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Hitoshi has imagined how his confession would go more times than he can count.
Maybe it would be heartfelt but calculated, a confession specifically timed at his graduation, when Aizawa would have one less reason to turn him down because he was no longer a ‘student’.
Or perhaps it would play out like the not-so-innocent fantasies that had him fumbling about for a cold shower in the middle of the night when he was seventeen? Probably not, Hitoshi thinks with a smile. Most likely it would be slip out, rushed and hushed and uncontainable, and he’d burn his mouth on words that he couldn’t bring himself to regret.
After all, between all the little moments he waited for Aizawa to show up at the training grounds, Hitoshi had already conjured up all the possibilities, thoroughly considered every variant of the way Aizawa Shouta would respond. And it all boiled down to either a rejection that blew their relationship to pieces or one where Aizawa pretended that nothing happened – rejection all the same.
Many, many times, Hitoshi had toyed with the idea of simply getting it over with, of opening his mouth and saying to Aizawa’s back: hey, I love you. To get rejected quickly and move on. But in the end, he hadn’t been able to say anything. Hitoshi wasn’t prepared to let go at all.
Graduation loomed and passed without incident, and his feelings were temporarily set aside in favor of more pressing matters. Before he knew it, Hitoshi had become an underground hero as tired and overworked but perhaps marginally more sociable than Aizawa was.
But not much has changed.
Aizawa is still a teacher at UA. Occasionally, undercover assignments still find their way to him – albeit less often – and sometimes Monoma’s help is enlisted to use Erasure. Perhaps the only remarkable change over the years was when their training sessions for two became for three, and that naturally extended to their working lives.
Phantom Thief isn’t here tonight, though.
Tonight, it’s just Eraser Head and Mind Jack, waiting out the rain under an old bus stop.
Here in the outskirts of town, there isn’t another person in sight. Instead there is mud caked on Hitoshi’s trousers and springy, overgrown weeds crushed under his feet. A moth is drawn to the dim light of a flickering lamp. The shatterproof glass walls around them are cracked and covered in graffiti.
Aizawa is sitting on the side of the bench that isn’t broken, Hitoshi squeezed in beside him, damp shoulders pressed flush together. All in all, Hitoshi can’t bring himself to mind much.
He finds that he wouldn’t mind if the rain never stopped, if the bus never came.
Perhaps the late hour has put in him in a contemplative mood. Coupled with the lack of urgency – they’re not going anywhere until the downpour lets up – Hitoshi has the luxury of once again unearthing decade-old feelings for the person next to him. As it turns out, far from dwindling away, that particular brand of affection he held for Aizawa has only grown with time. Hitoshi wasn’t prepared to let go back then, and he still isn’t prepared to let go now.
The air is fresh and earthy, and cool against his feverish skin. Hitoshi briefly considers it a result of concentrating too hard with his quirk during the assignment, but then – he sneaks a glance over – maybe that’s simply what being in Aizawa’s general vicinity does to his temperature.
Aizawa has been wordlessly staring out at the silver threads of rain as they settle into a drizzle. Far away from the bustle of Tokyo, there’s not much else to look at. Hitoshi can’t quite make out Aizawa’s expression half hidden by his hair and the darkness, but it’s easy enough to picture it. The usual impassiveness. Like Hitoshi, he’s probably in his own head.
Hitoshi closes his eyes and feels Aizawa breathe, in and out, slow, rhythmic. He’s not too drowsy nor too tired, but his limbs grow comfortably heavy and Aizawa is damp but warm. Hitoshi sinks into his presence, content to simply sit with him in silence.
There was never an opportunity like this one, not when he was Aizawa’s student nor after he graduated – when assignments kept coming to Mind Jack and Aizawa was busy with nurturing the future batch of heroes – and Hitoshi is determined to enjoy it while it lasts.
An old thought touches him.
To confess or not to confess.
It had been a constant source of consternation before, but now it just feels nostalgic. The speeding of his heartbeat is juvenile but not unwelcome. Hitoshi presses just a little closer. If Aizawa notices, he doesn’t object.
Hitoshi stays like that for a while, and if he starts to gradually rest against Aizawa, Aizawa doesn’t complain, only shifts slightly to accommodate his weight. It’s still a slightly uncomfortable posture to sit in, but Hitoshi refuses to move away now that he’s been given this.
Eventually, his body starts to go stiff, and he detaches himself from Aizawa’s side. Hitoshi rolls out his aching shoulder – it makes a satisfying pop and he sighs – and for the first time since they sat down, Aizawa turns to him with a raised brow. A curve to his lip. A spark of amusement.
Aren’t you aging too early, he seems to tease.
Hitoshi isn’t thinking much when he reaches out, brushing the stubble by Aizawa’s chin. Aizawa’s eye widens, lips parting in surprise. Something flashes across his face, too quickly for Hitoshi to decipher, but Aizawa doesn’t flinch or slap his hand away.
Hitoshi doesn’t know if he’s reading this right, so he deliberately, slowly guides Aizawa’s face down, revels in how Aizawa lets him reel him in without objection, and their lips meet.
Aizawa’s breath catches at the contact and he goes very still, as if he might be harboring second thoughts. Then he kisses back, chaste, a little hesitant. At least he’s not rejecting Hitoshi outright. That’s half the battle won.
Eventually, Aizawa gently pushes him away. Still there is no dawning horror, nothing suggesting that Aizawa regrets everything. Only a long, thoughtful pause. Hitoshi dares to hope.
A cool, calloused palm finds Hitoshi’s forehead. Hitoshi frowns. “I’m not sick.” He’s just a little giddy about the fact that Aizawa let him kiss him without fuss.
“You’re a little warm.”
“Yeah. Because of you.”
Aizawa doesn’t say anything for a while. “Hitoshi, this is…” He falls silent.
“That’s alright. Take your time.”
Maybe Aizawa just doesn’t know how to navigate this. That’s fine. Hitoshi’s the same way. For so long he’d been chasing after this, and now they’re here and Hitoshi doesn’t have a strategy for how to proceed, either.
“I’ll wait as much as you need,” Hitoshi says. “So long as the answer is yes.”
Aizawa makes a short, amused sound.
Because Hitoshi will wait, but that doesn’t mean he’ll just sit around idly. You can’t get what you want by simply wishing for it to happen, after all. You have to take action. Be it in chasing after dreams or first loves, fortune favors the prepared. Hitoshi knows that a little better than most people.
“You’re not leaving me with much choice,” Aizawa says dryly.
Hitoshi grins.
He remembers all the times Aizawa had deflected his numerous attempts to bridge the distance between them. It took him five years after he graduated to get Aizawa to call him by his first name. To receive permission to call Aizawa by his first name took another three. Now Hitoshi is twenty-six; a decade has passed since he fell in love for the first time – and well, he knows how to be stubborn, too.
“I learned from the best, Shouta-san.”
Hitoshi’s been patient for years. He can definitely wait a bit longer.
Hitoshi has the feeling that it’s going to be yes.