Chapter Text
“Do you need help?”
“I’m fine.” Shouta opened the passenger door and easily kicked his left foot out and onto the ground. He used it to balance himself as he dragged his prosthetic leg to the edge of the seat, backing out of the car as he did so. He always declined help, but it didn’t stop Hizashi—and now Eri, from racing to his side in case he needed an extra hand.
The sun shone on the back of his neck as he crouched down. He had cut his hair with Hizashi’s help the day before, the uneven pieces sticking out like dull knives. Without his capture weapon, the v neck shirt he wore revealed tiny scars, if anyone was looking.
This wasn’t the man Eri met.
“They’re going to ask you a lot of questions,” Shouta began as they started their trek to the front door. “I don’t care how you answer them—be as open as you want. Just don’t say anything about Mic and I.”
“She knows, Shou. Stop worrying about it.” Hizashi glanced over to Eri, who nodded once. They had this discussion the night before as Shouta tucked her into bed, as well as earlier that day, and the day before. Each time the man instructed her, his worry only seemed to build in the form of slight twitches and voice cracks.
Eri didn’t say it, but she couldn’t see the issue with Shouta and Hizashi being a couple. The war ended five years prior, and that was how long they had been together. She always enjoyed hearing the story—how Hizashi jumped with Shouta as he fell to his impending death, how Hizashi knew at that moment that he was in love with him, how the war helped them both realize how important it was to surround themselves with their loved ones.
Which was how they ended up at the front door of Shouta’s childhood home.
Shouta and Hizashi were the only people with whom she felt comfortable asking about their childhoods. So much of her own childhood was a blur; there were bouts of color and confusion before the two men entered her life, but she couldn’t extract them. If she made an attempt, she was left with fragments of something , and a sinking feeling in her stomach.
Her caretakers never turned the question back on her when she pressed into their own memories. They were open books for her, never asking in return what she remembers about herself.
All this was to say that Eri expected his house to look the way it did. It was comfortably suburban, and surprisingly close to U.A. Shouta’s recollection of the building was impressive, right down to the potted flowers that hung by the front door they had approached. He navigated forward with ease; Hizashi stumbled behind him as if he were retracing steps, and Eri was left to wander behind as a newcomer.
Shouta hadn’t even begun to knock at the door. As soon as he raised his scarred fist, the wood swung forward with the ring of a bell above them. Then, a figure appeared in its place.
Eri recognized the woman greeting them from the few pictures Shouta could scour in their apartment. In the photograph that showed her clearly, her hair was pulled back like a raven’s wing, and she smiled from a crouching position with all her teeth. It was the same, terrifying grin he gave his students when they misbehaved.
In the present day, her hair had faded to a soft white. Lines etched into her face like rivers carved by past tears.
“Shouta…”
The man opened his arms and brought his mother between them. Her grip around his waist outlined his figure underneath his buttoned shirt. She was much shorter than him, her head reaching just below his shoulder. Eri expected sobbing, but only heard the crunching of feet on the concrete steps.
His hands held every inch of her waist until she had completely pulled away. She ran her fingers along the loose hair closest to his remaining eye. “You cut it…I can see your face.”
He gently grabbed her wrist when it moved to the other eye. Eri watched as the woman’s face contorted into an understanding. Perhaps to change the topic, she looked past her son and her eyes widened.
“Yamada-kun!” Though Hizashi bowed respectfully, as soon as he rose he was pulled into a tight hug. His arms were pinned to his sides.
“I haven’t seen you in years!” She exclaimed. Then, when she loosened from him, she said, “Your hair got so long! What do your parents think?”
He made a noise of neither approval or disapproval. Eri knew the answer—and it was that there wasn’t one. Mr. and Mrs. Yamada retired to the countryside, and according to Hizashi, visiting them, ‘wasn’t worth the trip’.
“And you must be Eri.”
The girl gave a tight lipped grin. Her damp hands rubbed together.
“Come in, come in.”
Despite the July heat, Shouta’s clothing managed to cover every inch of his body. He kicked his shoes away from his body, and just as quickly slid his sock-covered feet into a pair of house slippers his mother provided. Eri and Hizashi followed suit without the same urgency.
“It’s so good to see you outside of the news,” Mrs. Aizawa said as she ushered them into the living room. The trio collapsed onto the couch, each sinking into its worn cushions.
Shouta grumbled, “Where’s Dad?”
“Working. Hey, Yamada—” The woman turned her attention to the blond. “My husband delivered a baby with a voice quirk the other day! He came home with gauze stuffed in his ears.”
“Oh, word? That might have been my cousin. I know she had her kid recently…”
The words softened as Eri’s focus turned to the living room’s walls. Though the house was modern, dusty frames clung haphazardly. Streaks of light obscured the subjects, but highlighted the ages of the frames.
“I saw Ms. Joke on the news, too! Do you two still keep in touch?”
“Well, no,” Shouta groaned.
“Why not? She seems like a sweet girl. For all you know, she might still be single too.”
Eri’s confusion must have shown on her face, because the woman opened her mouth to continue. “Shouta used to date a fellow hero when he was younger!”
“‘Date’ is a strong word.” Shouta crossed his arms against his chest. “Besides, a lot’s changed in twenty years.”
Eri caught the blond raising his brows towards her. His lips were thin. When she repeated the expression, his lips bloomed into a smile. Eri knew people were gay, or straight, or liked anyone. Living with Shouta and Hisashi however, made the idea of either man being with a woman seem foreign.
Hizashi stretched his arms behind his head. “Hey, I don’t mean to interrupt Shou’s dating life, but Eri and I really need to stretch our legs after that car ride.”
Mrs. Aizawa’s mouth formed an ‘o’ shape as she clapped her hands together. “Of course! Shou, why don’t you show Eri your old room?”
“My…room?” His face paled. “You still have it?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” She clasped her son’s hands between her own. “I haven’t touched anything in there! Well actually, I added some things, but you’ll see that.”
Eri’s shoulder was met with a hand. Looking up, she locked eyes with Hizashi, who gestured towards the stairs. Together, they glanced back to Shouta, then trailed down to his leg.
“Hold on—” Shouta started. “I don’t know what it looks like up there.”
“Shou,” Eri whispered. “Your leg…”
He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. His palm enveloped her in warmth. Together, they rose to their feet. Shouta once said he preferred to wear dark colors because they made his body invisible. Eri recalled it now as she realized his pant leg, a flowy, dark thing, had swallowed any hint of disfigurement as he stood. He winced as his weight evened out between his leg and the prosthetic.
Walking into Shouta’s childhood bedroom felt wrong. If Eri thought seeing him with short hair was uncomfortable, it was even worse realizing he wasn’t always an adult. She was an almost-teen girl in a teen boy’s time capsule.
By all means, his bedroom was predictable. It had a bed, a desk, a trash can, walls covered in now retired heroes, a pull-out closet, and—
“Ugh.” Shouta frowned beside her. She followed his sightline to a dresser. Its surface was covered in framed pictures and papers. From her position in the doorway, Eri saw what looked like a wave of different hair lengths locked in their glass cages.
“Good god, it’s like she made a shrine of you,” Hizashi added, stifling a laugh. Shouta shot him a look of disapproval. Gently, his hand nudged Eri’s back, encouraging her towards the so-called shrine.
A layer of dust discolored the frames. Eri wiped them with her finger as she traveled along the dresser, revealing the past with each swipe. In one picture, a child Shouta sat at a toy piano, captured mid-performance. In another, he stood between his parents, middle school diploma in his hands.
“Hey Shouta, what are these?”
The two men glanced back at her, following her pointing finger to a row of framed certificates. Hizashi had opened the closet and was in the midst of rummaging through old outfits. The aged book that was in Shouta’s hands fell onto the bed with a, ‘plop’.
“Awards. I used to be good at things.”
“This one says you got first place in…tap dancing?”
Shouta snorted. “I was the best middle grade tap dancer in Tokyo at one point. It’s not my most impressive feat.”
“Really?” Her cheeks glowed as she excitedly balled her hands into fists. “Can you still do it?”
The words hung in silence. Hizashi coughed dryly into his fist.
“Oh. Right.” Eri looked down sheepishly.
“Why not?” A female voice emerged from the other side of the closed door. It was different from Mrs. Aizawa’s—and harsher, too.
“Come on, Shou,” it taunted. “You used to be so good at it.”
Shouta groaned. It reminded Eri of how he reacted to his students when they bothered him during his resting periods.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. His fingers slid towards the tip. Suddenly, his neck whipped in the direction of the door‘s cracked opening, and chunks of his choppy hair began to rise above his head.
“Hey!” The woman on the other side exclaimed. “You can’t do that!”
Shouta’s quirk continued to work as the door pushed open; the stranger replaced the hallway on the other side. She was much shorter than Shouta, with long, wavy hair and what appeared to be a permanent scowl.
Shouta sighed. “What, even as a grown man I can’t have privacy in my own room?”
“I thought I’d make you feel welcomed.” The woman crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes down at Eri. “Who’s kid is this?”
“Mine. Eri, this is Kiyo. Kiyo, Eri.” Shouta gestured between the two in an awkward introduction. “She’s my big sister, and she has X-ray vision.”
“Our dad has the same quirk,” Kiyo stated coldly. The more Eri looked, the more similarities she saw between her and Shouta. Their brows, their jaws, their protective stances—it was as if they were the same person in separate bodies.
Eri recalled the rundown Shouta gave her just hours before. He mentioned he had a sister, and that there was a chance they’d run into her. The last part was followed by a loud sigh.
“And just like her dad, she, too, has lived in this house her entire life!” Hizashi exclaimed with a grin. He was immediately met by shoving from both siblings.
“Good to know you’re still a pest,” Kiyo said, a smirk stretching across her cheek.
“Even better knowing you’re still a standoffish bitch.”
“Hizashi!” The two adults yelled. He held his hands up guiltily. An apology managed to slide through his teeth.
Kiyo pointed at the blond. “Control your mutt, will you?”
“If you two don’t stop, I’m getting Mom up here to help me take care of it.”
“Do it,” Kiyo snarled. “I’m sure she’d love to see what’s under your bangs.”
Another wave of silence. “Don’t…” Shouta protested. His voice was low, but cracked. It was already unsettling standing in his old bedroom; it was another to hear the man Eri knew as a strict, stern hero turn submissive. She swallowed the feeling away.
“I know you’re missing an eye. When you were coming into the house, I saw through your pants—“
“Gross—“
“And I could see your prosthetic.” She leaned against a wall. Behind her hung a poster depicting some hero Eri had yet to meet. “Hizashi, don’t be a creep. I wanted to know why my brother was wobbling.”
Shouta sighed. “Don’t tell Mom. Please.”
She gave a firm nod. Her thin lips tugged into a smile. Despite her taunting, she pulled Shouta into a tight hug.
“I missed you, Dummy,” Kiyo muttered into his chest.
Shouta quietly wrapped his arms around her. Eri wasn’t sure why it surprised her to see Shouta reciprocate the embrace. Maybe it was their bickering—was it something siblings did? She wouldn’t know.
Lunch was served by the screen door. The other side led to a surprisingly vast lawn, where a trail of stones wrapped around a lush garden. Eri had never seen a yard this big—or rather, at all—in Tokyo.
She captured the image in her memory between bites of cold soba noodles. Her seat by the door was intentional; it prevented Hizashi from having to see even the smallest of bugs.
“So Eri, are you in middle school?”
She shook her head. Loose strands fell from her ponytail and settled by her face. “Not yet. I start next year.”
“Sorry, M’am.” Hizashi raised his hand. “We have a strict rule of not discussing school during summer break.”
Mrs. Aizawa’s fingers flew to her pursed lips. The more time they spent with Shouta’s expressive, emotional mother, the harder it was to see how she and her son were related.
“My bad! I forgot you two are also teachers.” She turned her attention back to Eri. “I bet you have a lot of friends, huh? Do they know your dad is a pro hero?”
The noodles slid in her stomach. She looked across the table at Shouta, whose bowl was untouched. Of course everyone knew Eraserhead’s face; it was plastered across news stations for months following the end of the war. He declined numerous interviews, stating he didn’t join heroism for publicity. Hizashi once brought home a tee shirt in Eraserhead’s likeness, and Shouta made him return it to the store.
But it wasn’t just that. When he officially adopted her, Shouta made sure Eri knew she could call him whatever felt right. It was one thing for her peers and teachers to refer to him as her father. It was another when his own family was assuming it. Until now, she didn’t think of herself as a daughter, or Shouta as her father. Seated at a table with his family, it felt more like they were acting in one of the soap operas Hizashi watched.
“I might have said something a long time ago.” Eri shrugged. “We don’t talk about heroes much.”
“I see. For most people, they don’t have personal connections to heroism. You, on the other hand, don’t have much of a choice—”
“Who watches you when Shou is at work?”
All heads swiveled towards the end of the table. Kiyo stared straight ahead, chopsticks in hand.
Shouta answered for her. “She's old enough to look after herself when I’m out.”
“Even at night? You leave an eleven year old girl home alone at night ?”
“Hizashi watches me!” Eri exclaimed. “When Shouta’s patrolling, he’s at home with me.”
She locked eyes with Shouta, who gave her a quick nod.
“What a good friend.” Mrs. Aizawa’s brows furrowed and she turned to the blond. “You really don’t mind staying multiple nights?”
“Not at all! Nothing can go wrong when it’s me, Eri, and Nori!”
“Our cat,” Shouta explained. Confusion fell away down the women’s faces.
“I’m surprised you’re okay with me still being a pro hero,” he continued. “I remember it came as a shock when the school wanted to transfer me into the hero course.”
“Please. We had to get used to it.” Kiyo pointed her chopsticks at her brother, her eyes on Eri. “Back when he still lived here, we thought he was sneaking out at night to meet up with a secret girlfriend. Turned out he was fighting villains.”
Their mother hummed in agreement. “Sometimes he wouldn’t come home until the next evening. He’d sneak out, and then go straight to school!”
“Imagine if you were still in the business course? I bet your life wouldn’t even come close to being exciting.”
“Speaking from experience, huh Kiyo?” The only person who seemed to not notice Hizashi being kicked under the table was Mrs. Aizawa. Eri caught Shouta and Kiyo looking mischievously at each other.
“We’re just happy you’re home, Shou.“ His mother sighed. “You finally have a chance to rest and spend time with us.”
“You’re lucky it’s safer out there now.”
No one responded. They knew why villain activity lessened over the years, and Shouta’s role in it. For the remainder of the meal, the only oral movements came from eating.
The box fan didn’t help combat the heat. Everything Eri touched stuck to her skin, and in return she left traces of sweat wherever she went. It was an insufferable heat—the kind that called for ice cream with Shouta, or pool days with Hizashi.
Shouta washed the dishes. He volunteered to, which came as a surprise to Eri. Hizashi always washed them at home—partly because of Shouta’s hectic schedule, and partly because Shouta barely cooked.
She tipped her head over the back of the couch and watched the blond move a stray hair away from Shouta’s face. Shouta’s lips moved, but the running water coated any sound. Mrs. Aizawa’s voice brought her attention forward.
“So Eri, what do you like to do in your free time?”
“Eri makes music!” Hizashi interjected. “She's a killer at the guitar.”
“You’ll have to play it for me sometime! Hey, wait—check this out!”
The woman rose to her feet and shuffled over to the living room’s television. She crouched down, pulling the swinging doors of the tv stand to retrieve a large photo album. The pages crinkled as she flipped through it, doing so until she found the one she needed.
“This is your dad in preschool. Wasn’t he cute?”
There it was—that word again. Eric’s breath hitched as she politely observed the photo in question. It was another depiction of Shouta at a piano, this time he smiled at the camera instead of grimacing at the instrument.
“This was around the time his quirk developed—“
“What’s your quirk?” Eri interrupted. She knew it came out too quickly, but Mrs. Aizawa didn’t seem to have paid attention.
“It’s something called reversal. I can reverse the effects of certain quirks.”
“Emitters, Ma.” Shouta piped over the water.
“Emitters! That’s the word I was looking for. It came in handy when Kiyo and Shou used to fight as kids. Somehow I ended up with a child who can erase quirks!”
As she rambled, Eri found herself imagining a younger version of Shouta. Did he play in the yard? Did he sit on the couch when the cushions were firm? Did he have a favorite toy, or make messes in the kitchen? When did his permanent frown begin to collapse from his smile?
“I don’t think Shouta has told us what your quirk is! What can you do?”
Eri lowered her eyes. After the war, having a flashy quirk no longer mattered. There was something embarrassing about wielding a power like her own. She murmured her answer.
“I didn’t hear you! What is it?”
“I can rewind living things to restore them to an earlier time,” she mumbled.
“Wow!” Mrs. Aizawa clapped her hands. “That’s very cool. Does it work on people? Do you think you can rewind me to a time when I was younger and fresher?”
Time slowed. The air grew heavy. Glimpses of color entered Eri’s memory and left as quickly as they appeared. A hand on her shoulder brought her back to reality. The water had been turned off.
“Why don’t we get some fresh air, huh?” Hizashi leaned to her ear. “We can let Shou and his family catch up on lost time.”
Her nodding was frantic.
“Nice house, huh?” Hizashi’s fingers disappeared into his back pocket. They reemerged with a cigarette and lighter.
“Shouta doesn’t like it when you smoke,” Eri mumbled.
“He doesn’t like it when I smoke in the apartment .” Hizashi winked. He matched the lighter’s dancing flame to the end of his cigarette, and inhaled. On the exhale, he continued. “This place gives me the creeps anyways. I need something to take the edge off.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” Hizashi took another drag. “Stand on the other side. The wind is coming your way.”
Eri cautiously moved to the man’s left and watched the smoke travel to where she had just stood. The porch’s wooden steps grabbed her bare feet when she walked. She didn’t mind the smell of cigarettes, even if Hizashi repeatedly told her smoking was bad.
“Shou’s dad is a doctor; his mom inherited an eye care company, but I don’t think she actually steps foot in there.”
Eric’s eyes followed a bird grasping on the edge of a birdhouse in the neighbor’s yard. “What does Kiyo do?”
“Work for their mom’s company, I assume. She attended U.A. as a business student.” The man snorted. “Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh at that, especially as a teacher.”
Another bird flew into the birdhouse, the tuft from its bottom sticking out of the round hole. “You and Kiyo seem to be…”
“Oh, yeah. I used to hang out with Shou a lot as teens, so I also saw a lot of her. Trust me, there’s nothing bad between us. Nothing good, either. But especially nothing bad. She can just get…moody. And she’s kind of a bitch—don’t tell Shou I said that.”
In a distant corner of the yard, Eri spotted flattened stones that lead to overgrowth of green on a fence. Once on a path to somewhere, they lost their destination.
“Mrs. Aizawa said something that made me feel weird,” she finally admitted.
This seemed to make Hizashi perk up. “What did she say?”
Eri tried to remember Mrs. Aizawa’s words. Every time she thought back to the couch just minutes before, her mind drew a blank. It was as if her memory stopped itself before approaching the question about her quirk.
“I can’t remember now.”
He exhaled through his nose, his nostrils flaring. “Well, if you remember, tell us.”
She made a noise of approval. One of the birds flew out of the wooden structure and soared past the Aizawa house. At that moment, Eri realized she had never seen a bird look back as it flew.
The air in the living room was a mist of tension. Whatever the trio spoke about had died as the door opened.
Shouta sat in the middle of the couch, across from his mother and sister. His elbows were on his knees, his palms obscuring every part of his face, save for his eye, which was focused on Eri and Hizashi stepping in.
On the other couch, Kiyo sat cross-armed. Mrs. Aizawa was still.
“I’m sorry, Shou. We didn’t know.”
His deep exhale hit his palm. “It’s okay, Ma.”
“Why didn’t you tell us beforehand?” Kiyo barked. “We would have known not to bring them up.”
“What's going on?” Hizashi stood guard behind Shouta, his hands gripping the furniture’s back on either side of him.
“I was catching them up on the war,” Shouta stated coolly.
“Well, before that we were talking about your student days.” Kiyo leaned forward. “Then this one had to be a downer.”
“It's reality,” Shouta said. “Nemuri died, and Oboro’s quirk was harvested.”
“Shou, come on.” Hizashi rubbed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Let’s not remember him that way, hmm?”
“I remember watching the news and learning about his death,” Mrs. Aizawa said quietly. “I saw it in the afternoon. I waited for you to come home from school so we could talk about it, but you never did.”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”
Surprisingly, it was Kiyo who said, “Let’s not talk about this in front of Eri.”
“Right!” The mother clapped her hands. Her solemn expression had disappeared with such speed that it sent a chill down the girl’s spine. “Eri, I’d love to know what foods you like! I can cook whatever you want whenever you come over!”
She looked over to her caregivers. Shouta stared off in the distance; Hizashi gave her an encouraging nod.