Archive of Our Own

Age 17

Shota Aizawa was, in Hizashi’s humble opinion, the most perfect boy in the whole world.

Like, okay, sure, he wasn’t the most sociable person. He didn’t bother to waste his time with pleasantries, and his strict adherence to his own personal idea of logic could make him downright unpleasant at times.

But that didn’t matter, not really. Because if one were lucky enough to be able to wiggle underneath Shota’s prickly armor, they saw him for what he really was: passionate, strong-willed, and deeply, truly caring.

Shota was quiet, but when he laughed it lit up his whole face. He was serious, but that only made it sweeter when he gave in and allowed himself to be silly. He was standoffish, and that only made it more special that he let Hizashi and Oboro get so close.

Hizashi was pretty sure he was in love with him. 

He was pretty sure coming right out with that would spook Shota like an alley cat, though, so instead Hizashi had been running a long campaign. It had started with bringing him little gifts; a bag clip from a gacha here, some snacks there. He’d then slowly transitioned into getting Shota used to having him in his space: sitting a little too closely together on Oboro’s couch, a hand on his shoulder, on his elbow, until Shota submitted without complaint to Hizashi’s arm around his shoulder. 

Then had come the flirting. Nothing too pushy or overt, just lingering gazes, sweet smiles, and compliments that made Shota’s cheeks flush pink. It had been weeks of careful, purposeful movement, but Hizashi was finally sure. He was finally ready. He was going to ask Shota Aizawa to go on a date with him. 

He said as much to Oboro Shirakumo on a Tuesday morning by the school gate as they waited for Shota to arrive. While he was always strictly punctual, Shota had an unerring ability to show up exactly on time and not a moment earlier.

“Finally,” Oboro groaned, elbowing Hizashi with a good-natured grin. “Watching you treat him like a wild animal you’re trying to win the trust of has been excruciating.”

“I haven’t been treating him like a wild animal!” Hizashi protested. Even stray cats were domesticated. 

“Please,” Oboro snorted. “It’s like watching you try to lure a bear out of a cave with table scraps.”

Hizashi opened his mouth to argue, but found that he didn’t really have a good starting point. Instead, he groaned and covered his face.

“But it’s working, right? It seems like it’s working.”

“Oh, it’s definitely working,” Oboro agreed. “The first thing he does when he enters a room is look for you.”

Hizashi peeked out from behind his hands, searching Oboro’s face for any hint of a joke.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. You two are obsessed with each other, it’s kind of gross.”

Before Hizashi could argue with that, he caught sight of Shota approaching. It was like the sun rose in his chest, and he couldn’t help the goofy grin that spread across his face at the sight of their other best friend. He looked tired, and he was slouching more than usual under the weight of his backpack, but somehow he still looked so attractive. It really was unfair. 

“Morning,” he grunted, his hands thrust deep in his pockets and his gaze half-lidded, as if it had taken all his energy just to get the words out.

“Morning!” they both responded cheerfully, falling into step on either side of him as he crossed through the school gates. 

“Did you study for the hero law quiz today?” he asked.

“For like two hours,” Oboro groaned. “I just know there’s no way I’m going to keep the case names straight. It’s like they fall right out of my brain. Yamamoto, Yamanaka, Yamamura, Yamada.”

The last one had him glaring accusingly at Hizashi, as if Yamada wasn’t one of Japan’s most popular surnames. 

“It’s easy,” Hizashi said with a shrug. “Just remember the last parts of their names.”

“Oh sure, it’s easy,” Oboro huffed, elbowing Shota companionably. “Do you hear him, it’s easy.”

“If you haven’t accepted by now that he’s smarter than both of us combined, I don’t know what to tell you,” Shota said with a shrug. 

Hizashi flushed with pleasure at the compliment, even as Oboro rolled his eyes powerfully.

“I bet he didn’t even study. Did you study?”

Hizashi’s pleased flush turned embarrassed. 

“I mean, I read my notes,” he said. “For a refresher.”

He knew it drove his friends a little crazy that he didn’t have to study much to maintain his perfect GPA. He couldn’t help it, though. School had always come easily to him. He liked learning things, and was able to find interest in most subjects so long as the teacher could hold his attention. 

“And he’s gonna ace it without even trying,” Oboro said. “So unfair.”

“Well, you can kick my ass in physical training this afternoon, if that makes you feel better,” Hizashi snorted. 

His quirk was powerful, dangerously so, but he had noodle arms. Both Oboro and Shota could take him to the mat pretty easily. He was working on it. 

“You know, it kinda does?” Oboro said, shooting a wicked grin at him.

Hizashi rolled his eyes good naturedly. 

“I need your help with the English homework, by the way,” Shota added as they reached the door to their classroom. “Lunch?”

“Yeah, sure,” Hizashi agreed readily. “I had something I wanted to ask you about then, anyway, so we could meet on the roof?”

“Sure thing,” Shota agreed.

Hizashi tried not to look too excited as they filed into the classroom and took their seats. He was ready. He was so ready. By the end of lunch, he’d have a date with Shota Aizawa.

Despite his excitement that morning, by the time he was carrying his lunch up to the rooftop to meet with Shota, he was sick with nervous dread. Shota had been receptive to his attention so far, sure, but what if Hizashi had tricked him? What if his slow and steady campaign was manipulative somehow? What if Shota hated him for it?

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob and took a long, deep breath.

“Get a hold of yourself, Yamada,” he told himself firmly. “Aizawa is hyper-logical, he’s not going to be mad.  You already told Shirakumo you were gonna do this, so you can’t back out now. Take a breath and man up.”

He sucked in another breath, deep as if he were gearing up to take down a wall, and then released it in a silent puff. Then, he squared his shoulders and opened the door to the roof.

Shota was already seated with his back against the safety ledge, one of his perfectly portioned bentos already open in his lap. He was reading a book, the cover folded over the back so that he could hold it with one hand and manage his chopsticks in the other. Hizashi took a moment to just stare at him, the scrunch of his brows, the quick flick of his eyes across the page, the way his inky dark hair fell in unruly waves across his forehead…

Hizashi sighed dreamily, and Shota looked up at him.

“Where’s Shirakumo?” he asked, his voice cracking just slightly in the middle. He cleared his throat, his cheeks pink, but Hizashi decided not to tease him for it. They’d all had their moments, and some of his had included a voice quirk.

“He had to run over to support to get his speaker fixed,” Hizashi lied, ambling over to drop down at Shota’s side, so close their knees brushed when he folded his legs in front of him. “He’ll be along.”

Shota nodded and turned his attention back to his book. Hizashi opened his mouth and then clamped it shut again, turning his attention to his own lunch. He hadn’t expected Shota to be reading, which was probably foolish of him. Since they’d all started their internships, Shota spent a lot of his free time at school reading, and when he wasn’t reading he napped.

He’d hoped that their conversation would give him a natural opening for an incredibly suave and cool date invitation that would immediately sweep Shota off his feet, and now he was slightly stalled. He took in another deep breath and let it out. He had to focus. Get in gear. He was Present Mic! The Voice Hero! And he could totally--

“What’s wrong with you?” Shota asked. It might have sounded concerned, if Shota hadn’t said it so bluntly, in the flattest tone imaginable. Still, he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t care. Shota didn’t waste effort like that.

“I’m fine!” Hizashi insisted immediately, putting on his widest, mega-watt grin. And due to his larger-than-average mouth, an adaptation for his quirk, he had a really wide grin.

“You’re being quiet,” Shota said. “No humming or tapping or talking at all.”

Hizashi squawked. “I can be quiet!”

Shota’s look was so dry and deadpan that Hizashi gasped in mock offense.

“You may be capable,” he acknowledged. “But you aren’t.”

Hizashi stuck his tongue out at him and Shota smirked in response.

“Fine,” he continued, turning his attention back to his book. “Don’t tell me.”

“Aw, man,” Hizashi groaned, “Don’t…wait a second. Okay, okay, I’m not bothered or anything, but I wanted to ask you something. And I had this whole great plan and everything and now that I’m here and you’re here, it’s like I forgot everything about it! I should have written it down.”

“What could you have to ask me that’s making you overreact so much?” Shota set his book aside, giving Hizashi his full attention. “Is it for a kidney?”

Hizashi let out a strangled laugh, and Shota’s eyebrows perked just slightly in concern.

“Is it a kidney?”

“No!” Hizashi exclaimed, slapping a hand over his face. He’d already ruined this. There was nothing left to do but just go for it. 

“I was just wondering if you wanted to go with me to that new cat cafe this weekend--”

Shota, clearly overcome by his passion for cats, interrupted him. “Oh, yeah, sure. I’ve been wanting to--”

“--on a date,” Hizashi finished, “A romantic-type date.”

Vagueness was nobody’s friend.

“Oh,” Shota said, his face going so pink that for a moment Hizashi worried about his blood pressure.

“Yeah,” Hizashi finished lamely. 

They stared at each other for a long moment, and Hizashi started considering his escape routes. The door was the obvious answer, but over the edge of the roof might be kinder to himself in the long run. 

“You want to go on a date with me?” Shota asked. “A romantic date…with…holding hands and stuff?”

“Uh, yeah?” Hizashi said. He was completely unable to figure out what Shota’s tone or face were expressing, if anything at all. He wasn’t sure if he was having an off moment because of the panic thrumming through his entire body, or if it was because Shota was so entirely turned off by the very idea of a date with Hizashi that he was turning into an emotionless husk. 

As he was wont to do in any given situation, Hizashi started to babble.

“I mean, we don’t have to hold hands if you don’t want to! We can, though! I’d like to hold your hand. But I know you don’t always like it when people touch you or stand too close to you. So like I could just buy you a drink and a snack and we could pet cats and I could stand like…a whole foot away from you if you want--”

“Yes,” Shota said.

A spike of disappointment speared through Hizashi’s heart, but he nodded quickly. He could totally do distance, if that’s what Shota wanted!

“Okay, a whole foot? Or do you mean at least a foot--?”

“No, you idiot,” Shota scoffed. His face was still pink and he seemed determined not to look Hizashi in the eyes. “Yes, I’ll go on a date with you.”

For a moment, all was utterly silent, and then a high-pitched squeal escaped his throat involuntarily and he grabbed Shota’s forearm and gave him an excited shake.

“Really?” he asked excitedly. “You want to?”

“Not if you’re gonna make that noise again,” Shota complained, rubbing his ear ruefully.

“I won’t!” Hizashi promised immediately. 

“Then, yes. I…I’d like that.”

Hizashi bit back another squeal and then threw his arms around Shota and hugged him tightly, rocking them both back and forth in his exuberance. For just a moment he felt Shota press into his hold, and heard the tiniest whisper of a chuckle. Then, he started to wiggle away.

“Let me go, you’re going to spill my food.”

Before Hizashi could release him, the door to the rooftop sprang open and Oboro grinned widely at them both.

“He said yes?” he asked, bouncing in place.

“He said yes!” Hizashi crowed.

Oboro threw himself at them to join the hug, making Shota grumble between them. Though, Hizashi noted, he gave them several long seconds before he started trying to wiggle free again. 

“I think my life is officially going perfectly,” he declared. “Nothing could bring me down!”

That Thursday, Oboro Shirakumo died protecting some kids from fallen debris.

Shota brought down the villain who caused it all on his own, but any kind of celebration at such an accomplishment was unfathomable. Hizashi was out of school for the next week, and then the weekend after that was the funeral. 

After a week of numbness--a week where he mostly laid in bed and stared at the wall, or the ceiling, or whatever happened to be directly in his line of sight at the time--Hizashi showered and styled his hair and put on the slightly-too-small suit he’d worn to his cousin’s wedding the previous summer.

There was no wake. It was unusual, particularly for a traditional family like the Shirakumos, but the cremation had already taken place before any plans for rites were in place. Hizashi didn’t have it in him to ask why. He’d seen the body, the direct aftermath. There had been so much damage, and immediate cremation kind of made sense. And if there were some other reason, he didn’t care to know it.

So he filed in with his parents, offered their okoden to reception, scanned the crammed room for Shota and couldn’t spot him. All of their classmates were there, and all kinds of people who had known Oboro or even met him briefly. Funerals for the young were always well-attended, or so he heard. 

It was only when Mrs. Shirakumo waved him over, her face splotchy and red, her husband terribly stoic with his jaw clenched so tight it seemed his teeth may crack, that he found Shota. Shota who had pulled his hair out of his face and tied his tie with a precise knot and even appeared to have shined his shoes. He looked the picture perfect image of a respectful mourner. He hardly looked like Shota at all. 

He gave his condolences to Oboro’s parents, and agreed when they insisted that he should be seated in the row behind them along with Shota and Kayama, a girl in the year above them who often joined their rooftop lunches. Hizashi had never seen her dressed so conservatively, or her face so devoid of joy. 

“How are you?” he muttered to Shota as they sat, waiting for the service to begin. Shota cast him a blank look, utterly emotionless, and Hizsahi just nodded. It had been a stupid question.

Still, something about it shook something awake inside of him.

He hadn’t spoken to Shota since that day, since he’d had to convince him that Oboro really was gone, and then drag him away from the scene before the pouring rain washed them all away too. It wasn’t as if he’d been avoiding talking to him, or anything. It was just that he’d felt so numb inside that it hadn’t really occurred to him that he should want to. 

He’d spent the last week locked up in his own head, adrift in a sea of numb disbelief, as if he could convince himself none of this was real if he just didn’t think about it, or feel anything about it.

But then, sitting there surrounded by mourners, listening to Oboro’s mom sob softly into her hands, looking at the utterly disconnected expression on Shota’s face, the numbness washed away. And then it was swiftly replaced by a soul-deep sadness, and that by a white-hot rage.

None of this was right. It wasn’t fair. Oboro was dead, and he’d taken every speck of happiness and joy in the world with him. They were still kids. They were still in training, and a villain had killed him just because he could. Worse, Oboro had been a victim of circumstance. The goal hadn’t been to kill him, his death had simply been a negligible consequence. Because a man had power and a desire to abuse it and he didn’t care who got caught in the crossfire. 

And now everyone in this room was suffering. Now they had all lost something they could never get back. The world had lost something.

And just for a moment, the rage inside of him wanted to spill out. Wanted to break and tear and destroy, and he could do it. Hizashi had the power, he knew he did. He could open his mouth and let loose and destroy everything and everyone in the next few city blocks just for the satisfaction of watching it all crumble to dust around him. 

But he never would. Even as the rage inside him demanded an outlet, demanded to make everything hurt as badly as he was hurting, something else ached at the thought of causing that kind of harm. He could, but he didn’t want to. Not to innocent people. 

And if the rage inside him could be contained by basic human compassion, then villains had no excuse. They had no absolution. Just selfishness and a distinct lack of humanity. And Hizashi Yamada, Present Mic, would do everything he could to stop them before they could harm anyone else. 

Tears flooded his eyes, and he swallowed harshly against the lump in his throat. Strangely, it felt almost the same as Shota erasing his quirk. Like there was something lodged in there that no amount of swallowing could get rid of. But this didn’t stop the strangled, gasping sound he made as he fought to keep the tears from falling. It didn’t stop the ominous vibration that rocked through the room, small and harmless but enough to make the windows rattle in their settings.  He swallowed harshly again, determined not to make another sound. 

He felt more than saw Shota look at him, and before he turned to meet his gaze he wiped any evidence of tears away. Heroes didn’t cry. Men didn’t cry. He wouldn’t cry. 

Whatever Shota was looking for, he seemed to find, because he didn’t use his quirk, and he immediately looked away. Hizashi tried to pretend it didn’t hurt. Instead, he reached out and placed his hand over one of Shota’s. It was too much, probably, but he didn’t care. He was desperate for the connection, aching for a solid place to hold on to so he wouldn’t get swept away by the storm of rage and despair fighting for dominance inside him.

But Shota flinched and dragged his hand away, his whole body visibly tensing. Hizashi snatched his hand back, trying not to feel hurt or rejected. Sometimes Shota didn’t like being touched, he knew that. But there was a small part of him, a part that he hated, that he wished he could choke the life right out of, that wailed in despair at being denied the smallest of comforts. He cleared his throat and wrapped his arms around his own middle instead, clutching himself tightly in a bid to hold himself together.

As the priest began to speak, leading them in the first chant of the evening, Hizashi shoved down the hurt that Shota wouldn’t even look at him. He was being selfish. He was being cruel. Everyone mourned in their own way. It wasn’t fair of him to ask Shota for something he couldn’t give. So he turned his attention to the front and held on tightly, powerless to do anything but let the current drag him where it may. 

It was only later, after the chants had been chanted and the incense had been lit, and the attendee gift of Oboro’s favorite tea had been received and he’d sprinkled himself with purifying salt to ward off negative energy, after he’d crawled back into bed still dressed in his too-small suit that he realized he and Shota had missed their date.

In the face of everything it felt so small and so stupid that he couldn’t even be sad about it. They’d reschedule. Eventually.

But now was not the time.

In the following weeks, it quickly became apparent that the time had passed them by, and it wouldn’t be coming back around. 

When they got back to school, Shota withdrew nearly completely. He didn’t push Hizashi away physically. He didn’t protest when Hizashi still sat with him at lunch, or chattered to him during free time. 

But he didn’t respond, either. He didn’t go to the arcade after school, or invite Hizashi around to hang out. He certainly didn’t accept any of Hizashi’s invitations to his own house. He shut down. He shut Hizashi out. Everyone, really. He became obsessed with training, pushing himself to his limits and past them, over and over again until he nearly broke.

Suddenly, “Plus Ultra” felt less like a goal to achieve and more like a punishment. 

But Hizashi couldn’t leave him on his own. Firstly, Shota was his best friend. His only real, close friend now. Not that they felt all that close anymore, but he was trying to be understanding. People grieved in different ways, after all. 

Secondly, Hizashi couldn’t stand the thought of not having Shota in his life somehow. Any way he could get him. It was selfish, probably, to cling on so tightly when Shota clearly wanted to be left alone. But he couldn’t help himself. He was terrified to be left to drift on his own, with no one to catch him. He was terrified of the idea that Oboro was the only thing that had kept them together, and without him they were nothing. Just two sad, broken boys sitting side by side and never meeting eyes again. 

He refused to let it be true. So Shota Aizawa was his best friend, whether he wanted to be or not. And if that meant sitting in the gym after classes with his homework, watching Shota work himself into an exhausted heap and making sure his water bottle was never empty, then that was what he did. 

If that meant having completely one-sided conversations and getting all of his invitations rejected, then that was fine too. He could talk enough for a whole room of people, let alone just the two of them. He could be cheerful and put on infectious grins, and keep the both of them in the minds and orbits of their classmates all on his own. He was going to cling like a barnacle until Shota made him leave, and even then he’d have to put up a damn good fight. 

Because that was Hizashi’s secret, at the end of the day. Having Shota to focus on was more helpful than anything else. Making sure that he wasn’t injuring himself, that he was eating, that he was hydrating, that he was getting at least ten minutes of human conversation a day meant that he didn’t have to think about the pit of rage that had opened up inside him during Oboro’s funeral and was showing no signs of getting smaller or going away.

He couldn’t show that, and he couldn’t deal with it, so the secret third option was just to pretend that it wasn’t there. And it was much, much easier to do that when he had other things to focus on. 

And anyway, it felt good to take care of other people. To channel his energy into being there for others instead of dwelling on what he couldn’t change. And above all, he did truly want to help people. It just so happened that Shota needed the most help of anyone he knew. 

This plan worked out relatively well, at least until graduation. Maybe it was because Shota hadn’t seen the point in trying to detach him when they’d inevitably see each other every day anyway. Maybe it was easier just to wait until he could disappear off the grid and find a new apartment and not have to put up with Hizashi inviting himself into Shota’s space whenever he felt like it.

But Hizashi didn’t think so.

Shota was a relatively simple man. He liked to think of himself as highly logical, whether or not humans could achieve perfectly logical responses in all situations. He was low-maintenance and honestly pretty rude, and he only managed to be gentle with the emotions of children. He was stubborn as a mule and equally as ornery.

If Shota, really, truly wanted nothing to do with him, Hizashi would have known. He wouldn’t have been able to stay by his side and chatter endlessly. He wouldn’t be able to fill his water bottle and make him stop training to eat dinner. Some part of Shota, whether he even realized it or not, wanted Hizashi to stick around. So he did. 

Even when Shota disappeared from graduation before they could even take a class picture. Even when he moved out of his apartment without a word or a forwarding address. Even when they both ended up in Tokyo, doing the grunt work of newly debuted heroes, working terrible hours for terrible pay. They didn’t see each other often, and when they did, it was often late at a terrible bar when they were both half asleep and more interested in getting blasted than catching up. 

But any time Hizashi got melancholy and felt alone in the world, he could send just one text with the words “wellness check” and he always, always got a response.

“Still alive.”

Age 21 

Hizashi was drunk, and he was tired, and he was pretty sure that none of the keys on his key ring were actually the one that belonged to his apartment door. 

He was coming off a long week of double heroing shifts to help cover for a maternity leave and his so-late-at-night-it-was-actually-early-morning Friday and Saturday radio spots. He’d wanted to spend his Sunday catching up on laundry and having some much-needed human connection, but it hadn’t worked out. Shota wasn’t answering any texts except for wellness checks, and Kayama was in the middle of a media shitstorm since the reveal of the most recent version of her costume had what she called “tasteful underboob” and the media called “a decline of public morality”. As such, she was laying low for a bit.

It was a little embarrassing to admit, but outside of those two he didn’t really have any friends. Sure, he was a people person through and through and he could find someone to hang out with anywhere he went, but that was different than actual close friends. He’d ended up settling for some work acquaintances, who were all nice people but also fully bought into the Present Mic persona. So he’d been as On as he could be, loud and boisterous, buying people drinks and flirting with strangers, letting the press of bodies and music drown out everything except the performance.

He’d stopped counting shots after eight, and he’d stopped counting cheekily stolen kisses after four. He’d had enough sense, at least, to know that it was a bad idea to let a strange woman go down on him in the sticky bar bathroom when she’d offered, especially while he was still partially dressed in his recognizable costume, so he’d split before that idea started to seem reasonable.

The cold air of late night and the quietness of the train back to his neighborhood gave him enough clarity to realize that he was a lot drunker than he’d thought. It wasn’t often he had the chance to fully let loose and get messy, and he suspected he might’ve gotten looser and messier than he’d meant to. It had been all in good fun, of course, but now that the fun was over he was just kinda nauseous.

He groaned and pressed his face against his front door, willing it to open for him. He just wanted to lay down on a soft surface and try not to puke. But the door. The door hated him so much. It made him want to scream.

And hey, there was an idea…

He drew back to stare at the door in a contemplative silence for a moment. He didn’t have his speaker, with its built-in accelerometer. That would make it harder to effectively scream the door down, but not impossible. He took a deep breath, and then let it out with a sigh when the voice of reason in his head that sounded disturbingly like Shota reminded him of all the collateral damage he could cause. 

Instead of a scream, he let out a pathetic little whine and slid down the front of the door until he sat on the carpeted hallway floor. Maybe he could just sleep out here. The metal door was really cold and soothing against his heated cheek, so it wasn’t all bad. And then he could find his missing key in the morning. And maybe he could get a spare…

Oh. Right. He had a spare. It just wasn’t here. 

He clumsily fished his phone out of his jacket pocket and opened his chat log with Shota. For a moment he just stared at it, noting the last answered text was from six weeks ago, a simple “still alive” followed by several unanswered requests to get drinks or lunch or anything, really. 

He frowned and scrolled up some more, all the way until he found evidence of the last time they’d seen each other. An unanswered text from Hizashi letting him know where he was seated in a bar. It was dated eight months before.

He laughed, a little bitterly, and then shook his head. Whatever. Shota would answer, or he wouldn’t. It would be illogical not to at least reach out. He snorted with laughter to himself and typed out “I need you” and hit send before he could second guess himself. 

He stared at the text log for an indeterminate amount of time, waiting to see a read receipt or some bubbles to indicate an incoming response. But there was nothing, so he let the screen lock and turned his head to let his other cheek get a nice press against the cold door.

The next thing he knew, there were warm, callused hands on his face, giving him a little shake. He groaned deeply and blinked, swatting ineffectually at the person very gently accosting him.

“I can’t believe you’d be so damn irresponsible, what is wrong with you?”

He groaned again, because he recognized that voice.

“Shota, can we save the lectures? Can’t get the door unlocked.”

“I thought you were in trouble, you asshole,” Shota snapped.

He let go of Hizashi’s face and stood up, and just for a second Hizashi thought he was just going to leave. But then he dug into one of his many pockets and fished out a set of keys with a battered, cat-shaped keychain attached and unlocked the door.

“Hey, I remember that,” Hizashi told him, inordinately pleased. “I got it for you in a gacha!”

Shota didn’t answer him, he just shoved the door open with absolutely no care for the fact that the door was currently holding Hizashi upright. He wailed pitifully as he slumped to the floor, knocking his glasses askew as his cheek pressed against the smooth tile of the genkan. 

“You’re a mess,” Shota said, disgruntled.

“And you’re judgey,” Hizashi shot back. “And mean. Why’d you even come?”

Shota heaved a world-weary sigh and crouched to yank Hizashi’s boots off his feet before half-lifting him off the floor and shuffling him the rest of the way inside.

“You said you needed me,” Shota said flatly.

Hizashi opened his mouth to retort, and then paused and reconsidered.

“I’m going to puke,” he announced, and Shota cursed.

“Well, don’t do it now.”

He wasn’t completely within his faculties enough to follow the next few seconds, but before he knew it he was on his knees in the bathroom, hurling into the toilet with a horrible kind of vigor. Shota hovered at his side like a trooper, scooping up his half-fallen hair into a bunch and tying it into a low knot with a ponytail holder to keep it out of his face while he emptied his stomach. 

Several minutes passed before he felt safe enough to settle into a relaxed position, pressing his cheek against the cold porcelain on the toilet seat and fixing his gaze on Shota, who wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“Don’t do that,” he said, and Hizashi batted his hands away.

“‘S cold,” he explained. “Feels good.”

“It’s a toilet seat,” Shota argued, and Hizashi couldn’t deny that it was a good point. He wiggled himself down until he was laying fully on the floor instead, pressing his cheek to the bathroom tile.

“Better?”

“Marginally.”

He drifted for a minute, and then Shota heaved another sigh.

“Are you done throwing up?”

Hizashi pressed his eyes closed and thought about it for a minute. He didn’t feel nauseous anymore, at least.

“I think so,” he hummed, smacking his lips.

“Okay, then get off the floor. Come on.”

Hizashi whined in protest, but he didn’t struggle as Shota got him up off the floor and into his bedroom. His friend was even kind enough to help him out of his tight leather pants before he crawled into bed, cuddling up underneath the blankets. 

“I’m going to go get you some water,” Shota said. Hizashi reached out and grabbed him around the wrist before he could go, clinging tighter than he would usually dare.

“Thanks, Shota. For coming.”

“You said you needed me,” he repeated.

“Well, yeah,” Hizashi mumbled. “But I always need you. You don’t usually come.”

Shota didn’t say anything for a long moment, and then he gently shook his wrist free of Hizashi’s grip. Then, he sighed, and headed for the door. Hizashi tried to watch him go, but he was asleep before Shota was out of view. 

The sun was evil. It was so bright and evil and it was directly in Hizashi’s face.

He groaned, deep in his chest, and pulled his pillow over his face to block the light. His head was pounding and his mouth felt like it was full of sand and also maybe some kind of garbage. It definitely tasted like garbage. 

“Nope,” said a shockingly familiar voice, ripping the pillow away from him. “Time to face the consequences of your actions.”

“I hate you,” Hizashi said into the mattress. 

“Strong words from a guy who I peeled off the floor twice last night. Get up.”

“What are you even doing here?” Hizashi whined, daring to open an eye so he could glare up at Shota’s dark, slumped form. 

“Keeping you from aspirating on your own puke,” Shota said flatly. “I have ibuprofen.”

“You’re so nice,” Hizashi said, making grabby hands. “Best friend in the whole wide world.”

He heaved himself upright and took the pills, popping them directly into his mouth and then chasing them with the water. It was wet and delicious, best water he’d had in years.

He sipped at it slowly, trying not to make himself sick, and squeezed his eyes closed against the sharp spike of sunlight. 

“No, really,” he said after a couple of minutes in which he started to feel more like a human man and less like the personification of a compost heap, “What are you doing here? Did we have plans?”

Had Shota actually agreed to plans? And then shown up for them?

“You were too drunk last night to figure out which of your keys opened your front door,” Shota said, his voice reflecting exactly what he thought of that. “So you texted me.”

And that…sounded vaguely familiar.

“Cat keychain,” he said, and Shota rolled his eyes.

Hizashi took another sip of water and looked his friend over. It had been a while since they’d seen each other in the flesh, and if he was being totally honest…

“Dude, who hit you with the hot stick?”

Shota blinked at him blankly, but Hizashi didn’t take it back. It was a perfectly valid question, after all. Shota had always been cute, of course. Hizashi had always found the arrangement of his face and body very pleasing to behold.

But now…it was like he’d hit a second puberty or something.

He’d had another growth spurt and looked to be just about Hizashi’s height now, and the plain black t-shirt he wore did nothing to hide that his chest and arms had filled out to match. The sloppy ponytail he’d pulled his long hair into revealed that the last remnants of baby fat were gone from his face too, leaving him with a jawline that could cut glass. Even his facial hair, which had always been patchy at best, almost looked like it existed as a choice now, rather than just being a consequence of Shota being too lazy to shave it. Sometime in the last eight months, he’d gone from adorable to an absolute smoke show.

“Yamada,” he said, almost like a warning. Hizashi winced and cleared his throat.

“Right. Sorry. I just…you look good. I mean…it’s good to see you.”

He took another sip of his water and looked down at his sheets. They had a geometric pattern on them, and it was a good thing to trace with his eyes instead of making eye contact.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Shota said quietly. 

It surprised Hizashi enough to make him look up again, his eyes scanning over Shota’s face. He looked sincere enough, and something in him lit up like a cozy little fire. He smiled at him, wide and sincere.

“Hey, you want to get breakfast? Omurice will fix me, I know it.”

“That’s a lot to ask of your breakfast,” Shota snorted, and Hizashi couldn’t help but laugh. “But…yeah, sure. I could eat.”

Hizashi perked up, hangover forgotten if only for the moment.

“What, really?” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten Shota to agree to hang out without several days of begging.

“I said sure, didn’t I? But take a shower first. You smell like a bar floor.”

Hizashi flipped him off with both hands, but there was no heat in it at all. It was with a new verve that he got out of bed and trotted off toward the bathroom. He could only hope Shota would still be there when he got out.

Hizashi wasn’t sure what exactly had happened the night Shota had come to rescue his drunk ass from himself, but after that, things changed.

At first, it was small things. Shota responding to his texts to hang out, whether he could make it or not. Shota actually agreeing to hang out with him at least once a week.

Then, it started to get more active. Shota started actually texting him. Pictures of stray cats scarfing down tins of cat food in an alley, relays of stupid conversations he overheard. Before Hizashi knew it, they were having actual conversations, even if Shota wasn’t always the most responsive texter.

It lit him up on the inside, brought something in him that he hadn’t realized was gone back to life. It became easier to reach Present Mic levels of enthusiasm and positivity, because he actually felt enthusiastic and positive most of the time. 

It was Friday in the middle of his midday patrol when he got the text from Shota that really proved to him that they were genuinely, truly friends again. He had just finished handing off the perpetrator of a convenience store smash and grab when the text came through.

“Dinner tonight before your show?”

It was the first time Shota was issuing the invitation, and of course Hizashi agreed immediately. He had to reward good behavior, after all. 

“Absolutely, where?”

“The thought of being in public makes me want to claw my eyes out. I’ll cook.”

It was followed by a pinned location that Hizashi could only assume was Shota’s apartment. It was in Naruhata, which wasn’t that surprising considering the rate of pay heroes got when they didn’t have high rankings, merch sales, or paid ad campaigns to fall back on. If it were anyone other than Shota, he might worry about them living there. But Eraserhead was so underground even other heroes mostly hadn’t heard of him, and Hizashi had no doubt that he looked out for the locals, and they looked out for him. 

“I’ll be there. 5?”

Shota’s response of a thumbs up emoji shouldn’t have lit him up with joy as much as it did, but he was at least self-aware enough to know that his crush had never truly gone away. It had quieted over the years, becoming hot coals with a lack of connection and attention, but now that Shota was fanning the flames again, well…

He was just a man. And he wasn’t going to say a damn thing about it to anyone, but especially not to Shota. After all this time, Shota wanted to be around him again. He wasn’t going to ruin it. 

----

Shota’s apartment was, unsurprisingly, spartan. 

It was a tiny studio with a postage-stamp sized kitchen, a teensy kotatsu, a shikibuton folded in the corner, a dresser--on top of which balanced a single shelf crammed with books--and not much else. There was a door just off the kitchen that could only be the bathroom, though judging by the rest of the space Hizashi suspected it was probably standing room only. 

“Be honest,” Hizashi said. “How often do you get too lazy and just sleep at the kotatsu?”

Shota rolled his eyes, which was answer enough.

“I brought beer,” Hizashi continued, hefting a six pack up for inspection.

“Thanks,” Shota said, making a vague gesture that probably meant ‘make yourself at home’. “Food’s almost done.”

There wasn’t enough room in the kitchen area to look over Shota’s shoulder, so Hizashi popped the cap off of a beer for each of them and sat at the kotatsu, watching him cook. He was clearly making much more than would be needed for two people to eat dinner, but the small collection of empty bento boxes sitting on the counter spoke of a plan.

“Do you always cook enough food to get you through a whole week?” Hizashi asked.

“Most of the time I’m too tired to cook every day,” he said, shrugging easily. “If I don’t have something I can heat up quickly, I won’t eat. And I can’t keep up to the physical standards I need to do my job if I’m not eating.”

Hizashi grinned, reluctantly charmed. It was just so reasonable and Shota.

“Don’t you get sick of eating the same thing every day?” he asked.

Shota shrugged. “It’s food, it doesn’t have to be a whole production. I have five or six recipes I like that get me the appropriate amount of nutrition I need. I make a different one every week. If I get too bored, I’ll get lunch out for some variety.”

“Man, I can’t relate,” Hizashi sighed. “I never know what I’m gonna want to eat until I’m already hungry. Most nights I get something from the konbini and scarf it down in between jobs.”

“That’s expensive,” Shota pointed out. “And konbini food isn’t the freshest or healthiest.”

“But it’s so good,” Hizashi teased. “Anyway, don’t pretend you didn’t mainline those jelly packets in high school, Mr. Nutrition.”

“Jelly packs are great on the go,” he said defensively, and Hizashi barked out a laugh.

“Oh my god, you still eat them regularly, don’t you?”

Shota flipped him the bird over his shoulder, and Hizashi snickered. 

“This looks great,” Hizashi said enthusiastically when Shota set their plates down on the table. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Had to learn,” Shota said with a shrug.

“Well yeah, so did I,” Hizashi said, “But I think you did a better job. I always end up burning something, or trying something new and exciting that doesn’t turn out the way it’s supposed to.”

“Sounds like a lack of paying attention to detail,” Shota said.

Hizashi scoffed and took a bite of his salmon, immediately making happy, appreciative noises.

“Man, this is great! I’m eating dinner here every night!”

“Absolutely not,” Shota shot back, his cheeks pink. “I can’t handle your noise that often.”

Hizashi tried to pretend that didn’t sting. Sure, he hadn’t really planned on eating there every night, but Shota’s quick and blunt refusal felt a little personal. But then, they were just getting back into being real friends again. Maybe he was pushing Shota’s boundaries too much, even by joking about it. The last thing he wanted was to make Shota regret reaching out to him.

“I can be quiet,” he insisted anyway. He had to defend his own honor.

“You cannot,” Shota snorted. “You’re always making noise. Even when you’re not talking, you’re tapping or humming or listening to music.”

Hizashi was suddenly aware that the way he was rocking his knee under the kotatsu was making the chain on his jeans clink together. He forced himself to stop and took another bite of his fish, trying to think of how to respond without proving Shota’s point.

He must have hesitated too long, because Shota sighed.

“I don’t mind, usually,” he said.

“But you do sometimes?” Hizashi asked.

“Sometimes I just need quiet,” Shota said.

Hizashi nodded. That was fair, really. He knew he could be a lot; over the top, even. Sometimes he got loud without realizing he was doing it, though he was always careful to keep within the realm of non-quirked vocal range. And though Shota had never been shy about telling him when he was getting too loud and rowdy, he had also never used his quirk to force Hizashi into silence outside of training or safety situations, even though he could have.

“Okay,” he agreed, making sure to speak quietly, though most people probably would have still called it full volume. 

Shota cast him a look, and for a moment everything felt awkward and stilted. He could see Shota’s shoulders tightening and his eyes narrowing, so Hizashi spoke quickly.

“So Put Your Hands Up has an interview segment--mostly with up and coming heroes right now, but--”

“I know,” Shota said. “I’ve heard.”

That made him pause for a moment, before he blurted out, “You listen to my show?”

Shota furrowed his brow at him, as if perplexed by the question.

“Yes? Ever since you begged us to when you posted the first episode on herotube.”

And he had begged them to, Shota and Oboro and even Kayama, for a full week leading up to him working up the courage to press “upload”. And Shota had listened and told him he liked the closing song, and Hizashi had played it as his closing song ever since. But Shota had never mentioned it again, and Hizashi had assumed that he didn’t bother with it. 

Knowing that he’d been listening this whole time…well, it made something inside him swell up with pleased warmth. Shota didn’t do anything he didn’t want to do, so if he’d been listening to Hizashi’s show all these years it was because he liked it.

“Best Jeanist, right?” Shota prompted.

“Right!” Hizashi said, clearing his throat a bit. “He’s really rising in the rankings right now, word on the street is he’ll break into the top ten this year. Which will be great for Put Your Hands Up. You know I like talking with newer, lesser known heroes, but I can’t deny that bigger names will bring in more listeners.”

Shota nodded to show he was listening.

“Well, I did an ad campaign for a shampoo brand I really like and Best Jeanist was at the photoshoot too! And he graduated UA a few years before we did, so we got to talking about that, and then I told him about my show, and before I knew it he was giving me the number for his publicist to schedule an interview!”

“If you’re in an ad campaign with Best Jeanist it’ll probably be a big one,” Shota pointed out. “His popularity will probably give you a boost in the rankings too.”

“I know!” Hizashi said, a little too loud and enthusiastic. “Dude, I can’t even tell you the sound I made when I saw the number of zeroes on the payment contract. It was enough to get me a backup speaker for when my main one needs repairs.”

He’d also bought a top-of-the-line sound mixer, but he didn’t think Shota would approve of that as much. It wasn’t practical.

“It sounds like you’re doing well for yourself,” Shota said, and Hizashi nodded enthusiastically.

“I mean, I’m not getting those huge payouts all the time, but I’m doing okay! Put Your Hands Up is getting more listeners by the month, and it seems like people are recognizing me more and more all the time. My agency has even started talking about a limited run of Present Mic merch, to see if the interest is there!”

Shota wrinkled his nose at that, and Hizashi laughed.

“I know, that sounds like a nightmare to you.”

“It really does,” he agreed. “But I know it’s what you’ve been working for. And most importantly, I know that you’re a good hero, and you do it for the right reasons. Playing the fame game doesn’t take away from that.”

And just for a moment, Hizashi was so emotional that tears sprang to his eyes. But he swallowed them back down and put on a megawatt smile instead, lunging across the table to muss Shota’s messy hair affectionately.

“Ah, Shota! I knew you cared!”

“Get off me.”

But Shota didn’t really sound grumpy at all, and Hizashi was pretty sure everything was as good as it could be.

Age 22

Rachel McDonagh was a beautiful American girl studying for the year at UTokyo, and Hizashi was enchanted by her. She was tall, in the way that western girls tended to be, with lots of curly orange hair and a cute spray of freckles across her cheeks. 

They’d met on the street like the beginning of a romance movie, her a lost American student overwhelmed by a new city, him able to speak her language with near fluency out on his patrol. He’d escorted her back to her dorm building, chattering and laughing the whole time. He liked that she was loud and took up space. He was used to being the loudest person in any given room, but she definitely gave him a run for his money with her odd accent that she told him was from Boston and her bright hair.

And though he wouldn’t usually condone it while on duty, he’d allowed her to slip him her phone number as he left. He’d texted her the next day, a picture of his favorite American-style diner, and she’d demanded he send her a pin. And then he’d offered to just take her there himself, and well…

She was bright and funny and a great kisser, that Rachel McDonagh.

“Come on, Shota,” Hizashi wheedled. “Just one hour at the bar! I want her to meet my friends!”

“Then invite Kayama,” Shota groaned from where he was draped over Hizashi’s couch, a cushion covering his face to block out the light, “She’ll actually enjoy it.”

“But you’re my best friend,” Hizashi pressed. “Shouldn’t you have at least a little interest in who I’m dating?”

“Why would I?”

Hizashi pouted at him and valiantly didn’t mention how they had almost dated once, and Shota had seemed interested then. It felt almost taboo to mention it, especially since his crush was still burning strong. 

“Because I’m your friend and you care about my life?” Hizashi suggested sardonically.

Shota made a grumbling noise, like he wasn’t sure he agreed with that assessment, and then he groaned.

“Fine. One hour. And you’re paying for my drinks.”

“Deal!” Hizashi said immediately, clapping his hands together. “I think you’ll like her, Shota, she’s great. Super smart and very pretty.”

“Yes, well, the prettiness of girls has never been interesting to me,” Shota shot back and Hizashi snorted. That was true enough.

“Well, what about guys? You seeing anyone?”

Shota lifted the cushion just enough to shoot him an unamused glare.

“I don’t “see people”,” he said stiffly. 

“Really? No dates at all?”

Shota heaved a sigh as if to communicate that he wished he were anywhere else on the planet.

“No, no dates.”

“I mean…do you…have you ever…you know, with someone…”

Shota’s face went pink and the cushion lowered back over it.

“Yes, I’ve had sex, Yamada. You don’t need to date for that.”

Hizashi shoved down the hot spike of jealousy at the idea of some faceless, nameless man putting his hands all over Shota. It wasn’t his place, he didn’t have the right. Even though part of him guiltily wished that he did. 

“Right!” he agreed, maybe a bit too cheerfully. “Of course not. And I guess that makes sense for you, huh? Dating is probably illogical.”

Shota didn’t bother to respond to that, and Hizashi had to wrack his brain for something else to say so that he didn’t think about Shota and the faceless man in a seedy alleyway, or maybe even a love hotel. Shota didn’t seem the type to bring a stranger back to his apartment, or to want to go to someone else’s. He’d prefer neutral ground.

And he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about this. 

“Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat. “We’re going to meet at a bar near the university so unless you want to drive we should get going.”

“Finding parking near the university on a Friday night?” Shota scoffed, because he didn’t like to admit that riding in cars made him feel weirdly on edge and trapped. 

“Then get up. Come on, let’s go.”

“You owe me food, too,” Shota grumbled and Hizashi didn’t argue with him in favor of texting Rachel to let her know they were on their way.

The bar was already crowded when they arrived, but Rachel had grabbed them a table near to the door and she bounced up to kiss him on the cheek in greeting, her lipgloss a little sticky against his skin. She laughed and wiped it away with her thumb before turning to greet Shota with a bold handshake.

He only stared at her for a second too long before he reached out to take her hand.

“Sorry,” she said. “Bowing is probably better, right? I forgot.”

She offered him a bow then, too, though she hadn’t let go of his hand yet.

“I’m Rachel,” she added brightly.

“Shota’s English isn’t the best,” Hizashi told her, and her smile brightened even more as she switched languages.

“Oh great! Hizashi never lets me practice my Japanese with him. It’s nice to meet you, Shota!”

Her Japanese wasn’t flawless, though it was more of a consequence of her speaking a bit too formally to pass as a native speaker than any lack of ability. At any rate, her Japanese was leagues better than Shota’s English.

“I’ll go grab us some drinks! Beer all around?”

With their confirmation, he left to go fight his way toward the bar, though with his quirk it was never too much trouble getting someone’s attention in a loud room. He wanted to give them a moment to get used to each other, though in his experience it usually took Shota much longer than a few minutes to do that with new people.

He wondered, for a moment, if he should have reminded her that most people would prefer being called by their surname. He found her familiarity and brashness charming, but he figured Shota might not. Still, at this point it might be more embarrassing for both of them to point it out. 

When he got back to the table, Rachel was patiently trying to help Shota pronounce her name, and he was looking more and more sour by the second. The double challenge of the R at the beginning and the L at the end was really tripping him up. 

“Her family name is McDonagh,” Hizashi offered as he set their drinks and a basket full of karaage down in the center of the table. “Might be easier.”

“McDonagh,” Shota agreed gratefully, the name coming out much easier, if still heavily accented.

“Sorry!” Rachel said, her hands fluttering in front of her, “Would you prefer I use your last name? What was it?”

“Aizawa,” Shota said, and she repeated it dutifully.

“Aizawa it is then! Are you a hero too?”

“Yes. You won’t have heard of me.”

“Oh? Why not?”

Shota shrugged, so Hizashi filled in for him, letting her know all about underground heroics versus limelight, which then delved into a lot of hero ethics that she’d never learned in her high school, as heroing had never been her particular interest. Shota didn’t say much, but that wasn’t unusual for him.

He didn’t even interrupt to make Hizashi buy him another drink as promised. Instead he just leaned over and put his hand into Hizashi’s breast pocket and took his wallet without a word, an action that made Rachel laugh in a perplexed kind of way. 

“So?” Hizashi asked, leaning closer to her. “He’s great, right?”

She smiled at him and shrugged. 

“He seems nice enough. He hasn’t really said much.”

Hizashi laughed and drained the last dregs of his bottle.

“Yeah, that’s just Shota. He’s not much of a talker, but he’s a great listener.”

“Oh good,” she said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “I thought maybe he didn’t like me. He kinda kept glaring.”

“That’s just his face. He has some wicked dry-eye…”

“Mic,” Shota said, suddenly at his side again without any beers in hand. “All-hands bulletin just went out, two blocks away. You’re good, right?”

“I only had one drink, I’m fine,” Hizashi said immediately. “Anyway, without my speaker I’m better off on crowd control anyway.”

Shota--in a show of either extreme dedication or extreme lack of a work-life balance--brought his capture weapon with him everywhere, but Hizashi’s speaker wasn’t quite so unobtrusive. 

“Is everything okay?” Rachel asked, standing up when Hizashi did. 

“Probably just an issue in a crowded area that needs some help keeping gawking citizens out of the way, no reason to worry,” Hizashi said, already putting on his very best Present Mic grin. Even in his civvies with his hair in a bun, there was still an entirely different countenance that went into Present Mic, and just slipping into it made him feel more self-assured and in control. 

“Should I come with you?”

“No,” Shota snapped.

“Not a good idea,” Hizashi added, more gently. “It’s probably going to be pretty chaotic and I’d feel better knowing you were far away. Can I give you money for a cab?”

“No, no, my dorm is close, I’ll walk. Be careful, okay?”

He winked at her. “No worries, Listener.”

“Mic,” Shota snapped, sounding annoyed.

“I’m coming, Eraser, don’t get your panties twisted.”

The trouble ended up being a fire in a crowded bloc of apartments that was jumping from building to building as if it had a mind of its own. Mic did his part as crowd control, using his booming voice and infectious attitude to help calm people down and direct them out of the way of danger, while Eraserhead used his capture weapon to get up to higher floors and help people who were trapped exit through windows.

The newly debuted Water Hose team and another water-quirk hero that Hizashi didn’t know focused on trying to control the fire to keep it contained.

It took hours for things to get under control enough that the local fire fighters and the police allowed them to pack up and go home. While Hizashi was tired from keeping an upbeat attitude and talking people down from trying to rush back into a burning building to save their cat or whatever, Shota was covered in soot from head to toe and flagging hard.

“Come back to my place,” Hizashi offered. “It’s a lot closer. You can shower and pass out.”

Shota grunted in a way that Hizashi assumed was assent, so he grinned and slung his arm over his friend’s shoulder.

“So, great night, huh?” 

That time, Shota snorted, and Hizashi grinned, proud of himself. 

As it turned out, the first time Hizashi had to run out for an emergency, Rachel thought it was heroic and brave. After the third time, she wasn’t nearly as impressed, and after the fourth time she told him they were better off seeing other people. 

Thus began a serious decline in the conditions of Hizashi’s dating life. 

He was aware that it was at least partially his fault; partners didn’t like it when you had a very limited amount of time to devote to them, and they especially didn’t like it when the time they did get was at risk of being interrupted in the event of an emergency.

He tried to keep a decent work-life balance, he really did, but the fact of the matter was that heroing was a bit of a 24/7 job, and as Put Your Hands Up got more and more popular he was getting a lot more networking and advertising opportunities. Even his opportunities to DJ were picking up. He couldn’t exactly pass on opportunities to further his careers, could he?

But maybe he should start, if he was just going to keep ending up at Shota’s kotatsu with take out and a wounded heart, just as he did after Suki and Akira and Sora and Nami.

So when he started seeing Haruhi, he really, really tried. He was as present (ha) as he could be, and he made time where he didn’t have any. There were some nights where he only got three to four hours of sleep so he could make time to spend a few hours at a bar or a club or a restaurant.

Still, somehow, it wasn’t enough.

“I just don’t think it’s working out,” Haruhi said, and Hizashi was almost kind of relieved. And then he felt bad for being relieved, because he liked Haruhi a lot. He was a good guy, and he was funny, and he matched Hizashi’s energy.

“Is it the time? Because I’m giving you every spare moment I have, I swear--”

“But you’re not, are you?” 

Hizashi stared at him, perplexed. He’d had a combined ten hours of sleep in the last three days, of course he was.

 “I am!”

“No,” Haruhi said, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms defensively. “You’re giving me every spare minute you haven’t already reserved for Shota.”

That stopped him cold. He couldn’t deny it, he did have immutable time periods that he dedicated to Shota. But their schedules were both so hectic, it only made sense to have a few times a week set aside to see each other. And sometimes Shota, the stubborn ass that he was, got himself hurt and needed some at-home first aid. Of course Hizashi would drop everything to rush to his friend’s side when he needed it. He was a hero, that’s what heroes did. 

“He’s my best friend,” he protested feebly.

“Maybe you believe that,” Haruhi said. “That that’s all he is to you. But you see him every chance you get, and when you’re not seeing him you’re talking about him. Worrying about him. Talking about your future with him. The fact of the matter is that you’ve only got room in your life for one relationship, and he’s it. I’m sorry, Hizashi, I’ve had a good time with you. But I deserve more than to be an afterthought.”

And he couldn’t really argue with that, could he? He did make Shota a priority in his life, over everyone else. Shota had been a priority in his life since he was 15 years old, and that wouldn’t be changing any time soon. Because the idea of Haruhi walking out of his life really sucked and made him feel like a failure, but the idea of Shota being out of his life was absolutely incomprehensible.

Because Hizashi was in love with him, and it probably wasn’t fair of him to try and use other people to fill the romantic hole that Shota wouldn’t. But damn if it didn’t suck to know that he couldn’t date other people, but he also couldn’t date Shota. What was he supposed to do with that?

An hour later found him with no answer to his question and seated at Shota’s kotatsu with a bottle of expensive sake and enough fried chicken to feed a small army. 

“Kanpai!” he toasted gloomily before throwing back a shot.

“You’re an animal, you’re supposed to savor sake this good,” Shota said, sipping his appropriately. 

“Savoring it won’t get me blasted nearly as fast as I want to be,” Hizashi told him frankly, and Shota rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t see why you even care. He was running you ragged, you were always complaining about it.” He helped himself to some of the chicken, humming in approval at the flavor as he took his first bite. 

Hizashi scowled at him and poured himself another shot. 

“I care because he was kinda-sorta on the way to being my boyfriend! Some people want companionship in their lives, you know.”

“You have companionship,” Shota pointed out through a mouthful of chicken. “Kayama. Me.”

Hizashi rolled his eyes powerfully. Only Shota would think that was a good argument.

“But that’s not the same! I don’t have sex with you and Kayama.”

“No, but you don’t need to be in a relationship to have sex--”

Hizashi huffed, frustrated. “But maybe I want more than casual sex! Maybe I want partnership, intimacy. Someone who I can turn to at the end of a rough day and relax with. Someone who notices when I’m in a bad mood and tries to cheer me up. Someone who takes care of me when I’m sick and thinks of me when I’m not around and wants to tell me things first and includes me in their plans when they think of the future--”

“I do all of those things,” Shota said frankly, and Hizashi was speechless for what may have been the first time in his life. He just stared, his mouth flopping open uselessly. Shota stared down into his sake and then, almost as if daring Hizashi to keep talking, raised his colorless eyes to meet Hizashi’s unflinchingly.

“But…” Hizashi hesitated, trying to think of how to respond to that. “You…I mean, you see why that’s a problem, don’t you?”

“Because we don’t have sex?” Shota responded. He sounded sour about it, judgmental. 

Hizashi sputtered, “I mean…yes…no…that’s not…damn it, Shota! Where is this coming from?”

It almost--definitely--seemed like Shota was irritated with him for not considering their friendship to be enough, and that didn’t really seem fair. He was the one who had fought to hold on to their friendship for so long, after all. But it was inherently different than having a boyfriend. Or rather…the connection and commitment was different. Shota had to know that.

“We’ve always been just friends, but we both know we don’t act like we’re just friends.”

“You have to be kidding me,” Hizashi snapped. “You don’t just get to act all jealous and like I’m the one in the wrong for assuming correctly that we’re just friends! You don’t get to be hurt when I say I want something more in my life than just friendship when you’ve literally never indicated that you were interested in anything more with me!”

“I don’t see why you’re surprised,” Shota said flatly. “All those years ago, before…when you asked me out, I said yes, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, and then we literally never talked about it again,” Hizashi said, that gaping pit of rage that he usually kept so carefully pushed down and covered cracking open deep in his chest. 

“Because--”

“Because Oboro died!” 

Shota flinched hard, his shoulders hunching as he ducked his face, no longer able to stare Hizashi daringly in the eyes. 

“Well…yes, but--”

“But what?” Hizashi snapped. “He died, Shota, and you left me. You both left me and I fucking…I needed you. I reached out for you and you turned away from me, over and over and over again. And all I could do was try to cling on to someone who was clearly trying to get away from me because I had nothing else!”

As he heard the quiet rattle of the windows in their settings, he realized suddenly that he was yelling. He swallowed harshly, and then sucked in a few calming breaths. Someone in the unit below them banged on the ceiling with a broom. 

He let out a quiet, bitter laugh and almost whispered, “Do you know what that felt like? To know that my best friend was dead and my other best friend wanted nothing to do with me? That I loved you and cared for you so much more than you loved and cared about me?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Shota denied.

“Sure felt like it,” Hizashi muttered.

Part of him was aware that this was not a conversation they should be having just then. He was already emotionally shot from yet another break up, and they hadn’t started from a good, calm place. But the conversation was happening, whether it should or not. Whether he was ready for it or not.

“I…” Shota paused, clearly considering his words carefully, “I didn’t push you away because I didn’t care. I did it because I cared too much.”

Hizashi scoffed at that, and Shota scowled. 

“What does that even mean?”

“It means,” Shota snapped, “That I was hurting. I’d never hurt so badly in my entire life, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I…still don’t really know how to deal with it. It’s easier to just not deal with it at all, to not think about it. And you were so obviously in pain that I couldn’t not think about it whenever I saw you, so I had to compartmentalize.”

“Oh good,” Hizashi scoffed. “I’m so glad my pain and I could be so easily compartmentalized for you…”

“It wasn’t easy,” Shota said. “It was never easy. But I know that I let it go too long, Hizashi. I know that.”

He didn’t sound angry, he just sounded frank and tired. Exhausted bone-deep in a way that made Hizashi want to back down and cater to him. To tell him it was all okay. But something in him rebelled against that instinct, too angry and hurt to force itself back into complacency.

“Do you know what I’ve been pushing down all this time?” Hizashi asked him darkly. “Anger, Shota. Fucking…white-hot anger so painful I can barely swallow it. With you, for leaving me. With Shirakumo, for fucking dying even when it wasn’t his fault. With everything that put us all out there when we were just kids and let him die like that. But…I can’t be a hero, if I let that anger consume me. I can’t go out there every day and do what I do if I let myself be swallowed up like that. So I pushed it down. But I never pushed you down; I never turned my back on you.”

“I know,” Shota said quietly, regretfully. “I know, Hizashi. I know I was wrong to do it. I’ve known that for a while. But I…I never stopped caring about you. Not in all this time, even when I was doing a terrible job of showing it.”

Hizashi stared at him, rage and hurt and soul-deep sadness mixing with the alcohol and chicken in his stomach, and he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to respond, how to make things better, smooth them over. 

So he just stood up.

“I can’t do this right now,” he declared. 

“Hizashi--”

“Shota,” he said sharply, and Shota fell quiet.

He took a deep, measured breath and shoved the anger back down into the pit where it belonged. 

“I…this isn’t me walking out of your life, okay? I don’t do that. I just…I need to think. And I can’t do that right now, and I can’t do it right here. So just…I have to go.”

Shota nodded, his shoulders hunched even further than usual, the absolute picture of misery.

“Then let me know,” he said. “When you’re ready. When you need to talk. I’ll come, okay? I promise I’ll come.”

Hizashi nodded sharply, just once, and let himself out of the apartment. He left behind his chicken, his sake, and the man he’d loved since he knew what love was.

The night was cold.

Hizashi spent about a week thinking himself in circles. 

On Monday, he was too damn angry and hurt to do anything but viciously stab the little Shota-shaped voodoo doll in his brain, but by Tuesday he was ready to at least start trying to give Shota the benefit of the doubt.

By the time he received a “wellness check” text on Wednesday, he was calm enough to respond “still alive” and really accept that it was time for him to actually start trying to work through his feelings on the matter.

He tried to combine in his brain the man who had been okay leaving him to flounder on his own and the man who professed to have had more-than-friendly feelings for him the entire time.

The thing was, when Hizashi was truly honest with himself, he kind of understood how it could be possible. He himself had been living for years with powerful emotions that he just chose to ignore, because it was the only thing he could do if he wanted to be able to function. 

But that honesty almost made it hurt more, because his untouchable emotions were so harsh and destructive, and Shota’s were apparently about having affection for Hizashi. To compare the two felt intrinsically wrong, even though he knew logically that emotions were hardly ever reasonable.

And if he was willing to be even more honest with himself, he could acknowledge that maybe he had tunnel vision. Shota’s shutting down wasn’t about Hizashi specifically, it was about anything he felt he couldn’t handle. And maybe he should be touched that Shota felt so much for him that it felt insurmountable. 

But then, of course, the idea that maybe he should be grateful that Shota pushed him away made his anger snap back up, and he cycled through the same argument in his head over and over until it was so rote he was going through it to himself in between back announcements during his show.

By Saturday evening, right after his patrol, he decided that he’d thought it to death. There were a million things he could spend hours hurting his own feelings over, and another million things he could use to make himself feel better. But at the end of the day three things remained the same: Shota had feelings for him, he had feelings for Shota, and he wanted Shota in his life in every single way he could get him, even if it was hard.

So he turned on the shower and sent a text before stepping into it.

“I’m ready.”

He didn’t get a text back, which he tried not to be disappointed by. But by the time he was showered and changed into comfy lounging clothes, someone was knocking on his door.

He wasn’t surprised to find Shota standing there, but he was surprised that he held a small bouquet of artificially colored daisies in one hand.

He blinked, wordlessly, as Shota thrust them at him with a tightly-clenched fist. And then he let a small, reluctant smile pass over his lips as he took them and gave them a sniff. They smelled nice. Delicate.

“What--”

“The internet says you give flowers to apologize,” Shota said, his face pink as he avidly avoided looking Hizashi in the eyes. 

He’d be a damn liar if he said his heart didn’t flutter just a little at the gesture. Not just the flowers, though they were enough on their own to make him fill with goo. But the thought that at some point during the week Shota had googled what to do to apologize made him want to wrap himself around him octopus-like and skip any awkward conversation.

But he had to be strong.

“Thank you, Shota. Come in.”

His apartment was quite a bit messier than usual, and much more messy than Shota’s ever was. There was a week’s worth of ignored mail piled on the coffee table, a bunch of unfolded throw blankets in something akin to a nest on the corner of the couch, and pile of dishes in the sink, and a greasy pizza box that had been begging for the trash chute for at least three days on the kitchen counter.

He just hadn’t had the energy to care enough to clean up when all his mental faculties were concentrated on trying to make sense of his life. He did have a moment to be a little embarrassed that he hadn’t thought to straighten up before texting Shota, but Shota didn’t seem to care. He simply watched quietly as Hizashi found a heavy glass to use as a vase for his flowers.

They moved over to the couch after that, sitting thigh to thigh as the blanket nest had too much volume to sit on top of comfortably. Hizashi had always been a yapper with the best of them, but he found himself unsure of where to start. Still, he knew he had to be the one to start. He was the one who had needed time, and he was the one who had called Shota over here. And Shota had come immediately, just like he’d promised. 

“I’ve spent a lot of time over the past week trying to make things make sense in my head,” he started, and Shota watched him intensely. 

He knew some people found Shota’s stare intimidating at best. He was good at not blinking, for one, and without using his quirk his eyes had no visible color outside of his pupils, which some found off-putting. But Hizashi had always liked his intense stare, and the way it made him feel so seen. Noticed. Shota was a man who didn’t care for fuss or nursing the feelings of others if he felt there was no need to. So the fact that he looked at Hizashi so intently meant that he thought what Hizashi had to say mattered. 

“And I’ve come to the conclusion that I can think myself in circles until the heat death of the universe and never be able to make myself completely happy with it. You hurt me, Shota. You hurt me so badly.”

Shota did look away then, but it was a guilty shifting of eyes more than everything else.

“But I can forgive you. I can forgive you because what we went through was so much. You, especially. It would be for anyone, but we were just kids. We did the best we could, even when our best wasn’t very good.”

Shota looked back at him, a little less intense, a little more lost. Hizashi reached out and took one of his hands. It was warm and dry, noticeably larger and stronger than Hizashi’s own thin fingers, but somehow they fit together like they were made for it.

 “I’ve loved you for so long I don’t even know who I am without that love,” he admitted. “And part of me has always regretted that we never got that date, even when I knew afterward that the chance had passed us by. So. If you’re serious that you still want to, then I’m in. But I need to be really honest about this, okay? This isn’t a casual dating situation for me. This can’t be ‘let’s see how it goes’ because I’m in way too deep. So if we do this, it’s serious; a long-haul commitment. And if you can’t do that, then we need to let it go and stay just friends.”

Shota shook his head, but Hizashi waited to hear what he said before he let his heart shatter in his chest.

“I don’t think we’ve ever been just friends,” he said. “So I’m in too. I…I want to do right by you, Hizashi. I want to be what you need. But I’m not…very good at this kind of thing. So I made this, to help. Hopefully.”

Hizashi was so caught up in the euphoria that he could almost completely ignore the near-painful awkwardness of the conversation. Almost.

Shota dug a folded piece of notebook paper out of his hoodie pocket and handed it over. Hizashi unfolded it to find a bulleted list.

-Talk to each other about stuff

-No more pushing away

-Don’t pretend stuff doesn’t matter

-Ask for what you need

“What is this?” Hizashi asked, though he suspected he knew, and he was utterly charmed by it. 

Shota heaved a sigh.

“Rules? For…communicating well. It’s rational, to have things to practice at.”

Hizashi’s eyes watered, he was so touched by Shota’s little list, and he let out a wet laugh.

“Yeah, it’s really rational,” he agreed. “I like it.”

He took out his phone and snapped a picture so he’d have his own copy, and then smiled at Shota blindingly. 

“I love you,” he said, almost giddy that he could finally just say it. That Shota would hear it and know it and accept it.

Shota flushed pink and looked away.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Me, too.”

It wasn’t exactly the declaration that Hizashi had been hoping for, but he didn’t even care. He knew the feeling behind it was true. Still…

“We’ll work on it,” he said, and Shota rolled his eyes, but his fingers tightened just briefly around Hizashi’s for a moment. It was more than enough, for now.

They stared at each other sappily for a long minute, while Hizashi tried to get his excitement and disbelief and desire to just climb into Shota’s lap and lay there for the next 5-7 business days under control. 

Sure, they had agreed to be serious and committed, but he didn’t want to push all of Shota’s boundaries so immediately. He didn’t want to rush and make a misstep. So he just stared, aware that he probably looked like a demented Hannya mask but unable to make himself stop.

Finally, Shota shifted and said, “Well…now what?”

“I’m not really sure,” Hizashi admitted with a slight laugh. “You have patrol tonight, don’t you?”

“In an hour,” Shota agreed, not even looking at the time. He’d come over immediately, even knowing that he had somewhere else to be. Hizashi grinned a little wider. 

“But I have tomorrow off,” Shota continued, “And you do too?”

Hizashi nodded. He had a broadcast for the early morning rush, but Sunday afternoon and evening were wide open.

“Then maybe it’s time we go to that cat cafe?”

Hizashi couldn’t stop himself from hugging Shota tight, burying his grin in the man’s shoulder. Shota tensed only slightly before noticeably relaxing, one hand patting Hizashi’s back gently.

It was at that moment that he was sure that this would work. They would make it work, no matter what.

“Yeah,” he said, squeezing until Shota let out a little wheeze. “Yeah, that sounds perfect.’

Dating Shota was the best thing that Hizashi had ever done, but it was also the most exhausting. 

It wasn’t exhausting in a bad way, but in more of a literal way. He loved spending time with his boyfriend, he loved getting to call Shota his boyfriend. He loved that their first kiss had been stolen in the secluded corner of a cat cafe over a lapful of cats, and that Shota had flushed with embarrassment but also fisted his hand in the front of Hizashi’s t-shirt to keep him close.

He loved that his scheduled Shota-time had turned into date time, even if it was just take out or channel surfing in one of their apartments because they were too tired to go anywhere. He loved that when he’d asked, Shota had agreed to text him when he was leaving for patrol and when he got home. He loved that they spent pretty much every night curled up in Hizashi’s bed together. 

But man, it was difficult getting used to Shota’s sleeping patterns. For one, underground heroics meant a lot of his patrol shifts were in the dead of night. Most nights, he was getting out of bed only a couple of hours after Hizashi had gotten in, and returning just before Hizashi’s morning alarm went off. Hizashi was a pretty light sleeper, so any time he moved to get in or out of the bed it woke him up.

Not to mention the nights where Shota’s insomnia got the best of him and he tossed and turned for hours, keeping them both awake. But Hizashi didn’t want to stop sharing a bed with him, so he gamely tried to get used to it and invested in some undereye concealer. 

His next mission was to convince Shota to get an actual bed (and maybe a slightly larger apartment so he had somewhere to put said bed) so that they could spend some nights at his place too. Shota was, of course, completely resistant to the “illogical” nature of this request, even when Hizashi pointed out that it wasn’t really fair to expect Shota to spend every night at his place, even if Shota claimed it didn’t make a difference to him. 

It was a work in progress.

When he got home on Tuesday a few months after their first date, he was pleased to find Shota’s boots in the genkan and the man himself in his kitchen heating up two of the meals he’d prepped earlier in the week. He wasn’t the type to set the table for them to eat at or light a romantic candle, but it was still clear as day that he was providing care and welcoming Hizashi home in his own way.

Hizashi came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Shota’s waist, kissing his cheek with a loud smacking sound. Shota huffed and jerked his face away.

“I didn’t shave today,” he muttered, and Hizashi laughed and kissed his cheek again anyway.

“I’m thinking of growing a mustache,” he said. “Something cool. I saw a guy with this crazy handlebar sitch today and he was pulling it off. Made a real statement.”

“If you say so,” Shota snorted, turning in his arms to look at him. A frown fell over his face and he tilted his head back as if a different perspective might make the huge shiner on Hizashi’s cheek look different.

“You’re hurt,” he said accusingly.

Hizashi grimaced, which made the bruise twinge painfully.

“Yeah, a villain suckerpunched me good. It’s my own fault for getting too close.”

Shota took his chin in surprisingly gentle, calloused hands and tilted his face a bit toward the light to inspect it for himself. Hizashi shivered just slightly, touched by his intense concern.

“Any loose teeth?” he asked.

“No, I’m alright, babe,” he assured him, the English endearment rolling off his tongue as natural as breathing.

“We’re going to work on your hand to hand,” Shota declared. “The more practiced you are, the easier you’ll see it coming.”

“Okay,” Hizashi agreed easily. He wasn’t going to argue if his boyfriend wanted to get all touchy and sexy with homoerotic training montages. Even though if he was honest with himself, it was definitely going to be less sexy and homoerotic and more Shota beating his ass over and over again.

“Sit down, I’ll be right back,” Shota said, tone brooking no argument, so Hizashi dropped into a dining chair obediently as Shota headed for the bathroom and came back with a small tub of bruise cream.

“Aw, babe, are you gonna tenderly care for my wounds like a war time nurse?” Hizashi crooned, only half joking. He would definitely melt into a mushy little pile of hearts if Shota actually did it. 

Shota hesitated for a long second and then rolled his eyes and unscrewed the top of the jar. Hizashi perked up in his seat, raising his face in anticipation. Totally worth getting punched in the face.

It wasn’t exactly a romance-novel worthy performance or anything, but it did feel really nice to have Shota apply the cream gently to his bruise and try and fail to subtly feel for any more serious damage as he did so. Hizashi was aware he was smiling dopily by the time it was done, and he inanely wished for another bruise so it wouldn’t be over yet.

But Shota put the cap back on the cream, and before he could take a step back, Hizashi puckered his lips expectantly. Shota huffed again, but he kissed him quickly anyway.

“I think you’ll survive,” he said seriously.

“All thanks to the tender loving care of my personal at-home nurse,” Hizashi agreed cheerfully. 

Shota stepped away to go wash his hands and bring their dinner over, and Hizashi watched him move around the kitchen as if it were his own. As if he felt like he belonged there. And he did, he really did. 

---

It was mid-December when Hizashi came home to an empty apartment and realized two things at once.

Firstly, that it felt quiet and lonely without Shota there. Secondly, that it was a little bit of a relief to have some alone time. 

He immediately felt guilty about the second thought, so he pulled out his phone to text Shota and ask if he was okay. Usually they made plans to meet at one place or another, and he was fairly sure that they had agreed on Hizashi’s apartment that day. 

When Shota left him on read, Hizashi really started to worry. He turned right around and headed back out, not even bothering to change out of his costume or let his hair down or anything. It was almost twenty minutes by train to Shota’s neighborhood, and by the time Hizashi was turning on to his block he was almost twitching with concern. He was just taking his phone out to ask Shota to buzz him up when a response finally came through.

“I’m fine.”

“I’m downstairs, buzz me in.”

It was almost a full minute before the door buzzed and unlatched, and the five floor walk up felt more like one, Hizashi took the stairs so quickly. Shota’s door was cracked open for him when he got there, and the man himself was folding his shikibuton up for storage in the corner.

He looked absolutely exhausted, with deep circles under his eyes, his tangled mess of hair pulled half back from his face, and wearing only a threadbare pair of sweatpants. Even his facial hair was overgrown in a way it hadn’t been in a while.

“Were you sleeping?” Hizashi asked, hurrying over to his side. He reached out to take Shota’s cheeks, and he flinched hard and then visibly rallied and let Hizashi touch him. It didn’t make Hizashi feel any better.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, dropping his hands back to his sides.

“It’s fine,” Shota said, his voice raspy. He cleared his throat a little. “I’m fine. Hi. Sorry, I should have…called or something.”

“Yeah,” Hizashi agreed hesitantly, reaching out again but telegraphing his movements. Once again, Shota visibly rallied and braced himself. Hizashi stopped.

“Honey, are you okay? Like, really okay?”

“Fine,” Shota insisted. “Just tired is all. Have you eaten? I can warm up--”

“Shota,” Hizashi said, trying not to sound too demanding or judgmental or…any kind of way, really, in hopes of encouraging Shota to talk to him. “This is one of the things on the list, right? Talk to each other. Ask for what you need. Right?”

Shota sighed heavily and seemed to take a moment to collect himself.

“Right,” he agreed. “Right. I just…don’t want to upset you. I’ve been trying so hard not to upset you. But we need to talk.”

Hizashi froze at that, swallowing harshly. Was this it, then? Was Shota sick of him already?

“Okay,” he said, his voice cracking just a bit.

“You’re upset,” Shota said immediately.

“No!” Hizashi exclaimed, voice pitched way too high, and then he cleared his throat and tried again. “No, I’m not. Let’s…just tell me.”

Shota nodded, and then squared his shoulders and met his eyes like he was walking into battle and not having a conversation with his boyfriend.

“I’m exhausted,” Shota announced. “And I need to be alone.”

“Okay,” Hizashi said slowly, nervously. “Is it…something I did?”

“No,” Shota said quickly, and then he paused. “I…not really. Just…you want to spend time together. And I want that too, but…it’s a lot, Hizashi. It’s every day all the time, and I’m used to having my alone time and getting to decompress and…I’ve been trying to be what you want. I really have. But I’m not very good at it and I’m so tired and I think if I just have tonight on my own then tomorrow I can get back into it…”

The chill in Hizashi’s veins thawed into a charmed kind of affection.

“Oh, Shota, it’s okay.” He reached for a hug, and Shota tensed in anticipation, so he stepped back instead, putting his hands up in a placating gesture. 

“Sorry,” Shota said immediately. “It’s fine, I just--”

“Stop saying it’s fine when it’s clearly not. Come on, let’s sit, okay?”

They settled at the kotatsu, and something about having a whole piece of furniture between them made Shota’s shoulders relax. Hizashi thought he should probably be offended by that, but he wasn’t. It was clear that Shota had been willing to let Hizashi grab onto him whenever he wanted, whether Shota was feeling it or not. So in exchange, he could be forgiving when Shota clearly didn’t want him being grabby. 

“I’m not upset,” Hizashi repeated, hoping it was reassuring. “But it sounds like you are. So let’s figure this out, okay?”

Shota nodded and let out a breath.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be around you,” he said. “I…like being around you. I like sharing your bed and having dinner together and…all that domestic garbage we’ve been up to.”

Hizashi snorted a laugh, and Shota’s shoulders relaxed a bit. 

“But like I said, I need my alone time. I feel like I’m not getting the opportunity to reset. And…sometimes I just don’t want to talk, or be seen, or be touched. And you love to talk and touch. And I don’t want to make you feel like you can’t do that stuff because I know it makes you happy, but sometimes I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin if I can’t get a moment to myself.”

“Believe it or not, I understand,” Hizashi said. “You know when I got home and my apartment was empty, I was a little relieved? Not because I didn’t want to see you, but just because I knew that it meant I could be lazy and chill and not have to do anything. But I was also worried, because you were supposed to be there and you weren’t, and you didn’t answer my text. So I came over to make sure you were okay.”

“Really?” Shota asked, looking surprised. “But you’re so…personable.”

Hizashi laughed. “Yeah, man! I’m personable, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a little time to myself. And you know…I love sharing a bed with you, but some nights when you’re moving all over the place and keeping us both awake I want to strangle you.”

“I thought it would upset you if I got out of bed,” Shota admitted.

“No, please, next time get out of bed,” Hizashi said, and Shota smiled a little ruefully and rubbed at his chin.

“I’m tired of shaving all the time, too.” he said frankly, clearly relaxing now that it was clear this conversation wasn’t going to lead to a fight. “It takes so much time and it’s pointless.”

“I never asked you to shave!” Hizashi cried, and Shota grimaced.

“No, but…it looks bad, right? People always tell me it makes me look sloppy. And you like to kiss me on the cheek…”

“Babe, I like your scruff,” Hizashi said. “I think it looks sexy on you. I was actually kind of surprised you were going clean-shaven so often, but I wasn’t gonna tell you what to do with your own face.”

“Oh,” Shota said, face pink. “Good. Because I don’t want to shave it unless I have to.”

“What made you decide you had to do all this stuff, anyway?” Hizashi asked. “You’re not usually the type to do anything you don’t want to.”

Shota shrugged, looking down at the table. 

“You said you wanted serious commitment. I guess I was trying to show you I can do that. And that I care about stuff that matters to you, even when I don’t get it.”

“Oh my god,” Hizashi practically whimpered, his heart growing ten sizes in his chest. “Babe, that is so sweet. That’s probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. But you know I love you just how you are, right? I’ve known exactly who you are for years. I don’t expect or want you to change, I just want to have space and priority in your life. That’s what commitment means to me, not…you forcing yourself to do stuff that you don’t want to.”

“I…” Shota paused and then rolled his eyes powerfully, like it was a chore to make himself verbally emotional, “Me too. And I don’t want you to resent me because I’m stubborn and stuck in my ways.”

“You are a good man, Shota Aizawa. And you give a lot more of yourself than you like to admit. And if you do something that really bothers me, I’ll let you know, okay? And you can let me know when you just need some time to yourself. Maybe we can work out a schedule or something. Days that you spend the night at your place and I spend the night at mine.”

“And that’s okay?” Shota asked. “I mean, with you? That I might want to spend a few nights a week alone?”

“That’s okay,” Hizashi assured him. “It’s probably healthier than me wanting to spend every waking second in your pocket, honestly.”

Shota huffed a laugh at that, and shook his head.

“I’m sorry I broke my own rules. It just…once I had to actually follow them, it seemed a lot harder than it did when I wrote them down.”

“You were afraid of hurting my feelings,” Hizashi said. “I get it. I also didn’t say anything to you about keeping me awake, because I was worried it might chase you off. So…we both kind of suck at the talking thing. But I think we did great tonight! Very mature and reasonable of us!”

“A plus for sure,” Shota deadpanned, and Hizashi laughed.

“So. Is that it? Any other burning secrets?”

“That’s it,” Shota said. “I think.”

“Well, we can always talk again, right? I think that’s what well-adjusted people do.”

“Right,” Shota said, wrinkling his nose.

“Good,” Hizashi said. “Now, I’m gonna go home. And you take the time you need to hibernate or whatever it is that you do. Text me sometime tomorrow and we can figure out a time to make an actual schedule or something, okay?”

“Okay,” Shota said, and then after a lengthy pause, “I love you, Hizashi.”

“Unfair, saying that the first time when I can’t even bear hug you into oblivion,” Hizashi retorted, and Shota smirked. “I love you, too. Have a good night.”

That night, Hizashi slept like the dead all alone in his comfy bed, and in the morning he was only a little disappointed to wake up all on his own. It was worth it, anyway, knowing that Shota was home getting what he needed.

Age 23

“I know we sometimes have communication issues,” Shota said drolly from his seat on Hizashi’s couch. “But have we really reached the point of needing a powerpoint presentation?”

He was, in Hizashi’s opinion, looking particularly handsome that day with his hair pulled halfway back and Hizashi’s coziest black cowlneck sweater on. All the more reason to use his powerpoint to the best effect, really. 

“I’m sparing you the sick-ass soundtrack I made to go along with it,” Hizashi informed him. “But it’s not too late for me to queue it up if you’re gonna be grouchy.”

“I’ll be good,” Shota said, smirking as he reached for his tea, made special with a spoonful of raspberry preserves just the way he liked it. If he recognized that Hizashi was trying to butter him up, he didn’t mention it. 

“Okay, are we ready? Cozy? Have all the tea and snacks we need?”

Shota nodded, and Hizashi grinned.

“And now!” he said, in his very best announcer voice, “I present to you: The Aizawa-Yamada Cohabitation Plan!”

He hit his clicker to show the bouncing effect on the cover page of his presentation, pleased when Shota’s eyebrows slowly climbed his forehead.

“Two best friends turned boyfriends!” he continued, clicking to the next slide to show a picture of them as kids on the school rooftop, next to a selfie Hizashi had taken of himself kissing Shota’s cheek in front of some pretty lights last Christmas. “Deeply in love, deeply committed, deeply invested in balancing a lifestyle that makes them both comfortable and happy!”

He clicked to the next slide, an image of Shota’s tiny studio apartment next to one of Hizashi’s living room, both of which were set over a screen grab from google maps showing the exact distance between the two apartments. 

“But somehow after all this time they continue to have a frankly illogical arrangement which requires each of them to make a lot of inconvenient and unnecessary sacrifices in the name of spending time together!”

He spared a glance at Shota to see if he appreciated Hizashi’s appeal to logic, but his face was neutral, even when presented with Hizashi’s masterclass slide transitions. He hit the button for the next slide.

“Pros to living with your loving boyfriend!” Hizashi continued. “One: splitting rent in Japan’s most expensive city! Two: cutting out travel time between our two apartments, thus saving us both countless hours a week! Three: more time spent together with much less scheduling! Four: household chores can be split between us, thus creating even more freed up time for a couple that has very little time to spare in between them! Five: we love each other very much, and living together fosters a supportive partnership and allows us to grow closer!”

Shota opened his mouth to speak, clear amusement now written on his face, but Hizashi made a screech-like noise and cut him off in a desperate attempt to get all his points out before Shota could tell him no. 

“Excuse me, please save all questions for the end of our presentation!” 

Shota rolled his eyes, hard, but closed his mouth. Hizashi rewarded him with a sunny grin.

“Now, I know you’re thinking, but Hizashi! Light of my life, my most beloved bosom companion--”

Shota snorted harshly, but Hizashi ignored him.

“--what about all the cons of moving in together? Because it would be illogical not to consider that. And to that I say!”

He hit the clicker for the next slide which was headed with CONS followed by (????) in big red letters.

“You’re ridiculous,” Shota sighed. 

“All questions for the end!” Hizashi squawked, and if he used his quirk just a teensy bit, no one had to know. Except for anyone on his floor, obviously. He hit the clicker to bring up the first point on his numbered list.

“The first con, of course, is that we have established that Shota has a pathological need for alone time! It keeps him happy and healthy and not trying to tear his own hair out. However, Shota’s sacred alone time can be respected and even encouraged despite cohabitation. We do this by getting a three bedroom apartment! One for us, one for my sound-proofed studio, and a third for Shota’s alone space!”

“Please stop talking about me to me,” Shota groaned. 

Hizashi scowled at him for the interruption, but continued gamely. 

“Fine. You can decorate or not decorate this space however you like! It would be your room to be completely alone in, and we could even soundproof it in the same way my studio would be, if you want! And when you need your alone time, or you’re having trouble sleeping at night, or any such situation that might arise, you can retreat to your room and I will know not to bother you while you’re in there, barring any kind of emergency, of course.”

He hit the clicker again.

“This leads to the next con! A three bedroom apartment! In this economy? On an underground hero salary? Hizashi, you must be out of your mind! And to that I say, I am perfectly sane!”

“Debatable,” Shota snorted.

“Obviously, we will have to do apartment shopping, but really that is a boon which allows us to pick a place that is perfectly suited to both our needs and various locations in the city. And, as I mentioned in the pros category, we will be splitting the rent. What I suggest, as a limelight hero with two jobs and several high-paying advertising gigs a year--”

“I am not letting you pay our whole rent,” Shota interrupted flatly, which Hizashi took as a good sign. It meant he was actually considering the logistics of them living in the same place.

“Questions!” he shrieked, pointing an accusing finger at him before he continued, “What I suggest is that we do things very logically and split expenses proportionally rather than fifty-fifty. We can set up all shared expenses for automatic payment out of a shared account and with each paycheck we deposit the appropriate amount of money there, and the rest of our pay remains our own to do with as we please! That way, we are both contributing in an equitable way while still maintaining a bit of financial independence.” 

He paused with a flourish, but Shota only nodded in a way that spoke very little of whether he thought it was a fantastic idea or not. Undeterred, Hizashi pressed on.

“And finally! Cohabitation could cause conflict and create friction. What if you do something heinous like leaving the cap off the toothpaste all the time? What if my singing in the shower in the morning makes you homicidal? In these instances I am proud to say that I think we have already created a rules system between us that helps us with our communication and that it can be used to great effect in things like chores and compromising! We are two adult men who are fully capable of having a happy, healthy, and--most importantly--commingled love life!”

Shota opened his mouth to say something. Worried that he was losing his audience, Hizashi hit the button for the next slide and hurriedly announced, 

“Also we can look for an apartment that will allow us to have cats!”

The last slide was just a collage of all of the cutest and most pathetic cats he could find on the local shelters’ websites. It was maybe an unfair move, but he was willing to leverage any and all advantages to convince Shota that this was a good idea. The cat angle was his ace in the hole for sure. 

And surely enough, Shota’s eyes were wide as he looked at all their pathetic little faces, and something in him had clearly lit up at the idea of having cats of their own. And because you should always leave them wanting more, Hizashi hit the clicker one more time for the final slide, which simply said “Thoughts? Questions? Concerns?” 

“Am I allowed to talk now?” Shota snorted, clearly still caught in the tail-end of the pathetic cat daze.

“Encouraged, even,” Hizashi said nervously.

He knew he’d created an iron-clad argument. It had been incredibly logical and only a little bit emotional, because that was the kind of thing that would appeal to Shota the most. So if Shota still said no, even with the promise of cats, then he just didn’t know what he would do. 

Shota shot him a fond look.

“I agree, we should move in together.”

Hizashi whooped so loudly in excitement that his neighbor pounded on the wall. 

“Sorry!” he called, and then let out a much quieter whoop. 

“Was it that cats?” he asked Shota, collapsing on the couch next to him and wrapping him in a big hug. “It was totally the cats, right?”

Shota sighed. “I was going to say yes after the pros slide, but you wouldn’t let me. But no take-backs on the cats.”

Hizashi squealed and squeezed him again, and then pulled back to kiss him soundly, practically climbing into Shota’s lap.

“Darling, I would never dream of coming between you and a cat. And I would especially never deny myself the opportunity to watch you be so cute with a cat of your own.”

Shota rolled his eyes, but his smile was soft and endlessly fond. He tucked a strand of Hizashi’s hair behind his ear.

“Are you happy?” he asked.

“I’ve never been happier,” Hizashi told him sincerely. “You make me so happy, Shota.”

Shota kissed him, soft and sweet.

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m going to make you absolutely miserable while we apartment hunt.”

Hizashi barked a laugh, right in his face, but Shota didn’t seem to mind.

“Good,” he said. “Can’t wait.”

Apartment hunting was, as promised, a miserable process. Between all of their various requirements for an apartment, the fact that Shota was unwilling to leave Naruhata, the fact that Hizashi’s agency and radio station were a lot closer to his current apartment than Shota’s, and their budget limit based on what they had agreed was a fair proportion of rent for each of them, they were already pretty limited on what was available. Add in the fact that Hizashi saw roaches in the bathroom of the first unit they checked out and nearly took the building down with his shriek, they had their work cut out for them. 

Shota insisted that he was easy because he didn’t care about amenities, and that was true to an extent. But he also had a mental list a mile long of Naruhata slum lords and sketchy characters that made him downright refuse to consider several prominent complexes. Not that Hizashi necessarily disagreed with his moral compunctions, but damn did they make things much more complicated. 

It took almost two months before they found just the right place. It was right on the outskirts of Naruhata, technically still within the boundaries of the district but so far out it was basically the next district over. That had pleased Hizashi, since the area was a little nicer (and a bit closer to work) and it had earned Shota’s reluctant acceptance as well. 

The apartment was on the seventh floor and had an elevator, which Hizashi had insisted on even though Shota argued that walk ups were good exercise. The fact of the matter was that Hizashi had real furniture, and he was not carrying it up seven flights of stairs. 

It was a corner unit with lots of big windows for natural light, which Hizashi loved, and the kitchen was spacious and open on one side with a bar for sitting at, which Shota liked. The bathroom had a large and luxurious tub, which they both appreciated; Shota for the practicality of being able to soak sore muscles, and Hizashi because there was definitely room for two grown men to cuddle up in it together. 

There was also an in-unit washer which was essential in Hizashi’s opinion. He hated hauling all his stuff to a laundromat. The fact that he had to have his hero costume dry cleaned was bad enough, and there was a service with his agency that handled that. 

They signed the paperwork the same day, and Hizashi couldn’t deny the warm glow that filled him as he looked at his and Shota’s hanko stamps side by side on the page. It felt so real and committed, like they had one life together instead of two separate ones that intersected on occasion.

They moved in a couple of weeks later, splurging on a moving service to handle their (Hizashi’s, mostly) furniture. It was an all-day affair, getting furniture to the right rooms along with carefully labeled boxes, and getting the bed set up first thing so they’d have somewhere to collapse when they were too tired to do anything else. 

That turned out to be a smart idea, because the moment the movers were gone and the door was locked behind them and Hizashi had the realization that they were standing together in their home, he leapt into Shota’s arms and demanded to be taken to bed right that moment. Shota had bitched about him being heavier than he looked, but he’d done as he was told. 

After, as they curled up together under the covers, surrounded by a bunch of empty furniture and packed boxes, Shota snuggled into his arms and clutched him tight, almost like he was afraid to let go.

Hizashi smoothed his hair away from his face and kissed his forehead gently.

“What’s wrong, Starlight?” he crooned.

“Nothing,” Shota said, pressing his face into Hizashi’s neck. “I’m just…grateful that we’re here. I know I almost ruined it. Sometimes I think about what my life would be like, if you’d loved me less and let me push you away. And it’s bleak, Sunshine. It’s really bleak.”

Shota only ever called him pet names when he was feeling particularly sweet or needy, and every time it filled Hizashi with a soul-deep satisfaction.

“We fell apart a bit, for a while,” Hizashi said, combing his fingers gently through Shota’s hair. “But we came back together.”

“I regret missing out on your life,” Shota told him, eyes pressed closed, as if removing the visual component made it easier to get the words out. “Our last year of school and your debut and…I was there, but just barely. And I look at our life now and…it makes me happy to see you succeed and get the things you want. And I missed all that for years.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Hizashi said, doing his best to wrap himself around Shota as much as possible. Though they were of a similar height, Hizashi had always been on the noodly side of thin. It was hard to encompass Shota’s broad shoulders, but he was damned if he didn’t at least try. Shota seemed to appreciate it, at least, snuggling in closer and hitching a leg over his hip. 

“But we made it through that, didn’t we? We’re here, now, together. And if I have anything to say about it, we’ll be together forever.”

Shota hummed at that, but he remained tense. Hizashi continued to stroke his hair soothingly for a minute or so.

“What are you thinking?” he asked eventually, when Shota didn’t seem inclined to speak again.

“I…worry,” Shota muttered. “That I’ll backslide. That something will happen and I’ll push you away again and…”

“We won’t let that happen,” Hizashi said simply.

Shota paused and then pulled back enough to look at him.

“What, like it’s that easy?” 

Hizashi grinned at him.

“It is that easy. I love you, you love me. We want to be together. We don’t want to fall apart like we did before. So we won’t. We’ll work at it and we’ll talk when it’s hard and we’ll commit over and over again. We’ll keep choosing each other.”

Shota stared at him, his colorless eyes studying Hizashi’s face for a long moment, before a tiny, sardonic smile spread over his lips.

“That’s it, then? We’ll just be too stubborn to let it go wrong?”

“Exactly,” Hizashi said with a grin. “I’m a very stubborn man, Shota Aizawa, and you let me get my teeth in you. I’m never letting go now.”

Shota scoffed and pressed his face back into Hizashi’s neck, squeezing him close.

“Good,” he said quietly. “Don’t.”

Hizashi kissed the top of his head and started to hum in a way that only his quirk would allow, a low, deep pitch that made Shota shudder for a second and then relax bonelessly against him. Hizashi held him close and stroked his hair, humming until they both fell asleep.

Age 24

Hizashi was curled up on his big comfy chair in his studio, using one hand to pet Button--a skinny orange cat who despite all of Shota’s love and care always managed to look bedraggled--while he chewed nervously on the thumbnail of his other.

He had an open powerpoint presentation on his laptop in front of him, but so far all he had was the title page which read “The Rational Argument for Entering Legal Marriage Status”.

The problem was that he was finding it a lot harder to come up with good arguments for marriage than he had been for moving in together. For one thing, he was too emotionally enchanted by the simple romantic idea of marrying the man he loved that it carried way more weight than any logic ever could.

For another, he’d used a lot of the good arguments for getting married on moving in together. They already split bills, they already had a shared life and a committed partnership. The only things he’d managed to come up with so far were the tax benefits, legal standing for health decisions, and joining their family registers.

The tax benefits were a good argument, but they could just as easily register each other as healthcare proxies as they could get married. And Shota had a whole Thing about family registers and how he thought they were antiquated, a breach of privacy, and fostered discrimination. He could complain about it nonstop for at least an hour if someone let him, and Hizashi always let him.

His phone buzzed on the desk with an incoming text from Shota, and Hizashi picked it up immediately. Shota was not much of a texter, so it was usually important, or at least time sensitive, when he did send one.

“Busy tonight?”

Hizashi took a moment to check his calendar just to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything, and then responded,

“Free as a bird! What’s up?”

“Kayama has reservations for that new restaurant you want to try and she can’t make it. Wants to know if we want to take them.”

Hizashi squealed in excitement, and Button sat up quickly and glared at him.

“No, wait, I’m sorry!” Hizashi told him, but the cat was already slinking to the floor and out the door, probably to go harass his brother Bobbin for some perceived slight. 

With a regretful sigh, Hizashi turned his attention back to his phone.

“Uh yes, absolutely! But you know that’s a fancy place, right?”

The last thing he wanted was for Shota to show up there and find more than he’d bargained for.

“I know.”

Hizashi frowned at the text for a moment, chewing on his lip, and then responded.

“You’ll have to wear a tie babe.”

He was pretty sure Shota didn’t even own a tie. Hizashi watched the little bubbles appear and stop several times before another text came through.

“I’ll live. Reservations are at six, see you there.” 

He also sent a pinned location, about twenty minutes away by train.

Hizashi responded with a little heart emoji and then glanced at the time. It was just past four, so if he wanted to look good he’d have to start getting ready immediately. With a forlorn sigh at his pathetic beginnings of his marriage proposal powerpoint, he saved and powered down his computer. 

About two hours later he strolled up outside the restaurant looking, in his opinion, both cool and sexy as hell. He was wearing an oxblood colored suit that he’d spent way too much money on and had very few opportunities to wear. He’d paired it with a matte black shirt and tie and some excellent chelsea boots with a moto detail. He’d even put on a golden lapel chain because he very rarely got the opportunity to be fancy.

His hair, which was long enough now to give Shota a run for his money, was half-pinned up with a golden crescent-moon shaped hair stick with dangly star bits, a gift from Shota for his last birthday. He felt like he should be on a runway, and somehow his steps felt more confident and flashy than usual. He definitely noticed people giving him second looks as he passed them on the street, and not because he was noticeable Present Mic. People hardly ever recognized him out of costume.

Shota was waiting for him just outside the restaurant doors, lounging with his back pressed up against a wall as he stared at his phone. Hizashi took a moment to appreciate him, pretty sure that he was going to look like a cartoon wolf with heart eyes and awooga sounds any minute now. 

Because Shota had definitely rented a suit for the occasion. He looked absolutely delectable in it, too, because it looked tailored. It couldn’t have been tailored to Shota specifically, as a rental, but damn if it didn’t seem like it was. Shota had an amazing body that he preferred to hide under baggy layers, but the suit was betraying his secret to the world.

It was plain black, with a double-breasted vest, a white shirt, black tie and shiny black shoes, but Hizashi hadn’t expected anything less. He was already putting himself out of his comfort zone with the outfit, it would be unreasonable to expect him to try something with color in it.

His hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and he was clean-shaven for once, giving him a baby face that almost made Hizashi want to coo at him. And he might have, if he thought Shota might not just leave immediately if he did. 

“My my what a gorgeous man,” he wolf-whistled. “Waiting just for me?”

Shota glanced up at him and then noticeably stared, his eyes widening a fraction as his gaze swept Hizashi from head to toe and then back up again. Hizashi preened in satisfaction.

“Like what you see?”

Shota pushed off the wall to join him, and for a second Hizashi thought he was going to kiss him right there in the street where anyone could see. But then he stopped short and gripped Hizashi’s shoulder tightly instead. 

“You look beautiful,” he said seriously. 

Hizashi’s face lit up with a pleased blush. Something about the utter sincerity in Shota’s words made it much more embarrassing than a simple flirt would have. 

“Thank you,” he said, almost shyly. “You do too. You didn’t have to shave, though.”

Shota rolled his eyes powerfully. 

“Kayama made me. She also did my hair because she said what I did would ‘embarrass everyone in the restaurant’.”

Hizashi cackled at that and then wrapped an arm around Shota’s waist.

“Aw, baby, I’m sure it looked great. Shall we?”

The door opened to a small, nondescript and quiet lobby with just an elevator operator to take them up to the top floor. The restaurant, however, was practically sensational. The room was round and covered in floor-to-ceiling windows so that no matter where you were sitting you’d have a lovely view of the city. 

The decor was Japanese traditional, down to tatami floors and rice-paper screens between tables to create a sense of privacy and intimacy. The hostess led them to their table, which was right up against one of the windows, and left them with the promise their server would be along soon. 

“Easy escape route?” Hizashi teased after she was gone. “In case things get to be too much you can swing right out the window? Got your capture scarf hidden somewhere under that suit?”

Shota rolled his eyes good-naturedly. 

“Unfortunately no. If the need to run overtakes me, I’ll have to use the elevator like a civilian. I hope your shoes are good for running.”

Hizashi snorted. 

“While it’s very sweet that you’d take me with you, I can promise you I’m not leaving this restaurant until I feel a little bit sick. I can’t believe Kayama snagged a reservation and then gave it up, I’ve been trying for weeks. I am not famous enough.”

“I’d say she’s more infamous than anything,” Shota snorted. “But she is good at getting what she wants.”

‘Either way, we definitely owe her for this,” Hizashi said.

“Oh, I’m aware. She’s reminded me at least four times today.”

Hizashi laughed. “Did she say why she couldn’t make it?”

Shota looked at him blankly for a long moment, and then shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t remember.”

“Give the man a list a of every criminal in Naruhata and he can recite it from memory, but ask him for details about some gossip--”

“Well, one of those things is important,” Shota protested. “And the other almost surely has to do with Kayama’s sex life, which I already know more about than I care to.”

“Fair,” Hizashi acknowledged. “Either way, our gain. We’re gonna get some delicious food and later I’m totally gonna rock your world for clinching us a reservation.”

Shota flushed and glared at him, glancing around the public space they were in pointedly. Hizashi laughed, a little too loud, and then waved his hand at the rice paper screens.

“If a brick wall isn’t going to stop your voice--”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. No more embarrassing you in public, I promise.”

“That’s all I ask,” Shota said dryly, and then, “They didn’t give us any menus.”

Hizashi grinned at him fondly. He really had no idea what kind of restaurant this was, he was just here because he knew Hizashi had wanted to go. Hizashi really had to nail down the best way to convince Shota marriage was the most logical choice, because he needed to lock this man down immediately. 

“It’s a prix fixe menu, darling. There’s one price and a pre-set menu. We’ll probably get whichever entrees Kayama and her date had chosen. But I’m sure it’ll be very good, and if you don’t like what you get we can trade.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Shota huffed. “A place this expensive and you don’t even get to choose what you eat?”

“It’s about the experience,” Hizashi explained. “You get to try a bunch of small plates made by an extremely talented chef and presented in an artistic way.”

“I like the experience of getting to choose what I eat,” Shota said, and Hizashi grinned at him.

“I’m sure it’ll all be delicious,” he said. “And if you somehow don’t like a single thing they serve us, I promise we can stop at 7/11 on the way home. Now stop being grouchy.”

Shota sighed and then nodded slowly, knocking their ankles together under the table.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I don’t want to ruin this for you.”

Hizashi bumped him back.

“Oh Shota, you couldn’t. This is so lovely, and getting to be here with you, especially with the rare treat of getting to see you all dressed up? Already in the top three dates of my whole life, I promise.”

The server came by then to take their drink orders, from a list of options he recited from memory and gave them a spiel about the restaurant and the chef’s goals and inspirations for the menu. Shota barely waited for him to step three paces away before he narrowed his eyes at Hizashi.

“Top three? What’s better than this, then?”

“Well, this one isn’t over yet,” Hizashi pointed out, a little amused by how annoyed Shota seemed at his ranking. He supposed his boyfriend had gone to the trouble to rent a suit for this, after all. “But obviously number one is our first date.”

“At the cat cafe?” Shota asked, looking doubtful. “We do that all the time.”

“Well, yeah,” Hizashi said, “But that was the first time. The harbinger of all the other times. And it was the first time we kissed, and I was halfway convinced I was dreaming the whole time and that I’d wake up and find out that it was all in my head.”

Shota hummed thoughtfully and then nodded slowly. 

“Well…I suppose that makes sense, then. What about second?”

Hizashi put on his most chipper Present Mic voice “Well, obviously it was the time you let me interview you on Put Your Hands Up, Listener!”

He saw a woman in the corner whip her head around wildly, and he winced and ducked his head and tried to look innocent. He loved talking with fans, but now was not a time he wanted to share with anyone but Shota. 

Shota rolled his eyes at that. “That wasn’t a date.”

“It was too! We went to a place and had food--”

“--we went to your home studio in our apartment and ordered takeout from the noodle place on the corner--

“--and we talked for a full hour about a subject you’re passionate about--”

“--so that you could broadcast it to your audience--”

“--And it was just so sweet of you to do. Even though you only let me call you Eraserhead the whole time and you used it as an opportunity to lecture people about the danger of doing heroics for fame, you did it for me. Because my show is something I’m passionate about and I wanted to share it with you.”

Shota sighed heavily.

“Fine, it was a date if you want it to have been. But I am wearing a tie, Yamada, so I expect this one to be at least number two.”

Hizashi laughed and nodded.

“You got it. Number two it is.”

It wasn’t as if it were a chore to make that date number two, anyway. Once the courses started coming out--though Shota made a derisive comment about how it was barely two bites worth per plate--everything was delicious and absolutely beautiful. Hizashi didn’t even try to resist the urge to take pictures of everything. 

There were fresh oysters that tasted like they’d been plucked from the ocean just minutes ago, a piece of absolutely succulent crab, a plate of jewel-bright sashimi, a lovely piece of grilled fish that Hizashi thought was fine but that Shota very clearly liked a lot. Their main course ended up being the choice between straw-grilled duck and pigeon. Hizashi took the pigeon, since Shota spent a lot of time on rooftops and as such had something of a deep-seated hatred for the bird. Finally, they were given rice as something of a palate cleanser before dessert. 

“So?” Hizashi needled as Shota finished his bowl and set his chopsticks aside. “Small plates, but still filling, right?”

Shota nodded.

“I’m pleasantly surprised,” he admitted. “I liked most of it a lot, and even the things I didn’t love weren’t bad. And I didn’t expect that such small portions would make me feel so full.”

“It’s basically an art form,” Hizashi said. “And you know me, I love some fried chicken at the bar as much as the next guy, but sometimes it’s fun to do stuff like this, isn’t it?”

“It’s certainly quieter than the bar,” Shota agreed, and when Hizashi reached across the table to flick his wrist, he smirked.

“It was nice,” he said. “I might even agree to do it again, but you’ll have to give me a few years to work up to it.”

“We’ll have to get you a suit of your own if we’re gonna make this a habit,” Hizashi said, like he wasn’t thrilled at the idea of occasionally getting his boyfriend dolled up. 

“What’s wrong with this one?” Shota asked, frowning down at the suit in question. “Kayama said it looked good.”

“I mean, it looks fantastic,” Hizashi said. “But it’s just a rental so--”

“No,” Shota disagreed, frowning at him. “I bought it.”

Hizashi stared at him in gobsmacked silence for a second. 

“You did? You went out and bought a suit today for this date? No wonder it fits you so perfectly, how fast did they tailor it? What made you decide to buy a suit?”

Shota looked suddenly flustered, and then utterly relieved. Hizashi at this point prided himself on being pretty good at reading Shota’s facial expressions and body language, but he was utterly perplexed by that reaction, at least until he realized that Shota wasn’t looking at him, but past him.

He turned to see what had grabbed his boyfriend’s attention and saw their server coming toward them not with desserts but with a massive bouquet of red roses. 

“Oh wow,” he breathed. “I wonder who that’s--”

But he didn’t get to finish the sentence because the server was approaching them and handing him the bouquet.

“What--?” he started to say, his heart pounding in his chest.

“I thought this would be better,” Shota said. “Than carrying them the whole time, or giving them to you at the beginning.”

Hizashi looked at the roses, and then at Shota, and then back to the roses.

“Do you like them?” he asked, as the server made himself scarce again.

“Of course I do,” Hizashi said. “They’re gorgeous. There’s so many of them, there must be…”

His mind started racing and he looked up at Shota again, his mouth dry like the desert.

“A hundred and eight,” Shota confirmed, meeting his eyes in the way he did when he was refusing to back down. “Hizashi, I want to have dinner with you every night for the rest of our lives.”

He was suddenly aware that his eyes were flooding with tears, and for once he didn’t try to choke them back or hide them. An expensive, fancy dinner. A hundred and eight roses. Lovely, romantic gestures that would appeal deeply to Hizashi’s sense of pomp and circumstance, and then, a simple, indirect but definitive statement that was so very Shota.

“Yes,” Hizashi blurted out past his tears. His voice was wobbly with emotion, but he didn’t even care. He never would have thought that Shota would do something so beautifully romantic as a public marriage proposal. It just wasn’t the type of thing he found necessary or logical. But it was the kind of thing that Hizashi loved, and Shota was nothing if not the most giving man in the world.

But he smiled widely when Hizashi answered him, the one that most people found off-putting but that Hizashi loved so, so much. Public be damned, Hizashi sprang out of his chair and hurried to the other side of the table to pull Shota into a warm kiss.

“Yes,” he said again against his lips. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Shota indulged his warm kisses for a moment before he cleared his throat gently and pulled away. Hizashi wasn’t offended, he just went back to take his own seat again, running his fingers lovingly over the soft rose petals. 

“I thought we could pick out rings together,” Shota said. “I know you like that tradition, and you have better fashion sense than me. I didn’t want to get you something you’d hate.”

“That sounds perfect,” Hizashi said, thrilled at the idea that Shota would wear a ring for him, though he knew it would probably be saved for special occasions.

He grinned at Shota again, sappy and in love and overwhelmed with emotion. It was only when the server came back to deliver their desserts, along with a serving each of congratulatory sake, that something occurred to him.

“Kayama didn’t have a reservation at all,” he said. “You planned this out. The restaurant and the suit and the flowers and…”

Shota snorted. “Yes. It’s been two months in the making. She did have to be the one to secure the reservation for me, because I’m definitely not famous enough. But there is little other reason I’d allow Kayama to be able to demand a favor from me.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t suspect a thing!” Hizashi cried.

“I’m a master of undercover operations,” Shota said dryly, and Hizashi cackled wetly.

“You really are!”

He grinned at Shota sappily, barely even aware of the lovely dessert in front of him. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was. That he’d found Shota in the first place, that he’d held on to him so hard that they couldn’t help but come back together. That Shota loved him so much that he’d push his own boundaries and do “illogical” things just to make him happy. 

“Hey,” he said, tearing Shota’s attention from his own dessert, “I’m so happy, you know? I love you.”

“Yeah,” Shota agreed, a ghost of a smile spreading over his face as they stared at each other from across the table. “I love you, too.”