Work Text:
Hizashi had been very quiet since his rescue.
The initial stay in the hospital had been long, with very few words spoken by the blond, and always barely a whisper. The doctors had done their best to aid in his healing, but there was a lot of damage and a lot of scarring, particularly around his neck from the electric collar and lower jaw from the unforgiving muzzle. A broken ankle, multiple cracked ribs, infections in the electric burns, and various lacerations and bruises around his body also had to be dealt with. He’d spent days in and out of sleep due to fever, his body trying to heal the infection.
The worst of it had been taken care of over the better part of a week, healing up anything detrimental and dealing with the infections. The scarring was healed as best as it could be, but most of the medications and doctors put energy into the healing rather than the preservation of undamaged skin. The malnourishment was one of the biggest concerns outside of the psychological damage he’d endured. Hizashi was thin. Way too thin, his skin looking stretched over his bones, and his wrists small enough for Shouta to wrap a first around. It was scary, and Shouta was afraid he’d hurt Hizashi easily.
They hadn’t spoken about his captivity. More accurately, Shouta hadn’t asked him. He’d explained in the hospital why the rescue had taken so long, the dead leads, the false alarms, the clever ringleader of the gang that’d had him. Hizashi’s blank gaze made Shouta feel like the explanation didn’t matter much anyway. Late in the night, he’d cried and apologized and begged for forgiveness, and Hizashi had stroked his hair and whispered a barely audible “It’s okay”. But didn’t feel okay.
Shouta couldn’t forget the state he’d found Hizashi in. The mostly empty room had streaks of blood all over the floor and smelled like mildew, piss, and rotten food. Hizashi himself had reeked of infection, the gore around his neck the primary source of it. His hair hung in greasy clumps around his head, dull and nearly brown from dirt and blood. His skin looked waxy over protruding bones, and though Hizashi had always been thin, he’d also been lean with muscle and had never felt fragile. Now it felt like if Shouta held him too tight he’d shatter.
When Shouta had finally convinced the doctors that Hizashi would feel safer and heal better in the comfort of their own home, he’d been loaded with directions for foods Hizashi needed to eat, medications, vitamins, and half a dozen recommendations for psychologists and therapists.
Three months of isolation and abuse were bound to have lasting effects on his boyfriend. Though it’d been two weeks since his rescue, Shouta could probably count on one hand the number of times Hizashi had said more than a single word at a time. It was unnerving. He moved silently, and sat so still, his gaze distant. So unlike Hizashi. Shouta would say his name, and have to repeat it a few times to get his attention. He’d jump each time he realized Shouta was talking to him.
Once they’d finally received the approval to leave the hospital, Hizashi stared silently out the window while Shouta drove, feeling tense and awkward. When he pulled into the parking lot of their apartment building, Hizashi was out of the car faster than him but lingered at the front until Shouta caught up. Shouta wanted to offer his hand, but Hizashi had his arms clutched tightly around himself, lost in his thick hoodie. It wasn’t that cold out, Shouta was comfortable in his t-shirt and jeans, but Hizashi couldn’t seem to get warm. Even in the hospital with extra blankets and the heat turned on, he’d shiver, and pull the layers tighter.
It hurt knowing there were things Shouta couldn’t fix. He could load Hizashi up with hoodies and blankets, but it seemed like the chill came from inside him. He couldn’t heal the scars wrapped around Hizashi's neck, the ones clutching his jaw, take away the memories or make him talk about the things he’d endured. He could offer support, care, and all the love he had to give, but he couldn’t take away the trauma.
They entered their apartment, Shouta a step behind Hizashi because he seemed a little unsteady on his feet. Shouta’s brain started to scramble a bit. He has been practically living at UA or the police station for the past few months. He hadn’t been out to buy groceries in forever, but Nemuri had swung by to leave some easy stuff in the fridge and clean out everything that had gone bad. She’d also been looking after their cats at her place since Shouta hadn’t had time.
“Muse and Trashcan are with Nemuri,” he said. “She’s been looking after them since I’ve—been… busy.”
Hizashi toed off his shoes and moved to sit on the sofa, looking exhausted already at the few sets of stairs they’d climbed. Hizashi rubbed at his scarred throat, looking around the living room. He barely whispered, “Work?”
“I’m taking some time off.” He’d overworked himself so much during the time Hizshi had been missing that when he’d requested leave from Nezu and his agency, they’d practically shoved him out the door. Nezu especially told him to take all the time he needed.
Hizashi frowned but didn’t say anything else, eyes tracking each corner of the room. Shouta walked over and sat down next to him. His hand twitched, wanting to wrap it around Hizashi, who was just blankly looking at his socked feet. He raised his arm, moving it behind Hizashi with the intent to pull him into a side hug, but Hizashi hunched forward, shoulders pulled up.
“Mm,” he hummed, shaking his head.
“Okay,” Shouta tried not to let it sting, dropping his hand back into his own lap. It sent a lump of emotion into his throat, unable to recall even a single moment in the past fifteen years where Hizashi had turned down affection. But things were different now. He tried, “Are you hungry?”
Hizashi shook his head.
“You haven’t really eaten much at all,” Shouta pointed out. “I’m going to make some soup for both of us, you don’t have to eat it now, but will you try in a little bit?”
For a moment, Hizashi didn’t move or speak, like he hadn’t heard Shouta, but then he turned slightly and used JSL to sign ‘try’. Shouta nodded, it was better than a hard no.
Shouta cooked, Hizashi ate a little bit but then fell asleep on the couch.
Things went on like this for a while.
Hizashi slept a lot. He took naps during the day, fell asleep early, and stayed asleep into the late morning. He didn’t seem to have nightmares, at least not that Shouta had seen. The doctors had said sleeping a lot was normal. Hizashi was recovering from traumatic injuries and healing, and his nervous system was trying to regulate. He was also depressed. The doctors said it was normal and Shouta wanted to strangle them. Nothing about this was normal. He didn’t want it to be normal.
Getting him to eat was difficult. Shouta would have to wake him up sometimes to keep him on track with his medications and make sure he had something in his stomach every few hours. Hizashi wouldn’t necessarily fight him on it—he just didn’t have an appetite, it seemed like opening his mouth to eat was a monumental task. But he was more likely to eat if the food was warm and simple, and Shouta was eating too.
For the first few days, most of their conversations were one-sided. Shouta asked him questions, ‘Do you want to lay down?’, ‘Are you hungry?’, ‘Do you want to take a shower?’. Hizashi provided one-word, quiet answers or would sign responses. Shouta felt like he was going to start pulling out his hair because there had to be more he could do, but Hizashi barely spoke, he barely did anything. He felt like he was failing Hizashi somehow.
Sometimes he’d seek Shouta out for comfort and touch, but other times he’d jump if Shouta sat too close to him It didn’t bother Shouta, not really—he sometimes didn’t enjoy physical contact either—but what got to him was how not-Hizashi it felt. Like something at his core had been stolen. He often reached out, like he wanted to hold hands, only to pull his arm back to himself and tuck it against his chest. Shouta wanted to tell him it’s okay, it’s fine, whatever you need. But he didn’t want to pressure him. They felt stuck in awkward limbo.
Hizashi standing in the kitchen, his fingers cupped around a steaming mug of tea while his eyes drifted, glazed over, wasn’t new. His shoulders were hunched up slightly, and he looked too thin, too pale, too fragile. Even his golden hair looked dimmer. Shouta didn’t want to startle him, so he moved around the counter and sat at the barstool, making extra noise when he pulled the chair out to sit. Hizashi’s distant look snapped to him immediately.
The mug clinked when Hizashi set it on the counter, but he kept his hand cupped around it.
“When does this end?” Hizashi asked. It’s the most words he’d put together in days, but still nearly a whisper. The words take a second to register in Shouta’s mind.
“When does what end?”
“This… dream. The visions.”
Shouta felt his stomach go cold. Did Hizashi think he was trapped still? One of the villains they apprehended had bragged about trapping Hizashi in hallucinations and dreams of rescue, but Shouta thought they’d reassured Hizashi. That he knew what was real.
“‘Zashi, you’re not in a hallucination,” Shouta tried to keep the shake from his voice, and wanted desperately to reach out, “This is real.”
Hizashi’s lower lip trembled, his eyes looked wet and flicked around, not really landing on anything. He bent forward, leaning his elbows on the counter, and rubbed his hands over his face. They came to rest over his mouth and chin, and stayed, like a sick impression of that muzzle they’d found him in. It made Shouta feel very nauseous.
He couldn’t stop himself from reaching across the counter and pulling Hizashi’s hands away from his face. Hizashi jerked back when he did, yanking his hands fast enough from Shouta’s grasp that they slammed against the countertop.
“Don’t touch me!” He snapped, the loudest he’d spoken since the rescue.
“I’m sorry,” Shouta said quickly, raising his hands.
Hizashi didn’t put his hands back over his mouth, but he hid his face in his hands again, curling his fingers against his forehead, mumbling, “Don’t touch me, I’m gross and annoying, and you shouldn’t have to take care of me.”
“What?” Shouta asked, alarmed. “What the hell are you talking about? None of that is true.”
Hizashi was muttering under his breath, and Shouta pulled himself off the stool and stepped around the counter to stand closer and hear him. He was careful to leave space between them, and be loud with his movements so Hizashi knew where he was.
“Shut up,” Hizashi muttered, “Tell me to shut up. Stop talking.”
This was new. This was new and horrible, and not the change Shouta had been looking for.
“No, you can talk as much as you want. I love hearing you talk,” Shouta insisted.
Hizashsi stood up from the counter and looked at Shouta. He was crying, tears streaking down pale skin. He nearly shouted, “No! I’m too loud!”
“You’re not. You’re upset and your voice is raised, but it’s not too loud,” Shouta said, attempting to keep his calm.
Hizashi didn’t like that. He stepped forward and shoved Shouta in the chest, hard enough that he stumbled back a step, but gave no further reaction. His heart sank, his stomach felt like it was full of stones, and he felt the back of his eyes prick, but he didn’t react.
“Why won’t you get mad? Aren’t you sick of me yet?” Hizashi’s voice had lowered back to a whisper. His hands were shaking, and he stepped back, putting more space between them.
“I’ll never be sick of you. And why would I be mad?”
“Because!” Hizashi snapped. “I’m—I’m fucked up now! I can’t take care of myself, and I don’t want to! You haven’t gone to work because of me, and you’re just waiting around for me to get better, and I don’t know if I will! I’m burdening you. I keep waking up, and thinking I’m still there. I keep smelling that room and feeling that fucking muzzle on my face, I—” He cut off with a sob and angrily wiped the tears from his reddening face.
Shouta dropped all semblance of calm and reached out to hold Hizashi’s shaking hands, as gently as he could. Hizashi tugged for a moment, then stopped, his body shaking with sobs too heavily to pull with any strength.
“Listen to me,” Shouta said, ignoring the crack in his voice. “You are not and will never be a burden. Especially to me.”
Hizashi tried to tug away again, not meaning Shouta’s eyes, but Shouta held him firmly. Not tight enough that he couldn’t pull away if he really wanted, but enough so Shouta had his full attention.
“‘Zashi. I love taking care of you. I’ll take care of you for as long as you can’t take care of yourself,” Shouta searched his face, “Even if it’s for the rest of our lives, I will take care of you.”
Hizashi shook his head, lips pinched together. Shouta took a chance and pulled him forward, wrapping his arms around Hizashi’s thin body. The blond trembled, but clutched at Shouta’s shirt in return, gasping for breath.
“Don’t think for a second that I wouldn’t,” Shouta said, squeezing him tight like he could convey the truth through the beats of his heart. “I love you and I’ll never stop loving you.”
“I love you too,” Hizashi whispered again his hair. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I haven’t said it in a while. I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Shouta stroked fingers through Hizashi’s hair, trying to soothe him as he cried. Anxiety swirled in his gut, knowing this was far from over, and scared of the way his boyfriend had spoken. It wasn’t like him, but nothing really was anymore. That was okay because Shouta could be strong for both of them.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, “It’s okay.”