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“You heroes put too much faith in your quirks. You believe you’re invincible just because you’ve honed your abilities. But you always overlook one crucial detail,” The villain said, reaching behind him as Eraserhead had him cornered in a back alleyway. Eraserheads eyes narrowed, the villain's quirk already erased. But before he could react, a gunshot rang out, echoing through the narrow walls between the buildings.
“You’re still human.”
Pain exploded in Eraser’s side, and he staggered back, clutching at the wound. He glanced down to see blood seeping through his costume, the warmth spreading across his skin. Suddenly, his breaths came in deep, ragged gasps, and the world around him blurred. By the time Eraser glanced back up, the villain was gone and he was alone.
Shit
Eraser pressed his hand against the bullet wound, briefly yelling at the pain. He slowly got to his feet, staggering into a wall for support. The rough brick bit into his shoulder, grounding him for a moment as he tried to steady himself.
Okay, just make it home. Just get home. Hizashi will know what to do…. Oh shit… Hizashi.
Hizashi had warned him a few days ago about being more careful while on patrol and about taking care of himself and not getting hurt again. It’s fine. He’ll just take care of this himself. He knows where the first aid kit is. He’s stitched himself up before. It’ll be fine.
Gritting his teeth, Eraser forced himself to move. Each step was agony, his vision swimming as he made his way through the maze of alleyways. The city around him was a blur of dim flickering lights and shadows. He didn’t know how long he was stumbling through the city streets before he took a familiar turn and brought him to a quieter part of town. He leaned against a wall, taking a moment to steady himself, his hand slick with blood. The world swayed around him, and he had to bite back a groan.
He pushed off from the wall, forcing his legs to move. He couldn’t collapse here; Hizashi would literally kill him if he did. His breaths were shallow, each one a painful effort.
The fourth floor. Why did they have to live on the fourth floor? If he was careful and quick, he should be able to get through the window near the bathroom. The first aid kit was in the bathroom, and he could deal with his injury there. It was 4 a.m., so Hizashi should have been asleep, which also meant he didn’t have his hearing aids in, giving Aizawa an extra layer of safety to avoid getting caught.
Finally, he reached the base of the apartment building and let go of a tired, painful groan. He took a breath looking down at this side, pulling his hand away for a second. His hand was coated in thick sticky blood. The deep liquid stained his hands and arms.
He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to focus. He needed to get to the window. His limbs felt heavy, his movements sluggish, and he could barely see straight, but he couldn’t afford to stop now. He began his ascent using his capture scarf, leverage from a drainpipe, and a nearby tree.
He jumped to the branch of the tree, pausing to map out his next move. The wind rustled the leaves around him, threatening to push him off the branch. With a deep breath, he leaped to the ledge of the wall at the break between floors, using the drainpipe as an extra handhold—the rough surface of the brick bit into his fingers.
His heart dropped for a moment when his left hand slipped on the drainpipe. The blood created a slippery texture as he tried to climb, making every grip a tenuous one. He was one floor away, and each movement sent a sharp pain through his side, threatening to break his concentration. The pressure of unconsciousness gnawed at him, and he feared for a second that he was going to pass out three stories up on the outside of his apartment building.
“Focus,” He whispered to himself, gritting his teeth. He couldn’t afford to let go.
He pushed the dizziness aside, rapidly breathing and digging his nails into the brick beneath them to try and ground himself for one last push. He adjusted his grip on the drainpipe and positioned himself for one more jump. He aimed for the ledge just below the bathroom window, his fingers starting to go numb and his side oozing blood.
He jumped and shot his hands upwards, grabbing onto the window sill and pulling himself up. His muscles screamed in protest, and his vision went black for a moment as he skillfully balanced on the window ledge. He tugged his fingers against the frame, but the window didn't budge. He sighed, pressing his forehead into the glass, its chill stark against his flushed skin.
He knew he couldn’t leap back to the trees or down the drainpipe again; he was trapped. Taking a deep breath, he pushed his shoulder into the glass; he doubted it would break, but he was desperate to escape the cold night wind that had started to pick up; minutes passed in agonizing futility. His body became weaker, and his limbs began to shake as they fought to keep him balanced on the window sill. In a fit of desperation, he began to smash his head into the glass, desperate to get inside. After a few hits, blood began to flow down his face, with little to show for his efforts.
A wave of uneasiness took over, and the world started to spin. He tried to grip the bricks to keep from falling, but he couldn’t feel his arm. He swayed, his body no longer responding to him.
Suddenly, the window slid open, and soft hands shot out, catching him by his waist and pulling him inside.
“Idiot, you promised,” Hizashi hissed.
Shouta groaned at the sudden movement, pushing his hand against the wound; blood instantly stained the tile below. Hizashi sighed, looking at Shota's pale face and the bullet wound on his side.
“Is that a bullet wound?! Damnit Sho,” Hizashi’s voice wavered with a mix of anger and fear.
Shouta’s head lolled from side to side as Hizashi tried to get his attention.
“Sho? Can you hear me? Shouta!”
Aizawa glanced at his husband, his vision blurred, “‘m fine, just a scratch,” his words slurred.
“You and I must have different definitions of “fine.” Just, don't move.”
He turned the faucet on, letting the cool water run over his trembling hands. His eyes drifted to Shouta, slumped against the bathroom wall, pale and barely conscious. The bullet wound was bad–far worse than Shouta was letting on–and the costume was stuck to it, blood soaking through the fabric.
“Sho, I need to get this off you,” Hizashi said softly, “I need to see the wound.”
Shouta’s eyes fluttered open, barely registering Hizashi’s words. He gave a weak nod, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Hizashi bit his lip and reached for the zipper to SHouta’s collar.
He pulled the zipper down to Shouta’s waist and Hizashi hesitated for a moment, his heart aching as he saw the blood-soaked fabric clinging to Shouta’s side. He helped Shouta take his arms out of his costume. He knew this was going to be agonizing, and the thought of causing Shouta more pain made his hands shake.
He gently tugged at the fabric, trying to be as careful as possible, but the material was stuck fast to the wound. Shouta’s body tensed, a strangled cry escaping his lips as the fabric pulled at the tender, torn skin. Hizashi’s heart shattered at the sound.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Hizashi whispered.
Hizashi filled a small cup with water and turned back towards his husband. He took a deep breath and slowly poured the water over the fabric, hoping it would loosen the bloodied cloth from Shouta’s wound.
Shouta bit back a cry, and the sound tore at Hizashi’s heart as he carefully worked the fabric away from the wound. Each tug felt like an eternity and the repeat of soaking the fabric with water and tearing away another inch off the injury. Sweat started to form on Shouta’s forehead as he groaned to keep from screaming.
Finally, the fabric came free, revealing the raw, angry wound beneath. Hizashi’s breath hitched at the sight, his heart aching with fear. He wanted nothing more than to take Shouta’s pain away, to somehow make this all better, but he knew there was still so much more to do.
Hizashi quickly assessed the injury, his mind racing as he grabbed the first aid kit. The bullet wound was right below his rib, with no doubt that the bullet grazed the bone, breaking it in the process. He worked quickly, applying pressure to the wound, and started to wrap fresh bandages around Aizawa's stomach before he was stopped.
“There’s no… exit wound. Need to take… the bullet out.” Shouta gasped in between words.
“Damnit Sho,” Hizashis worry and concern come out in anger and frustration. “Why didn’t you call me?”
Shouta’s grip tightened weakly on Hizashi’s wrist. “Didn’t… want you… to worry.”
“Worry? Of course, I’m going to worry!” Hizashi snapped, though his hands remained gentle as he continued to assess the wound. “You’re my husband, Shouta. I always worry, but you can’t just go around hiding bullet wounds from me! How did you even get up the side of the building in your condition? Don’t answer that. Just stay still and let me help you.”
Shouta’s eyes struggled to focus on Hizashi’s face. “‘m sorry,” he whispered.
Hizashi grabbed the tweezers, gauze, and antiseptic from the open kit beside him. He held out the small towel for Shouta to bite down on and maneuvered him to lay flat on the floor. Hizashi nodded slightly and whispered an apology as he carefully began to probe the wound.
Shouta’s body tensed, his face contorted in pain, and he groaned and whimpered into the towel. Hizashi’s heart ached at the sound, but he forced himself to stay focused, his hands steady as he continued to work.
“Shh, I know, I know,” Hizashi murmured, “Stay with me. Don’t forget to breathe, love.”
With painstaking care, Hizashi maneuvered the tweezers inside the wound, feeling for the bullet. Shouta’s whimpers grew louder, each sound a dagger to Hizashi’s heart. Shouta’s entire body trembled, muscles tensing and relaxing in a desperate attempt to endure the pain. His left hand gripped Hizashi’s leg, and his right hand pushed against the wall behind him. Sweat rained down his face, mingling with tears of agony.
Hizashi murmured, apologized, and soothing words under his breath as he continued to work. He could feel his own hands trembling; the pressure of finding the bullet as fast as possible without causing more damage or pain weighed on him. The thought of causing Shouta more pain was unbearable, but he had to find the bullet.
The tweezers scraped against the bone of the broken rib, sending a fresh wave of pain through Shouta’s body. He bit down harder on the towel, a muffled scream escaping his lips. Hizashi’s heart clenched, but he forced himself to remain focused.
“Almost there, almost there. Just a little more, I’m sorry.” Hizashi whispered, more to reassure himself than Shouta. He maneuvered the tweezers a little deeper, feeling around carefully. Every movement elicited a new sound of pain from his bleeding husband.
Shouta’s eyes were squeezed shut, his entire body shaking. He could feel himself teetering on the edge of consciousness, the pain threatening to pull him under, yet it was the only thing keeping him awake. His grip on Hizashi’s leg tightened involuntarily, fingers digging into his skin through the thin fabric of his boxers as he struggled to hold on.
“Come on, come on,” Hizashi muttered under his breath, his eyes focused intently on the wound. The tweezers finally brushed against something hard, and Hizashi felt a surge of hope. He adjusted his grip, carefully grasping the bullet. Shouta’s entire body tensed, and a low, guttural groan escaped him.
“Got it! Got it, got it!” Hizashi cried, his voice trembling with relief. He slowly, steadily pulled the bullet out, his heart pounding in his chest. The moment the bullet was free, he dropped it onto an extra towel nearby.
He quickly turned his attention to cleaning the wound, applying antiseptic and a temporary bandage. Hizashi grabbed a sterile needle and thread and removed the blood-soaked bandage.
“Ready?” Hizashi said, warning him and then carefully inserting the needle into his skin. Shouta groaned, his body tensing once again as his grip returned to Hizashi’s leg as he tried to instinctively push him away. Each stitch was an agonizingly slow process, the thread pulling the wound closed one painful millimeter at a time. Shouta’s breaths came in ragged gasps as he panted, held his breath for a few seconds, panted again, and repeated the process.
“Breathe, Shouta, deep breaths.” Hizashi soothed. Tears lightly touched his eyes as he worked. He tried to be as gentle as possible, but the pain was unavoidable. Shouta groaned, his body shaking with each pass of the needle.
Halfway through the stitching, Shouta’s eyes rolled back, and his body went limp. Hizashi froze at the sudden lack of pressure on his leg from where Sho had been grabbing at it. Hizashi froze, panic flooding his veins. “Sho? Shouta?!” he shouted, his voice rising in fear. He pressed his fingers to Shouta’s neck, desperately searching for a pulse.
Hizashi’s heart pounded in his chest, his hands trembling as they pressed against Shouta’s feverish skin. The room seemed to close in on him. His fingers pressed harder, frantic in their search for a pulse that he prayed wasn’t gone. THe seconds stretched into an eternity, each one heavier than the last.
Finally, there it was– a faint, irregular throb beneath his fingertips. Relief surged through Hizashi, but it was fleeting. Shouta’s breathing was shallow, barely there, and his skin became paler.
“Stay with me, Sho,” Hizashi threatened, his voice cracking as he shook his husband's shoulders, hoping for any sign of response. Anything, even a groan or cry of pain, anything was something. But Shouta remained unresponsive, his body limp on the cold tile ground.
Hizashi grabbed his phone with shaking hands, dialing Recovery Girl with a speed born out of sheer desperation. “Please, please pick up,” he muttered, glancing back at Shouta, who looked so small, so fragile at that moment. HIs thoughts raced–what if she didn’t answer? What if she was too late?
The phone clicked, and Hizashi didn’t wait for her to say anything. “He’s not breathing right! I-I tried stitching him up, but he passed out. He got shot in the side, and his ribs are probably broken. I need your help.”
Recovery Girl assured him she was on her way. Hizashi dropped the phone and leaned over Shouta, pressing his lips to his husband’s forehead. “You’re going to be okay; I’m right here,” he whispered, more for himself than for Shouta. His hands, steady in every other crisis, now trembled as he tilted Shouta’s head back and started CPR, each compression a prayer that the man he loved would come back to him.
Time seemed to lose all meaning; the only sounds in the room, the desperate rhythm of his CPR, and the labored breaths Hizashi forced into Shouta’s lungs. Each moment was a battle against the overwhelming fear that threatened to consume him.
Finally, the door burst open, and Recovery Girl rushed in, her presence a beacon of hope. Hizashi didn’t stop, didn’t let himself think, just kept going until she gently pushed him aside as she took over to assess the situation for herself before using her quirk to heal what she could.
Hizashi collapsed back, watching with wide, tear-filled eyes as she worked, his own hands still stained with Shouta’s blood. Every second felt like an eternity as he waited for a sign, any sign, that Shouta would be okay.
And then, a cough, weak but unmistakable, broke the silence. Shouta’s chest heaved as he gasped for air, his eyelids fluttering open to reveal dazed, pain-filled eyes.
Hizashi choked on a sob, relief crashing over him like a tidal wave. He grabbed Shouta’s hand, holding it as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded at that moment. Recovery Girl finished stitching up the wound that Hizashi left to start CPR.
“He should be okay for now,” Recovery Girl said softly, her voice cutting through the tense silence. She looked at Hizashi, her eyes full of concern. “He’s stable now, but he needs rest. You did well, Hizashi.”
Hizashi nodded, “Thank you. I know it’s late, but I appreciate you getting here fast.”
“Well, Shouta is my most frequent patient at all hours of the day. Now, the best thing you can do is make him comfortable and not let him move. Call me when he wakes up, and I’ll come back to heal him some more.”
Hizashi offered a weary smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “I will. Thank you,” he said, his voice still thick with emotion. The relief of knowing Shouta was stable for now was a fragile comfort but one he clung to desperately.
Recovery Girl gave a small nod, her expression softening as she gathered her things. “You take care of yourself too, Hizashi. He’ll need you when he wakes up.”
Hizashi watched her leave the room and heard the door close behind her. He let a breath go reached for the first aid kit and placed a bandage over his stitched-up wound, and then wrapped it in gauze. After deciding that was the best he could do for now, he gently cleaned his chest, abdomen, and face from the dried blood that caked his skin. Afterward, he gently picked Shouta up, his husband's wince a bittersweet, and carried him to their bedroom and placed him on the bed.
Hizashi gently situated Shouta under the covers, carefully draping the blanket around him. He placed a cool washcloth on Shouta’s forehead, hoping it would help ease the lingering fever. As he pushed a strand of hair out of Shouta’s face, his fingers lingered, brushing against his husband’s skin, which was cooler now, a small relief in the midst of his worry.
For a few minutes, Hizashi sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving Shouta’s face. He watched for any sign that Shouta might wake up, his heart clenching with every shallow breath Shouta took. But when it became clear that Shouta wasn’t going to wake up just yet, Hizashi decided to get ready for bed himself, though he knew sleep would be hard to come by.
He moved quietly around the room, changing into more comfortable clothes, his mind still on Shouta. Once ready, he grabbed a stack of papers he’d been meaning to grade, hoping the familiar routine might distract him, even if just a little. Hizashi settled on his side of the bed, leaning against the headboard as he began to read through the assignments. His eyes flickered from the papers to Shouta every few minutes, his concern gnawing at him despite the quietness of the night.
Hours passed, and the room filled with the soft rustling of papers and the steady rhythm of Shouta’s breathing. Hizashi hadn’t slept, his eyes gritty from exhaustion, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was being there when Shouta finally opened his eyes.
As dawn broke, casting a soft light over the room, Hizashi set the papers aside and stood, stretching his stiff muscles. He walked around to Shouta’s side of the bed and gently checked his bandages, relieved to find no signs of heavy bleeding. He then placed a hand on Shouta’s forehead, checking for any lingering warmth. The fever had broken, the skin beneath his fingers cool and slightly damp. Hizashi sighed in relief and removed the washcloth, feeling a small wave of hope that maybe Shouta would wake up soon.
Hizashi headed to the kitchen and began preparing breakfast. Each clatter of a pan and sizzle of oil seemed louder in the quiet house. He cracked a few eggs into the pan, the yokes glowing bright in the morning light. As he cooked, his gaze kept drifting to the hallway, as if he could will Shouta to wake up just by thinking about it hard enough.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the aroma of eggs, filling the room with a warmth that usually signified the start of a peaceful morning between the two of them. Normally, Shouta would be drawn out of bed with the promise of coffee, his silent presence filling the room as he would wrap his arms around Hizashi's waist, resting his chin on his shoulder. But today, the apartment remained quiet and still.
Hizashi carefully arranged the plates and set out Shoutas favorite mug, hoping this morning would be like any other. But the silence from the bedroom hung heavy and with every passing minute. Tears threatening to stain his cheeks, he finished preparing breakfast, the food sitting warm and untouched on the table. The comforting smell soon turned into a nauseating reality of his husband's condition. With a sick stomach, Hizashi headed back to the bedroom. The creak of the floorboards under his feet bounced through the hallway, and when he pushed the door open. His heart sank at the sight of Shouta still lying motionless.
Hizashi sat down on the bed, his hands slow and gentle as he reached out to touch Shouta’s face. His fingers brushed against his husband's cheek, his skin warm again, but at least it wasn't feverish. Hizashi stood up to get another cool washcloth on Shouta’s forehead and pulled the covers back to his waist to check the wound. The bandage was now lightly stained with blood, and for a second, Hizashi panicked. Taking a few deep breaths, he calmed his racing heart as he went to retrieve the first aid kit. He returned with the kit and surgical scissors and set the stuff on the bed side table.
Hizashis breath hitched as he carefully cut away the bandage that wrapped around Shoutas torso. Then peeled back slowly, revealing the wound underneath. His heart sank when he saw the uneven, hastily done stitches from the night before. His hands had been shaking worse than he thought. Driven by panic and desperation, he hadn’t noticed how sloppy the work was. Now, blood seeped through a small section where the stitches hadn’t held.
For a moment, Hizashi’s mind went blank. Memories from the night before, Shouta lying on the floor, blood all around him and the terror of performing CPR, rushed back like a wave threatening to pull him under. He forced himself to calm his breath; Shouta was alive–tired and weak, but alive.
He cleaned the wound, wincing at the sight of the raw flesh. Carefully, he removed the uneven stitches, replacing them with new, cleaner ones. His hands were steadier this time, though the weight of his worry was ever-present.
As he finished, Hizashi gently re-bandaged the wound, making sure it was secure. He paused for a movement, his hands resting on Shouta’s chest, feeling the increased rise and fall of his chest. He knew that Shouta felt that his husband was obviously in pain. He couldn't do anything about it at the moment, though, and that feeling of helplessness washed over him once more.
“I’m sorry, Sho,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, “I’m trying.”
Around noon, the phone rang, and Hizashi answered it quickly, recognizing Recovery Girl’s voice on the other end. She asked about Shouta’s condition, and Hizashi reported that while the fever had broken, Shouta still hadn’t woken up.
“Keep an eye on him,” Recovery Girl advised. “His body needs rest after what it’s been through, but if he doesn’t wake soon, let me know.”
Hizashi thanked her and hung up, returning to his vigil by Shouta’s side. He tried to keep himself occupied, but nothing could distract him from the gnawing worry in his chest.
Sometime in the afternoon, just as Hizashi was beginning to think he might need to call Recovery Girl again, he noticed a slight movement. Shouta’s eyelids fluttered, a soft groan escaping his lips as he slowly started to wake. Hizashi’s heart leaped, and he leaned closer, his voice soft but filled with relief.
“Shouta? Hey, can you hear me?”
As Shouta’s eyes fluttered open, a sudden wave of confusion washed over him. His surroundings felt unfamiliar. For a split second, he didn’t recognize where he was or how he got there, and his body reacted on instinct before his mind could catch up.
Panic flared in his chest. Driven by the surge of adrenaline, Shouta forced himself upright. Hizashi barely had any time to react.
“Sho, wait–” Hizashi’s voice was urgent as he reached out, his hands landing on Shouta’s shoulders, trying to keep him in bed. He could see the wild look in Shouta’s eyes, the fear that had taken hold, and his heart sank. “You’re hurt; you need to stay down. Please, Sho, listen to me. It’s Hizashi, you’re home. You’re safe.”
The words fell on deaf ears as Shouta’s breath was rapid, his mind trapped in a fog of disorientation and pain. He shoved weakly at Hizashi’s hands, his movements clumsy but insistent, driven by the overwhelming need to escape. Hizashi tightened his grip, trying to hold him down without hurting him, but Shouta’s panic only grew.
“Let me go!” Shouta’s voice was a hoarse rasp filled with desperation. He twisted against Hizashi’s hold; his strength diminished, but his determination was fueled by fear. His movements were jerky, lacking coordination, but as he continued to thrash against his husband's hold, Hizashi noticed blood quickly soaking through his bandages.
Shit.
“Shouta! Stop! You’re hurting yourself!” Hizashi tried to get through to Shouta but his husband couldn’t hear him. He was trapped inside his mind in whatever danger he imagined. Hizashi tried to get through to him, but his voice cracked with worry as he tried to calm Shouta down. Every word seemed to make things worse. Shouta’s eyes were unfocused as he continued to push against him, trying to free himself from Hizashi’s grasp.
Hizashi’s heart pounded as he realized he was losing the battle. He didn’t want to use force–didn’t want to risk hurting SHouta further–but he could see the wound in Shouta’s side reopening, blood seeping through the bandages as Shouta strained against him.
Begrudgingly, Hizashi released his hold on his husband, and Shouta shot up, pushing Hizashi away and stumbling to his feet. Hizashi tried to steady him, but he had already staggered away, his body trembling with the effort. Hizashi could see the pain etched into every line of Shouta’s face, the way his breath hitched with every step, but Shouta didn’t stop.
“Sho, hey, it’s me. It’s Hizashi. Shouta, please, you’re safe. You’re at home.” Hizashi began, his voice thick with worry, but Shouta wasn’t listening. His steps were uneven and shaky, each one clearly costing him more than the last. Hizashi could see the sweat beginning to bead on Shouta’s forehead, a clear sign that the pain and strain were taking their toll. He started to move toward the door; his eyes fixed on it as if it were the only thing that mattered.
The door was directly behind Hizashi, and he quickly realized that Shouta intended to get past him. Desperation flared in Hizashi’s chest as he moved to intercept Shouta, blocking his path. He reached out, hands trembling, and gently placed them on Shouta’s biceps, trying to stop him without using force.
“Shouta, you can’t do this. You’re hurt. Please, just lie back down—”
Suddenly, Shouta’s breathing quickened, and he lashed out, his fist connecting with Hizashi’s cheek. The blow impressively packed a punch, and Hizashi stumbled backward, his breath caught in his throat. Hizashi gasped, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and hurt. He didn’t have time to process what had just happened before Shouta staggered past him, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he continued towards the door.
Hizashi’s heart raced as he watched Shouta moving away from him, knowing that if Shouta kept going, he would only hurt himself more. Hizashi reached out and grabbed Shouta’s wrist, pulling him back just as he was about to reach the door. The movement was as gentle as possible but firm enough to stop Shouta in his tracks.
“Shouta! Please, love. Come back to bed. You’re safe, you’re home,” Hizashi pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion as he held onto Shouta’s wrist. But before he could say anything more, Shouta turned on him, his eyes trapped in his world of make-believe, and swung at him again. The second hit connected with Hizashi’s neck, the impact assisted by gravity, and the air was knocked out of him.
Shouta cried out as he turned and headed for the door. Sweat now dripped down his face and his body trembled with each movement, his breaths came in pained gasps as he clutched his side. Exhaustion finally caught up to him, but he kept struggling to get away, kept fighting, needed to escape.
“Shouta! Damnit, you stubborn freak,” Hizashi growled through clenched teeth, frustration and fear knotting in his chest as he pushed himself up from where Shouta had shoved him aside. He could only watch in a mix of horror and helplessness as the man he loved continued to fight, struggle, and slowly succumb to the strain. Shouta’s body was visibly failing him, the last of his energy drained by the frantic attempts to get away.
Shouta’s legs finally buckled under him, the strength that had fueled his frantic attempts to escape finally giving out. Hizashi’s breath caught in his throat. Time seemed to slow as he watched Shouta’s body collapse, crumbling to the floor in a heap with a sickening thud.
“No, no, no,” Hizashi muttered under his breath, scrambling forward and dropping beside Shouta. His hands shook as he reached out, carefully turning Shouta over so that he could see his face. Shouta’s eyes were half-closed and unfocused, his breaths barely noticeable. His body was limp and unresponsive as it tried to cope with the overwhelming strain it had been put through. Hizashi’s fingers brushed against Shouta’s pale, sweat-slicked skin, his pulse pounding in his ears.
“Idiot,” Hizashi mumbled under his breath, his voice thick with a mixture of anger and overwhelming concern. He carefully maneuvered Shouta’s limp form, pulling him up on his lap and resting his husband's head on his shoulder. He could feel the ragged rise and fall of Shouta’s chest as he wrapped his arms around his husband's torso. He tightened his grip slightly as if holding Shouta closer could somehow protect him from the pain and exhaustion.
“Why do you always have to push yourself so damn hard?” Hizashi whispered as he buried his face in Shouta’s hair. The familiar scent of his husband was a small comfort, grounding him in the midst of the fear and uncertainty that threatened to overwhelm him.
Shouta’s breaths were shallow, his body almost lifeless in Hizashi’s arms, but the warmth of his skin and the faint, steady pulse beneath his fingers reassured Hizashi that he was still here. Looking down at his battered husband, his eyes lingered on past scars that littered his body. Most of them he stitched up himself. He didn't know how long they were sitting on the floor when Shouta’s breathing started to even out, and he began to murmur and shift in Hizashi’s hold.
“Sho?” Hizashi whispered softly, not wanting to wake or startle him. His hand gently brushed through Shouta’s hair, the familiar motion calming his own nerves as much as it was meant to comfort Shouta.
Shouta’s breaths evened out, his mind slowly began to clear, the haze of exhaustion and pain started to melt away. The familiar warmth of Hizashi’s touch, the soft murmur of his voice, and the comforting scent of home began to breathe through the remnants of his panic. His body relaxed further into Hizashi’s arms.
Shouta’s eyes fluttered open, and as the room came into focus, he realized where he was–home. Memories from the night before came flooding back to him. He made it home, Hizashi was with him, and he was safe. The tension in his body eased slightly, and the exhaustion weighed heavily on him, leaving him too weak to do much more than rest in his husband's arms.
Hizashi noticed Shouta’s shift into reality as he hummed in response to Hizashi’s touch. He held the black-haired man close, his voice steady and soothing as he whispered calming words, “You’re okay, Sho. I’ve got you.”
Shouta didn’t have the energy to respond, but he took comfort in the sound of Hizashi’s voice, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He didn’t remember much of what had happened – just flashes of panic and pain. But Hizashi was here, and everything felt more grounded and real. He let himself just relax, trusting that Hizashi would take care of everything.
After a while, Shouta felt Hizashi shift beneath him. “Let’s get you back into bed, okay?” Hizashi murmured softly. Shouta nodded weakly, too tired to put together how he ended up on the floor in the first place. All he knew was that his body felt heavy, worn out from the ordeal, and the thought of moving seemed almost unbearable.
He allowed Hizashi to gently help him up when a sharp pain flared in Shouta's side, and he gasped, his hand instinctively shooting to the wound as his body started to give out again. His knees buckled, and the strength drained from his limbs, but before he could collapse completely, Hizashi caught him with ease.
“Easy, easy. I’ve got you,” Hizashi said, his arms steady as he hoisted Shouta up into his embrace. Shouta grunted at the movement, tucked his head beneath Hizashi’s chin, and curled into his chest as if seeking refuge from the pain.
Hizashi didn’t miss a beat, carrying Shouta with the kind of practiced ease that made it seem like he weighed next to nothing. He walked over to the bed, cradling Shouta close the entire way, his heart aching with a mix of concern and love. The familiar scent of Hizashi, combined with the steady beat of his heart against Shouta’s ear, helped to soothe the jagged edges of his anxiety.
When they reached the bed, Hizashi gently set Shouta down carefully as if he was made of glass. The moment Shouta’s body touched the soft surface and the mattress cradled him, a sigh of relief escaped his lips, the tension in his muscles slowly releasing as the pain began to subside.
Hizashi pulled the covers up to Shouta’s waist, folding the execs fabric. He took a moment to make sure Shouta was comfortable, his hand lingering on Shouta’s shoulder as if to reassure him that he was still there.
“You’re safe, Sho,” Hizashi whispered, “Just rest. I’m right here.”
Shouta’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at Hizashi, trying to convince himself that his husband was actually here. Hizashi’s presence was everything he needed. As his eyes met him, he noticed some discoloration on his husband's face. A darkening bruise formed on Hizashi’s face, just below his eye.
“Zashi?” Shouta said softly, his voice still rough and exhausting. He reached out, pulling at Hizashi’s hand as he tried to walk away. “What happened?”
Hizashi turned back, his expression calm as he gently squeezed Shouta’s hand. “You got shot, Sho,” Hizashi started, his tone steady as he began to explain, clearly thinking that Shouta was asking about the injury that had brought them to this point.
“No, I know I got—” Shouta quickly interrupted, shaking his head slightly, though the movement made him wince. “I’m talking about that.” He pointed at the bruise on Hizashi’s face, the dark mark that was impossible to ignore now that he was fully awake.
Hizashi’s expression softened, a look of concern and understanding filling his eyes as he realized what Shouta had noticed. He reached out with his other hand, covering both of their intertwined hands with a gentle touch. “It’s nothing, Sho,” he said softly, his voice tender as he tried to brush it off. “Get some rest, okay?”
But Shouta wasn’t about to let it go that easily. The sight of the bruise on Hizashi’s face, the thought that he might have been the one to cause it, gnawed at him, making it impossible to relax. “No, no. Zashi. What happened?” His voice was firmer now, tinged with a mixture of guilt and fear. He needed to know.
Hizashi hesitated, his eyes searching Shouta’s face for a moment before he sighed softly. He knew Shouta well enough to realize that there was no avoiding this conversation. “You were scared, Sho,” Hizashi began, his tone gentle and full of understanding. “You were disoriented and in pain. You didn’t know what was happening. It was an accident.”
“Is that how I ended up on the floor? Because I hit you?” Shouta started.
“You didn't mean to,” Hizashi replied softly, his hand reaching out to gently rest on Shouta’s arm. “You were trying to protect yourself. You were confused, and your body reacted before your mind could catch up.”
Shouta’s gaze dropped, “I hurt you.”
“You didn’t,” Hizashi interrupted softly, he gently cupped Shouta's face, forcing him to look up at him, “You were scared, and I understand that. Your instincts kicked in. In fact, I’m grateful for them, that’s how you have stayed alive all this time. It wasn’t your fault.”
Shouta’s eyes met Hizashi, filled with guilt, “But I still–” Shouta started, his voice faltering, the words caught in his throat.
Hizashi shook his head, his thumb brushing gently against Shouta’s cheek, tracing the scar underneath his right eye. “No, Sho, don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t control. You’ve been through hell, and this recent event has your nerves on edge. You were shot, Sho. Your body and mind are just trying to protect you, even if it means lashing out.”
“I’m sorry,” Shouta’s voice barely a whisper, teetering on the edge of breaking.
“Shouta, you don’t need to apologize. What happened was an accident, it’s fine. That doesn’t change anything between us, love.”
Shouta closed his eyes, letting go of a shaky breath. The guilt still gnawed at him, but there was a small spark of relief in knowing Hizashi understood that he wasn’t holding it against him.
“I don’t know how you can forgive me so easily,” Shouta murmured
Hizashi’s smile was soft, full of warmth, “Because I know you, Sho. I know you’d never hurt me on purpose.”
Shouta finally met Hizashi’s gaze, guilt still glazed over his own eyes, but Hizashi’s warmth seemed to melt away the guilt. “I don’t deserve you,” Shouta said
Hizashi shook his head, pressing a gentle kiss to Shouta’s forehead, “You deserve every bit of love and support, Sho. And I’m going to keep reminding you of that until you believe it.”
Shouta gently pulled at Hizashi’s shirt, and his husband softly chuckled before crawling into bed. He carefully wrapped his arms around Aizawa. “Thank you,” Shouta whispered as fatigue weighed down on him.
Hizashi’s arms tightened around him, offering comfort. “Always, Sho. I’m not going anywhere. Now just sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up. Everything is okay.”
In that moment, Shouta allowed himself to melt into Hizashi’s hold. The dull ache in his side began to resurface, but thankfully, before the pain could fully take hold, exhaustion swept over him. Within moments, he drifted into unconsciousness, feeling safe in his husband's arms.