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"I think we should tell people. About us," Hitoshi says, almost nonchalant as if it doesn't mean anything to him, even though his heart is about to beat straight out of his chest.
"No."
The answer is resolute and instant; there's no doubt about the fact that Katsuki means it and Hitoshi thinks he should be jerking back, he should have any kind of reaction to it, but all that happens is that he goes quiet, still.
"You think I want every goddamn extra to stick there noses into—this?" Katsuki goes on and Hitoshi breathes through the slow numbness that spreads out inside of him.
Of course. Of course Katsuki wouldn't want anyone to know that. It was fine when it was him sleeping around, and boasting about that clearly had been fun for him, but now that it's just Hitoshi he sleeps with, it's suddenly an embarrassment.
Hitoshi is an embarrassment, and really, he should have known better.
"I see," he gives back and mentally pats himself on the back when his voice doesn't come out shaky at all.
This thing, which Hitoshi foolishly believed to be more than it clearly is, needs to stay hidden and tucked away because the gods forbid it becomes public knowledge that Katsuki associates himself with someone like Hitoshi.
"You good?" Katsuki asks after a moment, when Hitoshi has stayed quiet for just a beat too long and normally, he's better at pretending, better at fooling people into believing what he wants them to believe but this is hitting him completely out of the blue and he's not sure if he can find his footing again.
"Fine," Hitoshi shortly gives back even though he's not, even though he's everything but, and Katsuki nods, clearly believing the—very bad—front Hitoshi is putting up.
"You staying for dinner then?"
That was their plan; Hitoshi was supposed to stay and he was supposed to stay for the entire weekend, because by some kind of miracle their schedules aligned like that. And Katsuki had asked.
It was Katsuki who had asked him to stay for several days in a row, it was Katsuki who invited him to his place and Hitoshi had been looking forward to it.
But that was when he was still under the clearly false assumption that this was more than it clearly is, that he means more to Katsuki than he clearly does and right about now, Hitoshi wants to do nothing more than to flee.
And so he shakes his head.
"I think I'll head out," he says, his voice still so much stronger than he actually feels and Katsuki's brow furrows.
"Are you going to throw a fit over this?" he then sneers out, crossing his arms in front of his chest and staring Hitoshi down.
"I'm not," he easily gives back, because he's not sure he can find enough energy to even raise his voice with all the numbness inside of him. "I'm just going to go back home now," he then adds and turns around on his heels, mechanically putting on his shoes and leaving the apartment without a look back.
He's not going to come back, that's for sure; there are things in this apartment that belong to him, personal things he left behind when he was still under the impression that they were in a relationship—however secret it might have been—but none of them are important enough to him to turn back or even ask Katsuki about it.
Bakugou. He should probably call him Bakugou again. He's not sure secret, shameful fuck-buddies get first name privileges after all and Hitoshi fears that if the numbness wasn't still there he'd probably be crying right about now.
Instead, he makes his way home, into an apartment that holds traces of Ka—Bakugou as well and for very long minutes, he just stands there.
And then his thoughts starts to run wild.
Bakugou clearly doesn't care for him beyond the occasional, convenient fuck. The Bakusquad can't stand him for several outings in a row and only invites him to like every third one they actually have, so he would be hard-pressed to talk about being friends with them, too. Monoma usually only talks to him when he has to boost his own ego.
Aizawa and Yamada—and here Hitoshi's breath hitches for the first time—promised him a home, a family, and now can't be bothered to call him more than once every other week.
He knows it's his own fault; Hitoshi is self-aware enough to know that all of this is inherently his fault, that he's stand-offish and distant and that no one lo—likes him and that he does precious little to change any of that, that he was the one who shot a stable home down in the first place, and normally he doesn't care.
But normally he doesn't ask what he believed to be his boyfriend to go public only to have it all thrown in his face.
And now, all these little things are adding up, all these little things suddenly sting and hurt and flay him wide open and Hitoshi's hand reaches for his phone.
He needs an out; he needs to be gone, right this instant, and apart from throwing himself off a very high building there's only one other choice he sees.
"Nighthide," his handler says the moment they pick up and Hitoshi barely hears them through the static in his ears.
"I'm taking the mission." His voice comes out flat and lifeless, just like he feels himself and his handler is quiet for a moment.
"You said you wouldn't."
"I changed my mind."
"Nighthide—"
"Is the mission still a go or not?" he snaps and he thinks if this is being taken away from him as well, the rooftop might be his only option.
"You'll leave the country in nine hours," his handler tells him and then hangs up, his phone immediately chiming with mail after mail, no doubt all the documents he needs for the airport and America.
Hitoshi opens them, prints them like he's supposed to before he deletes everything and then trashes his phone, too. He packs the bare necessities—one set of clothes, some money, his hero license and then he's gone.
His agency will handle his apartment and it's not as if Hitoshi has anyone he needs to tell that he's going anywhere.
He is a mere ghost in his own life anyway and he slips away like one, too.
~*~*~
Hitoshi feels wrong, almost as if he doesn't fit right into his skin anymore and he guesses that's what happens when you walk the streets of your childhood after six years of absence.
Most things are still the same, as if no time at all had changed, as if six years truly did nothing to this city but there are enough changes that Hitoshi can’t fight the urge to claw off his own skin.
He didn't want to come back; didn't see the sense in it when he was doing good work in America but his agency was very clear on it. Either he comes back and takes some time off or they'll drop him and Hitoshi still likes this agency too much to simply switch like that.
There's no doubt that he would have had a place at any American agency but deep down Hitoshi missed his home country anyway and three months isn't so bad.
He can pretend to be a normal citizen for three months and then they'll send him back out anyway; his skill-set is too valuable to keep him off the streets forever.
Hitoshi has just left the store around the corner, bag with food tightly clutched in his hand, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone and the potential new mission his handler is informing him about when he crashes into someone.
"Shit, sorry," Hitoshi mutters, switching to English on instinct because that has been more comfortable for him these past few years but when he's met with an "Oi, watch where you're going," he freezes.
How? How is this his life? He has only been back two days, why is he already running into someone he knows? And why does that someone have to be Bakugou of all people?
"Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going," he mumbles, now consciously deciding on English in hopes that it throws Bakugou off because it's not as if he's going to recognise Hitoshi.
His hair is more gray than purple these days—stress, life-threatening situations and constant changes of hair colours will do that to a guy—and his eyes are still green from that appearance changing quirk they used on him. Apart from that Hitoshi has filled out over the years—gone is the gangly string-bean he used to be.
He is now all muscle and broad to boot and it's not as if Bakugou cares anyway. So he should be safe, he should be able to just slip away and—
"Hitoshi?" Bakugou breathes out and his voice comes out shaky in a way Hitoshi is pretty sure he has never heard before and before he can deny anything, Bakugou's hand clasps around his wrist. "Hitoshi?" he asks again, much more firmly this time and Hitoshi knows that there's no denying anything when their eyes meet.
Somehow, Bakugou recognised him instantly.
"I thought you were dead. We all thought—"
"You should," Hitoshi says, cutting Bakugou off. "You all should. Let's just pretend this never happened."
Hitoshi tries to brush Bakugou off, tries to get his arm back but Bakugou's grip doesn't falter for an instant.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Bakugou almost yells out and great, people are already watching. "We thought you died."
"Maybe it's better this way," Hitoshi gives back and his stomach drops out when Bakugou's gaze blazes in anger.
Fuck, he's missed him, missed this, and he thought he was over it, that he's a changed person by now but it seems that nothing at all has changed, at least for Hitoshi.
"Better for who?" Bakugou demands to know and Hitoshi is tired of this.
He will be gone in three months again anyway and there's no need for him to put himself through this—again—and so he finally breaks Bakugou's hold on him and takes a step back.
"For everyone," he says and then turns around and walks away, leaving Bakugou behind spluttering and shocked and enraged.
Still, Hitoshi doesn't trust it; he stays out for hours after the encounter, because while he's pretty certain that Bakugou is not following him, he can't be too careful. He doesn't want to compromise his apartment after all, no matter how short he'll be staying there, because with what he's been doing the past few years he has enemies everywhere now.
He still makes his way home eventually and when he enters the hallway to his apartment, he really wishes he hadn't, because his door is being haunted by Aizawa, Yamada and Bakugou.
And it seems as if they've been there for a while already, because Bakugou is seated on the floor and Yamada is leaning against the wall as if he merged with it and Hitoshi turns around on his heels, every intention of simply walking out again and squatting at the agency if he has to, but Aizawa's capture weapon winds itself around him.
So much for fleeing then, Hitoshi thinks with a sigh, even though he's reasonably certain he could get out of it.
Aizawa taught him, and he taught him well, but Hitoshi made his own experiences underground and the capture weapon is hardly a threat for him anymore.
He doesn't want to cause a commotion though, his entire goal is to fly under the radar here and if he fights three pro heroes then that would be very noticeable.
Instead of twisting himself out of the capture weapon he turns around and decides to be thankful for his resting bitch face, because while Bakugou is glaring at him just as much as expected, Yamada is openly crying and even Aizawa seems close to tears.
"Hitoshi," Yamada breathes out and in the next moment he has the other man hanging off his neck, clinging to him as if he means the world to Yamada and Hitoshi is—confused.
And hurt, but mostly confused and he hopes that his face at least conveys that.
"You're alive," Yamada cries out and instead of wiggling out of the capture weapon and hugging him back, Hitoshi glares at Bakugou, because it's more than obvious that he's at fault for all of this.
"Don't give me that look, troll doll, you can't expect to just show back up again and for us to ignore that," Bakugou roughly says as he pushes himself to his feet and Hitoshi scoffs.
"Ignored me well enough before, don't see how this would be different," he mutters and Yamada lets out an agonised sound.
"Ignored you? Hitoshi, you just vanished," Yamada almost wails out and now Hitoshi starts to push him away, because it's not as if anyone would have wanted him to stay.
"It's my fault, right?" Bakugou says and Hitoshi sighs even as he wishes he was over it.
He has been working very successfully for the last six years, he's seen so many horrible, horrific things that these days barely anything fazes him anymore and he spent his years apart from deeper connections and he should be over it.
And yet his heart hurts in his chest just like it did all these years ago because what does it matter? What does all of this matter? They didn't want him, they barely even liked him and instead of moving past that, he's still the same hurt, small child he was back then.
Hitoshi hates it. And he hates them for making him feel that way.
"Don't get ahead of yourself," Hitoshi sneers as he untangles himself from Yamada and the capture weapon, which has suspiciously gone slack. "You don't get to take all the credit here."
It's enough to make everyone freeze and then Bakugou clicks his tongue.
"Open the goddamn door, we're not going to hash this out in the open here," he demands and expectantly stares at Hitoshi until he gets moving.
Yamada is still slightly sniffling and Aizawa is still carefully silent and Bakugou's anger is so very palpable and Hitoshi hates every goddamn second of this. He opens the door anyway, because what else is there to do for him and everyone moves into his apartment as if they are afraid he's going to kick them out if they are too slow.
He wishes he could kick them out anyway, but Aizawa positions himself in front of the closed door and he seems more than ready to pick a fight with Hitoshi, should he try anything.
At this point it almost seems easier to let his happen, so Hitoshi sighs and moves deeper into the apartment, the others quietly following along.
Or, well, as quietly as a crying Yamada can be.
"Toshi, where have you been?" Yamada cries out once they reached the living-room and Hitoshi crosses his arms in front of his chest.
"Working. What's it to you?"
"You were gone for six years," Aizawa says as if that must mean something and Hitoshi shrugs. "We thought you were dead."
"That seems to be a theme and I think we should all stick to it," Hitoshi gives back, because he has no intention of staying.
Nothing has changed, after all, and he no longer has the patience to try and appeal himself to people who don't want him.
"No!" Yamada yells out and steps forward as if he wants to hug Hitoshi and never let him go again but Hitoshi warily steps back.
"I didn't mean to drive you away like that," Bakugou says and Hitoshi rolls his eyes, because it's easier than admitting to the hurt that still spreads out when he remembers their last conversation.
"Again, Bakugou: you might think you're hot shit but you're hardly the only reason I left," Hitoshi repeats because he really, truly isn't but instead of making everyone back down, it only seems to fan the fire.
"Then tell us about the other reasons," Aizawa speaks up for the first time and Hitoshi's gaze flicks to him, before he forces himself to look away.
Aizawa has always been someone he looked up to, someone whose approval he desperately wanted and remembering that nothing he did was ever enough to get it—it still hurts.
"As if it matters," Hitoshi gives back and the crackling of Bakugou's quirk fills the room.
"Tell us, you damn coward!" he shouts and a clear display of aggression like that is something Hitoshi can't ignore.
"How about you shut the fuck up," he yells right back. "Why the fuck would you even care if I left, huh? Couldn't be bothered to be seen with me anyway, so just be glad I took it out of your hands!"
He shouldn't be this angry, he shouldn't still care about it that much but he can't help it. Bakugou discarded him like a shameful secret and it hurts, even after all this time.
It still hurts.
"I—I was stupid back then," Bakugou says into the silence and he sounds more hurt than Hitoshi expected. "It wasn't about you, or my feelings for you, it was all me. I didn't want people finding out and scrutinising our every move because clearly they would come to the conclusion that I’m doing this whole relationship thing wrong. I didn't want that for us."
"Right," Hitoshi scoffs out. "You called it a thing, Bakugou, that hardly speaks about love. Or even care. And it's not as if anyone would have cared how you treated me anyway. It's a lame excuse. You can just say that you didn't want me."
"Hitoshi," Aizawa cuts in, his voice effortlessly shutting both of them up. "Why do you think no one else would have cared how he treated you?"
Trust him to hone in on the weak spot, Hitoshi bitterly thinks and he grits his teeth.
"Can we just admit that we were all happier when I wasn't here and move on with our day?" he asks, tired and done but of course no one grants him any mercy.
"I don't think so, Hitoshi," Yamada sniffles out. "We mourned you. All those years we thought you were dead. There's a grave and a death date and everything and we—you left behind such a big hole."
Now that makes Hitoshi laugh, much to the confusion of everyone else apparently, because he gets nothing but blank stares for it.
"How big of a hole could it have been? You barely talked to me more than twice a month anyway, so what does it matter to you if I'm there or not?"
"That was your choice!" Aizawa seems distressed in a way Hitoshi has never seen him before and it's surprising enough that it shuts him right up. "You shut us down when we asked you if you wanted to live with us. You blew us off when we asked you to meet for lunch or dinner. You never picked up the phone. We called you plenty; we even wrote you but nothing ever came back. So yeah, eventually we took the hint and only called twice a month but at least like that we could talk to you. It's not as if you allowed us to do anything else!"
"The squad is the same," Bakugou adds, his voice for once devoid of all anger. "You shut them down so often, that they decided they would have better results inviting you only every other time. You showed up to every invite if we only asked you like once a month. When we asked you all the time you shut us down and we didn't see you for weeks."
"Shut up," Hitoshi breathes out, his head spinning.
It's not true, none of it is true. They didn't want him. No one wanted him, least of all Aizawa, Yamada and Bakugou and for them to spin it like this now—
"You didn't allow us to love you," Yamada softly says and there are still tears streaming down his face.
"And I fucked up, I can admit that, but we could have talked about it. I tried to find you, to apologise, that same evening but you weren't there," Bakugou adds and Hitoshi drags a hand down his face.
"Left an hour after our talk," he admits and Bakugou makes a noise that almost sounds as if he's been injured.
"Kid," Aizawa says, stepping forward and Hitoshi flinches at the familiar nickname. "We love you. We all love you and you disappearing on us like that it was—harrowing. Horrible. The worst thing that ever happened to us."
Yamada is quick to nod, his hair flying around, and even Bakugou nods, which—it can't be true.
It can't be.
"You're lying," Hitoshi whispers out because no one wanted him, no one wants him but before he can find the words to lay that out, he finds himself with an armful of Yamada again.
"Please, kiddo, we love you. We have missed you so fucking much, please don't leave us again. We can stay out of your way, don't bother you more than you're comfortable with, but please don't vanish on us again," he cries out and it's exactly not what Hitoshi wants, what he never wanted, but just like back then he doesn't know how to voice that.
Doesn't know if he has a right to even say it anymore, after everything.
"We can also bother you so much," Bakugou chimes in. "All the time. The squad is gonna camp in here when they find out and we could—I wouldn't want to hide anything."
He says it as if them being a them is still an option and when even Aizawa nods and adds "There's still a room for you at our place," that finally does him in.
Hitoshi hasn't cried in six years, was too busy fighting for his life most of the time, but here, with them, it all comes bubbling over and he cries and cries like he has never done before.
Yamada doesn't let go of him even when he gets snot and tears all over him and soon enough Bakugou and Aizawa are right there, too, and Hitoshi has no idea what to do with all the love and affection he's getting right now, so he buries his face in Yamada's shoulder and holds on tightly to Aizawa and Bakugou and cries until there are no more tears left.
"Don't leave us again," Aizawa finally says, when everyone calmed down at least a little bit and there's a hand in his hair, scratching at his scalp exactly how he loves and Hitoshi doesn't even have to look to know that it's Bakugou and it melts him down to the bones.
"Stay," Bakugou adds and Yamada promises him "We're here, for you, always," and Hitoshi doesn't know what to say at all.
It's not as if he even could, with how he's all clogged up, but he tightens his grip and dares to give one, almost hesitant nod but they must have noticed anyway because they all let out a relieved breath.
"Thank you, thank you," Aizawa mutters and pats him as if he needs to make sure he's still there and no one moves away and instead they hold on to Hitoshi as if they are truly afraid of him vanishing again.
But maybe there's no reason for him to leave again, not anymore.
Maybe there's a place for him where he can truly stay.