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Hitoshi knows today will be a bad day from the moment their alarm drags them into consciousness.
Their sleep throughout the night came in shifts no more than two hours long, broken up by bouts of staring helplessly at the ceiling and scrolling mindlessly on their phone, too exhausted to do anything productive but not quite tired enough to sleep. It wasn’t until nearly six that they managed to fall into something that resembled a restful doze, and now they’ve been forced back into wakefulness a mere hour and a half later. Not to mention their head is pounding and their throat is dry and the weariness in their bones settles heavier now than it did at any point in the night.
When they crack their eyes open, the morning light coming through the blinds is enough for a twinge of nausea to pull at their gut.
They grit their teeth, eyes falling shut once more. They breathe through it, slowly, giving themself a couple seconds before they reach for their phone to shut off the alarm and then drag themself out of bed. They stumble towards the kitchen, massaging their temples with their fingers in an attempt to lessen the pain. The kitchen lights are excruciating, so Hitoshi flips them off without asking before all but collapsing at the table.
“Rough night?” Aizawa asks.
Hitoshi groans, letting their head fall forward and thunk against the wood.
There’s a moment of quiet, where the only noise is the sizzling of food on the stove, though Hitoshi doesn’t even remember if Yamada or All Might is the other person in the kitchen with them right now. They have no idea what’s going on between their dads and All Might, but they also never quite figured out what’s up with them and Midnight, so. They’ve decided to stop worrying about it. If All Might and Midnight want to show up at the house randomly, that’s not Hitoshi’s problem. Their head hurts too much to contemplate something like that right now anyway.
The quiet is broken when Aizawa clears his throat and asks, “Are you feeling alright?”
“Fine,” Hitoshi manages. Barely. They don’t even have the energy to make their lie convincing, but it’s just a headache, and they’ve dealt with worse. They’ve powered through full school days suffering worse—although, not since Aizawa and Yamada took them in.
It’s easier to stay home from school when the place where you’re living actually feels like home.
Still, they don’t want to waste a sick day on a headache that will probably go away with some painkillers. They can’t afford to fall behind their classmates—not when they’ve already had to work so hard to catch up.
“You don’t sound fine.”
“‘s just my head,” Hitoshi mumbles. Aizawa will understand that; he suffers from chronic headaches, too. Yamada has told them both over and over that they should talk to a doctor about whether or not said random headaches are actually migraines, but Hitoshi certainly isn’t going to set up an appointment for themself, and if Aizawa makes one for them, he’ll have to make one of his own as well. So now they’re playing the waiting game to see how long it takes before Yamada snaps and physically drags them to a doctor.
It’s not like it would change much, anyway, if they get some official diagnosis. Hitoshi doesn’t need a doctor’s note to miss school when it’s their teachers who are making them stay home or skip out on training.
The sound of a plate being set on the table before them makes Hitoshi look up. They blink blearily at All Might, who is frowning at them.
“Young Shinsou, are you certain your only ailment is your head?”
“Why are you even here,” they say, without thinking. Because if they think about All Might’s question, they’ll be forced to face the truth, which is that it’s not just their head. Their throat has gone from dry to painfully scratchy, and there’s an ache woven throughout their entire body. Just keeping themself upright at the table is a monumental effort.
Aizawa raises an unimpressed eyebrow at them.
Hitoshi slumps. “Sorry,” they mumble.
All Might pats their shoulder. “Eat up, and then get some rest.”
Hitoshi shakes their head, ignoring the wave of dizziness that comes with it. “No, I still have—”
Before they can even finish the sentence, Eri pokes her head into the kitchen. Her eyes are red, and her face is paler than usual. She looks on the verge of tears, and she’s clutching her favorite plushie with shaking hands.
“Dad, I don’t feel very good,” she says mournfully.
Shinsou drops their head back against the table. “Fuck.”
“Language,” Aizawa scolds, without any real heat to it. It’s not that he cares if Hitoshi swears—it’s just that he doesn’t want another incident of Eri repeating something she heard at home. Which was his fault the first time, even if he swears up and down Midnight is the one to blame. “C’mere, Eri. What’s wrong?”
Hitoshi listens to her feet pad softly against the floor. Meanwhile, All Might steps away, likely to get food for Eri.
“Head hurts,” Eri mumbles. “And my throat. And my body.”
There’s a shuffling as, presumably, Aizawa picks her up and settles her in his lap. Hitoshi glances up to see him press the back of his hand against her forehead. Her eyelids flutter shut as she leans into the touch. Is his hand cold? Hitoshi would like a cold pack against their head, they think idly. Or a cold hand. Maybe Todoroki could—
“You have a fever,” Aizawa determines. “You and Hitoshi must’ve come down with the same thing.”
“No,” Hitoshi protests, shaking their head. “I’m fine.”
“Ha-ha,” Aizawa deadpans. “You’re both staying home today.”
“Fuck,” Hitoshi says again, just to say it.
Eri snuggles into Aizawa. “You’re not s’posed to say that,” she informs them.
Aizawa snorts.
Eri tugs on his shirt. “Are you gonna stay here too? I don’t wanna be alone.”
And Aizawa’s half-smile falls immediately. So Hitoshi knows exactly how they’re going to enact revenge for being forced to miss school.
—
Yamada was already gone this morning before Hitoshi woke, and with the way Eri is clinging to Aizawa like her life depends on it, it’s fairly easy for him to be convinced to stay home with them. Eri’s watery eyes do all of the heavy lifting, with Hitoshi egging her on just enough to ensure Aizawa can’t turn her down.
With a call to Yamada to explain what’s going on, Aizawa’s fate for the day is sealed.
After breakfast, All Might heads to work, cane in hand, leaving them with a farewell and a Get well soon! Vaguely, Hitoshi is hit with the thought that it should probably feel surreal to have the Symbol of Peace cleaning up their dishes from breakfast and personally wishing the best for them and their sick sister, but after being adopted by the Eraserhead and Present Mic, their metric for fanfiction-level implausible Pro Hero interactions has kind of been completely shattered.
Aizawa finds medicine for the two of them, and while Eri is hesitant to take any, she agrees fairly easily when both Aizawa and Hitoshi assure her it will make her hurt less. Then, they pile onto the couch with Aizawa in between them and orders to try to get some rest.
Hitoshi laughed, until they realized he was actually being serious. So now they’re pouting, curled up on the couch and trying not to shiver while they hold a blanket around themself. Eri, on the other hand, kicked her blanket off within the first three seconds and is now tossing and turning through a fitful sleep.
And Aizawa is grading papers.
Hitoshi watches him for a while, playing a game with themself where they try to figure out which student’s paper he’s reading based on the level of despair in his expression. At one point, he audibly mumbles, “Thirteen pages? The assignment was three to five,” and Hitoshi instantly clocks that one as Midoriya’s.
Their headache eases as the medicine begins to work, but it only makes way for congestion, and pretty soon, Hitoshi has to roll off the couch in order to search for tissues.
“I can get something for you,” Aizawa offers.
Hitoshi stares at him. The papers on his lap, and Eri leaning heavily against him, and the fact that he took his prosthetic leg off because it was getting in his way.
“I think I can handle it,” they say, grimacing at how rough their voice sounds.
Aizawa lets them go.
They return shortly, with a tissue box in one hand and their phone in the other. When they drop back onto the couch, Aizawa pointedly says, “Using your phone is not resting.”
“I can’t sleep,” Hitoshi argues. “I tried.”
Aizawa grumbles, clearly displeased. But he leaves Hitoshi be for now, which allows them a chance to check the texts they’ve missed. A wise choice, considering it offers an explanation for where this illness came from in the first place.
Neito: Hitoshi, I hear you’ve fallen ill! How treacherous! I fear the inferior immune systems of Class A have come to afflict even you!
Denki: kendou-san said you’ve been sick with the flu since yesterday
Neito: well,
Hitoshi: fucker
Hitoshi: Eri is sick too. you’ll pay for your sinsNeito: WOE DESTRUCTION RUIN AND DECAY
Neito: Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace! and lips, O you
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death
Neito: Thus with a kiss I die!Hitoshi: i’m going to kill you for real next time i see you
Neito: do you promise? ;)
Hitoshi: 🖕
Hitoshi looks up, clearing their throat. “Your least favorite Class B student has the flu.”
Aizawa raises an eyebrow. “Monoma-kun? Have you spent enough time near him recently that he may have infected you?”
Hitoshi is struck with the vivid memory of two nights ago, when they were headed to the exit of UA’s campus to head home for the weekend, and then they somehow ended up in the Class B dorm building with Neito’s tongue in their mouth instead. Because Neito caught them on the way out of the Class A dorms, and they had that stupid smirk on their face and Hitoshi warned them they didn’t have much time before ultimately letting Neito drag them up to their dorm room anyway and—
Well.
Hitoshi coughs, looking away. “Um. I guess so.”
Aizawa sighs. He holds out his hand.
Hitoshi turns off their phone and places it face-down in Aizawa’s waiting palm, but not without a huff and an eye roll.
“Rest,” Aizawa insists. “If you’ve got the flu too, that is going to be the best thing you can do.”
As much as Hitoshi wants to argue, they find they don’t really have the energy to. So, they curl back up on the couch, blanket wrapped tightly around them and tissue box hidden within their cocoon. Aizawa drops their phone on the floor beside the papers he’s already graded before resuming his work.
Hitoshi watches through bleary eyes until it hurts too much to keep them open. Finally, sleep begins to tug at them, and while they doubt they’ll manage more than an hour at most, a nap sounds really nice right now. They feel their body slump forward, head landing against something warm that they will later realize was Aizawa’s shoulder, and drift off uneasily.
—
When Hitoshi wakes again, the first thing they notice is the fact that they can’t breathe through their nose.
Before they even register the fact that they’re no longer sleeping, they’re fighting against the congestion and ultimately resigning to mouth-breathing for the time being because locating the tissue box is too much effort. Their head is pounding and their throat is dry and their mouth is filled with the faint taste of mucus and it must be time for more medicine, but the thought of moving even a single muscle is enough to make them wish they could simply evaporate.
They’re not sure how long they spend in this miserable half-awake half-asleep state before they finally manage to wrench their eyes open. The house is quiet, save for Eri’s labored breathing and Aizawa’s soft snores. The lights have all been turned off and the curtains drawn, though a bit of sunlight still filters into the room through the cracks. Just enough for Hitoshi to make out Aizawa’s sleeping form, which they’d been leaning against, with Eri in his arms.
With a desperation they didn’t even know it was possible to feel, they wish they could just fall back asleep here. But even in the throes of illness, their insomnia won’t allow them adequate rest, and they know ignoring that to try anyway will only lead to frustration.
So, despite the pain sparking through their body, they push themself up into a sitting position. They grab the tissue box from where it fell to the ground, then blow their nose as quietly as they can manage, not wanting to wake either Aizawa or Eri.
It doesn’t do much to clear the stuffiness or the pressure in their sinuses.
They decide to bring the tissue box with them on their journey to the kitchen, searching for more medicine and some indication of what time it is. Though, they can’t exactly recall what time they took something this morning.
The clock above the stove reads 12:13 PM, which is significantly later than Hitoshi expected it to be. That would mean they managed to sleep for…two hours? More?
Damn. Maybe they’re sicker than they thought. They’ll have to text Neito an extra fuck you later.
Their brain is too sluggish to do the math, but given the general state of their misery, they assume it’s been four hours since their last dose of medicine. So they get a glass of water and swallow two more pills, grimacing as they go down roughly. They should probably eat, too, but if they have to stand up for more than about thirty seconds longer, they’re pretty sure they’re going to just collapse. So. Heading back to the couch is probably the safest move.
But when the first step comes with a sudden bout of dizziness, they end up seated at the table instead, head in their hands, waiting for an impossible moment when their symptoms break long enough to allow them a peaceful trek back to the living room. They blow their nose intermittently, a pile of tissues building up beside them, and lose track of time completely.
It’s the sound of metal against the hard floor that finally has Hitoshi glancing up. He finds Aizawa in the entryway, prosthetic leg reattached and Eri in his arms. She looks about as terrible as Hitoshi feels.
“Hey,” they greet.
Aizawa offers them a tired smile.
He sets Eri down in the seat beside Hitoshi’s, which results in tears spilling from her eyes the second he steps away, despite having assured her he would be right back as soon as he got medicine and water for her.
“‘m cold!” she wails.
Hitoshi wraps their blanket around her, which at least reduces the loud cries to quiet sniffles. It also leaves them shivering, but on top of the full-body fever ache and the mucus in their throat and…everything else, they can hardly be bothered to care about that.
Once Eri has more medicine in her as well, Aizawa says, “The two of you should eat something, if possible. Is there anything that sounds good?”
Eri shakes her head, and then lays it on the table.
Hitoshi shrugs. Their appetite is pretty shot, and the thick mucus-y taste lingering on their tongue is killing any remaining desire for food. They know Aizawa is right, though, and they’re more inclined to actually try eating lunch just so Eri will follow their lead.
“I can make soup,” Aizawa tries. By which he means he can warm up a can of soup from the pantry, but it’s not as if Hitoshi will be able to taste whatever it is they eat right now anyway, so being deprived of Yamada’s homemade soup won’t be too much of a travesty.
“Sure,” Hitoshi agrees.
Eri whines something unintelligible.
Aizawa must understand it, though, because he replies, “Something with more nutrients would be better for you. I could make a smoothie, but the blender will be loud. Is that okay?”
Eri nods.
“Ugh,” Hitoshi says. “I’m leaving. Make me one too.”
Aizawa gives them a pointed look that is probably supposed to mean something like, Where are your manners? but coming from him, of all people, that means nothing. So Hitoshi just blinks in response, and then drags themself to the couch, ignoring how their vision blurs, because the alternative is the too-close roar of the blender worsening their already unbearable headache.
They collapse on the couch, curling in on themself and fighting off another wave of nausea. They can hear the quiet murmur of Aizawa’s voice in the kitchen, but they can’t actually make out what he’s saying. They do their best to tune out the noise, half-dissociating through the time it takes for Aizawa to make a smoothie for both them and Eri. They aren’t fully pulled from their stupor until a cold glass is nudged against the side of their head.
“Drink up,” Aizawa instructs.
Eri asks to watch a movie, and Hitoshi agrees only if the volume isn’t too loud—they won’t be able to sleep through it, but they don’t expect to get much more sleep today anyway, so that’s not an issue. Eri picks Ponyo, because Mirio has her convinced Studio Ghibli movies are pretty much the greatest thing in the entire world, and soon, the three of them have settled back onto the couch to watch—Eri and Hitoshi with smoothies in hand while Aizawa sticks to one of his typical jelly pouches. Yamada will probably have words with him this evening about making sure he eats real food for lunch, but Hitoshi figures there’s only so much he can do with how Eri is clinging to him.
Eri only makes it through about a third of her drink before refusing any more, so Aizawa ends up drinking the rest of that, too—from the side of the glass, instead of through the straw Eri used.
Once both glasses are empty, Hitoshi makes the perilous journey to put them in the sink, since Eri has a death grip on Aizawa’s sweater even in her sleep. By the time they return, they’re so exhausted they wonder if they might fall back asleep, too.
“How are you feeling?” Aizawa murmurs as they collapse back onto the couch.
“Bad.” They let their head thump softly against Aizawa’s shoulder, careful to limit the physical contact between them to only that. Neither they nor Aizawa are typically big on touch, but right now, their body is longing for something. Like it needs physical reassurance this illness is not going to last forever. Which is dumb, but. Hitoshi doesn’t have the energy to care.
They’ll be embarrassed about it later.
Aizawa doesn’t seem perturbed by the touch either, so Hitoshi stops worrying about it for the time being.
They slip in and out of half-sleep for a while. At some point, Aizawa mutes the TV, though he allows the movie to continue playing silently. He also manages to position himself so he can keep grading even with Eri and Hitoshi both leaning against him, and between bouts of half-consciousness, Hitoshi reads the papers over Aizawa’s shoulder.
“Hey,” they mumbles. “Is that one mine?”
Aizawa grunts. “No,” he lies, because Hitoshi has located their name at the top of the paper, confirming that is the essay they wrote. “I wouldn’t grade your work in front of you.”
“Right,” Hitoshi agrees wryly. “Well, whoever wrote that must be a pretty good student. You should give them an A.”
“Hm.” Aizawa circles a typo in red, and Hitoshi grimaces. “I suppose it’s one of the better ones.”
Warmth settles in Hitoshi’s chest, and their eyes fall shut once more.
—
The rest of the day passes in much the same manner, with restless sleep and a boatload of wasted tissues. Hitoshi’s head never really stops hurting, and by the time Yamada has returned home, they’re ready for this day to just be over. Actually, they’re ready for this entire week to be over, because they know there’s no way they’ll wake up tomorrow feeling miraculously well again.
Yamada brings dinner with him, and he also brings Midnight and All Might, because that’s just how things work now, apparently.
“Oh my God,” Midnight coos, upon seeing Hitoshi, Aizawa, and Eri piled on the couch together. Hitoshi is pretending to be asleep and they don’t feel like talking right now, so they neglect to move even as Midnight accosts Aizawa with excited whispers about how cute he looks right now.
“Fuck off,” Aizawa tells her, which means Eri must be asleep again.
Midnight ignores him. “I’m going to take a picture.”
“I will gut you and feed your intestines to the next villain I fight,” Aizawa threatens.
Hitoshi is about 95% sure Midnight snaps a photo anyway.
Several minutes later, Aizawa is rousing them, and Hitoshi must’ve actually dozed for a second there, because when they open their eyes, they find Eri is gone—in the kitchen with Yamada, Midnight, and All Might, from the sounds of it.
“Sorry to wake you, but you need to eat, and I know you don’t like it when your food gets cold.”
Hitoshi makes some vaguely affirmative-sounding noise in response, brain still too thick with sleep to formulate a proper response. They let Aizawa guide them up from the couch, taking a moment to blink the spots from their vision before following him out to the kitchen.
Yamada has Eri in his lap, apparently having been deemed a suitable temporary substitute for Aizawa, though as soon as he sits down beside the two, Eri is crawling back over to him. Hitoshi takes the empty seat on his other side, between him and Midnight, and food is placed down in front of them almost immediately.
“You look miserable,” Midnight comments, pressing her hand to their forehead. “Make sure to eat as much as you can, so you’ll get that youthful glow back!”
Hitoshi just stares at her.
She pouts, pulling her hand away. “Or don’t. You’re not my kid.” She shoots a pointed glare towards Aizawa.
He offers her an unnerving smile in return.
The adults make idle conversation throughout dinner, keeping their voices low, and Hitoshi is content to just sit and listen. They pick at their food until their stomach can’t handle anymore, and no one chastises them for letting food go to waste. The leftovers go in the fridge without fanfare, and Hitoshi is allowed to retreat to their room even before everyone else has finished eating.
“No school tomorrow either,” Aizawa warns, “so turn your alarms off.”
Hitoshi nods sullenly. They knew that would be the case, and they’re upset to hear confirmation, but there’s also a part of them that’s relieved they won’t have to suffer through any sort of hero training while in this state.
“And let me know if you need anything,” Aizawa finishes.
“Mm. G’night.”
They get a chorus of goodnights from everyone else at the table, then trudge to their room, flopping onto their bed with plans to simply lie there miserably for the next four hours. They update Neito and the Class A group chat on how they’re doing and the fact that they won’t be at school tomorrow either, then queue up some mindless YouTube videos to watch until they can’t keep their eyes open any longer.
—
They wake to darkness, head throbbing and throat dry, feeling like death. They blindly search for their phone, just to check the time, and once they finally locate it, the light from the screen sends another wave of pain shooting through their skull. They feel even worse than yesterday, and it’s barely past midnight.
They also find a text from Aizawa waiting for them:
Dad: Nemuri took my patrol tonight, so I’m at home if you need anything.
Hitoshi is typing out a response before they’ve even realized they made a conscious decision to do so.
Aizawa arrives in a matter of minutes with water and medicine, as Hitoshi had requested. He stays by their side, watching as they swallow the pills, then asks, “Is there anything else you want?”
The wording gives Hitoshi pause—not if there’s anything they need, but if there’s something they want.
“Is Eri asleep?” they whisper, voice small.
“Are you asking about how she’s doing, or are you wondering if I’m running on a time limit because she’s expecting me back?”
Hitoshi looks away. “The second.” It’s not that they don’t care about Eri’s wellbeing—of course they do, and they understand that she’s just a child who spent some of the most formative years of her life in an abusive environment that Hitoshi themself still hasn’t been told many specifics about. It makes sense that she’s latched onto Aizawa the way she has, given that he was the first positive parental figure she can remember having, and it also makes sense that would be amplified tenfold when she’s sick.
But Hitoshi kind of really doesn’t want to be alone right now.
“I can sit in here while I work for a bit,” Aizawa offers. “Eri was passed out last time I checked on her, and Hizashi can take care of her just as well as I can.”
Hitoshi’s shoulders slump, relieved. They nod.
Before long, Aizawa has set himself up at the desk in Hitoshi’s room. They find themself relaxing, content to simply lie in bed with their eyes closed and listen to the clicking of Aizawa’s keyboard as he types until they finally drift off once more.
Because they know, no matter how sick they get, they have a family who is looking out for them and who will be at their side to help them through it.