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Shouta’s never been one to visit a grave regularly.
To him, the essence of a person doesn’t stay where it has been laid to rest.
It’s in the things they left behind and what they inspired and he’s grown to cling to those more than anything else.
It’s the goggles he wears even though he’s no longer an active hero - or in need of said goggles. He thinks of Oboro when he sees them, even if they simply rest in his office nowadays, and he thinks of Oboro when he sees his students, his friends smile visible on their faces.
He knows Oboro would have loved Kaminari, would have dared Bakugo to skip a class or two to train. He would have adored Midoriya and cried proud tears at Hitoshi’s graduation.
And Nemuri…
Oh, how proud she would have been.
Of Ashido, Uraraka, and Hagakure, of the youth and bravery of the Hero’s newest generation. She’d cackle at their mischief and cause the most herself, welcome another year of First Years, and tease them to hell and back when it’s time to come up with a name worthy of a hero.
Shouta’s never been one to visit a grave regularly, but he does so still, remembering, honoring, and caring.
“I worry about you,” Shouta says, his eye on the gravestones though he’s looking much further. “You know that?”
Hizashi turns, surprise on his features.
His hair is in a messy bun today and he’s carrying no signs of his usual eccentric attire. It’s worrying, really, just as much as it’s a breath of fresh air.
“About me? What for?”
“You’re getting older,” Shouta starts, unsure how he’s supposed to phrase it. “Are you going to keep this up forever?”
Hizashi’s eyes widen and he turns back to look at the gravestones.
For a while, neither of them speaks. Smoke wafts up from the incense sticks Hizashi brought, the fragrance tickles Shouta’s nose, and not in a good way.
“Just because you’ve got a kid now, doesn’t mean you have it all together,” Hizashi points out suddenly, shoulders tense. “Or that I don’t, because I-”
“That’s not what I meant,” Shouta interrupts him, wishing they could leave the graves and have this conversation elsewhere, but knowing they would never. Too much of a coward, the both of them. “I- God it sucked, getting Oboro back and losing him all over again. But I never pretended to be fine about it. Not like you do.”
“What else am I supposed to do?” Hizashi asks, his voice high, like he’s about to cry.
Shouta moves to grab his shoulder, but Hizashi steps to the side, facing only Oboro’s grave now. “If I don’t-” He stops, breathes in and out, the rhythm too steady to be a coincidence.
“You’ve been going to therapy,” Shouta concludes, unsure why he even needs to say it out loud.
“At least one of us has to go,” Hizashi hisses, falls quiet again. The sound of his breathing fills the silence between them until Hizashi leans his head back and stares up into the clouds.
“It’s been slow going,” he admits. “I don’t always have the time or the energy to talk to a stranger about how I’m feeling when I’m swamped with work.”
“When did you start?”
Silence.
“Called the office after you lost your leg,” Hizashi admits, wiping a hand over his nose. “Because me without you…” He breaks off, lowers his head and wipes a speck of dust off Kayama’s gravestone. “What a friend group we have, huh? I thought I’d at least get eighty before my friends start dying.”
Shouta reaches out once more. This time, Hizashi doesn’t sidestep him. It feels different without the shoulder pads and Shouta needs a second before he pulls his friend into an awkward side hug.
“I don’t know about eighty,” he admits, his voice gruff. “But I’m planning to stay around for a while. For Eri.”
“For Eri,” Hizashi nods, swallowing. “And what about that Shinsou kid?”
“Him too.”
“And the Problem Child?”
Shouta snorts. “Are you going to name every kid in my class now?”
Hizashi grins. “What about Pretty Boy from Class 2B?”
“Oh shut up.”
-
“Daddy,” Eri says to get Shouta’s attention. She’s been trying it out for the last week, calling him that. It still jerks him awake every time.
“Yes?”
“Who’s the woman talking to Uncle Yamada?”
He turns and blinks. She’s right. Hizashi must have left their blanket to hunt down some less healthy snacks. The popsicles in his hands are melting away as he talks.
“She’s either asking for directions or he’s flirting.”
Eri blinks. “What’s flirting like?” The drawing in front of her is forgotten as she peers up at him with curious eyes.
“Eh,” he starts, throwing Hizashi a look. But his friend is too distracted to come to his rescue.
“Well, when a boy likes a girl… or the other way around-”
“I know that,” Eri tells him impatiently. “But how?” Her eyes travel to Hizashi. “Do you think he’s telling her that her crayons are the best?”
“Maybe not her crayons,” he admits sheepishly. “Why? Is someone telling you that?”
“No,” Eri admits, going back to drawing. “But Kota’s got pencils that have a scent. He gave me the blueberry one.”
-
“What do you think?” Hizashi asks, pulling his jacket straight. “Too much?”
“For what?” Shouta blinks and considers another cup of coffee. It’s only 9 pm.
“For my date,” Hizashi admits. “I know you have no taste in fashion, but I-”
“It’s giving Rock in the Park,” Hitoshi adds from the Couch where Sushi was curled up on his chest. “Or another Rock Festival.”
Hizashi’s face falls. “It’s just Dinner and a show, do you think I should change?”
“Is it Park Lady?” Eri asks from the stairs, dressed in a bubblegum pink nightgown and white bunny slippers. “Because she saw you in worse.”
“Rude,” Shouta calls her out, though it’s true. Sunday morning Hizashi is not a sight to be seen.
“It is Park Lady,” Hizashi admits, wringing his hands. “I should call this off. My therapist said I was good to go, but what does that guy know?”
“Hey,” Shouta lifts both hands to stop him. It works surprisingly well. “It’s just a date. You’ve handled worse.”
Hizashi considers that, nestles with the cuffs of his jacket sleeves. He breathes in, breathes out and nods finally. “Right. I’ll… let you know how it goes.”
“Don’t” sits on the tip of his tongue. It would be sarcastic, in tune with how he presents himself, but… not the truth.
“Please do,” he says instead, shuffling over to the coffee machine. “I’ll be awake anyway.”
-
Hitoshi has fallen asleep on the Couch.
Shouta tucks him in. He’s tried once to carry the boy up the stairs. Never again.
Sushi makes a gentle sound at the back of her throat and he leans down to press a kiss to the top of her head.
This, he thinks, is better than any grave. A living reminder of the dead. Of the past, of the could have beens and the things that have been instead.
Sushi meows like she’s read his thoughts. She probably has.
“Thank you for being part of my life,” he says, but he’s no longer talking to the cat. Sushi blinks up at him like she knows.
The knock at the door comes out of nowhere, though it’s not unexpected.
Shouta grabs a jacket from the hook by the door and shuffles outside, his metal leg hitting the doorstep a little awkwardly.
“I brought beer,” Hizashi offers him a bottle. It’s still cold. He probably got it at the store down the street.
For a while, neither of them speaks.
Shouta finds a seat on the swing he hung up for Eri, the board a little too small for his ass, though not as uncomfortable as standing for a prolongued time. Hizashi leans against the wall, eyes closed as if he’s savoring something. It’s probably not the taste of cheap beer.
“Thank you,” Hizashi finally speaks. “For being my friend.”
Another sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue. Shouta swallows it, leans in to knock his bottle against that of Hizashi’s. “Likewise.”
They drink in silence. A breath of fresh air.
It’s not uncomfortable, not weighed down by things unsaid.
Instead it’s built upon a foundation of trust, of things they no longer need to talk about to understand.
But the bottles run empty soon and they both know that they’ve got work tomorrow.
Hizashi pushes away from the wall first, takes Shouta’s empty bottle in his other hand.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow, same as usual.”
“Same as usual,” Shouta agrees. “Eri’s got a dance recital in the afternoon. You wanna join?”
“Ah,” Hizashi sends him a bashful smile. “Can’t. We’re going for coffee.”
Shouta blinks. The later hour and the alcohol don’t help his brain function.
“You and Park Lady?” He asks a second too late.
“She’s got a name,” Hizashi fights back, though he doesn’t sound mad.
“Bring her with,” Shouta offers. “On second thought, don’t. Eri’s good, but the other kids-”
Hizashi laughs. “Gotcha. Don’t worry. You’ll meet her soon enough. Best friend privileges and all.”
Shouta’s lips quirk up in a smile.