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Things had been tense. Of course they were. With all that has happened since the beginning of the year, USJ, Hosu, summer camp, and kidnapping of Bakugou, it’d be weird if Hizashi and Shouta weren’t tense. Shouta especially was annoyed and snappy and Hizashi was trying to be understanding of his husband.
He did, however, also live loud. Not that he was screaming all the time, no. Somehow, there was always some noise surrounding him, he was humming or tapping his pen against the desk. Usually Shouta didn’t mind. No, on the contrary, he appreciated the white noise his husband provided, it was steady and reassuring. Recently, though, it was grating on his nerves and it came to head on one particularly hot summer day in August. They weren’t doing anything particular, Shouta was filling out reports and Hizashi was reading, humming to himself some mindless tune.
And Shouta...
Shouta snapped.
“Can you please shut up?” He asked lifting his head to glare at Hizashi but the moment the words left his mouth he regretted them.
Hizashi’d been told to shut up most of his life. By parents, teachers and classmates alike. It got better since they entered their twenties but there were still people who had no qualms viciously asking him to shut the fuck up. Shouta had sworn to never utter those words. He could ask Hizashi to let him focus for a bit, to be quiet for a second but shut up was still triggering to him, despite the progress the blond had made over the years with no little help of therapy. So Shouta promised himself to never say it.
Until he did.
The hurt in Hizashi’s eyes, the tears, the wobbling lip. It was like a dagger to his heart, sharp and twisting, and if he felt like that, he couldn’t even begin to imagine how Hizashi must’ve felt.
“Sorry,” Hizashi muttered and ducked his head, looking at his book again.
“No, Hizashi, I’m sorry,” Shouta protested. “I’m so sorry,” he stood up and rounded the coffee table to put his arms around Hizashi’s shoulder, feeling a pang of guilt when the man stiffened. He didn’t withdraw, however, and Hizashi relaxed into the touch, soon followed by the shaking of his body from barely suppressed sobs.
“Sorry,” he whispered and stood up, leaving towards their bedroom.
Shouta didn’t follow. He knew he had no right to witness Hizashi’s breakdown this time and nothing he could do at the moment to console him.
The following days were quiet. Not in a “silent treatment” quiet, no, Hizashi would never subject him to that. The effort he put into silencing himself, controlling his ticks, or even speaking quieter than usual was obvious and Shouta’s heart was breaking with every huff of laughter where it should be a full body laugh, every subdued smile, when it should be a snicker, every time Hizashi realised he was tapping while writing and was aborting the motion. No matter how many times Shouta repeated it didn’t bother him, Hizashi would just say that it was nothing and he shouldn’t worry about him.
Shouta worried about him. A lot. He had to apologise in a way that Hizashi would hear.
On the following Saturday, when his husband was sleeping off his Friday show, Shouta made a quick run to the florist to buy a bouquet of pink carnations - Hizashi’s favourite and symbol of love, and lily of the valley, to show how truly sorry he was.
Additional stop for groceries and Hizashi’s favourite pressed juice, and Shouta was back just in time. He was in the middle of preparing ingredients for pancakes when Hizashi appeared in the kitchen door.
“Hi, baby,” Hizashi murmured, rubbing sleep off his eyes.
“Songbird,” Shouta greeted him, taking the vase with flowers and stepping up closer to his husband. Hizashi looked confused at the flowers before his brows furrowed.
“You didn’t have to, kitten. I’m being an idiot.”
Shouta silenced him with a kiss, flowers between them. “No, Hizashi. I won’t let you invalidate your own feelings.”
He led the blond to sit down at the table and took his hands in his own. “Your reaction is valid, Zashi, and I’m sorry for making you feel unsafe and insecure. I promise it won’t happen again. Will you let me make it up to you?”
The tears glistened in Hizashi’s eyes and he sighed. “Apology accepted, Starlight. I’m ok now, though, really!”
Shouta smiled softly. “Good. I’m making pancakes. Sing for me, please?” He asked pleadingly. Hizashi stiffened a little.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Songbird, I’m sure. This past week was one of the worst in my life because it was so unbearably quiet. So... please?”
Hizashi smiled, small and fragile and started humming, softly at first. Shouta brought his hands to his lips and kissed his knuckles and by the time he was by the stove pouring the batter, Hizashi was singing the latest top 40 song. The blond came up to him and hugged him from behind.
“Thank you, baby,” he whispered and Shouta just shook his head.
“You shouldn’t have to thank me, Sunshine,” he replied. Hizashi didn’t argue - he knew they wouldn’t agree on it anyway.
After breakfast, blueberry pancakes with whipped cream, just as Hizashi liked, they sat on the couch, Hizashi humming You Can’t Hurry Love. Shouta snuggled contently against his chest. “I don’t know what I’d do without the sounds you make,” he admitted quietly. Hizashi’s hand rose up to his hair and he started running his fingers through black locks.
“I...” he sighed. “This week... I was so afraid you’re finally growing annoyed with me,” he mumbled.
Shouta shot up and sat in Hizashi’s lap, terrified. “What are you talking about, Sunshine?”
Hizashi shrugged. “I just... feel so useless recently. I can’t help you with anything and you’re getting hurt, again, and again, and again. Even before that... I guess sometimes I can’t believe you’d actually want to stay with me for as long as you have, because... why? All I am is loud,” he spat the last word with viciousness.
Shouta’s heart broke. “Sunshine. Starlight. Zashi,” he said, distressed. “You’re my best friend. You’re my partner, my light, and I love you. Your anxiety, your brilliant ideas, your traumas, your sense of humour, the sounds you make... I love everything that makes you you, even if I wish I could take away the bad parts.” He brought up shaking hands to Hizashi’s face and gently cupped his cheeks. “I love you, Yamada Hizashi, and I’m not getting tired of you anytime soon, ok?” He whispered and kissed the tip of Hizashi’s nose.
He proceeded to kiss him along the trail of freckles, under his eyes, corner of his mouth. “I love you,” he murmured and their lips finally met, a chaste little thing. Hizashi sighed contently, one of his hands resting on small of Shouta’s back, while the other tangled in his hair.
“Love you too, Kitten,” he whispered as they parted.