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Shouta really wasn’t used to this. He had trouble with anything wearable – bracelets, rings, chains, he couldn’t wear any jewelry for longer than twenty minutes at a time. His capture weapon was different somehow, it was utilitarian, useful. That’s how the prosthesis should feel. But then again, his eye protection took him years to get used to. This was going to be a long time coming till this appendage felt like something natural, something manageable. He was starting to think that the forearm crutches he originally balked at might be a better long term solution - but he had to get himself used to the texture of the gel liner, the compression of the suspension sleeves.
But the physical therapy worked. He felt confident getting back to his apartment on campus. Hizashi had dropped everything he was doing to help him move back, but Shouta felt a wash of confidence knowing that he really could have done it himself. He’d gotten a little bit cocky, demanding that they take the stairs like Shouta preferred instead of the elevator. Hizashi’s mood was lightened by Shouta’s stubbornness, he’d actually gotten a laugh out of him for the first time in weeks. Since Shouta had woken up, really.
Rays of sun cutting through the clouds of grief that seemed to follow Hizashi. They were comfortable together in the heavy emotion, the years following Shirikomo’s supposed death were echoing and rippling together into the present moment whenever they saw each other. It was healing, in a way. Shouta couldn’t pretend he wasn’t grateful when Hizashi left. He’d always been more verbal and mercurial in his emotions than Shouta was, and it was often hard to feel his own pain when Hizashi was around, feeling his emotions properly instead of the quiet, introspective slump that fell over Shouta. Besides, Shouta felt that incessant need to care for his friend, the closest thing he had to family after all these years. True family.
Shouta basked in the silence of his apartment as he stowed away his prosthetic and set up his shrine of pills on his nightstand, ready to be taken in exact order, at the right times. That was the comforting thing in all of this. Routine. Ritual. Something he could only hope to preserve out of the rehab facility. It was good for his mental health.
It was interesting to see how the place he lived for the last six years or so through his new depth perception. The physical reminder of the bandages, then the eyepatch, was helpful in his own mental process of ‘relax, Shouta. It’s different now.’ But he flinched now, every time that something appeared without the warning of his peripheral vision. He was moving slower too. That was something he needed to combat if he lived through this upcoming war. He was a quick moving person, and he wasn’t ready to slow down quite yet.
Shouta finally peeled back the liner, making a neat stack of sock, gel liner, and leg on his low dining room table. The elbow crutches were genuinely excellent compared to the underarm ones, the discomfort so much less than anything Shouta had been expecting. He grabbed a jelly pack from the fridge, gripping it between his teeth as he made his way to his bed to finally lay down. For once, he was grateful for the western style bed, for not having to get all the way down to the floor to relax.
He was propping his back up with one of the extra pillows Hizashi had brought him when he heard the knock on his door.
“It’s just me.” Said the voice, meek despite the projected volume to hear through the hard wood panneling. Toshinori. Shouta felt a smile pull at him, leaning his head back against the wall, his back compressing the pillow that acted as a buffer between the cool, hard plaster and his slightly sore back.
“I’m not getting up. Let yourself in.” Shouta raised his voice loud enough to be heard across the room.
Shouta could picture Toshinori’s slightly awkward, oversized keyring as it audibly rattled outside his apartment before he heard the scramble and scratch of the unlock. The rest of UA’s housing functioned off of keycards, but the employee residences only had keypads at entrances, the rest of them old fashioned unique keys.
Shouta remembered the somber, over-serious way that Toshinori presented him with a key to his residence, both at UA when he’d moved in, and the notorious apartment behind the Might Gate. It was funny, considering that Shouta had given Toshi a key before they ever… progressed their relationship, so that he could come in and check on Sushi when Kayama had Shouta watch him. And so that Toshinori could let Eri in when she needed time away from the big kids. It was so sweet to watch him with her, Shouta’s heart filled to the point of discomfort to see Toshinori shrink his massive height down and soften the harsh striations of his face to make Eri comfortable. She stopped calling him skeleton man after a while, and secretly Shouta hoped she’d start again. It was cute. He just hoped Toshinori could see it that way.
Toshinori was very affected by every change in his body, every shift and skill lost to old age or injury. Shouta watched him struggle from the minute he started at UA, and he knew he’d been struggling far before that. He held no judgement for the man, the admiration he’d grown to feel long surpassed any harbored resentment against the Symbol of Peace – but Shouta wanted to be more okay with his new limitations than the people he’d seen lose physiological function before. Maybe it was his perfectionism, but it felt so necessary to move through this transition with grace. Nobody was getting out of this rough patch unscarred. Aizawa Shouta’s scars were simply more visible.
Toshinori closed the door behind him, and though Shouta couldn’t see from his vantage point in the bedroom, he could picture the slump of the older hero’s shoulders, and remembered all the times before when he’d towed off his shoes and neatly arranged them by the front door, next to Shouta’s unruly pile of indiscriminate combat boots and tactical gear. What was Toshinori doing? Shouta heard his fridge open and close, then a few cabinets. Water was being poured from the jug-filter he kept in the fridge. A few drawers were opened and shut and he heard the microwave beep.
“Toshinori?” Shouta asked, craning his neck to see over through to the kitchen.
“Just a second!” Toshinori’s voice sounded light. Happy even. Shouta’s lips pulled down into a frown. Suspicious.
It really was only one second before he smelled it, it smelled like Kake Soba from his favorite restaurant back in Naruhata. The jelly pack sat unsatisfied in his stomach as he the smell wafted, more and more fragrant into the room. Shouta couldn’t help himself from smiling, folding up his left leg and massaging the overworked calf muscles. He’d have to get back to conditioning soon.
Toshinori brought in one of Shouta’s bowls with piping hot Soba, gingerly holding it with the pads of his fingers. It made Shouta anxious he’d drop it on his comforter, but the man really was extraordinary careful when he needed to be. Toshinori sat down next to Shouta, handing the bowl over.
“I know you don’t like to eat in bed. I’m sorry it’s not fresh, I got it earlier today. I was surprised they were still open after… with everything going on.” Toshinori bowed his head towards Shouta and Shouta couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at his formality.
“Hush. It’s perfect.” Shouta said, and he meant it, savoring every bite he took. Toshinori just looked at him, drinking him like he hadn’t seen him in weeks. It’d only been a day or so, but they were both hungry for each other's company. Shouta liked the way Toshinori looked at him. He always had. Silence rippled like a wave of warmth and security between them, and Shouta tried to remember when it started feeling this heartbreakingly easy with Toshinori. He could only hope that it would stay that way.
Toshinori took his bowl to the kitchen when he was done eating, his eyes growing heavy with the warm broth in his stomach, and the nutty taste on his tongue.
“Did I surprise you?” Toshinori asked, anxiously rubbing at the back of his neck as he walked back into Shouta’s bedroom, perching on the side of the bed.
“I didn’t even know you were coming, Toshi. Thank you.” Shouta said, pressing himself off the wall to get closer to the former number one hero, reaching to place his hand on top of where Toshinori’s was resting on his comforter.
“Yamada told me when he got you settled.”
“Tch. I could have done it without him.” Shouta said, raising his eyebrows at Toshinori like he was challenging him to say otherwise.
Yagi just smiled at him, before leaning over and pressing his forehead against Shouta’s own, the warmpth of their bodies intermixing. Shouta smelled broth, and the slight sent of Toshinori’s sweat. The way he smelled when he was anxious or had gone jogging. Shouta scoffed at himself for being attracted to that. To the musk of him. It felt so self indulgent to let himself this moment of sweetness without the pressure of the outside world coming in. He knew Toshinori could barely let himself the same luxury. Not with Midoriya set out alone, and Toshinori trying his best to mitigate the damage the young boy was doing to himself. Shouta felt responsible. If he’d only been a bit more forgiving with the kid, if he’d somehow held out longer at USJ they might not be in this position. But he’d promised himself in the hospital that the only way out was forward. And forward currently had blonde tufts of hair tickling his against his face, and smelt like petrocore and vanilla.
It took a moment before Shouta could get himself to pull away.
“Do you want to sleep here tonight?” He asked, reaching up to run his thumb down Toshinori’s face, caressing his sharp cheekbone and the hollow of his cheek.
Shouta watched as Toshinori nodded, the set of his shoulders relaxing, a softness spiraling down from his brow through his torso. Shouta moved his hand to rub against Toshinori’s shoulders, avoiding the sharp bumps of his collarbone to massage the muscle wrapped tight like rope through his traps.
“P-please.” Toshinori said, a shutter running through the muscle in Shouta’s hands, before Toshinori shifted position entirely, scooting up onto the bed and between Shouta’s legs. Shouta let himself lay back against the wall before gathering the older, taller man into his arms, pressing their quiet grief together as the sunset flooded the room with golden light.