his teeth, Hizashi tries to focus on fixing his hair, his heart beating out of his chest.
He thinks about Shouta now, overworked and run down, probably spending most of his days making his way from morning nap to lunch nap to morning nap again…– but safe. He thinks about last week, when Shouta crawled into bed beside him, for the first time in months, mumbling a quick Good night before he was out like a light, his chest rising and falling steadily with every breath.
Chewing on his bottom lip, Hizashi checks his phone again, but besides the Happy Birthday message he got from Shouta just after midnight today, there’s nothing more. He huffs. That man never texts during patrol.
When Hizashi unlocks the back door of the broadcasting studio with his hair still wet and tied back in a bun and his glasses perched on top of his head, he’s greeted by a deafeningly loud shout of Surpriseeee!, his colleagues meeting him at the door with a giant cake.
“Happy birthday, Yamada!” His assistant congratulates him with a pat on the back, ushering him inside. “Another one ‘round the sun!”
“Thanks, man!” Hizashi replies with a laugh, his gloomy thoughts sinking back into the depths of his mind like gravel into goo.
One by one, they congratulate him, making him blow out the candles on the cake, all 31 of them, before Hizashi has to hurry into his seat, jamming the headphones onto his head not a second before the show is scheduled to start.
“Everybody say yeah!” he screams into the mic, raising his hands into the air. “Welcome back to Put Your Hands Up Radio with your one and only host Preseeeent Mic!”
The lights in the studio are dimmed low and as soon as the words start tumbling out of his mouth, Hizashi feels at ease, comforted in the same way he was when he was sixteen years old and playing around with all the knobs and switches on the DJ mixer for the first time.
___
“Hey Shouta, wanna go to the–”
Hizashi stopped short in the door of the classroom, his mouth wide open in shock as the words he wanted to say got stuck in his throat.
“...Shouta?”
In his seat at the back of the classroom, Shouta was lying on his desk again, his head buried in the fabric of his capture weapon while his hair hid most of his face from view.
Next to him was one of those vintage radios, a quiet babble coming out of the speakers.
As quietly as possible, Hizashi creeped closer, shoving the sunglasses back up his nose – still too big for his face – his gaze never leaving Shouta.
“...another amazing song by the wonderful Miss Mable,” the host’s voice sounded through the classroom, “And back again next week, same time, same place, Put Your Hands Up Radio with Yamada Hizashi!”
Hizashi felt his throat tighten and he had to force himself to swallow, his vision growing blurry.
Shouta actually listened to his show.
Watching Shouta’s back rise and fall in rhythm with his quiet snores, Hizashi felt hot tears prick at his eyes.
Shouta never listened to his shows.
Just the thought of Shouta sitting in here alone, listening to Hizashi ramble on and on about summer holidays and his favourite shade of yellow – even if he did fall asleep during it – made something in Hizashi’s stomach grow tight and hot, his heart skipping a beat.
He stretched out a hand, about to wake the other boy up, when he suddenly hesitated. Slowly pulling his arm back, he decided to sit down next to him instead and wait for Shouta to wake up on his own.
___
After the show finishes, Hizashi says his goodbyes, taking the rest of his birthday cake home with him, only to stop dead in his tracks when he opens the back door of the old apartment complex and finds Shouta waiting outside, yawning into his capture weapon.
“...Shouta?”
Shouta looks up and wordlessly raises a hand in greeting.
“...Aren't you supposed to be at U.A.?”
“Class got postponed.”
“Aw,” Hizashi says, holding back a smile. “Didn’t you wanna go home and get some sleep in then?”
Shouta levels him with an annoyed look. “There’s no point in that. The apartment’s too far away for that to make sense.”
Hizashi lets out a mix between a huff and a laugh then, raising his hands in front of him. “Of course, of course. My bad!”
He watches Shouta yawn again, his eyelids heavy.
“So is this a romantic pick up then?”
Shouta gives a noncommittal grunt.
“...Do I get a birthday kiss then?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“Ah~ah, harsh as usual!”
Shouta ignores him.
“By the way,” he tells Hizashi in a gruff voice, holding up his phone. “The birthday one’s always my favourite.”
On-screen, the name of Hizashi’s radio station lights up and with it Hizashi’s heart, climbing into his throat where it does a double take.
___
“Eraser!”
…
…
When Shouta shows no signs of having heard him, Hizashi grabs a chair and swings it around, hopping onto it before he rolls closer to Shouta.
“Yo, Eraser!”
Shouta glances at him for the briefest of seconds. “Mhm.”
“Did you go home last night?”
“Mhm.”
“Did you find the curry in the fridge?”
“Mhm.”
“Did Uraraka make it through Licence training?”
“Mhm.”
“...Did you throw out your entire closet and buy a bunch of kitties to replace all your clothes?”
“Mhm.”
Hizashi groans loudly and leans back in his chair, kicking himself off the desk as he stares at the ceiling of the teachers’ lounge.
It’s clear that Shouta isn’t listening to a word he’s been saying, brooding over his computer, his scarred fingers flying over the keyboard a lot quicker than they used to, when he was still getting used to using electronics at work.
Chewing on his bottom lip, Hizashi watches Shouta work and tries to remember whether they were supposed to have dinner together today. His radio show got moved to Saturday morning and as far as he can remember, Shouta’s got no patrol scheduled tonight so today might be his lucky day.
“Hey, Eraser!” Hizashi tries again, leaning close. “Want me to grab some Takeout for tonight? We could watch that horrible dancing show you hate so much.”
Still no reply from Shouta.
“I’m lowkey kinda craving some salty ass food right now,” Hizashi muses, his mouth watering. It’s been months since they had enough time to spend an evening together, doing nothing at all.
When the other man still doesn’t react, Hizashi gently nudges Shouta in the side, poking his leather-clad fingers into his waist. “What d’you think? Thai?”
Finally, Shouta turns in his chair, facing him with a death glare. “Too much, Mic,” he growls.
Playfully, Hizashi zips his mouth shut and throws away the imaginary key, rolling backwards a bit. “All right, all right, sorry, sorry!” he says anyway. “I’ll just get Thai then.”
Shouta watches him for a moment, the harsh edges of his expression softening. “Thai sounds good.”
___
Hizashi is having the worst day.
Ever.
Even worse than that time he had to stay locked up in the broom’s closet the entire day because his teachers were too scared to let him out.
It started with a local power outage in the night so his alarm didn’t ring in time and he had to get ready in a rush, scarfing down some leftover food from the day before, when he suddenly spilled coffee on his freshly washed Hero suit, ultimately making him late for his English classes.
(It’s days like these that he’s particularly envious of Shouta’s more than simple costume.)
After school, he’s scheduled for patrol in an area way further out than his usual radius, but when he wants to hop into his car, he realises he must have lost his keys somewhere, all of his pockets empty and distinctly devoid of any key-shaped object.
Cursing himself for losing them, Hizashi has to run all the way to make it there in time, his thoughts circling around various iterations of the question of how the hell he is gonna move his beloved car tomorrow.
Tired and annoyed with himself, Hizashi tries his best to move despite the burning in his shoulders, his skin irritated, bruised and raw. After spilling coffee onto his last clean undershirt earlier that day, he had to leave without the cushioning effect for his directional speaker, the heavy metal now digging painfully into his flesh.
Hurrying to the station for his weekly radio show, Hizashi finally arrives completely out of breath and drenched in sweat, his gravity-defying signature hairstyle coming loose where his hair gel ran out this morning.
…Only to find out that the power outage this morning apparently fried all their systems, having Hizashi crawling on all fours trying to find a way to fix the problem in time for his show to go live.
“Damn it,” Hizashi mutters under his breath, his headphones dangling from around his neck as he desperately tries to get the emergency power system started.
Heaving a sigh, he crawls back out from underneath the table and checks his phone for the millionth time that day.
Still no message from Shouta.
Class A got their Hero Licence exams today and as their homeroom teacher, Shouta has naturally been tasked with observing and evaluating them.
Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, Hizashi frowns involuntarily. He can't help but think about the last time Shouta went on a day-trip mission with the students on his own, the image of a bloodied Shouta in his mind as sharp as the studio surrounding him.
He knew from the moment they both decided to be Pro-Heroes that death could be imminent for either one of them. The nature of their occupation itself forbids them from promising each other forever, and yet the thought of losing Shouta hits him like a shockwave each time, making his stomach churn until he feels like he’s gonna be sick.
“Get a grip, man,” Hizashi mumbles to himself, clicking his tongue in irritation– at himself, at the malfunctioning tech or just the cruelty of life in general, he doesn’t quite know himself.
Shouta’s innate sense of responsibility paired with his lack of self-respect and his drive for self-sacrifice is, in Hizashi’s eyes, a match made in hell.
Just then, Hizashi reaches the back of the switch and sparks fly as the studio lights up in a warm orange, emergency lighting bathing the room in bright light and turning their systems back online.
Hizashi checks his phone, trying to ignore the lack of new messages. Eleven pm– just in time.
“Yamada! You saved our asses!” his assistant calls, sweat dripping from his brows when he offers Hizashi a high-five, an oily towel thrown across his shoulder. “Let’s get this show on the road!”
Hizashi grins and meets his hand in the middle, turning it into a thumbs-up. “Leave it to me!”
When he finally takes a seat in his chair, he notices that he didn't even have time to change out of his Hero suit and into the (far more) comfortable civilian outfit he packed this morning in a hurry.
___
Hizashi balanced two cups of coffee on his left arm, his school bag stuffed to the brink with books and notes on his other, and a plastic bag filled with trashy convenience store food dangling from his fingers.
Jumping from one foot to the other, he tried to keep himself from freezing to death in the cold of winter while he waited for Shouta to open the door.
When the door finally unlocked, Shouta eyed him suspiciously, his brows furrowed. “What are you doing here?”
Hizashi gave him a wide toothy grin and held up his arm with the coffees, trying not to spill any. “I brought energy!”
Shouta just stared at him.
“I don’t need it.”
Hizashi cleared his throat and tried again, lowering his arm. “I thought we could go over conditional if-sentences again for next week’s finals.”
Shouta kept staring at him.
“...Come in.”
Thankfully, Shouta opened the door wider then, letting Hizashi step into the blissful warmth of his home.
“Jeez, Shouta, that’s an impressive house if I’ve ever seen one!” Hizashi whistled and bumped his fist into Shouta’s shoulder, taking a good look around.
Rubbing at his arm, Shouta merely watched Hizashi for a few seconds, his expression unreadable, before he walked past him without another word, waiting for him to follow.
What Hizashi failed to realise back then was that for as big and impressive as Shouta’s childhood home was, it was almost always entirely empty.
___
Completely drained and done with the world after the disaster that was today, Hizashi heaves a big sigh, dragging his hand across his face before he pushes his glasses up his nose into the mess of his hair.
Checking his phone for the millionth time that day (still no message from Shouta), Hizashi languidly stuffs his things into a bag and leaves the studio.
On his way home, he makes a quick stop at the nearest convenience store and picks up some essentials for the upcoming weekend. At the register, he quickly grabs two more jelly packs and a can of Shouta’s favourite beer.
After paying for the groceries, Hizashi takes the shortest way home, still mourning the loss of his beloved car, abandoned in U.A.’s parking lot.
When he unlocks the front door of their apartment, he notices Shouta’s shoes near the entrance so he takes the time to sit down and take off his own boots as quietly as possible, his feet aching from running around in them all day.
Making his way into the living room, Hizashi’s gaze finds Shouta on the sofa, his eyes closed and three empty cups of coffee on the table next to him.
Hizashi freezes, taking a moment to let his eyes travel the other man. Shouta’s arms are bare, his Hero suit folded down until the belt, the black tanktop accentuating the muscles in his chest as it rises and falls steadily.
When Shouta turns with a low grumble, his brows furrowed, Hizashi takes that as his cue to move towards the sofa, removing his leather gloves and placing them on the table next to the mugs.
He lays a hand on Shouta’s chest and hums quietly, trying to wake him up.
Because for as slender and lanky as Shouta looks, he is actually quite heavy, his body basically made of muscle, so there’s absolutely no way Hizashi could carry him all the way to the bedroom on his own.
To this day, Hizashi still finds it fascinating how quickly Shouta took him out during their first sports festival as students, Hizashi beaten the instant he could no longer use his Quirk and it was combat skills versus… Hizashi’s absolute lack thereof.
Shouta keeps offering to teach him some martial arts, scolding him for relying too much on the use of his Quirk, and Hizashi thinks that maybe, someday when they’ll both have more time, he’ll actually take him up on that offer.
Come to think of it, though, Hizashi can’t remember Shouta ever using Erasure on him again after that day– not even when he cried for Shirakumo all those years ago, both of them staring at the rubble where their friend took his last breath.
Despite the tiredness seeping through every seam of his body, Hizashi’s heart skips a beat.
“...zashi?”
With a groan, Shouta cracks his blood-shot eyes open, his voice rough when he speaks.
“How’d it go?” Hizashi asks, referring to the teacher evaluation Shouta had to go through today, an annual insurance that U.A.'s teachers are up to par at all time.
“Fine.”
“Why didn't you text me?”
“Too tired.”
Hizashi raises a brow. “Why are you not in bed then?”
Shouta stares at him through half-lidded eyes, watching him. “Your show was almost over.”
His face softening, Hizashi’s gaze drifts towards the empty cups of coffee on the table and he imagines Shouta coming home, so tired he could probably fall asleep standing up, waiting for Hizashi to come home, too.
With a yawn, Shouta gets up and offers Hizashi a hand.
“Let's go to bed.”
___
Hizashi is already awake when Shouta opens his eyes, muffled music coming from the bathroom.
Groaning quietly, Shouta turns onto his back and rests his arm across his eyes for a little while longer. The blinds are closed tight but Shouta knows it’s already light outside, the clock reading one in the afternoon.
It’s been weeks since his U.A. teacher evaluation and they have since moved into the school dormitories, making their commute to school a lot shorter so Hizashi usually comes home during lunch breaks.
Rubbing at his irritated eyes, Shouta sits upright and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, blinking against the blur in his vision.
Ever since USJ he didn’t really have an opportunity to rest his eyes, never giving them the chance to fully recover, and with how overworked he’s been recently, he’s now paying the price for it.
As an Underground Hero, Shouta usually works nights, so between Hizashi gaining popularity as a DJ host and being promoted to taking over Class B’s English classes for good, they rarely get to see each other anymore.
“Morning sleepyhead!” Hizashi grins when Shouta pads into the bathroom, the bright sunlight agitating his eyes even further.
“Now I finally get to blast the music!” Hizashi adds with a wink and a grin so bright the sun wishes it had that much power.
Despite that, Shouta can see the dark shadows beneath Hizashi’s eyes and the red bruises on the exposed skin of his collarbones where his directional speaker sits every day.
Wearing the red-rimmed glasses Shouta likes on him, Hizashi gestures around them. “I cleaned the bathroom!”
“Mhm,” Shouta replies groggily, his body still half-asleep.
“Wanna go through your stuff, too?”
“Not really.”
Hizashi cocks his head and studies him, absentmindedly massaging his fingers.
“Did you eat yet? Last night?”
“No.”
Hizashi’s brows draw closer, his green eyes seemingly sparkling from behind his glasses.
“You know you gotta eat, right?”
“Mhm.”
“If you don’t care for yourself, you’ll put others at risk!”
“Mhm.”
“You should know better.”
Shouta feels the muscles in his jaw tense. “I'll eat later.”
Hizashi keeps opening and shutting cabinets at a deafening volume, his horrible English music screaming through the tiny bathroom and Shouta’s head, each word sharply piercing his already aching skull.
“What time do you get off today?” Hizashi asks him, brushing past him to grab his brush from the closet behind Shouta.
“Don't know yet.”
“I’ve got the back to back show tonight but I might be able to switch it up if you’re home early today. We could order in and have a drink?”
Shouta blinks furiously, his vision still foggy. His body is overheating and this room feels too narrow, too bright, his ears ringing.
“Shouta? Did you hear–?”
“Can’t you just shut up for once!”
The instant the words were out of his mouth, Shouta knew he could never take them back, Hizashi’s mouth snapping shut like he’s been slapped.
Hurt flashes across Hizashi’s eyes briefly before his usually so expressive face shuts off and turns blank.
Without another word, Hizashi lowers his brush and closes the open mirror cabinet, making his way past Shouta out of the bathroom.
“There's leftovers in the fridge.”
His voice quiet, Hizashi grabs his keys and leaves their apartment, the front door falling shut behind him.
The music stops when Hizashi’s phone disconnects from the speakers and Shouta’s left with an uncomfortable silence that’s more deafening than Hizashi could ever be.
Shouta’s still staring at the front door long after Hizashi left, his heart thumping against his chest as his thoughts race in his head, replaying the past few minutes.
He should’ve known better.
It took two years for Hizashi to open up about his past, how he’s struggled with his Quirk all his life, how his parents forced their beliefs onto him as a child, making him hate even the sound of his own voice.
Shouta knows about the times Hizashi lay next to him in the vastness of his empty childhood house, both hands clasped tightly across his mouth as he cried, terrified of accidentally hurting Shouta with his Quirk.
Shouta knows. And he should’ve known better.
Clicking his tongue in frustration, Shouta balls his hands into fists and grits his teeth, furious with himself.
They’ve had their fair share of arguments in all the years they've been dating, Shouta’s bristly nature alone enough to last a lifetime, but in the fifteen years they’ve known each other, Shouta has never once stooped so low.
He didn't mean it, of course, he never could. Even though he hates loud noise and any kind of commotion like no other, Hizashi’s voice has been the only thing he could always bear. But he’s exhausted and in pain and snapped without thinking.
None of this excuses what he said, but Shouta’s stupid pride keeps him from going after Hizashi and apologising for it, so he stays rooted to the same spot and stares at the white walls, enduring the weight of his own words.
___
“Everybody say yeah!” Hizashi yells into the mic, trying his best to forget about his situation with Shouta. “Welcome back to Put Your Hands Up Radio!”
…
Can’t you just shut up for once!
Hizashi’s breath hitches.
“Have you ever sneaked out of a lover's house in the middle of the night after burning their kitchen down by accident?!” Hizashi laughs and cringes at how hollow it sounds. “Believe it or not, that’s what happened to my ultra amazing assistant last week!”
Regulating the volume, Hizashi draws a breath for the next sentence.
“For all my Listeners still awake at this ungodly hour! I’m gonna be taking song requests only with a side of vulnerability tonight, no rules, no boundaries and no tame stories allowed!”
He’s gotten so used to being himself around Shouta, to not hold back, that he sometimes forgets how much the other man hates noise, especially after just waking up.
“Starting off with a personal choice! A story? From me?” He laughs into the mic and makes a dramatic pause, selecting the song. “Wrong! You’re the star tonight on Put Your Hands Up Radio, so hit me with your best shot after this starter!”
Maybe he should take a step back, let the poor man get a break from him for once. Ever since enrolling at U.A., he’s grown so comfortable with his Present Mic persona that his mind sometimes slips and he forgets just how dangerous he actually is, how much people could hate him.
When the song finishes, Hizashi mentally prepares himself for his first Listener, fading out the last words to Staying Alive as he segues into the conversation segment of the show. He's been doing radio work for so long now that it almost feels as natural as breathing, his movements practised and precise.
“Now! Let's get down dirty with a little bit of personal spice, taking song requests now!” Hizashi roars, pressing the button to accept the first call.
He forgot his hair tie at home but at least he had time to change out of his Hero suit today, Hizashi’s fingers mindlessly fiddling with the rings on his other hand.
“What’ve you got for me, Listener!”
“It’s late.”
For the second time that day, Hizashi’s mouth snaps shut, his eyes widening in surprise.
…Shouta?
After a beat of shocked silence, Hizashi clears his throat uncomfortably and tries his best to remain professional, reigning in any personal feelings.
“Late, huh! Put Your Hands Up Radio is a show for the night owls and early birds after all, so that rings true, ha!”
Not once has Shouta called into his show before, not even back in school when Hizashi used to beg him to, his presence as a DJ not yet as well established.
“Didn't you want to have a drink tonight?”
Hizashi’s breath catches in his throat and he takes off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. This isn’t happening right now.
“You betcha, I’m always up for a drink!” Hizashi laughs, his voice shaking just the slightest bit. “But that’s only off-duty, ha!”
When there’s no reply from Shouta, Hizashi swallows against the lump in his throat and racks his brain for a way to get through this.
“....I don’t have a story,” Shouta says suddenly, his voice rough around the edges of his words. “My song request is Always on my Mind by… the Animal Boys or something.”
Despite himself, Hizashi has to force a chuckle back down his throat, Shouta’s embarrassment evident in the way he clears his throat when he completely mutilates the name of one of Hizashi’s favourite bands in the most horrible way.
It’s only after the initial surprise that Hizashi realises. This song was one of the first and only English songs Shouta has ever liked. Hizashi still remembers sitting squished together on Shouta’s bed and translating the lyrics for him, his ears burning red as he tried to hide his massive crush on the other boy.
“Always on my Mind by the Pet Shop Boys coming right up!” Hizashi confirms and puts it on, hanging up the call.
Once the song starts, Hizashi immediately grabs his phone from the coat slung over his chair and opens the messaging app, his fingers flying over the keyboard while the Pet Shop Boys preach about love in the background.
Be home ASAP, he texts, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
His phone beeps only a few seconds later, screen lighting up with a new message.
Let’s talk about this.