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It’s clear to anybody that Present Mic was falling apart. Most of all to Eraserhead. He had been overworked for a while, always reaching for bottles when grading papers, or asking everyone for drinks after patrols. Sometimes he’d come home and complain to Aizawa that he’s spilt a drink all over some equipment in the studio. Aizawa didn’t need to be told what sort of drink it was. He’s voice concerns when Yamada was complaining about his headaches again or struggling to hold a pen as he was shaking too bad. However, between his own 2 jobs and whatever case had been assigned to him this week, he hadn’t been as diligent about keeping his drinking in check.
So, when Yamada reaches for his 3rd bottle of the night, hunched over student reports at the dinner table with Aizawa, he doesn’t comment. Yamada doesn’t offer him a drink, a learnt habit. He rarely does. He keeps tabs on which ones are placed, which glasses go unused as he swigs straight out the bottle because Yamada, he is doing that again. He knows he’s careful about hiding his drinking, even more so then lately. He’s careful enough to be pretend that this isn’t a problem, it’s just another bad coping mechanism along the many they both picked up in the years since.
‘You staying the night?’ Yamada asks absentmindedly, not looking up from the table as he reaches for his drink again.
‘Yes.’ Aizawa answers, not giving much away as to why. Yamada rubs at his head.
‘I’m gonna be grading till late so do what you want. You’re always welcome to help me grade these.’ He suppresses a hiccup in the offer as he laughs to himself. Aizawa weighs his options.
‘Maybe you should just call it a night- ‘ he’s cut off as Yamada reaches to down the rest of the bottle, ‘they’ll be here tomorrow.’ He finishes.
‘Nahh I can handle my job.’ Yamada laughs at the suggestion, slurring his words slightly.
‘I don’t doubt that.’ He snarks. Yamada pushes his glasses up as he rubs a hand over his eyes. Headache clearly forming.
‘You don’t have to stay with me. I didn’t mean to keep you up.’ Yamada argues back defensively
‘You’re not making me do anything I don’t want to do.’ Aizawa comments, running a hand through his hair. Yamada huffs.
‘You always do this.’ Yamada snarks back. Aizawa reminds himself Yamada’s only frustrated because he keeps losing the part he’s up to. He usually is this time of night
‘Do what?’ Aizawa stays calm, repeating the reminders in his head.
‘Stay.’ Yamada offers ‘You act like I can’t handle my own workloads.’
‘You know that’s not what I’m worried about Mic.’ Aizawa counters, Yamada just offers an exasperated sigh. It’s not worth having this argument on repeat again.
‘You wanna take the couch? It’s probably covered in papers.’ He says dryly
‘I’ll sleep on the floor.’ Aizawa offers
‘I don’t want to drag you into my mess again.’ Yamada says, finally meeting his gaze.
‘You didn’t.’
‘I kind of did, you could have gone home. You’ve had a long week too.’ Yamada rubs his eyes again. Clearly fighting exhaustion off but refusing to lose.
‘I chose not to.’
‘Yea well I’m not exactly great company right now.’ Yamada offers, for the first time in this conversation Aizawa is unsure what he means, either the drinking, workload or his exhaustion. He takes a guess that all 3 of them are linked.
‘You don’t have to be.’ Aizawa states. Yamada just stares at him, looking for any sign of irritation or disappointment but he didn’t see anything close. His shoulders slump.
‘I’ll clean this up.’ Yamada slurs, and gestures vaguely to the papers all around them, he begins to make an effort to collect them in. Aizawa watches him and how he struggles to keep his hands from shaking, his coordination off just a few fractions.
‘I’m not in a hurry.’ Aizawa said.
‘Yea okay.’ Yamada agrees, he sounds like he agreed to something more than just sorting the papers, but he ignores that feeling again. Instead, just reaching to start compiling the list of paper’s he’s finished and the ones he still needs to work on.
He eventually stopped pushing at the silence, as he always did when the energy to perform and fill rooms with noise fell. His shoulders slumped and his eyes dropped. The finished bottles remained on the table as Yamada moved around them for his papers. Eventually Aizawa started to help him collect them and organise them.
‘Thanks. You didn’t have to.’ Yamada says.
‘I know.’ Aizawa said. Yamada just chuckles at his bluntness as he sat back down to file through the ones he had done so far. Aizawa moved from the table. He left the finished bottles there but did move to the desk lamp and put it into a darker mode, if Yamada noticed that he didn’t comment. He grabbed a glass of water from the sinks and returned to the table.
‘Should we move to the couch?’ Aizawa asks, Yamada looks up as he places the last of the papers on the table. Aizawa slides the glass of water over, there’s no verbal acknowledgement of it from Yamada, but he takes a few sips.
‘Yea sounds good.’ Yamada stands up swaying slightly but still steady. He follows Aizawa to the lounge as they both sit on opposite ends of the couch. Aizawa wanting to keep a keen eye on him. Yamada was clearly too far gone to notice this fact anymore. Maybe the 3rd bottle had hit him harder than he thought because 5 minutes into the TV show Aizawa had put on he was asleep. Aizawa quietly observes this scene.
He notices the way Yamada twitches slightly, murmuring something unintelligible in his sleep. He doesn’t fail to notice the way his breathing is uneven, before smoothing out. Sleep takes him in pieces. It’s shallow and interrupted, but at least hes finally getting some. Aizawa grabs a blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over Yamada, finally letting himself get some sleep too.
Aizawa woke up at 8am sharp. He does every day. It’s some habit he carried over from his high school year. Aizawa takes a better look around the apartment. The floor to ceiling windows in the lounge area illuminate the whole apartment with natural light, The sun catches both men in the face. Aizawa looks over to the dining table they worked off yesterday. The papers stilled stacked as they left them and the bottle still left empty on the table. The kitchen was visible from where he sat. The remaining 2 bottles Yamada finished are on the breakfast bar. Taking stock of surroundings is what he was trained to do. The details don’t slip past him as they once did.
Yamada was still asleep despite the bright lights on his face. The blanket had slipped, and his head leaned awkwardly slumped to one side. His eyebrows furrowed. Aizawa knew that meant sleep hadn’t been kind to him.
He finally stands up and moves to the kitchen to put the kettle on. The sound carries through the apartment, which is what he intended. The kettle is a subtle alarm clock for Yamada. It’s also his fault for having an open plan kitchen directly overlooking the lounge.
Yamada stirred finally, pushing sleep from his eyes as he runs his hands down his face.
‘That’s rude.’ Yamada remarks, voice hoarse, Aizawa knows he meant the noise of the kettle. He doesn’t respond as he pours himself a coffee. He reaches for some painkillers in a cabinet below the sink and grabs a glass of water, returning them to the couch where Yamada sat rubbing his temples. He sets them on the coffee table in front.
‘Drink.’ Aizawa states, snapping Yamada out of the zone he was in. Yamada does it with no argument, taking 2 tablets and washing them down with water. He grimaces again.
‘My head feels like a drum solo.’ Yamada remarks.
‘You fell asleep sitting up’ Aizawa states, looking at Yamada.
‘I can tell…’ He coughs and clears his throat. The sound doesn’t return. Yamada frowns at the way that effort hurt him.
‘I’m officially off my game now I guess.’ Yamada forces a grin. Aizawa stares a moment longer than necessary.
‘You don’t have classes till after lunch. Your second years are on internships.’ Aizawa eventually reminds him.
‘Oh, thank God.’ Yamada finally relaxes a fraction, then he looks over at the unfinished reports, and the finished bottle. He frowns again before looking away, ‘‘Sorry about that, I’ll get them finished today.’
‘I submitted them.’ Aizawa says. Yamada pauses just to look at him.
‘You did them?’ Yamada asks, Aizawa doesn’t answer. He already did. Yamada remains silent, then smiles slightly. It’s genuine, he can tell.
‘You didn’t have to do that.’
‘I know.’
‘You’re setting a dangerous precedent.’ Yamada huffs a weak laugh, he winces again as he presses the palm of his hand into his forehead, before looking at the bottle on the table.
‘You staying again?’ He asks Aizawa, voice low and crackly. He doesn’t hesitate
‘Yes.’ Aizawa answered. Yamada just nods. He closes his eyes again and tilts his head back, taking a deep breath. He opens them again, somehow looking more tired.
Yamada insisted he was fine. By midday he was back on his feet. His voice came back just enough to pass. His energy was artificially crafted by the coffee and stubbornness. His hero costume was back on, hair still down and not styled but getting there. Aizawa watches as he paces the apartment with his phone wedged between his shoulders and his ear. He laughed way too loudly at something that wasn’t that funny, at least in Aizawa’s opinion
‘Yea yea I’ll be there,’ Yamada says over the phone, ‘Yea no its fine I can cover this.’ Aizawa looks at him from the breakfast bar, waiting to leave for work.
‘You don’t have to.’ He speaks. Yamada waves him off without looking.
‘It’s just an interview segment. It’ll be an hour tops. I’ve done worse on less sleep.’
Aizawa knows what that phrase is referencing. It’s what sticks out to him. Before he has a chance to ponder too hard on, Yamada ended the phone call and beamed out at him for his approval.
‘See? It’s that easy. I’ll be back before you’re finished brooding.’ He laughs
‘You’re still shaking.’ Aizawa notes. Yamada glances down at his hands like he’s not looked at them before. He folds his fingers into fists before relaxing them again. Letting the pressure stop the shaking for a moment.
‘Yea it happens sometimes.’ Yamada confesses. Aizawa’s jaw tightens at the confession.
‘You should rest.’ He states. Yamada dumps his hair products near Aizawa on the breakfast counter and begins working on it.
‘If I rest every time this happens then I’d never do anything.’ Yamada smiles. It’s not a defensive or angry statement but its heavy. Aizawa hears himself in this statement. Those years ago, when he’d say the same. He blinks that thought away
‘You shouldn’t be pushing too hard.’ Aizawa says
‘I always do.’ Yamada smiles again. Fiddling with his hair, trying to get it ready for his usual hair style. He said it like a joke, or like he was resigned to that fact. Aizawa reaches out to grab him by the wrist to stop him. It wasn’t tight, just enough to keep him grounded and get his attention. Yamada stopped fiddling with his hair and let his gaze flick up, not attempting to conceal his surprise at this.
‘You don’t have anything to prove.’ Aizawa says. Yamada offers a soft laugh.
‘Man, Im not trying to prove anything. Im just… keeping things moving.’ Yamada explains. Aizawa readjusts his grip. His fingers are over his pulse now, it’s beating too fast. Yamada gently deranges his hand.
‘Hey, remember how bad things got for you back then?’ Yamada asks, voice low, not making eye contact.
Aizawa froze.
‘Im just saying, I know what it looks like. Im not there. I promise.’ Yamada continues. He goes back to finishing his hair as Aizawa analyses or maybe over analyses what he just said. Yamada doesn’t pay him mind as he continues using bucket loads of gel to get ready.
Eventually Yamada breaks the silence but moving from the counter and asking Aizawa if he’s coming.
Yamada stayed on the couch longer than what he usually would. By now he would have had his work finished up, the apartment cleaned and be ready for bed. However, the usual hum of background noise and the never-ending to-do list suddenly felt oppressive. The scattered bottles, the faint sticky scent in the air and the tremor in his own hands was the only thing keeping him present. Reminding him that he’s real and he’s got shit to do that isn’t lying on the couch.
He tried to laugh, a short guttural noise died in his throat. There’s nothing funny about this.
A pain sat in his chest, he remembered that to-do list. The morning show, the lectures, the student work and the patrols. He thought of all the times hes balanced all this before. All the times he smiled through exhaustion, downplayed the shaking, dismissed headaches and convinced everyone he was fine. Nothing to see here.
He lay with his head close to the ground. The room spinning. He realised in the moment how much of his life was hidden. There were empty bottles behind and under the couch, hidden between books, behind CDs and the rest carefully scattered about the flat.
Aizawa didn’t mean to get to Yamada’s so early, his patrol route was cut short. Usually, he’d find something else to pick up the time on shift but today he was exhausted. He made his way back to a too quiet flat. The first thing he noticed when the door clicked open was the smell. Alcohol. It was faint but there. The smell of coffee was stronger than it so even he doesn’t know why he noticed that smell first.
The apartment was quiet. Way too quiet for Yamada. He stepped into the flat and the first thing of note was the bottles. They permeated every corner of the room. Some hidden. He could tell they had been scattered intentionally. He moved further into the room and only then did he see him. Yamada was laying on the couch, eyes shut, jaw screwed tightly shut with his lips pressed together. He was still dressed in his hero costume.
He took stock the situation in silence. Aizawa wanted nothing more than to hug him, tell him he’s got a problem and force him to get help, but personal experience tells him that’s not how this works. He knows Yamada needs to choose this for himself. It’s not his job to save him yet, not until he wants it. He took a deep breath and got his thoughts realigned just in time for Yamada’s eyes to flutter open.
‘Hey,’ he slurred, ‘You… home early?’
Aizawa didn’t answer. He moved next to the couch and sat on the floor, using the coffee table as a regular table. He carefully avoided the bottles. The shaking fingers and slow rise and fall of Yamada’s chest didn’t go unnoticed. Yamada sat back up when he realised, he was being observed, pushing his back against the couch he leaned to grab the half empty bottle, taking another sip. He grimaced, setting the bottle on the floor before also defaulting to hero mode and taking stock of the environment.
He glanced around the room and his eyes landed on the pattern Aizawa had already noticed. The bottles tucked into corners with a small trail leading to the kitchen. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he avoided meeting Aizawa’s eyes.
‘I started early today,’ he forced a casual voice, ‘just finishing up some stuff. Aizawa didn’t respond verbally, just stood back up and walked into the kitchen to make some instant noodles. He let him manage this own his own terms, he didn’t make a move for the bottles, didn’t scold, and didn’t help. He observed and let Yamada do the work.
Yamada’s shoulders sagged. The exhaustion, pride and alcohol weighed on them. After some long moments, he slumped into the cushions of the couch. Aizawa only moved to put water within arms reach. His hands shook slightly as he took it. It would be enough for now. He gripped it tightly until his fingers turned white to avoid dropping it.
Aizawa knew what he had to do. He would stay but not interfere. Yamada had to approach him when he was ready. Aizawa finally saw just how far gone his boyfriend really was.
Aizawa lay awake on the couch. Yamada had long since stumbled to bed with some excuse that carefully avoided that he’d been drinking again. Those are the sorts of images that keep somebody up at night. He ran a hand through his hair. Exhaling a slow controlled breath trying to keep his thoughts from spiralling. He knows he should have seen this sooner.
He thought about how it had been staring him in the face this entire time. He rationalised those thoughts away. Yamada had made so many off handed comments on headaches or ‘rough mornings’ that if anyone else made, Aizawa would have seen right through them, knowing they were just hungover.
He clasped his hands together, let his mind race with the thought he couldn’t do this alone. However, he was rational enough to understand that Yamada would have to chose recovery for himself. That doesn’t stop Aizawa’s mind from going back to those nights not long after Oboro. How Yamada seemed to take it on the chin. Yamada held him together for years. It used to be him who ran the checkups, making sure Aizawa actually got out of bed, got his work done, went to school and stayed out of trouble (drugs, his mind unhelpfully supplied)
The realisation dawned on him later, Yamada had probably been doing this for years. He was always overworked; 3 jobs were a handful. Then to consistently checkup on and basically manage Aizawa’s day to day life until he got the role of a teacher at UA was essentially a 4th. He held it together to stop Aizawa from falling apart the way he now is.
That’s not the sort of revelation people who are about to get a lot of sleep come to. Even as he thought about it all, he knew that there was no forcing him to stop.
‘You coming Aizawa?’ Yamada asks from the door of Aizawa’s classroom. Lunch is 1/4th done but hes still not left his classroom, instead opting to catch up on some work instead of heading to the staff room
‘Will do when I’m finished.’ He states, pulling out a jelly pouch, stare unbroken
‘Aw come on man! I made dumplings for us and you’re just gonna eat those boring jelly pouches?’ Yamada exasperates, throwing his arms about.
‘Give me 5 minutes.’ Aizawa reasons. Yamada huffs then sit down at a random front row desk, watching him work. He fills the silence by excitedly chatting about the stuff his students had gotten up to and what was happening at the radio station. He filled the otherwise silent classroom and carried a one-way conversation that AIzawa only half heartedly followed. There was no evidence that Yamada had ever drank in the days before, Aizawa noted, so he just lets him talk. Offering half hearted comments when Yamada asked a question or a quiet chuckle when he cracked a joke.
‘Hey Cloud! Remember- ‘Yamada cut himself off at his mistake. Aizawa froze in shock. Cloud was Oboro’s nickname. He put a hand over his mouth as if it could physically take the words back.
‘Sho I’m so sorry.’ Yamada starts the apologies before Aizawa has fully processed it. He’s still apologising frantically when Aizawa comes back to it.
‘Zashi its okay. Stop apologising.’ Aizawa shut it down. Not looking at Yamada, instead just folding his arms over himself and bowing his head.
‘Sho please. Im sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.’ Yamada shakes his head
‘Stop.’ Aizawa says, not sharp but final. Yamada folds his arms over himself, gaze dropping to the desk. The room deadly silent.
‘Sho-‘ he tries again but is cut off by Aizawa exhaling deeply.
‘You didn’t do anything wrong.’ Aizawa offers, ‘we’re going to miss lunch’ he says. The dismissal is gentle but clear. Yamada hesitates for a minute, trying to read Aizawa. There was nothing like anger or hurt behind it, so Yamada starts walking out the room. Aizawa in tow
Yamada is normally careful before going live. Aizawa watches him from the booth. He does his usual pre live routines like his vocal warmups, hydration, and general chatter with the guest. He watches as he carefully rinses his mouth out and checks his reflection, looking for proof of something holding together. Aizawa raises an eyebrow
‘It’s just dry air.’ Yamada assures over the intercom, ‘the studio always messes with my throat.’ He chucklesAizawa doesn’t argue. He never does. He doesn’t agree with him though.
The ‘on air’ light turns on. That’s everyone’s cue to mute themselves.
Yamada leans into the mic, throwing himself forward as if he wasn’t still drunk this morning, ‘Good afternoon listeners- ‘His sentence is cut short as the noise dies in his throat. His voice now refusing to co-operate with him. It wasn’t a crack or a rasp, just a soft useless breath that smells faintly of alcohol when Yamada exhales in surprise.
He blinks and clears his throats again. Aizawa can see this action hurt him.
‘Good af- ‘It sounds weird again. Thin and warped. His voice sounds like it's been dislodged. The producers are gesturing frantically at him. Yamada laughs it off, it’s a quick and practised routine, holding his hand out to say hang on. He reaches for the water bottle, Aizawa briefly wonders if it is water, and takes several big gulps trying to wash away the problem. Aizawa’s stomach drops as Yamada approaches the mic again.
The sound fractures the room. It shreds into a hoarse painful noise that Aizawa is sure hurt. He grips the desk until his knuckles go white, his legs bouncing and jaw clenched.
He signs sorry in JSL and presses the mute button. He flashes a grin at everyone around him. It’s exaggerated, but maybe only Aizawa sees that. He waves in the backup host and signs ‘technical issue’. To anyone else he’s the picture of confidence and control right now. His light goes off. Yamada leaves the booth and books it to the hallway.
That’s where Aizawa finds him anyway, his back against the wall with his shoulder dropped. He tried to open his mouth to speak, nothing, again. He swallows and tries again as Aizawa grasps his shoulder and stands in front of him. The smell of alcohol now unmistakeable. His sunglasses slid down just enough to reveal his tired fear-stricken eyes.
Yamada freezes, his hand covering his mouth instinctively, too late to hide the evidence. He drags a sleeve across his lips and scrubs at his face as his breathing hitches.
‘Yamada’ Aizawa says his name, he responds by shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut.
‘I shouldn’t have-‘ He begins to sign again. He stops for a moment and reconsiders it
‘It was just to steady my hands.’ Yamada signs in full. Aizawa’s chest tightens.
‘I’ve done this before. It’s never caused a problem.’ Yamada signs again. Aizawa has to steady his facial expressions. Yamada isn’t lying. Aizawa fully believes that, and that’s the worst part. He admitted it.
Yamada tries to talk again, forever stubborn. The noise dies in his throat again. Aizawa has to school his expression again as he fumbles for the right words. Yamada’s face twists, but not in panic, in recognition. Aizawa thinks that’s worse. This has happened before. Yamada exhales a shaky breath, his shoulders hitch and all Aizawa can do is stand here and watch.
Aizawa thinks suddenly of that time a few months ago, he came home and Yamada flashed him that smile, he noticed the faint scent of alcohol then, but he pretended he didn’t, because Yamada was still standing, talking and still holding Aizawa together in his own grief. Yamada looks back at him.
‘I’ve handled worse than this.’ Yamada signs. Aizawa grabs a hand to stop him from signing again
‘You don’t have to,’ he whispers to Yamada. They look at each for a moment. There’s no deflection left in his eyes, no humour or jokes. It’s just a look of pure exhaustion and something like shame. Laid bare and humiliated live on radio.
They don’t talk on the way home. Aizawa isn’t sure he could if he wanted to. He keeps the window cracked and lets the breeze hit his face. He doesn’t hum and doesn’t tap along to the radio. Aizawa turns it off entirely after a minute. It somehow felt quieter with the radio on.
At the apartment, Yamada kicks his shoes off and just pauses for a moment. He eventually manages to reach the breakfast bar swaying before steadying himself as he sits down. Aizawa doesn’t think that’s because hes drunk but instead exhausted.
He sets a glass of water down in front of him. Then another. He hesitates and then adds a mug of tea just how Yamada takes it.
Yamada looks at the lineup of drinks and huffs a laugh that’s still doesn’t sound right, ‘covering all your bases, huh?’ His voice is still wrong, too thin and too fragile.
‘Drink.’ Aizawa says, not responding to his comment. Yamada does. Water first, then tea but slowly, like his throat is raw. He winces halfway through a sip and sets the mug down with shaky hands.
‘Guess that answers that’ he mutters to himself
Aizawa watches his throat work as he swallows nothing.
‘You don’t have to host tomorrow.’ Aizawa says
Yamada agrees, ‘Yeah. I’ll call in.’ Aizawa was surprised at the lack of a fight to that. It’s uneasy.
Eventually Yamada drifts over to the couch, tucking his knees into his chest at one end like he’s trying to fold himself out of existence. He rubs at his hands and presses his nails into his palms
‘I didn’t mean for you to see that.’ He says quietly
‘I know.’ Aizawa answered from the other end of the couch, far enough away to avoid crowding him, close enough that he’s there if needed.
Yamada exhales, shoulders dropping. He stares at the coffee table. Looking closely the bottle rings are visible from the nights before this one.
‘didn’t even help’ he says, voice barely audible, ‘that’s the worst part’
‘Help with what?’ Aizawa struggles to keep his voice neutral as his stomach sank.
Yamada tries to answer, but the words get stuck in his throat again. He shakes his head in frustration for a moment before finding his words.
‘Everything.’
Aizawa has no words to that. What can he even say here? The silence isn’t uncomfortable, it’s just heavy. It lingers in Aizawa’s head and throat. Aizawa stands up, moving towards the kitchen. Yamada immediately tenses, eyes flicking up.
‘You’re not in trouble,’ Aizawa says without even looking at him. That gets a soft laugh from Yamada. He opens a cabinet full of instant food packets and tins. He’s met with bottles, both full and empty. He doesn’t comment on them. He doesn’t move them. He grabs some instant ramen again. Yamada watches him the entire time.
‘I used to do this for you,’ Yamada says suddenly. Aizawa freezes. Yamada swallows. ‘The water things. The quietness. Making sure you ate. Slept.’ Yamada pauses with a shrug, ‘guess I figured if it worked once.’ He offers. Aizawa fills the kettle up and answers
‘That was different.’ Though the words feel thin
‘Was it?’ Yamada shakes his head in disagreement. Aizawa doesn’t answer. There was no alcohol involved last time.
‘Stay here tonight.’ Yamada states. It’s not a question.
‘Okay.’ Aizawa answers. At this Yamada throws his head back staring at the ceiling. Eyes closing again. When Aizawa finished preparing the noodles he bought them over to the couch for them to eat. Yamada didn’t look up for a moment.
‘Hey Shouta?’ He murmurs. Aizawa hums in response
‘If I stop for a bit,’ he pauses thinking about his next words carefully, ‘nothing falls apart right?’ He asks
‘No.’ Aizawa’s answers immediately. Yamada’s breath shudders for a moment, no crying but a relief he needed.
‘Yea ok.’ He responds. They sit for a while. Quiet and grounded in the moment until Yamada falls asleep. Noodles untouched.
‘You don’t have to train tonight.’ Yamada, still dressed in his school uniform, says from the kitchenette door of their old dorm rooms, he frames it like an offhanded observation, but Aizawa knows the decision has already been made.
‘I’m fine.’ Aizawa defaults too. He’s glad that even though they share communal areas, they don’t share a bedroom, otherwise the evidence he’s lying isn’t difficult to find.
‘I know,’ the words come easy from Yamada, ‘but still, you don’t have to.’ Aizawa hesitates, realising he doesn’t even have the energy to fight with Yamada on this. Never mind train. The argument was lost before it started with him.
‘Okay. Fine’ Aizawa concedes. He hadn’t actually started getting ready for training. He had half hoped just saying it was enough to get Yamada to leave so he could rot, but Yamada seemed to call his bluff. He could hear him in the kitchenette now, fiddling with the kettle and some cupboards.
Aizawa lay back down on his bed, on his side with his knees pulled into his chest. He let the grief consume him and eat at him. It’s been a few months since Oboro’s death. It lit every nerve he had on fire in guilt. Every patrol the memory of the building falling lay in the back of his mind. Now all consuming him. He was so lost in his own thought he didn’t even notice Yamada had entered his bedroom.
He placed some instant soup and a glass of water on the side table near Aizawa.
‘Eat it when you’re ready man. It’ll be good to have something warm.’ Yamada says, his voice filling the room. He makes a movement to the windows, Aizawa observes unmoving.
‘I’m gonna open the curtains and window. The air is stale in here and that’s not good for your voice!’ Yamada commentates, as he usually does. He pulls back the curtains and throws open the window. Immediately AIzawa wishes he protested that. The light is harsh on his eyes and the dust he had been living in the past few weeks had started to dance in the ray of sunshine. The worst part is that it really laid him out bare. It’s clear how dirty his room actually was now. Random instant food boxes and utensils everywhere. Half drank glasses of water scattered. If Yamada notices that then he says nothing about it.
‘Do you want any painkillers?’ Yamada asks, noting that Aizawa had been squinting and rubbing his head.
‘No..’ Aizawa trails for a minute, ‘Please don’t leave.’ He murmurs under his breath. The sound was barely caught by Yamada. It broke his heart
‘Never Sho.’ He smiled at him.
Yamada wakes some time before dawn. He’s not rested but his body is protesting the idea of sleeping any more. His mouth tastes dry and bitter. His hands ache after being clenched too long. His head throbs like its beating in a way that feels like it is mocking him. He doesn’t move at first,
The apartment is dark except for the desk lamp in the living room. The couch creaks faintly under the weight of somebody moving. It comes back to Yamada that somebody was in fact there.
His breathing tightened at the realisation, so he slowly sat up. The room tilts but doesn’t spin. That’s new. He presses the ball of his feet to the cold hardwood floor and breathes through the way his hands tremble in protest.
Aizawa is still awake, as expected. Yamada moves to stand in the hallway, observing him for a quiet moment. His shoulders were slouched, his eyes opened but unfocused like he’s not slept at all. He approaches the living room and sits on the far side of the couch. Aizawa still didn’t look at him. It made his stomach churn in an odd way. He has no idea what’s happened or if he’s made Aizawa mad.
‘Did I-‘ Yamada starts, voice cracking. He stops himself, clears out his throat and makes some noise that indicates that it hurts, ‘Did I say anything stupid?’
‘No.’ Aizawa answers quietly. Yamada just nods, relief flickering then dying just as quick. He rubs his hands together and then presses them flat against his thighs. He pushes his back into the couch and for a moment laying his head back, trying to anchor himself and stop the tilt he is feeling.
‘I can’t do this anymore.’ Yamada says out the blue. Aizawa adjusts his full body language. The words sit around them weighing heavily. Yamada keeps his gaze fixed ahead, jaw tight and avoiding Aizawa’s sharp gaze.
‘I keep telling myself I can,’ he continues, his voice hoarse ‘That I just need to get through the school day, then the show, then the patrol. Day in day out now…’ he trails for a moment, ‘its always just one more night than I can relax but its not working for me anymore.’ Yamada finalises. The words sounded weird as they left his throat but Aizawa doesn’t judge, interrupt, soften the words or rush him to finish. Yamada swallows to try and re-moisturise his throat.
‘I thought I was holding it together. Managing like I normally do. Keep it moving. Staying put together know. But honestly, I scared myself yesterday.’ Yamada explains
Aizawa doesn’t react with a facial expression but instead with his eyes. It’s sharp and tight. Yamada knows he heard every word and is analysing what it means.
‘I couldn’t fake it no more. I lost control over my voice. I lost control over the shaking. I just don’t know how to stop.’ Yamada exasperates and concludes. His chest now rising and falling too fast.
Aizawa adjusts his body, so he’s positioned facing him, ‘You don’t have to know how. You want to. That’s enough.’ He states. Yamada nods along, his eyes burning.
‘I want help.’ Yamada says, voice barely audible now, ‘I can’t do this by myself anymore.’
The words land hard in the room. Aizawa exhales slowly in a controlled manner.
‘Okay.’ He says, voice steady, ‘Then we’ll get it.’ Yamada presses his hands into his eyes, his shoulders slouched like the confession took all the energy out of him. He doesn’t have the energy to cry, but that doesn’t stop him from having a look of tired exhaustion that Aizawa hasn’t seen for years.
‘You gonna stay tonight?’ Yamada asks
‘I’m not going anywhere.’ Aizawa doesn’t hesitate to answer. Yamada leans forward, elbows on his knees. He does the box breathing method he was taught years ago. It’s not better or anymore steady but it’s a good start.
Detoxing isn’t easy. Neither of them expected it to be. However, no number of supportive articles or blogs could prepare Yamada for the fact it does not get better. There was no single breaking point. There was no single heave or purge that left him feeling better. It’s a slow recovery. It feels relentless. It feels personal as it sneaks up on Yamada in waves that don’t have a warning. It manifests in the violent tremors that hurt his hands, the sweat-soaked shirts, the bouts of dry heaving and the sudden spikes in nausea that send rooms spinning.
Aizawa is there for all of it. He doesn’t hover but he doesn’t leave as Yamada sits curled on his side on the bathroom floor. He pushes his forehead against the cool tile trying to fight off nausea and the urge to empty his stomach for the 3rd time that day. Aizawa sits on the floor with him. His back against the tub, knees drawn up to his chest. He placed the cool cloth on the back of Yamada’s neck before pushing himself back.
‘Still with me?’ Aizawa whispers. Yamada huffs out a laugh that sounds more like a groan.
‘Unfortunately.’ Yamada answers. Aizawa doesn’t correct him. The shaking gets worse before it gets better, then gets worse again. He curls his fingers like they don’t belong to him, then uncurls them like he’s trying to fight something out of a baby’s grasp. His teeth chatter before stopping, then starting again.
‘I hate this.’ He mutters as he tries to control his jaw again.
‘I know.’
‘I really want a drink right now.’ He swallows hard, he shifts so his back is against the floor now. The cloth hit the floor but aizawa got the impression Yamada didn’t care.
‘Yeah.’ Aizawa says, chest tight but his tone steady, lack of judgement showing. Yamada squeezes his eyes shut, box breathing his way through the cravings.
‘It’s not even about feeling good anymore. I just want it to stop the noise and buzzing. My brain feels like it’s screaming at me.’ Yamada admits. Aizawa moves to lie on his back next to Yamada.
‘I remember.’ Aizawa confesses. Yamada cracks his eyes open in surprise. Aizawa stares straight up at the ceiling.
‘After Oboro. The world felt so quiet, and so big. Yet my mind wouldn’t shut up. It was too loud and sharp. It reminded me every moment that the silence I was hearing was the absence of him.’ Aizawa confesses, opening up in a rare moment.
‘You never talked about it.’ Yamada’s breath is stuttered and hoarse.
‘You never gave me much room to.’ Aizawa breaths slowly.
‘I was scared. If I stopped holding things together you’d disappear.’ Yamada winces
‘I almost did.’ Aizawa says quietly, he turns his head to look at Yamada as the admission sits between them. Aizawa retrieves the abandoned damp cloth and moves it onto Yamada’s neck again.
‘I just thought if I kept moving, smiling and being loud then maybe it wouldn’t catch up to me. Maybe it would be less real.’ Yamada admits, hands shaking harder again. Aizawa reaches out to wrap one of Yamada’s hands in his own, trying to ground him again.
‘It did feel real eventually. Just not all at once. It came in pieces that I thought made it more manageable. I told myself I was helping.’ Yamada continues
‘You were.’ Aizawa tightens his grip. Yamada lets out a broken hiss at the way his teeth chattered again.
‘I just don’t know who I am if I’m not doing all that anymore.’ For a moment, Aizawa doesn’t have an answer, instead opting to watch Yamada’s breathing until he can even himself out.
‘You’re someone who survived and got us both through something impossible. That doesn’t disappear just because you stopped hurting yourself to do it.’ Aizawa says finally. Yamada’s eyes burn from the lights, his jaw trembles as he jerks himself up. He dry heaves again, leaving him shaking with nothing coming up. Aizawa stays
‘I’m scared. What if there’s nothing left when I stop?’ His voice is wrecked.
‘Then we figure it out. Like we should have done the first time, together.’ Aizawa finalises. Yamada nods weakly. He reaches out to grab aizawa’s hand and grips it tight
‘You definitely going to stay?’
‘Yes’ Aizawa answers without hesitation.
The worst part came early hours of the morning. The night had stretched on, slow and miserable. The shaking didn’t ease up, but it did change. It went from sharp and frantic to deep, exhausting vibrations. They moved to the couch, Yamada had wrapped himself in blankets, dripping sweat yet still shivering. His jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Aizawa sat adjacent. Back against the couch.
‘I can’t do this.’ Yamada broke the silence. Aizawa looks up
‘You are.’
‘No. I shouldn’t have to.’ Yamada snaps suddenly, louder than he intended to. His voice cracked and splintered as the words escaped, replaced by guilt that he shouldn’t have spoken. He continues
‘I should have known better. I know what this looked like. I knew and I still did it,’ he laughs, sharp, broken and painful, ‘God I’m such an idiot.’ Aizawa moved closer on approach.
‘Zashi-‘
‘No please don’t. Don’t. I did this. I chose to do this. Over and over again.’ Yamada cuts in, breathing fast and shallow as sweat poured off his shivering body. The shaking led to one of his blankets slipping, Aizawa reached for it instinctively, but Yamada pulled back.
‘I was supposed to be the stable one. Im the one who held it together while you fell apart Sho. I watched you hurt yourself and I promised I wouldn’t do the same thing!’ Yamada’s voice rises as everything burnt. Aizawa stays where he is.
‘You didn’t do the same thing.’ Aizawa stays calculated. Yamada shakes his head,
‘I hid it better. That’s the only difference.’ Yamada disagrees.
‘I lied to you, to our friends, to the faculty. I went on air like nothing was wrong while I poisoned myself just to get through the day.’ Yamada’s voice was hollow now.
‘What kind of hero does that make me?’ Yamada accuses inwardly. Aizawa rises, slow and deliberate, moving closer to him on the couch. Knees barely touching.
‘One who was drowning.’ Aizawa says. Yamada laughs breathlessly.
‘Don’t make excuses for me.’
‘I’m not. Im naming it.’ Aizawa replies. Yamada buries his face in his hands. Pressing them in hard enough to hurt.
‘I should have been stronger. I should have stopped when you needed me. Instead, I- ‘he stutters out a painful noise, ‘I replaced it. I replaced him with the noise.’ Yamada admits. It takes everything in Aizawa to stop his breathing from hitching. He leans into Yamada, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pulls him even despite the tension’s protest.
‘You didn’t replace Oboro. You survived him.’ Aizawa says firmly, Yamada let out a half sob that hurt his chest.
‘And now I’m making you do this. Watching me, cleaning up after me, sitting here with me while I shake like this. I promised I’d never put you in this position.’ Yamada lets his guilt consume him, snapping at Aizawa. Aizawa tightens his hold, running a hand through Yamada’s hair. It’s knotted and drenched in sweat, but it’s a reminder that he’s here with him still.
‘You didn’t put me here. I chose to stay.’ Aizawa comforts, voice unyielding.
‘That’s not fair.’ Yamada whispers, voice rash.
‘I know. Neither was what you did for me.’ Aizawa answers
‘I really hate myself right now.’ Yamada confesses. Aizawa didn’t stop the sharp exhale from escaping him. Yamada was too sick to comment on it.
‘I know.’ Aizawa says again. They stay intertwined for a while. Aizawa comforts him as the waves come and go. Eventually Yamada’s guilt burns itself with nowhere else to go, becoming quieter and more liveable. After a long while, when sunrise starts to seep into the windows, Yamada pulls back enough to look at Aizawa.
‘You’re not disappointed in me?’ He asks. Aizawa meets him with tired eyes.
‘I’m scared. I wish you didn’t have to hurt like this, but I’m not disappointed in you.’
Yamada nods, closing his eyes and leaning back on Aizawa as another tremor rattles his body.
‘Okay…’ he whispers, finally finding enough peace to sleep.
Yamada wakes up and the world doesn’t tilt. It’s a fresh experience that he’s not had in a while. There’s no violent lurch in his stomach and no spin to the world. He feels the dull ache of muscles that he clenched to stop tremors, his mouth is dry, and his head is heavy, but its clear. He lay on his back waiting for that familiar morning dread to arrive, but it doesn’t. His head feels like someone dialled back the volume button but forgot what to replace it with. His throat hurts but doesn’t feel shredded.
Aizawa stirs beside him. He’s half on half off the mattress, not quite letting sleep take him as he has one eye open.
‘You awake?’ Aizawa asks
‘Yeah. Think so.’ Yamada says. Aizawa hums and pushes himself upright. He rubs a hand down his face and then Yamada notices his dark circles. His guilt flares again, it's softer than the previous nights but sharp and still there.
‘How do you feel?’ Aizawa asks. Yamada takes stock, wiggling his fingers, which respond by shaking a little but not violently anymore.
‘Like I got ran over. But not like I’m dying anymore.’
‘That’s an improvement.’ Aizawa states. Yamada snorts but winces as the headache protests. He smiles, small but tentative. Aizawa hands him a glass of water and a plate with a sandwich on it. He sets it carefully in arms reach. Yamada stares at it like aizawa just asked him to spar.
‘I don’t think I can eat.’
‘Okay.’ Aizawa replies. There was no bargaining or pressure from him. Yet Yamada wanted to try anyway. He teared off a corner of the toast, more out of stubbornness than hunger. He chews it's slower than what he needed, waiting for another bout of nausea that never arrived, he sat there, toast in his mouth.
‘Oh.’ He expresses softly, sitting stunned that he could eat it. Aizawa watches without comment. He finished the slice (stubbornness more so than hunger again) but left the rest.
The apartment feels different in the daylight. It’s brighter and the large windows feel exposing. Yamada can now see the things he avoided seeing for months like the empty bottles that kept finding a way back into his life because he hid them in odd places, or the faint rings on the coffee table.
‘I don’t know what to do now.’ He admitted as they stood looking at the living room
‘Right now?’ Aizawa questioned
‘Just. In general.’ Yamada gestured vaguely at himself and the flat.
‘Right now, you can drink water, eat and avoid alcohol.’ Aizawa states like its obvious
‘And later?’ Yamada asks. Aizawa meets his gaze
‘Later you can keep asking for help.’ Aizawa says. Yamada looks at his hands for a moment. They’re still, for a change. It feels weird.
‘I just never realised how much of my day was built around it. All the planning, hiding, and pretending I was fine stuff.’ Yamada says. Aizawa nods and makes his way to sit on the couch. Dead centre of it. Yamada stays for a moment
‘I just feel so exposed, like if I stop performing everyone’s gonna see me.’ Yamada continues, following aizawa and sitting next to him. Their knees were touching.
‘They already noticed you were hurting, they just didn’t notice how or why.’ Aizawa shifts closer to him. Yamada takes a beat to absorb that in.
‘That’s news to me.’ Yamada says more to himself. They sat in comfortable silence, Aizawa wrapping himself up in a blanket he pulled off the back of the couch, he reached for the remote and filled the silence with some stupid free to watch TV show.
‘Thanks for staying.’ Yamada breaks the silence
‘Im staying because I want to, not because I have to.’ Aizawa avoids deflecting. Yamada nods, he pulls his head back and lets his eyes rest. The day goes on quietly, but Yamada is awake and aware for all of it
They sit further apart on the couch for breakfast days later. Yamada eats slow and controlled, the mug untouched, wrapped in a blanket. Aizawa thinks he looks smaller when sober, but maybe Yamada just isn’t trying to make himself louder or bigger anymore. Aizawa stares out the window, measuring his words.
‘I knew.’ Aizawa breaks first. Yamada looks up.
‘Not everything but I saw enough. You drank faster when you thought I weren’t looking. You flinched when there were bright lights. I knew none of it was normal.
‘Sho.’ Yamada trails, grip tightening on his mug.
‘I let it go. It was easier than admitting I might lose you too.’ Aizawa says. Yamada is left speechless.
‘I told myself you were coping well. You were functional, you’re an adult and it's not my place to interfere. People came to me concerned about you and I told them that’
‘You didn’t make me’
‘I know. It’s not about blame but honesty.’ Aizawa cuts him off. He rubs a hand over his face and drags it down. Yamada is left speechless and trying to control his breathing.
‘You held me together after Oboro, checking I ate and slept. You made noise when the silence was dangerous and when it was my turn to notice, I pretended it wasn’t happening.’ Aizawa’s voice doesn’t falter. It’s steady. Yamada shakes his head, distressing creeping in
‘I didn’t want you to,’
‘I know. That’s the problem.’ Aizawa cut him off. That was met with silence. It wasn’t aggressive but heavy.
‘I was afraid if I pushed, you’d stop letting me see you. I was afraid I’d break something I didn’t know how to fix so I stayed quiet and told myself that was respect.’ Aizawa looks at his hands. They were steady.
‘I thought you trusted me.’ Yamada’s voice is rough when he speaks.
‘I did. I trusted you with everything. Including your own pain.’ Aizawa’s throat tightens.
‘I should have been braver. For us.’ Aizawa shakes his head as the memories replay, ‘if you had collapsed alone, I don’t think I would have forgiven myself.’ The guilt cracks through in fractions. Yamada sets the mug aside, abandoning it with his breakfast. He shifts closer, tentatively looking at Aizawa who doesn’t meet his gaze.
‘You didn’t abandon me. You stayed.’ Yamada says
‘I stayed after you asked for help.’ Aizawa asks. Yamada reaches out to touch Aizawa’s shoulder.
‘You don’t have to carry it all you know. I’ve done that long enough. I know what its costs’ Yamada stays. Aizawa closes his eyes briefly, before nodding. It’s not forgiveness and it doesn’t absolve Aizawa of his guilt, but it does feel different.
The apartment was quiet as it usually was in the morning these days. Yamada had never been a morning person, but Aizawa was. He woke first, as he usually does. The only noise he could hear was the faint city hum and Yamada’s even breathing. He’s curled onto his side, blankets haphazardly pulled over him, hair down and messy. The eye-bags he had seemed to fade a bit more everyday. What Aizawa really noticed was that his hands were stilled. They weren’t tensed either. He took a few moments to admire how he thought this was all impossible just a few weeks ago. Yet he’s here, living in a moment where Yamada is alive, present and doing better than he has done in years.
Slowly he moves to the kitchen and fills the kettle. The click of the switch being Yamada’s cue to get up. However when Aizawa turns around, Yamada was awake and watching him.
‘Morning.’ Yamada says his voice rough from sleep, but it doesn’t fail him.
‘Morning.’ Aizawa nods back, letting a soft smile crack. Yamada moves slowly and deliberately, like hes checking that’s what his body wants. He winces slightly moving his neck, then exhales and lets it pass over him.
‘Heads manageable.’ He says to a concerned looking Aizawa.
‘Tea?’ Aizawa asks. Yamada blinks, then smiles at the familiarity of the scene.
‘Yea, sounds good.’ Yamada says moving to the table. He notices the apartment smells of citrus cleaners and the warm sunlight filters in. He stares at the mug placed in front of him as Aizawa sits down next to him.
‘You know, I used to think that if I stayed loud enough, busy enough, then nothing would catch up to me.’ Yamada confessed. Aizawa stayed quiet, hes learned how.
‘I didn’t know how to stop, and just sit with it, sit with him or you.’ He continues. Aizawa curls his fingers around his cup. The heat radiating off it is nice and grounding.
‘You didn’t have to hold everything.’ Aizawa says, quieter than expected.
‘Someone had to.’ Yamada snorts softly. Aizawa looked at him.
‘I should have noticed sooner.’ Aizawa says.
‘You were drowning too, I didn’t want to be another weight.’ Yamada shakes his head. They remained in silence for a while, gently sipping from their mugs. Aizawa leans into Yamada’s shoulder, uncharacteristically initiating contact.
‘I don’t need you to fix me, just please don’t leave if it’s quiet.’ Yamada asks
‘I wont.’ Aizawa doesn’t hesitate. There was more silence as they sipped their drinks.
‘You know, we’re really bad at asking for help.’ Yamada jokes lightly, breaking the silence.
‘Speak for yourself.’ Aizawa huffs. Yamada returns with a laugh, loud as usual.