Chapter Text
Shota is going out.
Partly because he wants to, and partly because Hizashi is busy. Which is fair. Only it isn’t.
Because they always go out on the first Saturday of the month. Nothing too much; just for some drinks - and occasionally stumbling home for a salty takeaway of noodles and broth and more drinks with a shitty movie, until one of them inevitably passes out on the other’s sofa. More often than not it’s Hizashi’s sofa, because Shota’s is threadbare and lumpy.
There are more meetings in the month, of course. Lunches together, drinks after work, passing one another on patrol and drinking bitter instant coffee at the first diner to open. But the sanctity of their monthly Saturdays has been set as an important congregation.
It’s not actually held to religious standards, obviously - there are extenuating circumstances that grant forgiveness for the cardinal sin of cancelling. An event that calls for the exuberance of Present Mic or missions that requires erasure has pulled them away before. But that’s not the reasoning tonight.
Tonight Hizashi has a date.
Or, that’s what Shota has gathered, anyway.
The blond is annoyingly secretive on the front of his dating life with Shota specifically, but he’s got a million tells. His voice cracks a little too harshly in his morning greeting, or his phone - usually free for Shota to use at his convenience - is suddenly snatched away while checking the time. Hizashi can act, but he isn’t subtle. Not to Shota.
In the end, a wayward word from Nemuri in the teacher’s lounge was the reason for Hizashi's covert plans reaching Shota’s ears. It shouldn’t piss him off that the woman is apparently privy to this information while he remains unaware, so he convinces himself it’s simply frustrating to have someone hide something so… inconsequential.
So ‘frustrating’ that Shota finally asked Hizashi about it this morning and was given a half answer in return. Or more, Present Mic gave him one. So - not an answer at all, really. Only a nasally voice and gleaming teeth, with a quick, “What? Surprised to know I haven’t been snapped up already?”, that Shota simply scoffed at.
Deflecting is much easier to do from behind a brash persona. Shota only thought that he was worth more than that by now. Apparently seven years of friendship doesn’t count for much, according to Hizashi. Enough to stumble to Shota’s door at 3am just one week ago, bloodied and half conscious while in need of medical attention, or to have Shota detangle his crested hair on days where the effort is just too much. But not enough to tell him when he has a date.
Whatever, it’s not like Shota ever really has a good word to say about the ones he’s met anyway. They’ve never been bad people, per se, he’s just never really been keen on any of them. Or maybe - none of them have felt like suitable partners for Hizashi.
It feels hypocritical to make such a judgement from the perch of someone who has never even been on a date, but still - each new prospective partner just never felt… right for him. Shota had to make the assessment from a distance, of course. He wasn’t privy to the exciting freshness that each new partner brought Hizashi, only to the forlorn moping that it wasn’t what the blond had hoped for. Such was Shota’s apparent appointment of Agony Aunt. Joy.
It was usually around the two month mark when the effort of secrecy reached unattainable levels, complaints finally falling from Hizashi. And once they started, it seemed like all the blond could do was list off the plights of his romantic fancy of the moment.
They forgot that he can’t handle dairy. They made fun of his hero costume. They never listened to his music suggestions.
Only, the blond never seemed to like Shota suggestion at each new issue.
A scathing review of their described flaws, and then,“Then dump them.” Would that be proportional to the reasonings Hizashi provided? Probably not. But why be with someone if such small things clutch under your skin after a mere few months?
It always garnered the same response.
“Shota, you say that to everything.”
And yet, by the next week Hizashi’s forlorn form and calls for another evening of drinking would signal that he had, in fact, dumped them.
Which is probably for the best. If Hizashi’s bar for dating is so high, no doubt his partner will need to have the vigilance for all manner of things that can trigger the blond’s temper.
They should remember that his stomach doesn’t handle dairy particularly well. Or recall that he specifically uses RAZR branded hair gel important from America. That was important - for Hizashi - and for a good partner to know.
… Shota assumes.
And so continues Hizashi’s search for a good partner.
Usually, Shota would simply take the evening for himself on days where the other was preoccupied. But something about his secrecy today just pissed him off. That, and the fact he’s never been blown off for a date before. Not to mention the way Hizashi had quickly turned to mocking Shota earlier in the day, a challenging pinch to his brows as he suggested Shota “Make some new friends!”
The look of surprise when Shota shot back a biting “Maybe I will,” was worth it.
So Shota is going out.
He doesn’t have to - he’s aware - but he’s not in the business of lying to his friends, even by omission. Unlike some.
Evening air of the late spring turns misty when warmed by his breath as he weaves through shadowed alleyways. His chosen destination is a bar. One that Hizashi had originally suggested they try tonight, before he got a better offer. A little more upmarket than their usual ramen bar, but the sort of place Shota thinks it’s considered more acceptable to drink alone. Not that he should care what others think is justifiable.
What Hizashi would think is justifiable.
As he makes his final turn, Shota is greeted with the hazy warm lights of his destination. They glow in an angelic halo amidst the dark lane, and it beckons Shota closer with a comfortable embrace. Immediately the heating in the doorway blasts him and he removes his scarf.
The bar is dimly lit. Black marble stands in huge slabs to act as partitions, the bar, and any other decorative flourish that he knows Hizashi would ohh and ahh at. It gives the atmosphere a moody and easy-going character, all while hiding under the safety of impeded visuals given its low lighting. Immediately it strikes Shota as an excellent place to meet discreetly. It’s decently busy.
A few sparse individuals occupy the stools of the bar and couples sit across from one another within the booths. Leaning in with hushed words and slanting smiles and grazing touches, clothes clearly chosen specifically to accentuate their form.
Looking down, he wonders if he should have dressed in something more fitting for such an establishment. Black jeans and an equally dark jumper is simple, classic, and usually the first thing Hizashi tells him not to wear on outings to such places. Not because he doesn’t like it - he’s told - but because “It doesn’t fit the vibe!”, whatever that means. Maybe that’s why he chose it tonight - out of spite.
As he takes his seat at the bar and orders, he wonders if Hizashi spent the day fretting over his own outfit. As expected, the blond is the type to spend an entire evening going through every emotion under the sun (and some Shota thinks he’s conjured for just this event) deciding on his attire.
It’s as annoying as it is time consuming, and Shota - merely nineteen at the time - only allowed himself to be roped into ‘helping’ choose the blond’s outfit for a date the one time before forgoing the invites completely. It was the beginning of Shota’s ousting of his love life. Which is fine by him if it means avoiding a self induced meltdown over impressing someone who is - essentially - a stranger.
Shota’s mind meanders from his outfit, to what Hizashi is doing, to what inevitable complaints might come from the meeting, to then wondering why he’s even wondering at all.
Luckily he can’t berate himself for too long before his drink is made up. A simple whiskey - something to wash away the thoughts of Hizashi from his mind; he has much better and more constructive things he could be wasting his time pondering for the next hour. That amount of time should be sufficient to have considered taking himself out. Not that he’s proving anything to anyone.
The glass feels cool on his palm and he pushes his thumbs into the engraved pattern. Small ridges that feel satisfying on his skin.
He doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone. Anyone worth being friends with, anyway, and he’s fortunate enough not to have a partner pulling his time and attention. No doubt another person would grate on Shota’s nerves in no time. It’s not like he feels particularly lonely, or bored, or like he’s missing out on anything, and annoyingly the notion brings Shota’s thoughts right back to where he doesn’t want them.
He doesn’t feel bored or lonely or isolated… because of Hizashi.
As unwilling as Shota’s front is when being dragged along by the blond, it still results in his social life being forcibly… well not good, but certainly not as piss poor as it could have been. Even with frustration still dancing over Shota’s nerves, he’s remiss to admit that he’s actually quite… content with their current arrangement. Maybe he doesn’t need a partner, or a large social circle of his own, so long as Hizashi stands by him.
…and so long as nobody meddles with this arrangement. Someone like a partner…
Finally, Shota raises his glass to his lips. It’s decent - Hibiki - with light dustings of fruit and spices warming his tongue and mouth. There aren’t many things in this life that Shota feels the need to buy premium, but alcohol - bitter and harsh - is one of the few commodities he will happily empty his wallet for. It shocked Hizashi originally, and Shota supposes that’s fair. He can’t deny the gratification of watching Present Mic himself go agape at Shota’s prime assortment of spirits organised in sections of origin, and the following thirty minutes of googling to see just how much the collection was worth.
Usually, thrill exclamations from the blond made Shota flinch. That time, it only added to his growing smirk.
Hizashi’s palette tended to lean more towards the sweet, and yet he still steals sips of Shota’s drinks where he can. Always to the same result; sputtering and complaining about the taste and the way it burns like hellfire down his delicate throat. It begs the question of why he keeps doing it. Why he keeps pressing his own lips to Shota’s glass.
Somewhere, deep in the cavern of Shota’s desires, he hopes it doesn’t stop. The thought crackles through his spine, blooms a red hot anger, and he takes another sip.
Maybe he does need more friends; ones that won’t steal his drinks, or call him at unreasonable hours, or send him pictures of cats he’s unable to adopt right now. Ones that won’t ditch him for a date.
Only… Shota’s never really made friends before. He has them, yes, but usually finds himself on the receiving end of any introductions. Oboro, Hizashi, Nemuri. All people who pulled him into the fabric of their mismatched group. Even his relationship with the other UA faculty members stands where it does because of Hizashi. Cordial.
Shota tolerates their company, and they all care for one another in a very surface level, acquaintance sort way. He respects Sekijiro as a peer, and he’s enjoyable company for drinks. Inquisitive while allowing Shota the space and time to sit in silence, should he choose. Is that what constitutes a friend? Mutual respect and not asking too many questions?
Maybe. But his relationship with Sekijiro and Kurose and Inui holds a clear difference to that of Nemuri, and especially Hizashi. Maybe he’s just destined to befriend (or be befriended by) type A personalities.
Joy.
“What’re you drinking?”
Shota isn’t necessarily startled by the voice to his left, but he’s still surprised the man who has been stealing glances his way has chosen to speak up. Only sitting two seats away from him, the stranger was subtle enough to go unnoticed by the average citizen. But not a pro. Even in Shota’s musings, his body and senses kept him painfully aware of the attention. He’s been told not to be so suspicious of strangers, but Shota thinks it’s common sense when your job involves throwing people into confinement for undisclosed amounts of time.
The stranger rises from his seat, only to sidle to the one next to Shota and nudge his glass back to the bartender.
Now closer, Shota inspects the man further. Not immediately recognizable, but it’s hard to take stock of every single face when you can pass an entire blurr of them in a single evening on patrol. A freckle stamped under his right eye, medium build, around six foot four… no; six foot three , and blond hair that skims the top of his shoulders. In his observation, he can’t help but be reminded of how the strands resemble Hizashi’s when he fully committed to growing his stupid crest out in his late teens.
Why is he talking to Shota?
With no reply, the stranger asks the bartender for the same again, places a few bills on the surface and motions for a second of Shota’s glass as well. Very presumptuous considering his whiskey sits only half finished.
Even if Shota is wary, watching his own drink being made and then handed to him makes the action seem harmless enough. So he remembers his manners.
“Thanks,” and lifts the glass to clink with the mans’.
“Welcome,” the other replies before taking his own sip. His voice is silky smooth.
Drawing another mouthful of the new drink is unreasonable considering his first still needs finishing, but tasting a sip of the new one confirms it’s untampered. He’ll keep a close eye on it.
“Kosuke,” the other introduces himself easily and angles his chair to tilt towards Shota’s direction.
Taking one final glance, Shota deems the situation under control.
“Aizawa,” he replies.
The other nods.
“So did your date cancel on you tonight, too?”
Shota is glad his whiskey is to his lips again, because it makes hiding his grimace slightly easier. Swallowing allows him a moment for the bubbling of something unpleasant to simmer away, and he can finally reply.
“No, a friend did. He has a date.”
“Ah,” Kosuke laments, shrugging with a sympathetic smile. “Seems they both got better offers.”
Despite it being the same sentiment Shota has been harbouring through the evening, having it said back to him by a stranger spikes anger in his gut. So he only responds with a grumble into his drink.
“It’s tough, huh? Being left behind.”
There’s something distant and pained in Kosuke’s remark, but he covers it with a sip of his own drink before injecting more energy back into his voice. Bravado.
“So tell me about the friend you were meant to be meeting. Does he usually ditch you?”
Nosey. Especially for a first meeting. A quick glance past the others’ shoulder reveals no additional glasses left in Kosuke’s previous position. So he’s not drunk - just snoopy.
“Loud. Annoying,” is all Shota gives in return but the blond seems happy, snickering at the disdain woven into the words.
“Huh, and this is your friend you’re talking about?”
In usual Shota fashion, he hums in way of an answer and lets Kosuke decipher the meaning of it. Rather than letting the other continue his questioning on the one person Shota is trying not to think about tonight, the man turns Kosuke’s question back on himself.
“So is getting ghosted by your dates a regular occurrence?"
Shota doesn’t always intend to be brash, but he’s found it’s a useful way to discourage conversation he isn’t fond of. Maybe this is the reason friendships are hard to form.
But Kosuke seems to take the inquiry in his stride, sighing forlornly.
“Sometimes. But that’s sort of how dating is nowadays.”
That doesn’t sound right, from what he’s heard elsewhere.
“And guys don’t seem interested in staying around before they even really… know you, you know? You wear clashing patterns once and suddenly it’s ‘I don’t see this going anywhere’. Like-! One wardrobe malfunction isn’t my whole personality!”
Dramatic. Yammering. Storyteller. Shota doesn’t like how reminiscent all these characteristics are. He doesn’t like how it twitches his mouth away from a scowl and closer to something… amused. Or maybe it’s easier to blame it on the whiskey. He’s now back to nursing his first, and notes that it still tastes clean.
Usually Shota’s patience for entertaining strangers is non-existent. Suspicious by nature and overstimulated by little. But tonight he’s supposed to be making friends, and it curls something like satisfaction in Shota’s stomach to know that he’s doing just fine without Hizashi.
“You really think someone would stop seeing you? Just for how you dress?”
It’s fascinating to speculate if all dramatic blonds feel the same way. Perhaps they’re predisposed to it.
“Well yeah!” The affirmation is instant. “It’s tough out there. People’s expectations are through the roof!”
“What expectations?” Shota presses. While thoroughly entertaining to watch this man’s breakdown in its own right, it might also be useful to gather data at the same time.
It seems to have been the right question, as Kosuke downs the rest of his drink before heaving a huge sigh.
“Well first of all, you gotta be earning a certain amount.”
Practical. Supporting yourself and a dependant in this economy is nightmarish. Shota doesn’t say as much, though, just watches while sipping the remnants of his initial whiskey.
“Second, people want all their friends to like you. And like- obviously I wanna get on with them, but I can’t please everyone! I have my own friendships to maintain!”
Friction between friends and partners sounds messy, difficult. Shota’s own disapproval of Hizashi’s flights of fancy come from a place of care, of knowing the blond keenly and assessing they aren’t suitable. It’s important to listen to friends on such matters.
“And then on top of all that, y’gotta be like… hunked up. Guys want muscles, and it’s hard when you’re just-” Kosuke puffs his chest up as if to flex, but deflates when his jumper doesn’t quite fill with the volume that such a pose would expect.
Well that’s just simply not true. People are fickle, yes, but there’s no way Kosuke believes every single man who has rejected him does so on the basis of his perfectly average musculature.
Instead of consoling the other, Shota simply asks, “Do you at least have an impressive quirk?” with a smirk.
A habit built from years of pitying Hizashi’s more general woes. Constructive solutions do nothing to dampen the manic thoughts swirling in Hizashi’s head - so better to distract him with a nonsensical question. It usually earns him a sputtering response and swat at his shoulder, but at least the stream of gibberish stops falling from the other’s mouth.
“Hardly,” Kosuke mumbles out, less animated and slumping his head into his hand. “Insomnia. I don’t sleep, but I feel just fine without it.”
Shota blinks. “That sounds… really useful.”
“Ugh,” the blond goes to take a swig of his drink, before realising it’s already been emptied. “Everyone says that.”
“Because it’s true,” Shota maintains. “You could get through admin during the more inconvenient hours. Take night shifts for higher pay. Plus…” a smirk winds one side of his mouth upwards. “It’d be easier to fit more dates into a twenty four hour schedule.”
“To be ghosted by more dates, more like,” Kosuke rebuts. “You make it sound so positive, but you’re not thinking about the main issue.”
“Which is?”
“It gets lonely! All those nights alone…” The ending drawls like a question, so Shota answers honestly.
“Sounds like a dream to me.”
It’s met with a roll of eyes and exhale. “Well it’s not. But… better in company.” Kosuke’s unamused expression rolls into something more contemplative as he raises his empty glass in an invitation.
Shota meets it with his second whiskey and makes a start on it.
Despite the stuttered nature of initial conversation, by the end of the night it runs a little more easily. Kosuke is still taking the lead, but Shota has graduated from cagey to amused, and his responses flow a little less like pulling teeth. Sociable - for him.
Learning more about one another meant finding out that Kosuke works a typical office job. His “asshole boss” - who, to be fair does sound like an asshole - loves to take advantage of the man’s quirk, urging him to stay over other staff on account of Kosuke not draining through the night.
It also meant sharing one of the few things Shota takes much of an interest in; alcohol. As such, the pair have trialled a few of the higher grade brands the bar has on offer, and another currently sits in front of Shota. A spiced rum which Kosuke steals a sip of. The action burns something in his throat that isn’t the alcohol.
To aid in sharing their spirits, Kosuke has shuffled closer. Tapping a finger on Shota’s glass, head lazily resting in his palm and crowding Shota’s space. Surprisingly the proximity isn’t as irritating as it would usually be. Especially when the other’s eyes crinkle as he snickers at one of his own jokes - something cheesy and ridiculous. It’s charming in a way that finally pulls Shota’s thoughts away from the blond he’s been trying to avoid thinking of all night, and instead to the one right in front of him.
“Well-”
Heat emanates off the other, so when Kosuke finally stands - unsteady and disoriented - the action pulls that warmth away from Shota.
After he gets his bearings, Kosuke manages to continue.
“I’d better b-goin’. Work tomorrow n’all. We should uh…”
Rummaging by his pockets, he finally pulls his wallet out.
“Let’s meet up again for drinks. I had such a good time tonight, Aizawa!”
Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, or the way Kosuke says his name, or how Shota doesn’t want to lose the warmth that this evening has been basking in, but something compels him to make an irrational decision.
“Did you want to try some more whiskey? At my place?”
Actually, Shota is great at making friends. Extending an invite for a shared interest upon first meeting? Maybe expanding his social circle would be easier than he thought.
After a few bleary blinks, a smile lights up the other’s face.
“Ah! That sounds great!”
And so here they are, sharing more words and more whiskey on Shota’s lumpy threadbare sofa. It’s been a while since he’s used it for its actual purpose, but supposes it will do for the occasion of entertaining an intoxicated guest as an intoxicated host.
So far, they’ve been through another two drinks with differing flavour profiles. It’s easy not to think of Hizashi at all when he describes how this whiskey has a distinctly woody taste; that it was cured in red oak barrels to really infuse the flavour - and how Hizashi doesn’t care at all for hard liquor - but would still listen to the explanation with more fascination than Kosuke seems to give it.
In fact, Kosuke is barely concealing the fact that he’s looking more towards Shota’s mouth and neck than anything else. It’s something he’s caught Hizashi doing on hazy drunken nights, and it burns the same colour in his cheeks. Not that it’s noticeable around the general flush both men have to their faces. Slurred words eventually still to a halt and all of a sudden Shota’s eyes go hazy.
It makes watching the action of Kosuke lean in closer leave an echo of his image as he moves. His face feels numb when the other’s lips press to his.
He tastes of whiskey.
As Shota - for once - lets his body take the lead, he can’t help but draw his eyes to the soft golden flecks of Kosuke’s hair before he pushes back for more.