Work Text:
Neon lights dance alongside him, bright blue shimmering across the glitter that covers him head to toe. Music pushes and pulls at his brain and Hizashi can feel the heavy weight of the bass vibrating against the floor.
Warmth clings to his skin, bodies surrounding him. There’s a thrumming in his veins and he can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol, the ecstasy, or the electro music that zaps everyone like lightning.
Grinding against his front is a guy with long black hair and eyes that aren’t dark enough to be what Hizashi is looking for. He can pretend, though, and pretend is what he does. He pretends like this is the life he always wanted to live. He pretends like there isn’t an aching inside of him that yearns for a song that he’ll never hear.
And it’s fine.
Really, it’s fine.
There’s nothing better than the sweet scent of a rave after a day of hard work. Sure, he’ll be sweating vodka tomorrow when he pulls himself out of bed and starts patrolling. Sure, he’ll probably have the world’s worst hangover that he’ll have to hide between killer shades and the awe of his listeners when they see him. Sure, he’ll wake up tomorrow and remember why he does this every night.
But he’s fine.
“Wanna head back to mine?” Hizashi asks, because there’s no point in saying anything else.
He repeats these words to everyone he meets, regardless of gender, quirk, or appearance. He’s not picky. He just needs someone, anyone, to keep him warm at night. Hizashi loathes the cold as much as he loathes the darkness as much as he loathes the silence .
The rooftop was never cold. They always met in the middle of the day when the sun was shining and, even during the winter, they never felt the cold. They were never quiet enough to let it seep in. But the rain was cold and the silence that day was bitter, the words caught in Hizashi’s throat like they were never meant to exist.
Shouta is cold. He rules the darkness with an iron fist and a pair of eyes that seem to glow in it. He’s so fucking silent that it drives Hizashi crazy. He’s never spoken that much, always content to sit in the corner and watch. He’s distant, he’s calculating, he’s…
He’s different with Oboro.
Was different.
He smiled more than he did when it was just the two of them. Hizashi tried and tried and damn it, he fucking tried . He tried so hard to get him to smile, to laugh, to say something . It rarely worked. It was always just sarcasm and dry wit. Hizashi didn’t think Shouta even liked him for a long time. Tolerated his existence, maybe. Never liked. Never loved.
Oboro thought differently. He thought that Shouta liked him plenty and that the boy was just shit at emotions. From where Oboro sat, Shouta liked them both equally.
But it’s easy to think that when you’re the favorite friend. It’s easy to think that when you’re not around to mediate, to keep them together. It’s easy to think that when you fucking die before you can see what happens when you’re not around to keep them together.
What happens is that Shouta fucking leaves and Hizashi is left alone again and again and again. Hizashi is alone and he hates being alone because it combines all the darkness, all the cold, all the goddamn silence into one horrid, all consuming feeling. Shouta leaves and Hizashi is left behind with Nemuri.
Nemuri, who he loves. Nemuri, who wasn’t there when it happened. Nemuri, who doesn’t know how to deal with her own grief, let alone his. So, they fall into bed together over and over and over again because something the blue in her black hair doesn’t shine as brightly and Hizashi can almost pretend she’s someone else.
It feels disgusting to use her like that, like he would this stranger in a club he’s never been to who doesn’t even know his name. One day, he’ll break down and apologize while sobbing at her feet for betraying her, for thinking so lowly of her. That day isn’t today.
Today, he forces a flirty smile and tries to pretend like his high isn’t crashing and burning. He tries to pretend that this is what he wants. He tries to pretend that things have ever been the way he wanted.
Today, he squashes down all those feelings– the rage and resentment and grief – because he can’t handle them and he doesn’t deserve to have them.
Today, he takes this stranger home instead of a shitty hotel because he needs the lie of intimacy more than he’ll regret it in the morning.
–
The moon isn’t out tonight; she’s sleeping alongside the bodies Shouta left behind in puddles of rainwater. His boots feel even heavier than normal, thudding against the paved alleyway. He drags his feet past dozens of hanging signs that illuminate the place in red. Every so often, one of the signs– emitting harsh white light that sears through the darkness– flickers on and off.
Shouta breathes out, chest heavy and full of sludge. Thick raindrops cascade down his hair and over his goggles, running down his face in lines of crimson. He stopped trying to tell what was water and what was blood a long time ago.
His muscles ache and his sopping wet tracksuit feels icy cold as it tries to stop him from moving. He keeps going. He can’t stop.
Phantom footprints lead him forward, ones that he can’t possibly ignore. They’re big and heavy and they come from the leader of a group he’s been tracking for weeks. He hasn’t slept in two days and the fog of exhaustion keeps him hazy.
Giving up isn’t an option, but continuing like this is illogical. He knows that. He’s running on fumes and the engine won’t turn off. He won’t stop stalking his prey in the middle of the night, an unhealthy mixture of distraction and faux-productivity.
At some point, the lights turn on and Shouta realizes that he’s standing in the familiar glow of blue tinted streetlights. The footsteps are gone and Shouta sighs as he loses the guy he was tailing. He can’t tell if he intentionally turned left and abandoned his station or if his sleep deprivation finally won out in the fight for control.
Based on the fact that Shouta is standing on the same curb from his misty eyed reunion with Hizashi last week, he’d wager the latter, which isn’t a good look for him.
Shouta purses his lips and stares ahead at Hizashi’s house, small and homely enough that it’s inconspicuous. The lights are on, surprising for how late it is, and Hizashi’s motorcycle is parked out front. Usually, the man would be out partying or working.
Something in the back of Shouta’s head goes off at that, but he’s too tired to notice it. Or maybe he just didn’t care enough not to ignore it. He cares about Hizashi, obviously; he just doesn’t care enough about himself to feel the warning signs.
So, he makes the genius decision of going inside without any warning or heads up. Which wouldn’t have been a problem if this were any other day (or if Shouta hadn’t disappeared for two years). Back in school, Hizashi never cared about him crashing at his place without asking.
They aren’t in school, though, and Hizashi is much more different than Shouta remembers him.
“Jesus, Shou, what the fuck?! You ever hear of knocking?” Hizashi swears loudly as Shouta stands awkwardly in the entryway.
The random guy on top of Hizashi, half naked and blushing red, scrambles off of him and tries to play it cool, like he didn’t let out a high pitched yelp when the door opened.
Hizashi doesn’t look much better off. He’s warmed with alcohol and his clothes are a mix of wrinkled from the club and falling off him. His skin is covered in glitter and his glasses, circular purple shades, are askew on the bridge of his nose.
“Oh, c’mon, dude,” Hizashi whines, throwing an exasperated hand in Shouta’s direction. “You’re getting blood and shit all over my carpet.”
Shouta looks down and realizes that he stepped closer inside, past the small genkan where Hizashi’s shoes are all thrown messily, and on to the carpet that Hizashi must’ve had custom done to mimic Western houses. He takes a clunky step back, a line of dripping water and blood following him.
“I should get going,” the stranger says to Hizashi as he throws on his shirt.
Hizashi pushes himself up on the couch with a frown. “Nooo, don’t do that! He’s leaving. Right, Shou? You’re leaving?”
Hizashi sends him a pointed stare and Shouta is almost thrown enough to agree. He blinks slowly between the two and clears his throat. “I was actually hoping to crash here, if you don’t mind.”
“If I don’t mind–?” Hizashi nearly gawks at him. “Of course, I mind! I’m trying to get laid, bro.”
The scene before him made that obvious, but having Hizashi say it outright like that makes something in Shouta’s chest hurt. He knew that Hizashi liked sleeping around. If Shouta had to guess, it was top three in the things that he did when he wasn’t working– the other two being drugs and alcohol.
He was a grown man so Shouta can’t exactly find it in himself to chastise him for it, but that doesn’t mean Shouta has to like it either. He doesn’t like that Nemuri does the same thing, though his dislike for her antics pales in comparison to how much he dislikes Hizashi doing it.
He imagines that it’s because Hizashi is his best friend and the habits he has are dangerous. Bringing random people to his home as a fletchling Pro Hero is a recipe for disaster and it’s only rational that Shouta looks down on this behavior for that reason. That’s all. Nothing else.
“You’re drunk,” Shouta finally says, a bit gruff in his observations. “And maybe high too. You can’t consent like that.”
Hizashi groans and throws his head back. “Don’t cramp my style, Shou. If you’re gonna lecture me, you can do it tomorrow morning after I get my dick wet.”
“I can’t leave you like this,” Shouta insists, eyeing the way Hizashi’s partner stands there awkwardly. He keeps making aborted movements, like he’s planning on stepping forward and leaving but doesn’t want to get any closer to Shouta. Which, he supposes, is fair considering the fact that he’s covered in blood and still dressed in his hero costume. “What if he takes advantage of your dumbass while you’re this fucked up?”
“Yeah, okay, I’m just gonna call a cab and leave–” the man jerkily pushes past Shouta to slip on his shoes. He sends Hizashi a shaky smile. “Rain check?”
Hizashi waves him away with a gloomy expression that turns livid when the door clicks behind Shouta.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Hizashi seethes. He stumbles to his feet, using the couch to keep himself steady. “Why would you say that shit to him?”
“It’s not shit,” Shouta unwinds his capture weapon and hangs it up like he’s lived here all his life. “You are drunk and you can’t consent. I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”
“God, you and your fucking technicalities,” Hizashi rolls his eyes. “You know exactly what I mean. It’s bad enough that you came waltzing into my place without asking but then you cockblock me by scaring off my date? Not cool, Shou, seriously not cool.”
“You can go one night without fucking a stranger,” Shouta retorts. He holds his goggles in his hands and tries to dry his hair using his sleeves. “You’ll find a new guy tomorrow anyways.”
“The fuck is your problem?” Hizashi narrows his eyes at him. “What’re you implying?”
Shouta tilts his head. He doesn’t really understand why Hizashi looks so pissed at him. “I’m not implying anything. It’s just the reality of the situation.”
“Reality of the situation,” Hizashi repeats, processing the words. “The reality that you think I’m a slut.”
“I never said that,” Shouta crosses his arms. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“You don’t have to say it, Shouta,” Hizashi hisses. He sways on his feet. “Why else would you say that I’ll get a new guy tomorrow?”
“Because you can and you will. That’s how you are.”
“And how would you know how I am?” Hizashi snaps. “You haven’t fucking been here!”
Shouta’s mouth straightens into a line. He puts his hands up in defense. “Okay, okay, let’s calm down. I’m sorry for barging in like that. It wasn’t my place to do so.”
“Damn right it wasn’t,” Hizashi says. “You don’t live here. You don’t have the right to come in here and take over. I have a life outside of you, you know.”
Shouta doesn’t point out that his life is just hero work and going to the club. Instead, he nods. “Of course, you do.”
“And if I want to fuck random people then I’m allowed to!” Hizashi slurs his words a little too much. “I can fuck whoever I want, Shouta! I don’t need your permission!”
“Of course, you don’t.”
“You haven’t been here ,” Hizashi repeats. “You don’t get a say in what I do.”
Shouta averts his eyes. He was hoping that his deescalation would change the topic from that. He can’t stand hearing the hurt in Hizashi’s voice. As intoxicated as he clearly sounds, there’s nothing he could drink that could mask the emptiness.
It sounds wrong on him. Hizashi is always so full of life and his voice always has a smile you can hear. It’s energetic and kind in a way that Shouta’s never will be. It’s the voice of a public hero who is the star of every party he goes to and dazzles every person he meets.
“You’re right,” Shouta admits. “I’m sorry for scaring him off. I just wanted you to be safe.”
“I’m a fucking hero, Shouta,” Hizashi scoffs. “I don’t need you to protect me.”
“I know.”
“And even if I did,” Hizashi continues. “Good fucking luck protecting me when you disappear for three goddamn years.”
“How long are you going to hold that over me?” Shouta asks, desperate. “I already apologized–”
“Fucking when? ” Hizashi laughs coldly. “You’ve been back a week and the only time I’ve seen you was that night . Maybe I was too drunk but I don’t recall any apologies.”
“You seemed fine!” Shouta nearly shouts, stepping back on to the carpet despite not actually being any drier. His next words come out in a pained whisper. “You said that it was fine.”
“Because it is fine,” Hizashi says. “It has to be fine. If it wasn’t, you’d run off again and I can’t handle that. It hurts too much.”
“I wouldn’t–!”
“Where have you been the past week, then? Was that not running off?”
Shouta swallows thickly. “It’s not that simple.”
“Explain it to me.”
Shouta can’t. He can’t explain even if he wanted to because he knows it’s not rational. Coming back at all wasn’t something he had prepared to do. He had made his choice to run away when he turned eighteen and he knew that he’d never be able to come back.
He did anyways. He came back for the same reason that he listened to every voicemail Hizashi left him and knew the way to his house by heart. Aizawa Shouta is a deeply selfish man and even after he ran away and abandoned the people who needed him most, he couldn’t find it in him to truly stay away. He loved them too much. He was too lonely. He was too sad. He was too scared.
Even now, he’s scared and it’s irrational. His inability to just talk and be there for those he cares about is selfish and illogical. He wishes he could be a better man than he is.
“Do you think you’re the only one hurting?” Hizashi asks after it’s clear that Shouta won’t say anything more. “ I’m hurting, Shou.”
“I know.” Shouta whispers.
“Do you? Do you know?” Hizashi sniffles. “Because I don’t think I do.”
Shouta lifts his gaze to look at his friend.
“I spend every day trying so hard not to think about how it hurts that I don’t even know how much it does,” Hizashi’s voice cracks. “I know it does. It has to hurt to feel like this. I just… it just hurts.”
“What does?” Shouta asks, mouth dry. He already knows, but he thinks that Hizashi needs to talk right now.
“Everything,” Hizashi gestures around himself wildly. “Everything hurts and I can’t stand it. I can’t stand being alive while Oboro isn’t. I can’t stand knowing that I’m the one who brought the fucking building down. I can’t stand waking up every single day being the reason that I lost both of my best friends.”
“You didn’t lose us both…” Shouta objects weakly.
“Oh yeah?” Hizashi raises an eyebrow, his eyes wide and crazed with grief. “So you haven’t been awol for three years? You didn’t spiral after Oboro’s death and disappear? You didn’t leave Nemuri and I with nothing?”
“I–” Shouta doesn’t know what he can say to make this better. He doesn’t think there is anything that can fix it. “If I could go back…”
“You’d do the same thing,” Hizashi says sadly. It’s the most steady thing he’s said all night.
Shouta can’t argue with that.
“I’d trade his life for mine. If I could, I’d bring him back. He’d never– he’d never hurt you like this.” Shouta runs an exhausted hand through his wet hair. Streaks of blood stain his skin.
“Jesus, Shouta, don’t you get it?” Hizashi shouts. “I don’t want to lose you! If the choice is between having you and not having you, I want you. I don’t– I don’t want to give up Oboro, but I can’t give you up either. It hurts me more when you’re not here.”
“But Oboro–”
“Oboro is dead, and he’s not coming back.” Tears steak down Hizashi’s cheeks. “But you’re not and it feels like I’ve lost you all the same.”
“I’m sorry,” Shouta says. He doesn’t know what else he can say. “I’m sorry. I’ll be around more, Zashi, I promise.”
Hizashi lets out a humorless laugh that turns into a small sob and brings his hands up to rub his eyes beneath his shades. “It doesn’t matter either way. Even when I had you, I didn’t have you.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“What do you mean?” Shouta hesitantly asks.
Hizashi doesn’t respond. He stumbles back over to his couch and falls face forward. The glasses crack as he pushes his face into the couch cushions. The air becomes much more intimate as the anger seems to seep out of him.
“Hizashi,” Shouta prompts. He takes a few shaky steps towards him and crouches down next to him. “Hizashi, what do you mean?”
Hizashi turns his head and looks at Shouta’s hands, still holding his golden goggles, with red-rimmed eyes. “Do you remember when you decided to add those to your suit?”
Shouta glances down at them. “Yeah, it was Oboro’s idea.”
“He had goggles too, remember? It… it left me as the only one who didn’t so I asked the support course to design me a pair.”
Shouta remembers that. Specifically, he remembers how excited Hizashi was to show them. He came into class that day with a bounce in his step and a smile that felt infectious. At the time, Shouta and Oboro had laughed. The goggles were silly and clearly a response to Shouta’s updated costume. They assumed that it was more of a joke than anything, even after he kept them on afterwards.
“I wanted to be included,” Hizashi admits. “You know every trio has a duo that likes each other more? At first, I was worried that it would be me and Oboro with you as the outlier since, y’know, you joined the group last.”
Shouta connects the dots but all it does it leave him more confused. “We didn’t like each other more than we liked you–”
“Yes, you did,” Hizashi smiles sadly. “And that’s alright. I know you guys liked me. You two just loved each other in a way that I couldn’t relate to.”
Shouta’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. He tries to think back to the way he interacted with Oboro and how it compared to Hizashi. It’s true that he never really hung out with Hizashi one on one unless they were in a class without Oboro, but he doesn’t specifically remember spending more time with Oboro. After he died, it felt like he hadn’t spent enough time with him.
“It’s alright,” Hizashi says. “I don’t expect you to remember. It’s not like y’all did it on purpose, right? I still noticed, though. I noticed every time you guys paired up without me for assignments. I noticed every time you guys left class without me. I noticed all the times that I walked behind you both.”
With each example, memories of those exact things came to the forefront of Shouta’s mind. He remembers all the times that Hizashi seemed to try extra hard for their attention and all the forced jokes to try and interject in their conversations. They hadn’t meant to exclude him, but with hindsight, it sure looks that way.
“We never meant…” Shouta trails off, shame bubbling in his chest.
“I know, pal,” Hizashi wipes his tears against the fabric of his sofa. “God, how fucking awful am I? I got my best friend killed and here I am bitchin’ about how you liked him more than me.” Hizashi wetly laughs.
“I didn’t like him more than you,” Shouta says, though it sounds empty even to his ears. “And you didn’t get him killed.”
“I’m the one who made the building collapse,” Hizashi says.
“So you’ve mentioned,” Shouta deadpans. “You couldn’t have known. I should’ve been able to save him.”
“Shouta, I’m not arguing with you about which of us killed our friend,” Hizashi frowns.
“Then don’t,” Shouta says. “But you’re wrong. You didn’t kill him and no one except for you thinks that you did. It’d be illogical to believe that. You couldn’t have known what was going to happen. You were doing your job.”
Hizashi shrugs, clearly not wanting to talk about it anymore.
Normally, Shouta would be happy to take the out and end the conversation there. Hizashi isn’t yelling at him anymore and considering the way their first conversation beneath the stars went, warm and with a layer of unspoken forgiveness, he’d be happy leaving this one as is with Hizashi’s frustrations laid out and a clear directive for Shouta to stick around so he can make things better.
But Shouta knows he’s been selfish, and he knows that Hizashi needs more from him. He needs to be better and comfort his friend, even if he doesn’t know how to.
“I’m sorry that we left you behind,” Shouta tries. “I promise that Oboro and I… we loved you just as much as we loved each other. I feel awful knowing that you didn’t know that.”
It seems to work a bit. Hizashi’s shoulders lose some of the tension in them.
“I loved you guys, too,” Hizashi says. “So, so much. I loved you both so much it hurt. I think the worst part about losing Oboro was knowing, at the same time, that I’d lose you too. I can’t stand being alone, Shou.”
The desperation that fills those final words makes something click in Shouta’s brain. He knew that Hizashi used drugs and alcohol in order to cope. He knew that it, alongside all the people he slept with, was just a massive distraction to keep him busy with temporary highs. Anyone who saw the way that he partied would know that.
What Shouta hadn’t realized until this very moment was that Hizashi also used those things as a replacement for the people he lost. Without Shouta and Oboro to talk to, he instead chatted up randoms in bars. Without the ability to swing an arm over their shoulders, he instead brought people home with him. Without someone to love and love him back, he filled the void with whatever he could find.
It feels pathetic that it took Shouta this long to realize. He should’ve noticed just how much Hizashi was struggling. He should’ve known that this went deeper than a twenty year old without the ability to cope because it went deeper than that for Shouta, too. He’s a terrible friend and he knows just how bad it is now.
Shouta brings a hand up to rest on top of Hizashi’s head. He gently pets his glitter filled hair and watches as Hizashi’s intoxication finally bleeds into exhaustion as he closes his eyes and melts down the couch cushions. He reeks of alcohol, but it can’t cover up the scent that is so undeniably Hizashi. It’s comforting, being here, even under the circumstances.
“I’m here now,” Shouta says quietly. “I wasn’t here for you before, but I’m here now, Zashi, I promise. You won’t be alone again.”
Hizashi mumbles something that Shouta can’t understand and seems to fall asleep under Shouta’s gentle touches.
Shouta glances out the window to see that the storm hasn’t let up any. He could go home if he really wanted to. He technically has a shitty apartment that isn’t that far away from here and it wouldn’t be his first time dragging himself through the rain tonight. He finds that he doesn’t want to, though.
Specifically, he doesn’t want to leave Hizashi.
“Zashi,” Shouta whispers, leaning close to the sleepy man’s ear. “I know you were pissed about me coming in and saying I wanna crash here but can I sleep over anyways?”
Hizashi responds with a small snore.
“If you don’t kick me out now, I’m going to use all the hot water in your shower.” Shouta watches him closely for a reaction. There is none. “And I’m sleeping in your bed with wet hair.”
“Like hell you will,” Hizashi mutters with his eyes still closed. “Those pillow cases are more expensive than your entire being.”
Shouta does end up sleeping in Hizashi’s bed with hair still wet from his shower. By that point, though, Hizashi is already tucked in and fast asleep.