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Hitoshi got his classification when he was twelve, just as his cracking voice left his throat sore and his confidence was at its lowest. Most people tend to get theirs during puberty, something to do with the rush of hormones being triggered and the stress that comes with becoming a teenager, so at least he wasn't alone in the surge of awkwardness.
For some, it doesn't change much, leaving them with the most ideal headspace as a caregiver. For others, it's less of a big deal because they're able to switch between headspaces and have relative stability in that. For the rest, the little classification ruins lives.
And, okay, that might be a bit dramatic, but it doesn't make it any less true. The little classification is by far the more obtrusive of the three, offering a headspace that is equal parts satisfying as it is terrifying. Regressing leaves you vulnerable and the hormones involved with it leaves you moody and flighty unless soothed by a caregiver. Typically, anyways.
Hitoshi is a bit of a strange case because, while he did technically get his classification, it wasn't until a couple years later that he actually started feeling the worst of its effects. Living in squalor with volatile parents means that his body has always been in survival mode, doing its best to keep him alive despite the hunger and fear constantly wracking his body. Because of the lack of safety, he never actually regressed past that initial drop when he was twelve. He doesn't know what his age range is, what he likes when regressed, or even what it feels like to be in headspace. He barely even remembers that first time and, ever since, he's never gone further down than a vague haziness that feels more like a concussion than anything comforting.
Enter his mentor, Aizawa Shouta.
If you ask anyone in school what his classification is, their immediate response is ‘caregiver, obviously’ because it is pretty obvious. Aizawa hates admitting it but he's soft on his kids, even softer on the ones with younger headspaces. UA has an anti-discrimination policy, which means that regressors are allowed to enter the hero course, but that doesn't mean very many do. Not including Hitoshi– because no one actually knows about his classification– there's only three in class 2-A and there's only two, including his best friend, Monoma, in 2-B. The rest are primarily caregivers, with a few flips thrown in the mix to keep things interesting.
And that all makes sense. Heroism, in general, is a caregiver heavy career, just like anything in the medical or social work fields. As far as Hitoshi is aware, there are very few little heroes and the ones that do exist tend to keep a tight lid on it or claim to be flips. Hawks is one of the few that's been more than open about it, playing up his regression for the fans. Even Aizawa's husband, the famous Present Mic, is a caregiver that's very loud about supporting littles in the field. So, yeah, it seems obvious that Aizawa would also be a caregiver.
But Hitoshi knows better.
Very early on, Aizawa confessed to being a flip that developed mostly caregiving tendencies as he got older and Hitoshi swore himself to silence, nearly admitting his own secret right then and there. He didn't, though, because he's not stupid.
Being sixteen years old without a classification on record is peculiar but not unheard of. He's a late bloomer, is all, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he knows if he admits that he hasn't regressed in four years, it'll send every caregiver in this place on high alert and he isn't interested in dealing with a bunch of pushy adult caregivers that won't respect his boundaries. He’s already experienced enough teachers going over his head and contacting child services or his parents against his will, he doesn't need this to be a whole thing too.
Hitoshi likes to think that Aizawa wouldn't do that– that the man would react calmly and respectfully without any of the fanfare or authority that caregivers always throw around when it comes to regressors, constantly infantilizing them even when they’re not in headspace. He is a flip, after all, so he probably understands and he probably would know exactly how Hitoshi would want to be treated–
And that's part of the problem.
Aizawa, in Hitoshi's mind, is equated to safety. He doesn't know when this happened; if it was in the early days of their training sessions when Aizawa went out of his way to make sure Hitoshi never hurt himself and ate enough to handle all the extra physical activity, or if it was when Hitoshi was moved into his class and Aizawa continued training him and keeping him around, even as Hitoshi struggled to fit in with the others and kept trailing further behind, or if it was when his parents finally agreed to let him move into the hero course dorms and he got to experience what life could be like without them. All he knows is that, at some point, Aizawa became the only adult, and by proxy the only caregiver, that Hitoshi ever felt comfortable with.
Which is an issue when the only reason that his headspace has gone radio silent for four years is because of his heightened stress and fear of everyone around him. With every wall that Aizawa broke down, a flood of littleness came with it and, while he hasn't fully regressed yet, Hitoshi knows that it's coming, sooner or later, and that terrifies him more than facing his own parents about it.
Unfortunately, it comes sooner than he thinks.
“Why don't we take a break?”
Surprisingly, it actually starts with Yamada, with his gentle smile and warm hugs. English is Hitoshi's worst subject and it is perhaps out of luck or pity that the universe made his mentor's husband his English teacher. It means that, more often than not, training with Aizawa leads to an impromptu tutoring session in the commons of the staff dorm as Hitoshi struggles with his dreaded English homework.
Today, those struggles were a bit worse than normal.
“I just don't get it,” Hitoshi groans, letting his head fall forward and thump against the table.
“Adverbs are hard,” Yamada agrees. He leans back in his chair casually, his heavy leather jacket hanging on his shoulders with his arms out of the sleeves. They've been at it for over an hour, to the point where even Aizawa is dozing in the seat in front of him instead of grading.
“This sucks,” Hitoshi finds himself pouting. It's been a rough week with classes that only continue to get harder and next to no sleep, made even worse by the fact that it's already Thursday. Tomorrow he has to go home at the end of the day and spend the weekend with his parents, which was their only condition for letting him move. Weekends and holidays are non-negotiable; which is crazy considering they spend the whole time yelling at him or flat-out ignoring him anyways. Even just thinking about it makes him shiver.
He doesn't think his parents hate him, he knows they love him to some degree, but there isn't much of another explanation. His father is basically absent, preferring to spend a vast majority of his time in the office and at the red light district, and his mother finds life easier to cope with when there's a glass of wine in her hand and her son to vent the frustrations of her life to. He never knows how to respond, which always makes her even more angry, and he's been forced to learn more about his parents’ failing marriage than he'd ever like.
Last time he went home, his mother threw a glass at him because his face was too blank as she cried her woes about his “cheating bastard of a father” so he must've been mocking her. It shattered next to his head and he had to clean it up, despite the fact that it was three in the morning and he hadn't actually done anything wrong.
He wants to just stay here, doing homework with Yamada. He never yells at Hitoshi when he gets an answer wrong or takes too long figuring something out. Even now, when it would be perfectly reasonable to be upset that Hitoshi is digging into his very limited free time, Yamada is only saying that they should take a break, without even an ounce of frustration to him. Hitoshi didn't know that was possible– that he could burden someone else and their face wouldn't reflect their displeasure at all. In fact, the soothing caregiver scent that Yamada always projects for his students, smelling like a mix of peppermint, worn out books, and the taste of hot chocolate, has Hitoshi actually relaxing.
Aizawa is the same way. The only times Hitoshi has ever seen him truly agitated is when Hitoshi does something stupid that could lead to him hurting himself, and even that is an agitation that he quickly pushes down and covers with concern. His scent is less strong, dulled by the scent patches he wears to keep the littler scents from filtering through, but no less comforting. He smells like coffee on a cold day and the city when night falls, equal parts unnerving and deeply familiar. Sometimes, if Hitoshi sits really close to him, he can get a hint of orange meringue underlining it. Part of him wishes that Aizawa would flood the room with his scent too; maybe it would take away the looming anxiety Hitoshi has about this weekend.
Actually, scratch that, part of him wishes that Aizawa would just whisk him away from the scary adults entirely. Eraserhead, as intimidating as he may be, is also the only hero in this entire place that Hitoshi truly trusts to follow through with his promise to protect and guide. That isn't necessarily a dig at the others, Hitoshi just finds it hard to trust anyone in a position of power and that goes for pretty much every Pro Hero and teacher that exists. Yamada gets more of a free pass, but Aizawa is truly the one that Hitoshi would hide behind when all hell breaks loose.
“Calling to my little listener, is this thing on? Do I need to turn the volume up? Do another sound check?” Yamada's voice cuts through his spiraling inner monologue and has Hitoshi lifting his head and staring at him blearily, his eyes suddenly burning with exhaustion.
Yamada visibly startles before schooling his expression into a small, comforting smile and softening his voice. “Hey there, kiddo, what's wrong? You alright?”
At the question, Aizawa is suddenly lifting his head too, far more alert than you'd expect him to be after an hour of napping.
Hitoshi's brain takes a moment to catch up with him and fill him in on why his teachers are looking at him with so much concern. When it does, he is suddenly all too aware that his eyes are welled with tears and his heart is heavy in his chest.
“Wha–?”
His thoughts are submerged in molasses, too slow and simple. The world around him feels bigger somehow, brighter, and while he knows that nothing has physically changed with him, his teachers seem to tower over him, even while just sitting beside him. All he can really focus on is the wave of comforting peppermint hot chocolate that Yamada is pushing into the air, filling the room with the scent of a caregiver trying to defuse a situation.
Hitoshi is rattled as fear and confusion cuts through the lethargic feeling encompassing his body. Tears start to drip down his cheeks, still chubby with the baby fat he hasn't grown out of yet, and Yamada's scent is soured with one that Hitoshi can only recognize as his own– pungent with anxiety.
“Oh, baby–” Yamada murmurs, eyes wide.
“Hitoshi, are you…?” Aizawa stares at him, eyebrows knitted as he processes the scene in front of him. “You're small, aren't you?”
If Hitoshi wasn't aware of what was happening before, he sure is now. The fragility of his emotions, of his headspace, hit him like a truck and he vaguely recognizes it as something he felt once before, alone and scared at the ripe age of twelve. Back then, he had bolted and hid away from his parents, who he knew would sneer in contempt at his classification. He hid away for six hours, cowering in his closet and desperately hugging his knees to his chest while he waited for it to go away.
He forgot how terrifying it is to suddenly have your perspective shift, to have everything glaze over and feel as if you have no control over yourself or the world around you.
“It's okay, honey,” Yamada coos, reaching out to try and calm Hitoshi as his breathing gets harsh and he frantically goes through the seven stages of grief. “I know regressing for the first time is super scary, but ya got us to help! Deep breaths, little one, it's okay–”
As soon as Yamada's hand makes contact with Hitoshi's shoulder, everything inside his baby brain panics and sets itself on fire. He yelps, a small sob ripping out of his throat, and he scrambles back, tumbling off of his chair and hitting the ground hard enough to cry out. Aizawa and Yamada are quick to get to their feet but Hitoshi's fear makes him quicker and, before either of them can say anything, he rushes back like an animal on all fours and pushes himself into a sprint out of the commons.
He doesn't know the staff dorm layout very well, since students aren't permitted past the commons unless it's important, but he somehow makes it through the halls without being stopped and finds a small break area, fit with a kitchenette and a couple small tables. He dives into the room, tears streaming down his cheeks and adrenaline spiking his heart rate, and squeezes between the wall and the counter.
–
Shouta barely has time to blink before Hitoshi is up and scurrying out of the room, leaving behind a distinct scent of strong sour candy that has his lip curling. It's the scent of a little in distress and it sends his caregiving instincts into overdrive. He isn't great with littles, barely able to handle his students when they drop during training, but his body doesn't seem to register that as he immediately vaults over the table and leaves Hizashi behind.
He hears his husband call out to him but the blood rushing in his ears drowns him out. Shouta's thoughts are a whirlwind of anxiety and confusion, full of questions and concerns about Hitoshi that he can barely register. According to Hitoshi's file, this has to be his first time slipping, and it’s actually his first time showing any hint of a classification in the year and a half that Shouta has known him. It's a scary time for anyone, especially a little that doesn't have much of a support structure.
But there's something strange about it. Shouta's instincts sound the alarm bells at just how much horror there was in the boy's reaction. Despite his shitty caregiving capabilities, he does have quite a lot of experience in first-time regressors and handling the meltdowns that come with them. Never once, in all the six and a half years that he's been a teacher, has he seen someone react like Hitoshi just did.
Well, other than littles that were also victims or regressing directly after a traumatic event.
Shouta knows that there's something up with Hitoshi's home life– he spends too much time with the boy not to see the signs of a neglected child– but he cannot overstep his bounds, nor can he ruin any of the fragile trust built between them. As much as he wants Hitoshi happy and healthy, he can’t make that happen if Hitoshi doesn't trust him to take care of him.
The scent of sour Skittles leads Shouta into the kitchen, where it gathers and settles in a heap of anxiety all throughout the air. He creeps forward slowly before crouching down and meeting the wide, watery eyes of Shinsou Hitoshi, crammed into the dusty crevice between the wall and a kitchen counter with his knobby knees digging into his chest and his entire body twisted and bent in a way that simply cannot be comfortable. The boy stares at him, full of a fear that has Shouta's heart aching. He looks so young like this, curled up into a space that only a body as lanky as his could fold into with puffy cheeks and a reddened nose.
Something cracks inside of Shouta, a feeling that cracks open his ribcage and has him wanting to gather Hitoshi into his arms and hide him away. Hizashi once explained that caring for a little sets every nerve ending he has on fire with love and the want to protect them from every bad thing in the world. Shouta has never quite understood that feeling, but he can only assume this must be it. Hitoshi has been his boy since they started training together, the closest thing to a son that Shouta will likely ever have, and seeing him so vulnerable only cements those oddly paternal feelings inside his chest.
Shouta scratches off the patch at his neck and pumps out his own scent, trying to combat the unease and tension heavy in the room. He doesn't get close, or even try to extend a hand. Traumatized kids never handle the invasion of their space well and, as much as his caregiving instincts threaten to overwhelm him with the need to soothe, he has spent years making sure that his hero instincts are the ones that override everything else. So, he merely sits on the balls of his feet and speaks in a low tone, as comforting as his intimidating bass can possibly muster.
“Hey, kid,” he greets, unsure of how old Hitoshi is or if he's even able to process anything he's saying. “I know this is scary, but I'm right here. I won't go anywhere, Hitoshi. You aren't alone.”
Hitoshi whimpers and pushes himself backwards, even as the wall stops him from going any further. His scent has spiked, physically stabbing into Shouta and begging him to go away. Despite this, he is a rock, unmoving and anchored to his spot.
There are footsteps behind him, clunky and heavy and only ever belonging to the spiked platform boots his husband wears. They soften as he approaches, purposefully as quiet as he can get them, and Hizashi kneels beside him with a weary smile– tense from how strong Hitoshi's fear is in the air– and a teddy bear, about the size of Hitoshi's torso and perfect for snuggling.
Shouta takes it from him with a small nod and slowly offers it to Hitoshi.
“Would you like a friend?” He asks, shaking the bear a bit.
Hitoshi's throat bobs as he stares at the toy, glossy eyes full of suspicion and, more importantly, a sad sort of longing. Shouta keeps reaching out, patiently waiting, and Hitoshi finally lifts a trembling hand to take it from him, bringing the bear to his chest and wrapping himself around it in a desperate hug.
Hizashi plants himself beside Shouta, his back against the counters and his legs lazily bent in the air. His scent is still very noticeable, however, so he isn't trying to hide– only offering a silent support.
“Hitoshi,” Shouta says, keeping his voice steady. “I know that this is very overwhelming for you. If it makes you feel safer to stay right there, then that's fine. I would suggest moving to somewhere more comfortable, though. We have rooms meant for this exact purpose with toys, snacks, and soft blankets for you to hide under. We want to make this transition as smooth as possible.”
The first time a regressor drops is always the hardest. It's scary already being a young teenager taken out of your comfort zone and, without a parent or trusted loved one, it can often be traumatic. He remembers his own first time slipping; he was a late bloomer too, fifteen and dealing with the stress of his new transfer into the hero course. He only managed to make it out of his panic with Hizashi and Oboro sitting beside him, offering him something to cling to in the absence of his own parents. Shouta isn't sure if he is the right person for Hitoshi to cling to here, but he'll be damned if he doesn't try.
–
Hitoshi can only shake his head with a small whimper. Tears drip down his face and soak into the teddy bear, soft against his skin. He rubs his cheek against its fur and dully wishes he could get his stuffed cat from his dorm room– the only little gear that he ever bothered investing in. He doesn't have much in terms of money, only small amounts that he's managed to squirrel away over the years, and the plush, round cat with purple fur and black spots is still the best thing he ever spent that money on. This teddy bear doesn't hold a candle to his kitty, but it works for now.
“Okay, that's fine,” Aizawa says to him, not an ounce of frustration in his voice. Hitoshi keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone to reach into his hidey hole and drag him out by the roots of his hair. “I just thought it might be more fun to spend your first regression with a nap and some cartoons.”
He says it offhandedly, a clear ploy to pique Hitoshi's interest and goad him into coming out. If it were anyone else, it might have worked. Hitoshi knows his mentor too much, though, and he has long since been immune to the manipulation tactics he employs. It certainly helps that the read he has on the situation is totally wrong.
Hitoshi scrunches his nose and shakes his head again, this time rather petulantly. He mostly just wants Aizawa to leave him alone. This is, quite possibly, the worst thing that's ever happened to Hitoshi and he wants to freak out about it in peace. Not only did he regress in front of his teachers, signalling that he is classified and would need updated papers, but he's embarrassed himself in front of his mentor. Hitoshi is supposed to be strong and capable as Eraserhead's mentee, not a dimwitted toddler crying his eyes out in front of him.
Everything is going to change from here on out, he just knows it. They're going to pull him aside once he's bigger and give him the lecture every little gets when they're classified– the one where the school explains where the regression rooms are and what accommodations littles get for schoolwork and resources. The one where the school doesn't force yet insists that the little finds a caregiver to help them through their regression because regressors can't take care of themselves without someone holding their hand. The one where Hitoshi is stripped of all of his autonomy and is tied to a flashing neon sign that gives every caregiver in the vicinity the consent to touch him and give him orders and pretend to take care of him as if they cared at all before his classification and demean him as both a person and hero and–
He's seen it happen too many times and he refuses to become patronized by people that are meant to be his equals. Hitoshi worked too fucking hard to get to where he is to have it all disappear in a flash.
“I– I'm not regressed,” Hitoshi forces out, stumbling over the words a bit. It feels like his tongue is too big in his mouth and his voice is off, not quite matching what it should sound like. He screws his eyes shut to try and will the tears to stop falling and takes a deep, steadying breath.
Maybe if he says it enough times, it'll become true.
“No offense, kid, but you can't seriously expect me to believe that,” Aizawa drawls. The vague amusement in his tone ignites something ugly inside of Hitoshi.
It isn't funny that he's regressed. It isn't funny that the only way for his life to resume uninterrupted is if he can somehow convince his teachers, who can smell his scent from a mile away, that they're mistaken. It's not funny that they're going to call his parents and tell them about his classification and what they can do to help him, which will only result in Hitoshi going home to them scorning him for being even more of a needy failure.
It isn't funny and he's not–
“Regressed. I'm not regressed,” Hitoshi states again, far more evenly. He swallows around the lump in his throat and stares at Aizawa dead-on, praying that the fuzziness clouding his brain isn’t visible to him.
His expression sobers Aizawa a bit and the man matches his energy with a hint of surprise. “Hitoshi, there’s nothing wrong with regressing–”
“I know,” Hitoshi is quick to cut him off, despite how rude it is. “I'm just not a regressor. I'm not little. 'm fine.”
His voice is wavering and he tightens his hold on the teddy bear in his arms, which probably isn't doing much to help his case.
There's another pause as Aizawa assesses the situation.
“Okay, I believe you,” Aizawa relents, however reluctant. “What do you need from me then?”
Hitoshi needs it to stop. He needs to claw his way out of his headspace before he throws up from how disorientating this whole affair has been. He needs Aizawa to stop looking at him, so full of concern. He needs his and Yamada's scents to stop suffocating him. He needs an escape route– an exit available to him only if Aizawa leaves.
So, for all that Hitoshi loathes being left alone to suffer, like a dying animal that no longer serves its purpose, the words leave his mouth before he can think of a softer way to say them.
“Go away. Leave me alone. I need– I need you to go.”
There's a brief moment where Aizawa glances off to the side, presumably where Yamada is, and the two exchange a non-verbal conversation. One that has Aizawa's face pinched with uncertainty, an expression that doesn't suit him in the slightest.
“Hitoshi,” Aizawa says his name so softly, and Hitoshi doesn't deserve that tone– he doesn't even want it right now. If only Aizawa treated him so gently when he wasn't regressed. Then, none of this would feel any different and he could relish in care the man is pumping into the air alongside his scent.
“Hitoshi, unfortunately, we can't do that,” Aizawa murmurs. “Even if you aren't regressed, you are still a child under duress and it would be irresponsible to leave you alone like this.”
He's speaking slowly, like Hitoshi is some kind of idiot that can't process anything he's saying. It only adds more fuel to fire.
Obviously, he was going to say no– going to insist that an upset child, especially one that's regressed to an even younger child, cannot be left alone to self-regulate. Children aren't capable of making decisions, don't you know? Children aren't capable of dealing with things alone, don't you know? It's totally not like Hitoshi has been doing this by himself for the last decade or anything.
It's as he said. Caregivers don't care and they're even worse than adults, because adults aren't biologically coded to care about kids like caregivers are about regressors. It's even more of a betrayal to have a caregiver show their obvious true colors, especially when it comes to the teachers that Hitoshi has trusted more than anyone ever in his life.
“We can give you space,” Aizawa continues as Hitoshi's thoughts swirl horrendously in the soupy mush of his regression. “Mic and I can go sit at one of these tables or we can wait outside the door until you're ready to talk, but we can't completely leave. Does that make sense?”
No, it doesn't. Hitoshi doesn't get why they can't just listen to him. But he knows when he's fighting a losing battle and he really needs a moment to breathe.
“Outside,” he manages, barely audible with his face pressed against his knees and smushed into the teddy bear.
Aizawa nods and, without another word, pushes himself up and heads out the door with Yamada trailing behind him, shooting Hitoshi a reassuring smile as they go. The door slides closed behind them and Hitoshi feels the effect immediately as all the tension seeps out of his body in the form of devastating sobs.
Their scent simultaneously lingers for a little too long and fades a little too quickly, leaving nothing but his own sour candy smell to trap him in a feedback loop of his own misery. The teddy bear is his only solace, giving him something to hug as he floats on top of his regression like a sinking ship in the middle of a storm. He's bobbing in and out of his headspace, as if trying to use a buoy to keep himself afloat. It's jarring and only made worse now that he's no longer focusing on the threat of his teachers being so close to him.
He spends a while crying. The ticking clock hung up on the wall makes him very aware of every passing second as he tries to force himself to breathe and calm down. He doesn't even remember what he did last time this happened. It was so long ago that all he can remember is feeling so tiny and overwhelmed for hours before he started to calm down. He remembers hiding in the closet and hearing his mother lock him into his room, tired of his infantile sobbing, and he remembers his father regarding him with scorn the next morning when he came out with a splitting headache and red rimmed eyes.
It isn't much different to how things are now, huh? He's locked in a room waiting for his cries to stop so he can face his mentor (father figure?) and wait for the verbal lashing that he surely deserves. It's painful; a boiling hurt festering from years of burying down his regression and the startling realization that every adult, every caregiver, is the same and he can't even trust–
Hitoshi's phone buzzes in his pocket. He'd completely forgotten about it. He shakily maneuvers himself in the tight space, bending himself in ways only possible thanks to Eraserhead's training, and pulls it out with a minimum amount of bumps and bruises.
He clicks his screen on, cringing at the low battery and the dozens of messages from the class A groupchat. At the very top, however, is one that catches his eye. It's hard to read through his tears and his brightness is a little too high in the dark corner but the words are unmistakable.
Eraser (17:23): There's a regression room three doors to the left– it's labeled. I'm the only one on staff that uses it so it's fairly private. I have some things set up here and Mic agreed to stand guard if that makes you feel less anxious. I don't imagine it's very comforting being crammed into a corner in a cold kitchen… I wouldn't like it, at least.
There's something… intentional about the words that Hitoshi can't quite put his finger on. It's the same way that Aizawa usually convinces him to do things; by pointing out the logic in how Hitoshi needs to eat to become a hero or how it's his job to make sure that Hitoshi succeeds, all an attempt to remove the burden from Hitoshi's shoulders. It's truly impossible to miss, even when he's as compromised as he is.
But it still works, because it always works on a kid as weak and needy as Hitoshi.
Aizawa is so predictable– so fucking obvious that it's almost embarrassing. It makes logical sense. He sees a little regress for what he assumes is the first time and tries to make things less scary by removing the caregiver from the situation and reminding said little that he, too, regresses. It's his regression room, his things that are set up, and he wouldn't like being small in the stupid dorm kitchen.
It's the wrong equation that somehow got him the right answer because, at the core of it, Aizawa knows him. He knows Hitoshi is nervous around adults– Yamada included on his bad days. He knows Hitoshi follows him around like a dumb hero-worshipping puppy dog. He knows that Hitoshi hates being alone more than he hates being vulnerable.
He knows, and he's the only one that Hitoshi would ever feel comfortable knowing because, as much as Hitoshi hates admitting it, he trusts Aizawa so, so much.
Hitoshi lets out a chest rattling sob followed by a throat burning heave and curls around the teddy bear with his phone desperately clutched in his hand. He doesn't respond to the text. He isn't able to, really. Instead, he watches the numbers on his clock tick up every minute and tries to let it ground him as he shudders and cries more than he ever has in the last four years.
Finally, as his phone reaches its final percentage, he manages to breathe somewhat steadily. His whimpers die down and his tears settle into the stained trails on his itchy cheeks. He lets out a few puffs of breath, letting his chest and head hurt as much as it needs to in the aftermath of his outburst, and shifts himself until he can wiggle out of his hiding spot.
The kitchen is silent and calm, not a caregiver in sight or smell, and the fact Aizawa and Yamada actually gave him some space– though, he knows at least one of them is still right outside the door– is jarring. With a far more level head, he appreciates the compromise, even if it's not ideal. He wishes they could've just left and never discussed this with either of them ever again, but it is a little nice that they kept their word. It's something. It's more than he expected.
He stretches out his limbs like a cat with a satisfied groan. It feels good to be out of that cramped space, even if it did feel far safer than being exposed to the open air like this. Hitoshi sniffles and wipes away the final tears in his eyes, focus drawn to the teddy bear being strangled in his grip. He doesn't recognize it and he's pretty sure he caught Yamada being the one to bring it in. Was it his? Or maybe a spare that Aizawa uses? Or maybe it’s one of the many plushies that UA has in compliance with the Regression Resource Act– a law stating that schools and workplaces have to have areas and items for their regressing students and employees.
As stupid as it is, the idea of this bear being something only given to him as part of a law has his chest concave and his heart dropping into his stomach. So, he chooses to believe that it's Aizawa’s, given to him for comfort because both adults, unfortunately, know how much their presence soothes him.
Because it does. Hitoshi normally hates being around other people, always anxious about how they're perceiving him and how he might mess something up. Years of people’s assumptions of him, seeing him as nothing more than a villain, and years of him repressing his headspace, hyper aware of everything he did to avoid behaving too young, led to Hitoshi being perpetually anxious around other people. Every day is a drain tapping from an empty well as he fights to prove that he's a hero and a soon-to-be adult.
He doesn't have the time or energy to make friends because he has to work hard and it's far too exhausting to keep his mask on for days at a time. It's easier to push everyone away with sneers and disinterested expressions. But Aizawa and Yamada are different. They've always been different.
He isn't anxious around them, not any more than his usual baseline anyway. He learned early on that Aizawa doesn't have much energy either, which means that he doesn't care to scream or throw things when he's upset. Yamada, as boisterous and loud as he is, doesn't believe in doing much more than a stern scolding and a few pages of essays. The biggest thing Hitoshi has ever had to fear is disappointing them.
But Yamada is too kind– soft– to be upset about this and Aizawa can't be too disappointed in him if he's offering a space in his regression room. He can't be too disappointed in him if he insisted on sticking around to make sure that Hitoshi was okay. He can't be too disappointed if he let Hitoshi cry and snot all over his teddy bear.
It has to be a little bit okay, right? And Hitoshi aches to be in a room that's far more gentle on him than the cold tile and harsh lights of the kitchen. He hates the ticking clock and the chill of being alone, even if it was– is something he wants. He's still small, he knows, and it's probably why his judgment is so warped. He failed to bring himself up during his breakdown and, now, the baby in his brain wants a hug that he would never get if it was his parents that he regressed in front of, the ones who are supposed to take care of him until he gets an actual caregiver. He does want Aizawa, he just wants it on his own terms and he's terrified that this is all a trick or some kind of scheme to push him into admitting something he doesn't want to.
If he agrees, though, he knows he won't be able to leave that room until he ages up. He’ll be trapped. Leaving him to cry in a corner is one thing, letting him go back to his dorm alone and regressed is another. They won't let him. They won't give him a choice. They won't respect him. They won't because they're adults, caregivers, and they never listen. They only force their will on regressors and punish them for acting out.
Hitoshi squeezes the teddy bear to his chest and shuts his eyes as tightly as he can, not allowing himself to cry anymore. He's never been so scared of Aizawa and Yamada before. The last time he was this anxious, he'd accidentally skipped training because he fell asleep and had a panic attack when he had to face the music. He tries to remind himself of the way that Aizawa hadn't been upset, only concerned when he hadn't answered any texts, or the way that Yamada checked in on him the next day, telling him that he doesn't mind if Hitoshi sleeps in his classroom during lunch.
It's Aizawa and Yamada– Eraserhead and Present Mic. He knows them. He trusts them, as much as his body is screaming at him otherwise, and he really wants someone with him while he goes through this. He takes another deep breath, pressing his face into his bear. Yamada is a caregiver, but Aizawa isn't and Aizawa was always the one that Hitoshi thought might understand anyway. Flips don't really understand, not like other regressors might, but it's better than nothing and Hitoshi is already stuck with Aizawa knowing. He could try. He might as well try.
He's just so scared.
Hitoshi forces himself forward as his brain splits in half, at war between trusting them and fearing them. He can't stay here for much longer and he doesn't want to either. There's only one way to go and it's through that door. At worst, he can Brainwash one of them to try and get away. It would destroy his career at UA, but it wouldn't be the first time he's done it to protect himself.
With that feeble reassurance, he reaches forward and slides the door open to meekly peek his head out. As soon as he does, he meets a pair of familiar green eyes locked behind a pair of orange tinted shades. Yamada is leaning casually next to the door, whistling a song to himself as he scrolls through his phone. As soon as he sees Hitoshi, however, his music silences and he pockets his phone with a warm smile.
“Hey there, kiddo,” he greets, pushing himself off the wall and taking a bit of a step back– giving him space, Hitoshi realizes. “You doin’ okay?”
Hitoshi's mouth is suddenly far too dry and he regrets all of his choices immediately. It's all he can do to lift his phone and mutter, “Aizawa said… there's a room…”
He wouldn't spill his guts out to Yamada even if he could. The emotional turmoil inside him is too raw, rendering him asunder.
“Yeah, there is,” Yamada responds, far too soft. At least he seems to be wearing patches now– his caring scent is far less intrusive. “You wanna go see?”
“With you?” Hitoshi can’t stop himself from replying, his quirk igniting and raring to go. All it takes is the wrong answer, the scary answer, and he's out of here.
“Nah, not if you don't want me to.” There’s something sad glinting in Yamada’s eyes as waves Hitoshi off. The light above them reflects against his glasses, though, and whatever was there is gone in a flash. “I'm totally fine chillin’ outside the station while y'all get your baby on. It's no skin off my back, little listener.”
The fingers prepared to take hold of his mind falter and disappear as Hitoshi relaxes his quirk, eyeing Yamada wearily. The man only smiles in response and lifts a hand to point towards the door, labeled ‘Regression Room’ just as Aizawa said it would be.
“It's just over there. You're free to go in– or not, if you'd rather us call someone else to watch over you in the dorms. Either way is cool with us.”
It answers his unasked question. He doesn't have anyone else to turn to, which means that he can't go anywhere else. As he thought, convincing them to let him hide in his dorm until this all blows over isn't an option.
Hitoshi tightens his hold on the teddy bear as if it'll protect him. He nods and shuffles away, towards the door that Aizawa resides behind. He glances over his shoulder every couple steps, checking to make sure that Yamada isn't following and breathing a sigh of relief when the man only waves him goodbye.
The sweet gesture nearly makes Hitoshi start crying again– feeling more like a sendoff to his execution than anything. He swallows his fear and shakily reaches up for the door, clicking it open and sealing his fate.