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Shouta grumbled and rolled his shoulders as he walked in the front door of his home with Hizashi, calling out a tired greeting as he took off his shoes.
He wasn't concerned when Hizashi didn't answer -- he might've had his hearing aids out, or been asleep. He dragged himself inside, pausing only briefly to pet the cats.
There was a bright yellow sticky note on the counter -- went to get coffee, love you! -- signed with a heart and a goofy drawing of Hizashi’s triangle shades and a smile. Shouta chuckled.
He thought about going to sleep, but decided against it. He’d wait, and he’d eat breakfast with Hizashi, before they climbed back into bed for his favorite day of the week.
Sunday. When no work was done, no papers were graded, and the only thing they had to worry about was sleep and each other. Shouta loved Sundays. He loved laying curled up and playing with Hizashi's hair while he dozed. He loved waking up to Hizashi reading, his glasses perched on the top of his cute nose and his brow furrowed as he concentrated. He loved soft kisses as they used the TV in their room to watch silly movies or trashy TV shows that didn't take any effort to consume.
Yes, he’d wait.
In the meantime, Shouta took a hot shower, sighing happily as the water worked out the tension in his muscles. He came out feeling clean and refreshed, putting on comfy sweatpants and stealing one of Hizashi’s biggest hoodies.
He frowned when he got out and Hizashi wasn't back yet. The convenience store was only a few blocks away -- surely he'd be back by now.
He pulled out his phone, checking to see if Hizashi had texted him about some sort of delay. Nothing.
Unease settled in Shouta’s stomach, but he tried to ignore it -- Hizashi was a pro hero, and a good one. He'd be fine.
Stomach growling, Shouta decided to make himself something small to eat while he waited. He'd have a proper breakfast with Hizashi when he came back.
He turned on the TV while he waited, pulling out his phone to shoot Hizashi a text asking if everything was okay.
He signed, feeling his heavy eyelids start to shut. He was exhausted, surely Hizashi would wake him when he got back.
“-We interrupt your scheduled programing to bring you the downfall of hero society!”
Shouta shot upward, suddenly wide awake.
Not by the threat, because people threatened the supposed downfall of society at least once a week, but by the fact that the villains who had taken over the airwaves had a hostage, tied to a chair, with a bag over their head.
Shouta had known Hizashi since they were fourteen years old. He's seen him in uniform, out of uniform, covered in blood, in disguise, and naked. He doesn't need to see his face to know that his husband is under that bag.
Shouta sat in horror as one of the villains on the screen lectured about heroes taking away rights and cops and something but he didn't care, not until the other man positioned behind the chair grabbed Hizashi by the hair and whipped the bag off his head.
Hizashi looked dazed, and there was a muzzle tight around his mouth. Fuck, Hizashi hated being muzzled, it was a pain in the ass and it hurt his jaw.
“Look at your voice hero now!” The one who had been doing all the talking declared. He had some sort of mask on, and seemed about as stereotypical as he could get. “Weakened, brought low by the porcelain gang!”
Well that explained the masks, Shouta supposed, but really, was this level of cheesiness necessary? Fuck, the guy looked like he was gonna--
Yep, there it was. The bad guy cackle. Shouta turned him out completely, looking at the Hizashi on the screen just in time to see him roll his eyes directly into the camera.
In spite of everything, Shouta grinned. That was his Hizashi, alright.
Ignoring the demands being given -- the police were watching, they'd have them all -- Shouta called Nemuri.
“Are you seeing this?” She asked in lieu of a greeting, and Shouta snorted. “Yeah, it's awful, isn't it?”
“Oh, the worst.” She agreed. “Nezu’s already working on broadcast location for the police, if you wanna meet at the precinct.”
“Mmhm,” Shouta sighed, mentally kissing his Sunday goodbye. There would be so much paperwork -- maybe he could convince Nezu that this should qualify them for a day off tomorrow. “I’ll meet you- son of a bitch!’
“What? What is it?!”
Shouta didn't answer her, teeth clenched so hard it hurt.
The guy who had been talking had just punched Hizashi in the head.
“Incase you thought I wasn't serious,” said the man, staring directly into Shouta’s soul. “I believe a little bit more of a demonstration is in order.”
He showed off his brass knuckles, and Shouta’s heart dropped into his stomach.
Distantly he heard Nemuri over the phone, trying to get him to turn off the TV, not watch this, but Shouta couldn't look away from the beating.
Every time he could, Hizashi raised his head defiantly, staring down his abuser, or looking at the camera.
Looking at Shouta. He knew Shouta would be watching.
The beating felt like it lasted an eternity, but was likely 10 or so minutes. Hizashi was slumped forward, hair falling around him, arm at an odd angle from a particularly aggressive hit.
The main villain walked away from him, still fucking talking, and the bad guy behind him reached for Hizashi’s hair again.
Shouta had never been more proud then when he watches his husband throw his head backwards and hit that fucker in the face with the back of his skull.
The crunch of a nose breaking was audible even with the mediocre quality microphone they had, as was the satisfying thud of his body hitting the ground.
“You little shit!” The main villain cursed, nevermind that Hizashi’s hearing aids were almost definitely dead, and Hizashi couldn't hear shit without them.
He grabbed something from off camera and stormed over, jabbing it into Hizashi’s side. Shouta didn't get what it was, right up until Hizashi’s whole body twitched.
Shouta was going to kill this man, or at least hurt him very badly. He watched Hizashi writhe and jolt, electricity running through his body, hurting him , and Shouta was going to kill the man who did it.
“You have 2 hours, heroes!” The main villain shouted as he finally tossed the taser to the side and waved at someone off camera. Two more villains, both in porcelain masks, brought out a bomb with a large 2 hour clock on it.
“2 hours to find and stop me, and then this hero and this entire building will blow! Good luck, your downfall starts now!”
The screen went black, but in Shouta’s eyes, all he saw was Hizashi, slumped over in a chair, next to a dangerous explosive.
“Shouta? Shouta!”
Shouta grabbed his phone from where it had fallen. “Get to the precinct, now.”
The signal Nezu had been tracing was garbled, bounced off of several store-bought scramblers, and took over half their time to decode.
Shouta spent the entire hour pacing back and forth across an interrogation room at the closest precinct, ready to bite off the head of anyone who came too close.
“Shouta,” Nemuri said for the fourth time in an hour. “Please stop.”
“Leave me alone, Nem.”
“These guys are armatures-”
“Even armatures are threats when they have fucking bombs, Nemuri.” Shouta’s voice was probably a hair too sharp, but every second they wasted was a second his goddamn husband was trapped in a warehouse with untreated injuries and a ticking clock.
“And Hizashi is a pro.” She finished as if he hadn't spoken. “I promise, it’ll be fine. We won't let it not be.”
Shouta didn’t point out the obvious -- Shirakumo had thought something similar, and he was dead. Nighteye had said the same thing when they went to rescue Eri --
Fuck, Eri.
Mirio had already texted, assuring him that she was enjoying their sleepover and hadn’t seen. Hitoshi, on the other hand, had seen, and All Might had already let him know that half of 1A had tried to escape the dorms and come help, his son included.
Shouta loved his goddamn kids, but he could not deal with any of them right now, not while Hizashi was in danger.
“Shouta,” Nezu said, sticking his head in, face grim. “We found it.”
The warehouse they broadcasted from wasn’t very big, but it had no windows and only one door, making it the perfect place to hold a hostage.
When Shouta arrived with Nemuri and a small team of police officers, the so-called “porcelain gang” was standing around, jeering at one of their friends -- his nose was clearly broken. The one Hizashi headbutted.
The big tall one still had the brass knuckles on. Shouta decided to take him out first. “Move!”
The fight was dirty, heroes and police vs bad guys with quirks and guns. Shouta got to the tall one, wrapping his scarf around his beefy wrist and dragging him off balance. As he tumbled forward, Shouta slammed his knee into his nose.
A bullet whizzed past his ear. Shouta knew he didn’t have time to effectively kick this guy's ass -- he had to get in there, get Hizashi out. Besides, he was a hero, revenge wasn’t his style.
He just really, really wanted it.
He kicked the big guy once more for good measure, then rushed toward his next target. One of them had a mutation quirk that looked like a porcupine, and Shouta’s leg got a few of the quills. Immediately, a tingling sensation filled his thigh, and Shouta’s right knee gave out. Fuck.
Nemuri got him with her quirk, then ran to his side. Shouta waved her off; “I’m fine, I’m fine, go help-”
Something bright and hot was coming toward them, and Shouta instinctively ducked, covering his head with his arms. All the sound was drowned out for a few seconds and when Shouta slowly picked up his head, the warehouse was in flames.
No.
No. no no no-
“Hizashi,” Shouta breathed, then forced himself to his feet, shouting. “Hizashi, Hizashi answer me!”
Whatever was on the quills was wearing off, and Shouta regained his balance, moving forward, ready to dive into the flames to get to his husband-
“Shouta!” Nemuri shouted, grabbing his arm. Shouta struggled against her, tears running down his face.
“Hizashi, dammit, Hizashi! Please, Hizashi, where are you?!”
“Shouta…”
Shouta’s knees gave out again, not from any quirk, because every muscle in Shouta’s body was trembling, every fiber of his being was rejecting what his eyes were seeing.
“Please,” Shouta cried, not sure who he was talking to, trying to squirm away from Nemuri and toward the fire. “Please, no, please, please no--”
“Shouta.”
“Please, please, Hizashi, please-”
“Shouta!”
Nemuri was shaking his shoulder, and Shouta finally looked at her. Her eyes were wide, but she wasn’t looking at the fire.
She grabbed him and turned him around.
There, limping, holding his arm awkwardly to his side, filthy and muzzled and fucking beautiful, was Shouta’s husband, the love of his stupid fucking life.
Shouta ran for him, meeting him halfway, scooping him up in his arms where no one could ever hurt him again.
Hizashi’s eyes were gentle, soft, and exhausted. Shouta eyed the muzzle on his face, then asked if Hizashi wanted it off.
“Please,” Hizashi signed back, then slumped forward. Shouta didn’t panic when Hizashi passed out against his shoulder -- he’d had a bad day, he needed some rest. Besides, Shouta was here now, he would keep him safe.
Always.
In the end, Hizashi walked away from his kidnapping with a concussion, two cracked ribs, minor electrical burns, and a broken arm. They decided to keep him overnight to monitor the concussion, but the doctors were confident that it was an unnecessary precaution.
Hizashi had woken up shortly after their arrival at the hospital, and was cracking jokes by the time Chiyo arrived to heal his arm.
“Nezu asked me to tell you that you have tomorrow off, Shouta,” she said as she pressed a kiss to Hizashi’s shoulder. “You get him home and taken care of, alright?”
Shouta knew that the day off was more for him than for Hizashi, but he wasn’t about to say no to spending a day curled up with him.
“Thank you, Chiyo-san.” Hizashi said through a yawn, squeezing Shouta’s hand with his good one. She took her leave shortly after.
Shouta ran his fingers over the back of Hizashi’s hand, kissing his knuckles.
“I’m okay, Sho,” Hizashi signed, pulling his hands back to do so. “Even the doctors say so.”
“I know,” Shouta signed, but for a few minutes, in Shouta’s mind, he hadn’t been. For a few minutes, he’d been-
“Come up here,” Hizashi signed, scooting over as much as the hospital bed would allow.
“Your ribs-”
“Come here.” Hizashi repeated, firmer, and Shouta couldn’t resist him if he tried.
Carefully laying on his side, Shouta climbed onto the bed with him. Hizashi grabbed one of Shouta’s wrists and dragged his arm around his waist. He kissed Shouta on the forehead, then yawned again.
“Sleep,” Shouta muttered into Hizashi’s shoulder, slow enough that Hizashi would be able to make out the shape of his lips against his skin.
Hizashi nodded off, and Shouta closed his own eyes.
They were okay. They would be okay.