Work Text:
Aizawa picks Hitoshi up with ease and tosses him into a tree as if discarding a pebble. Hitoshi's back meets the bark and he groans as he slides down to lay on his side in defeat.
That's what he gets for trying to ambush Aizawa. He swears the guy has eyes in the back of his damn head some times.
His back throbs, his chest aches, but Aizawa was precise with how he threw Hitoshi around. He rarely does any permanent damage. Just some bruises that'll look nasty in a few days.
“Shinso.” Aizawa calls. His tone is calm, careful to not startle. Hitoshi can still make out the soft urgency though. “Kid, you're bleeding.”
Confused, Hitoshi focuses on the pain instead of pushing it out of his mind. He's got a couple scrapes on his palms and knees. A shallow cut on his forearm that dried up ten minutes ago. Nothing feels broken or out of place and he can't feel any sticky blood under his clothes when he sits up.
“Huh?”
Footsteps appear behind him and before Hitoshi knows what's happening, he's being hauled to his feet and led off the field. Aizawa walks behind him, one hand gripping Hitoshi's shoulder and guiding him forward.
They re-enter the school and there are a few stragglers– teachers and students alike– and Hitoshi feels Aizawa press himself closer to Hitoshi's back.
He can only assume Aizawa is taking him to Recovery Girl. Again, Hitoshi can't for the life of him figure out where he's supposedly bleeding from, but he trusts Aizawa's judgement.
They turn a few doors down from the infirmary. Boots click against tile and Hitoshi is filled with confusion.
Aizawa calls out, asks if anyone else is in the bathroom. When he gets no response–
The lock sliding into place is deafening. It bounces off the walls and even though Hitoshi trusts Aizawa with his life, the situation still makes him uneasy.
“Sensei?” Hitoshi's voice shakes and that seems to finally snap Aizawa out of whatever trance he was in. He faces Hitoshi with a genuine smile– the one that's small, barely there, unnoticeable if you're not looking for it.
“Sorry.” Aizawa huffs softly. Apologetic. He reclaims his gentle grip on Hitoshi's shoulder and walks him down to the last stall. “You bled through your pants…”
The words hit Hitoshi like a bolt of lightning. No one is supposed to know. He hid it so well for so long with his limited resources. No one paid enough attention to Hitoshi to question the different name on his file. They didn't care to notice the gender on his file not lining up with how he presented.
Tears prick his eyes. “I think you need glasses, old man.” Hitoshi makes an attempt to deflect, to pretend that Aizawa is mistaken. He saw wrong, okay? He saw wrong. He saw wrong.
“Shinso.” And there it is. The pity. The disgust. The amusement– because Hitoshi is just a kid. He doesn't know what he's talking about, he's just a silly little girl playing dress-up.
“Oh, FUCK OFF!” Hitoshi screams, stepping away until his back meets the wall. Aizawa doesn't move closer, nor does he fuck off. “Leave me alone. G- Get out of here, just leave me the fuck alone.” His voice cracks and Hitoshi absolutely hates himself for yelling at Aizawa, the only person to ever pay enough attention to him to notice something like this. The one person who cared enough to act and not let Hitoshi walk around broadcasting his–
Aizawa sighs, but it's not his usual irritated sigh. He sounds almost fond. Maybe that should piss Hitoshi off more than it comforts him.
“I'm not going anywhere, bud.”
Tears stream down Hitoshi's cheeks. He slams a fist into the wall, cracked knuckles splitting open and causing him to hiss in pain, then sob in frustration. Gods, he really is on his period.
A bag skids across the floor and lands at Hitoshi's feet. His bag. Aizawa must've grabbed it on their way off the field.
“Why don't you get changed and then we can head to my house. Hot chocolate and snuggles helped me through a ton of my periods. Do you have everything you need in your bag?”
Hitoshi barely registers the words. He digs through his bag and pulls out the extra set of clothes he keeps in his bag for after training. He also grabs a pad out of one of the side pockets. By the time Hitoshi looks back at Aizawa, he finds that the man has turned around and crossed his arms over his chest.
Cheeks beet red, Hitoshi pushes his pants down. His boxers are soaked in blood. He must have been bleeding all day– how did he not fucking realize?
Hitoshi quickly changes and lays down a pad. He balls up his soiled clothes the best he can and drops them in his bag; he'll wash it all later. Then he brushes past Aizawa to wash his hands.
He watches Aizawa approach through the mirror. A palm, searing hot and startling even with the fabric of Hitoshi's shirt acting as a barrier, settles against his spine. He almost flinches away. Touch never leads to anything good. Any hands on him mean pain. Mockery.
Hitoshi sucks in a small breath. This is… this is Aizawa. Aizawa, who has never used his hands to hurt Hitoshi outside of training. Aizawa, who inspects every one of Hitoshi's injuries after and doesn't let him go home without dinner. Sometimes they walk to a diner a little down the road from UA– other times, Yamada brings bentos and the three of them eat outside under a huge tree.
“Wash your face.” Aizawa says. His voice is gentle, soothing. Hitoshi wants to glare. Snarl and push the man away. He can't afford to trust people. Not with his quirk and his gender. They play nice, they pretend to understand, they treat him like the human he is. It never lasts.
He's a villain.
He's a freak.
He's dangerous.
He's confused.
The knob squeaks as Hitoshi twists it. The icy water feels nice against his hot cheeks and the shock of the temperature lets Hitoshi gather his thoughts a little easier.
“I know this is terrifying, I know, bud. But you don't need to be scared around me. I won't ever out you, Hitoshi. Never. And I am sorry that I found out without you wanting me to.”
This is all too confusing. Why is Aizawa still here? He saw what Hitoshi is. He knows how fucked up Hitoshi is. Why is he still fucking standing here?!
A sob tears out of his throat without permission and Hitoshi just gives up. He turns and buries his face in Aizawa's chest. The material of his jumpsuit is scratchy under Hitoshi's cheek. He cries a little harder. And Aizawa hushes him, fingers combing through Hitoshi's messy hair and whispered reassurance floating past his ear.
This is wrong. This isn't how it's meant to go.
Ever since he started middle school, Hitoshi has been hiding. He learned how to blend in quickly, how to walk like the guys and lower his voice when he did speak. His small chest is a huge blessing; it meant Hitoshi didn't have a need for a binder. A shirt a size bigger hid him well. The communal changing room for gym class posed a problem, but Hitoshi either waited to be the last to change or snuck off to the bathrooms.
All that effort only to bleed through his fucking pants while training with his mentor. It's fucking pathetic.
“You don't know how shitty this feels.” Hitoshi grumbles. Between training and the emotional breakdown, Hitoshi is bone fucking tired. He wants to go home and curl up in his bed and never see the light of day again.
Aizawa hums softly. Hitoshi can feel the vibrations of it on his face. It feels weird, but not in a completely bad way.
“I think the scars on my chest prove otherwise, bud.”
Scars… I know… My periods.
Holy shit. Holy fucking shit!
Hitoshi places his hands on Aizawa's chest and shoves himself back, not thinking too hard about– well. You know.
Aizawa has a brow quirked and his lips twisted up in amusement. Hitoshi has never seen him so expressive.
“Sc– Scars?” Hitoshi squeaks.
“You didn't notice? I don't exactly go out of my way to hide them.”
Hitoshi thinks back to every time he and Aizawa changed in the same room… every time he caught a glimpse of Aizawa's muscled torso and glared jealously at his feet because Aizawa was everything Hitoshi wanted and it wasn't fucking fair.
A finger pokes Hitoshi's blushing cheek. He bats it away with a pout. Deep inside, he feels giddy that he and Aizawa share something so special. He's never met another trans person, let alone a fellow trans man.
Not to be weird about it, but Aizawa doesn't move like Hitoshi thought a trans man would. He's unashamed of his identity. Dare Hitoshi say proud. He acts like he belongs. Doesn't care how others perceive him. Hitoshi hopes to achieve that level of "Fuck It" one day.
“C'mon, 'Toshi. I'll call 'Zashi and have him bring the car around.”
Hitoshi keeps pace with Aizawa and he knows that the man knows the nickname flusters him. The shit-eating grin Aizawa is concealing in his capture scarf tells Hitoshi so.
••
Yamada is hanging out of the car window when Hitoshi and Aizawa get outside. He waves excitedly, lips moving a mile a minute and Hitoshi can't make out a single word.
Aizawa keeps a hand on Hitoshi as they approach– it starts on his shoulder, then drops to his forearm for a beat before moving again and fingers curl silently around Hitoshi's own. A thumb strokes the back of his hand and Hitoshi hadn't realized how tense he'd become.
There has never been an adult in his life who touched him so kindly. His parents give a side hug here and there, a random kiss dropped on the top of his head. Hitoshi knows why they don't like touching him. They brag about how supportive they are of him to all their friends, but his mother in particular thinks this is just a phase. Hitoshi's father doesn't like arguing. He goes along with whatever his mother says.
Mom is waiting for her little girl to come home one day and tell her that she was right all along.
That little girl doesn't exist anymore. She never really did. The 'little girl' Hitoshi's mother raised was in actuality a small boy trapped in the wrong body. The stupid frilly dresses have always made Hitoshi uncomfortable, it didn't just start randomly when he got access to the internet. He hated being called sweet and polite and pretty. He hated being compared to his mother.
Mom constantly said Hitoshi was her mini-me. She said Hitoshi looked just like she did at whatever age he was. They could have been twins.
Hitoshi and his mother drifted apart the bolder he got. The more he pushed away her idea of a beautiful young lady.
He didn't like doing it, but Hitoshi couldn't keep pretending to be someone he wasn't.
Aizawa unconsciously squeezes his hand as they step down off the grass, muttering about "his stupidly loud husband". Hitoshi smiles to himself.
Not only has Aizawa accepted himself for who he is, his husband did too. In such a fucked up world Aizawa found someone to love him. That gives Hitoshi hope that maybe his decision to stop pretending wasn't the wrong choice.
“Hello, little listener! A little birdie told me you weren't feeling well.” Yamada says with a short frown.
Hitoshi leans a little heavier on Aizawa, letting him do the talking for now. Aizawa ruffles his hair and winks when Hitoshi glances up at him. He gives affection so easily.
“I'm sure it's nothing serious, but I couldn't let 'Toshi go home all alone.” Of course Aizawa would remember Hitoshi telling him that his parents were never home on Fridays, their date nights.
Yamada grins, his tone teasing. “You're such a mama bear, Sho.”
“Guilty.” Aizawa deadpans. He pulls open the backseat door and Hitoshi climbs in, dropping his bag at his feet. He expects Aizawa to close the door and head to the passenger seat.
Hitoshi should know by now to expect the unexpected with Aizawa.
Yamada doesn't seem phased. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel as he pulls away from the curb.
Aizawa wraps an arm around Hitoshi and pulls him sideways into his chest. He draws invisible shapes all over Hitoshi's bicep– that combined with Yamada's low humming makes Hitoshi feel indescribably safe and content.
About five minutes into the drive, Hitoshi knocks a knuckle against Aizawa's knee, who hums in response.
“Can you tell 'im?”
Aizawa brushes Hitoshi's bangs out of his eyes, then rubs his thumb gently under Hitoshi's eye. Hitoshi didn't even realize he was crying.
“You sure? 'Zashi doesn't have to know anything you don't want him to, bud.”
“Mhm. Tell him for me?”
“Okay.”
Aizawa continues to play with Hitoshi's hair for a moment, fingertips dragging lazily across his temple. Hitoshi doesn't think he's ever felt so safe, not even with his own parents.
Then–
“Hizashi.”
Green eyes flicker up in the rearview mirror. Yamada turns the music down to a low rumble. Anxiety sits like a boulder in Hitoshi's gut, but it kind of feels good. Knowing that he'll have two of his favorite adults in on his little secret.
“D'ya wanna make your hot chocolate when we get home? Hitoshi's on his period and he's had a long day.” The day itself hasn't been long. The past hour however?
Yamada drums his fingers on the steering wheel with a wide smile pulling at his lips.
“I'd be happy to! Periods are totally no fun, huh? I'm just glad ours won't sync up anymore. That was a time, 'member that, Sho?” Yamada laughs brightly while Aizawa grumbles, sinking into his seat and using Hitoshi as a human teddy bear. That doesn't stop Yamada, in fact it seems to spur him on. “Summer camp. Four trans boys in one cabin, and none of us thought to bring any pads or tampons. Ha! We had to sneak into the girl's cabin just to hit up Kayama at one in the morning.”
“Yeah, and you let me take the blame when we got caught. Coach thought I was a pervert for the rest of the year.” Aizawa mutters just loud enough for Yamada to hear. Yamada cackles in response.
Hitoshi doesn't need a neon, flashing sign this time.
Two of his favorite people are trans just like him! And they're so normal about it. Stinging heat and light pressure appear behind Hitoshi's eyes. He scrubs at his face, to no avail.
Aizawa and Yamada, both successful Heroes and teachers and in a committed relationship, are trans. And they're so fucking normal.
Yamada coos when he notices the tears. Aizawa has gone completely catatonic except for his eyes, which dart between Hitoshi's shaking form and Yamada's eyes in the mirror.
“You've never had a positive reaction after you told someone you were trans, have you, kiddo?” Yamada guesses. There is no mocking in his voice. Just fond wondering.
Hitoshi shakes his head silently.
Aizawa drapes a heavy arm over Hitoshi's back and gingerly cradles his tear-soaked face with his free hand.
There's mild anger in his expression, but it's outweighed by something Hitoshi can't place. It confuses him.
“Never?”
The single word, the way Aizawa utters it like he's breathing fire.
Aizawa isn't angry with Hitoshi. He's furious that Hitoshi, in his almost sixteen years of life, hasn't ever experienced the feeling of being seen. Not until today.
Hitoshi doesn't get a moment to breathe after that. For the next ten minutes, Aizawa holds Hitoshi like he's something precious in need of protecting. Yamada loudly sings along to the radio with a permanent grin etched into his face.
When they pull up to an ordinary little house, it takes some convincing for Aizawa to let Hitoshi go long enough to get out of the car. He moves to hoist his bag up on his shoulder and stuff his hand in his pants pocket– only for an arm to hook around his.
Yamada starts rambling at the speed of light. Hitoshi stumbles after the energetic man, a laugh bubbling in his throat. That's new. Usually he only laughs in the privacy of his room at dumb cat videos.
They don't get too far before Aizawa clears his throat pointedly. Hitoshi turns, halting Yamada with a scary amount of strength that has the man yelping in shock. Aizawa is approaching with slow, measured steps. He stops beside Hitoshi for just a second.
“If something ever happens to your parents and they are unable to care for you– or if you happen to run away due to unsafe conditions, I want you to know you have a home with us that will always be open to you.”
And then Aizawa just walks away, slips his key into the door and disappears into the house.
Hitoshi blinks away another wave of tears. Yamada chuckles awkwardly.
“He… he didn't mean that as a threat to your parents, little listener.”
Hitoshi laughs wetly.
“I wouldn't be entirely opposed if it was.”
His parents have provided him with a house and food and stability. Hitoshi is grateful for them, don't get him wrong, he just wonders sometimes what it would be like to live with someone– or a few someones– who truly love and accept him. Who know personally what it's like to be transgender.
The house isn't anything special on the inside. There's a cat tree in the corner containing a black void with yellow eyes that blink open as Hitoshi passes. A few pictures of a wedding on one wall. A plethora of cat toys littering the floor.
Aizawa is already in the bathroom, the shower running and steam curling in the air, with a set of clothes and towels. Hitoshi showers while Yamada bangs around in the kitchen and Aizawa changes out of his Hero outfit.
The clothes are a little baggy on Hitoshi, just how he likes them. The smell of chocolate is thick when Hitoshi steps out of the bathroom. He dumps his soiled clothes into the already set washer and all he has to do is press the button to start it. He pads into the kitchen, following the delicious scent.
Yamada is stirring a pan on the stove. Aizawa is draped over his back, face hidden in Yamada's neck. His arms are loose around the blond's waist.
Hitoshi stands in the doorway, partially hidden behind the wall. Just for a second.
The scene is domestic. Hitoshi knew Aizawa's Hero persona was just that, a persona. He just never thought Aizawa would be so… touchy? He acts distant and disinterested any other time Hitoshi has seen him.
With Yamada, his dear husband, Aizawa is a completely new person. Hitoshi has caught glimpses of this side, of course. The occasional softness that escaped if Aizawa went a little too hard on Hitoshi during sparring. A tired slip-up leading to a hug before Hitoshi gets on his train to head home.
This is the first time Hitoshi is seeing the real Aizawa. It feels almost inappropriate to intrude on such a special moment. He is just a kid from school, after all…
Yamada glances his way and Hitoshi blushes, realizing he's been caught. Yamada waves him in and Hitoshi half expects Aizawa to jump away. To hide his true self.
Aizawa turns his head as Hitoshi enters the kitchen. He watches with a soft smile as Yamada pulls Hitoshi closer by the sleeve and holds a spoon of hot chocolate to his lips for Hitoshi to taste.
It's good. Like, criminally good. How the hell is a mere human able to create such a godly drink?
“'S good, right?” Aizawa asks. Hitoshi nods fervently. “This shit is the only reason I married the oaf, I swear. His hot chocolate is next level.”
Yamada taps the tip of his spoon on Aizawa's nose with a scoff, leaving a droplet of chocolate behind. Aizawa wipes it off on the back of Yamada's shirt in retaliation.
“I believe you said I was the most breathtaking, elegant, and wisest man you have ever met at our wedding, sweetheart.”
Aizawa huffs what might be a giggle. Hitoshi is too stunned to decipher it.
“No, I was too delirious with love to stumble over more than three words. You took over my speech and said all that mushy shit.”
Yamada sighs and mutters his agreement, rolling his eyes fondly. Then the two turn their attention back to Hitoshi.
“You've got two options, 'Toshi.” Yamada says, twisting the knob on the stove and moving the pan to a cold burner. “We can cuddle on the couch and find a movie to watch, or we can get back in the car and go for a drive. There's somewhere we want to take you; it's about an hour drive.”
“We can stay home if you're not feeling up to it.” Aizawa adds.
Hitoshi thinks about it for a moment– he doesn't have debilitating cramps right now and a drive actually sounds nice. Fresh air, movement.
“The drive is fine with me.”
Yamada claps his hands once and assures Hitoshi that it'll be worth it. Aizawa grabs three travel mugs– one hot pink, one a dull yellow, and one a grassy green– and Yamada fills each one with hot chocolate before they're out the door again.
This time, Aizawa slides into the driver's seat and Yamada joins Hitoshi in the backseat. He doesn't even try to hide his intentions, dragging Hitoshi practically into his lap in his haste to get an arm around Hitoshi's shoulder.
Yamada's touch is different, but not unwelcome by any means.
Aizawa is sturdy. Muscled. He holds Hitoshi like he's afraid Hitoshi will disappear if he doesn't keep a firm grip on him.
Yamada is just softer in general. He isn't trying to squeeze the life out of Hitoshi. His touch is lighter, yet still present.
Hitoshi sips his hot chocolate. He does not know when his eyes slip shut and he leans a little heavier against the blond. One moment he's listening to the married couple bicker and the next he's floating.
A quiet chuckle. “'Toshi fell asleep.”
“He's had a long day. I'm starting to wonder if I went a little hard on him… I did throw the brat into a tree at the end.”
A dramatic gasp. “Sho!”
“What? You act like we weren't jumping off roofs at his age. And the amount of times you "dropped" me out of windows? Kids are fucking rubber, I swear.”
“You– heh– That was deserved. You stole my sandwich. Twice.”
••
Someone is shaking Hitoshi awake. He blinks, rubs his blurry eyes. Makes out a flash of gold. A sweet murmur of his name.
Hitoshi sees Aizawa first through the windshield. He's leaning against the hood of the car and facing a huge field that, upon closer inspection, surrounds them for a good few miles.
Then Hitoshi turns his head and comes face to face with Yamada. He gives a wild grin as he spreads his arms and takes a step back. Hitoshi climbs out of the car. Soft grass tickles the soles of Hitoshi's feet– he must have kicked his shoes off in the car at some point.
“Did you have a good nap?” Aizawa calls over his shoulder. Hitoshi steps carefully through the wild flowers. He's absolutely in awe. Hitoshi has always lived in the city, he's never seen such beautiful nature. “We're quite a ways outside of the city.”
Yamada hums quietly and joins Aizawa, the two watching Hitoshi as he explores the expansive field. There are so many flowers. A couple bees and butterflies and a small charm of hummingbirds. And amusedly, a grey squirrel chasing a bird hopping between tree branches.
“We come out here at least once a week–” Yamada starts, only to be interrupted by Aizawa.
“Tch. More than that.”
“To quite literally scream about our frustrations.”
Hitoshi can understand why. The lives of Heroes who double as teachers is rough, add being trans and gay? Hitoshi can't imagine the struggles. External and internal.
“Go on, give it a try.” Yamada urges. Hitoshi looks back at the couple for a brief second, finding only love and approval on their faces.
Hitoshi turns back to the field. He takes a deep breath. The fresh air is different from city air. It's more free. Less suffocating.
He doesn't have to dig deep for something to scream about.
Flocks of birds erupt from the trees, taking to the sky in large groups. They screech and chirp and sing.
“FUCK!”
It feels good to scream like this. To let it all out. To use his voice.
It's freeing to shout his name– his name. Not hers. His voice echoes and bounces back and Hitoshi has never loved hearing his own voice more. He does it again, only now with a splitting smile.
When he's done, his throat aching and body lighter than it ever has been, Hitoshi joins Aizawa and Yamada. He leans back on the hood and stares up at swirling fluffy clouds.
(ー_ー゛)