Chapter Text
Retirement, Hizashi had discovered, was much quieter than he'd expected.
Not boring. Never boring. It was just... quieter. His radio show had ended years ago, and the hero work had ended even before that. And though they continued teaching at UA for a while, that too had ended and gave way for the new generation to take their place. The interviews, broadcasts, patrols, emergency calls, and endless late nights had gradually given way to slower mornings and longer evenings.
It should have felt strange, but instead, it felt earned. Most days, they settled into an easy routine. Breakfast, tea, small banter or arguments over absolutely nothing. An afternoon walk if Shouta's leg wasn't bothering him. Dinner. Sitting in front of the television though neither of them were actually watching. The kind of life younger Hizashi would have called impossible, but the kind older Hizashi cherished fiercely.
A soft snore pulled him from his thoughts. Hizashi glanced across the room. Shouta was asleep again, one hand rested on the arm of his chair. His head had tipped slightly to one side, the book he'd been reading sat forgotten in his lap.
Hizashi stared. "...You know, old man," he murmured, smiling despite himself, "you spend half your day asleep."
No response, because of course the traitor slept through the accusation. Hizashi reached over and carefully took the book before it could slide to the floor. The movement earned a faint grumble, then one visible eye cracked open.
"Tired."
"You've been tired since our high school days."
"Hm."
"Hm?" Hizashi repeated. "That's all I get?"
Shouta closed his eye again. "Mhm."
"Oh, you're impossible."
A ghost of a smile appeared. Victory. Hizashi narrowed his eyes. "You did that on purpose."
The smile widened. For someone supposedly asleep, Shouta looked remarkably pleased with himself.
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Years passed. People changed. Entire generations grew up. Yet some things, apparently, remained eternal.
A knock sounded at the door. Before either of them could react, it opened.
"Aizawa-sensei! Yamada-sensei!"
The familiar voice echoed through the house. Hizashi laughed immediately.
"Midoriya."
The former student appeared in the doorway carrying far too many papers for a weekend visit. Some things remained eternal there, too.
"Sorry for dropping by without warning!"
"You say that every time."
Behind him, another voice called out.
"Move it, 'Zuku." Midoriya nearly stumbled out of the way as Bakugo shoved past him. "I told you carrying half your office was stupid."
"This isn't half my office."
"It was close."
More voices followed after. The house, quiet only moments before, began to fill with life. Shouta opened his eye again. This time, he didn't bother pretending he had been asleep. A small smile lingered at the corner of his mouth as he watched them enter. Former students, the same ones who had once been children sitting in his classroom. The same people who now carried the future themselves.
For a moment, Hizashi caught his expression. The softness and the quiet pride and certainty. And suddenly, Hizashi understood. This. This was why neither of them had ever regretted staying.
Even when it had been hard.
Even when it had hurt.
Even when the losses had felt unbearable.
Because eventually, if you were lucky enough to keep going, you got to see what came after. And what came after was beautiful.
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The second knock came two days later. This one was significantly more polite, which should have been the first warning sign. Hizashi opened the door.
"Hello, Yamada-san."
A woman stood on the porch carrying a paper bag. Long, blueish-silver hair. Red eyes. A familiar smile. For a second, Hizashi's brain insisted he was looking at a child. Then reality caught up.
"Eri!"
The smile widened. "Hi."
Before she could finish speaking, Hizashi pulled her into a hug. Eri laughed. The sound still surprised him sometimes. Not because it was rare, but because every time she laughed, some small part of him remembered a frightened little girl who once hadn't known how to.
"You're getting worse," Eri informed him as she returned the hug.
"Worse?"
"More emotional."
"I am not."
"Uh-huh." Eri's expression was entirely unconvinced. Years of mentorship under Jirou had done absolutely nothing to prepare her for dealing with retired heroes.
Inside the house, a familiar voice called out. "Who's there?"
Eri immediately brightened. "Aizawa-san!"
By the time they entered the living room, Shouta had somehow acquired a book and was pretending he hadn't been listening for the past five minutes.
"How many times do we have to tell you that you can call us by our first names?" He asked.
"Shouta."
A smile tugged at his mouth. "Eri."
The book disappeared, completely forgotten. Eri crossed the room in seconds. The hug looked almost automatic. Years old. Comfortable. Practiced. One arm around his shoulders and one hand resting briefly against her hair.
Hizashi watched from the doorway, smile visibly gracing his features. This was one of his favorite things.
Watching people who had survived.
Watching them grow.
Watching them return.
Watching them become something beyond what the world had tried to make of them.
A sharp knock interrupted the moment. Three short raps.
Eri immediately groaned. "Oh no."
The door opened. A familiar figure stepped inside. Dark hair and tired eyes. A perpetually exhausted expression that mirrored his own husband's.
Hizashi pointed dramatically. "There he is."
Shinso sighed. "What did I do?"
"Nothing."
"Then why are you pointing?"
"I enjoy it."
"That's not concerning at all."
"It absolutely is," Eri agreed.
Shouta snorted. The sound startled all three of them. Because genuine laughter from Aizawa Shouta remained a rare and terrifying event.
Shinso stared. "...You laughed."
Shouta picked his book back up. "I did not."
"You did."
"No."
"You absolutely did."
The corner of Shouta's mouth twitched. Shinso looked horrified, while Eri looked delighted and Hizashi nearly fell off the couch laughing. For a while, nobody talked about hero rankings, or retirement, or aging. Or the years that had passed. They just talked and laughed and caught up with each other.
The afternoon slipped by unnoticed. And for a little while, the house felt full. Exactly the way it was supposed to be.
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The house felt quieter after everyone left. Not empty exactly, more subdued. The sun had begun its slow descent by the time the last goodbyes were exchanged, with promises to visit again. Then the door closed and silence returned.
For a while, neither of them spoke. Hizashi busied himself gathering abandoned mugs from various surfaces around the living room. Shouta pretended to read, though neither of them was fooling anyone. "They've gotten old."
Hizashi looked up. "Excuse you?"
Shouta turned a page. "Our students."
"We're not calling them old."
"They are."
"We are."
"We're retired."
"That's not helping."
A faint smile appeared. Hizashi pointed accusingly. "You're enjoying this."
"I am."
"Terrible."
The smile widened. Hizashi sighed dramatically, then set the last mug in the sink. "You wanna go up?"
The question hung between them. Shouta closed his book. "Yeah."
The climb took longer than it once had. Neither of them mentioned it, because some things didn't need acknowledgment. The evening air greeted them as they stepped onto the rooftop. For a moment, neither moved. The city stretched endlessly before them, a thousand contradictions wrapped into one skyline.
Hizashi settled onto their usual bench, and Shouta followed a moment later. The sunset painted everything gold. Buildings, windows, clouds, the edges of the world itself. For a while, they simply watched. No conversation necessary, because after all these years, silence had become its own language. Then—
"Do you think they're waiting?"
The question arrived so quietly that Hizashi almost missed it. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon. He didn't ask who, he didn't really need to. There were some names that had lived beside them for too long, absences that had become permanent companions. Some people who never really left.
A long silence followed. The wind stirred gently around them while the city hummed below.
Then, Hizashi answered. "Yeah."
Just one word. Nothing more, nothing less. Beside him, Shouta nodded. As if that settled it, and that he'd only needed confirmation. The conversation ended there.
The sunset continued. And together, they watched the day slip slowly toward its end.
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It started, as most things did, quietly. Just small things, far too easy to dismiss. Because after everything they'd survived, surely this couldn't be the thing that worried him.
A week after the rooftop, he found Shouta asleep at the kitchen table. Not unusual. His husband could fall asleep anywhere.
A month later, he found him asleep again, this time on the couch before noon. A little more unusual.
Two weeks after that, Shouta slept through an entire movie. That was practically unheard of. Hizashi was far more likely to fall asleep during a movie than Shouta ever was. His husband always stayed awake through the whole thing, only to tease him about it later before recounting everything he'd missed.
"You missed the ending."
"Mhm."
"The dog survived."
One eye cracked open. "The dog?"
"The dog survived."
"Good."
The eye closed again. Hizashi stared, then reached over and nudged his shoulder. Nothing.
"Shouta." A grunt. "You're asleep."
"I know."
"Then wake up."
"No."
The answer came immediately. Hizashi laughed despite himself. "Brat." A faint smile appeared, then disappeared just as quickly.
The next morning, Shouta nearly dropped his mug. It slipped, caught itself against the edge of the table and spilled tea everywhere. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Shouta sighed, Hizashi grabbed a towel, and the moment passed.
Just another accident, just another day.
Just another reminder that time was moving whether they acknowledged it or not. Neither of them mentioned it because neither of them needed to.
Months drifted by. The visits continued. Their former students came and went. Some former coworkers even came by. Old friends. Life carried on.
But little by little, Hizashi began noticing things. The afternoon walks grew shorter, the rooftop visits less frequent. The books in Shouta's lap remained unread more often than not.
And sometimes—only sometimes—Hizashi would catch him staring into space. Not sad or upset. Just... thoughtful. As if listening to something far away. As if considering a question only he could hear.
One evening, after Shinso left, Hizashi found him sitting by the window. The sky outside glowed orange with sunset. For a moment, the sight tugged unexpectedly at his chest.
"You okay?"
Shouta hummed, but the sound wasn't convincing. Hizashi crossed the room and settled beside him, close enough for their shoulders to touch.
"Shouta."
A pause. Then—
"Tired."
The answer was familiar. Too familiar. For years, it had been a joke. An excuse. A personality trait. Now, for the first time, Hizashi found himself wishing for a different answer.
The silence stretched. Outside, the sun continued sinking toward the horizon. Beside him, Shouta rested his head lightly against his shoulder. An old habit, one he rarely indulged in. One Hizashi cherished every single time.
Neither spoke nor moved. And for reasons he couldn't explain, Hizashi found himself reaching over and taking Shouta's hand. Just to feel it there, just because he could. The grip that returned was gentle. Automatic. Familiar.
For a moment, something tight in his chest loosened. Then Shouta squeezed his hand once softly. Almost absentmindedly. And Hizashi had the strange, fleeting thought that he was being memorized.
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The conversation happened three months later. Not because either of them wanted it to, but because eventually there wasn't room to avoid it anymore.
It was raining. A steady rhythm against the windows. The kind of weather that made the house feel smaller and warmer. Shouta had fallen asleep right after breakfast. Not unusual anymore, but that was the problem. Hizashi watched him for a long moment. Tired. Always tired. Something twisted painfully in his chest.
When Shouta finally woke, the rain was still falling. "You should've woken me."
"You looked comfortable."
"Mhm."
There it was again. That infuriating, noncommittal answer. Usually, it made Hizashi smile, but this time it didn't. Shouta noticed immediately, of course he did. "What?" He question quietly.
Hizashi stared at the table, then laughed once. A short, humorless thing. "I hate that."
"Hate what?"
"The way you always know."
Silence. Rain tapped softly against the glass. For a moment, neither spoke. Then Hizashi exhaled slowly. Carefully. As though saying the words too quickly would make them real.
"We should see a doctor."
The room went still. Shouta didn't look surprised, that was the worst part. He just sat there. Quiet and thoughtful. As if he'd been expecting this conversation. As if he'd been waiting for it.
And suddenly, Hizashi understood. He already knew. Maybe not everything, not a proper diagnosis. But he knew. The realization hit harder than any answer could have.
"How long?"
One visible eye lowered. Not avoiding, just... quiet acceptance. "A while."
The honesty hurt. Because Shouta simply endured, the way he always had. The way he'd spent most of his life doing.
Something sharp and helpless rose in Hizashi's throat. "You should've told me."
"I know."
The answer came immediately. No excuses or arguments, just the truth. Rain continued to fall outside. Inside, the house felt impossibly quiet.
Then Shouta sighed. The sound carried decades of exhaustion. "I didn't want to spend whatever time I had left sitting in hospitals."
Hizashi's breath caught, the words settling heavily between them, real and unavoidable. For a moment, neither moved. Then Hizashi reached across the table, found Shouta's hand, and held on as tightly as he could.
"You idiot."
A faint smile appeared. The laugh that escaped Hizashi was wet and broken, halfway to tears.
"You absolute idiot."
The smile widened just a little. And somehow that made everything worse. Because even now—Shouta was still trying to make him laugh.
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The news traveled quietly through phone calls and messages. Conversations held in lowered voices. The sort of news people carried carefully, one that nobody wanted to repeat.
The doctor visits came and went. Tests followed, then more tests. The answers changed very little. There was no dramatic solution waiting around the corner. No miracle, no final battle to win. Just time, and whatever remained of it.
The first visitor was Midoriya. Of course it was. He arrived carrying enough food to feed a small village.
Hizashi didn't even bother asking why. The answer was obvious. Because Midoriya had always tried to fix things. Even the things that couldn't be fixed. Especially those.
"Aizawa-sensei?"
Shouta glanced up from his chair. He stopped telling him not to call him that anymore even before he retired from teaching.
"You're blocking the television."
Midoriya immediately stepped aside. "Oh. Sorry."
A beat. Then: "There's nothing on."
"Oh." Another beat. "...Was that a joke?"
"No."
Midoriya looked unconvinced. Hizashi laughed into his coffee while Shouta ignored both of them. Some things remained eternal. Others changed. Midoriya stayed longer than he'd planned. Then came Shinso, then Eri, then the others. Not all at once. Not enough to overwhelm. But enough that the house rarely felt empty anymore, as if everyone had silently reached the same conclusion and nobody wanted either of them to sit alone.
One afternoon, Eri arrived with takeout. The moment she stepped through the door, she frowned. "Shouta."
"Hm?"
"Did you eat lunch?"
A pause. Then: "...Maybe."
Eri closed her eyes. "That's not an answer."
"It is."
"No."
"It technically is."
"Dad."
From the couch, Hizashi pointed. "Get him."
"I am."
Shouta looked betrayed. "You started this."
"You forgot lunch."
"I was reading."
"You were asleep."
A pause. "...Maybe."
The victory was immediate. Both Eri and Hizashi looked smug, while Shouta looked resigned. For a little while, it almost felt normal. Then Eri glanced away, toward the medications lined neatly on the counter. Toward the reminders neither of them could quite escape. The smile faded. Only slightly, but enough.
Shouta still noticed anyway, just like he always did. "Eri." She looked up. "It's okay."
The words were simple. Gentle and certain in his own way. They hurt more than anything else, because he wasn't saying it for himself. He was saying it for her. For all of them. For the people who'd spent years learning how to survive. For the people he'd taught, protected, raised, and loved.
"It's okay."
Eri swallowed hard, then nodded. Because she understood, even if she hated it. Even if she wasn't ready. None of them really were.
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That evening, after she'd gone home, Hizashi found Shouta asleep in his chair again. The television played quietly in the background. For a moment, Hizashi simply stood there. Watching. Memorizing.
The curve of his shoulders.
The silver threaded through his hair.
The familiar shape of him.
The way decades had changed him.
And the way decades hadn't.
Then, without waking him, Hizashi crossed the room, pulled a blanket over his lap, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
Shouta stirred, his eye opening slightly. "Tired?"
The question was barely audible. Hizashi smiled. "Yeah."
His eye closed again. He let out a small hum. Then: "Come sit down."
Hizashi laughed softly.
And obeyed.