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Rain or shine, clouds or clear skies, one thing remained ever certain: Hizashi Yamada’s and Shouta Aizawa’s relationship was fine as it was.
So what did it matter if some people pried into their relationship? Tried cracking it open like a mollusk, jaws eagerly snapping away in a curious lust to find out exactly what labels they had on it. Define it by something they themselves never thought to name, because to them, it was as obvious as calling each other partner?
Limbs tangling in the same bed, the same sheets, only to then--
“Isn’t that just romance?” a hero asks one day.
“No,” Hizashi laughs. There’s no surprise in his face when the up-and-coming hero’s mouth naturally slackens, parting to form an ‘O’.
No amount of likeability will make him pander to anyone so easily, force them to understand if they don’t get the gist from the get-go, because it’s like comparing an apple from an orange.
If you happen to hold the two fruits out right next to each other, and it still doesn't click?
It's fruitless to waste your time convincing them any further, or even otherwise.
Not even the word play's fun enough to disguise the foul taste in his mouth at the thought.
“But I can see where the confusion comes from, ya know?” he adds dryly. Much too dry for Present Mic’s taste, so he cheerfully tacks on, “S’not too common of a phenomenon to reaaaally take the time to think about."
Hizashi shakes his head amusedly, continuing before they can cut in. “No," he sighs. "Shou ‘n I are nowhere near the same level as somethin’ like romance, of all things. We're above it."
They seem to pause. Roll it over in their head, like it's impossible.
It's the same old song and dance every time, he wants to scoff.
"Are you sure? Maybe one of you’s just confused,” they suggest, to his utter dismay, and oh, how that stings. "From what you've just told me, you guys could be boyfriends."
His lips press into a thin line.
“We’ve always been on the same wavelength about that sorta thing,” he assures, head tilting out. His lips jut into a questioning pout as he breaks the eye contact. A fond look crosses over his face when he looks just beyond them. "And we don't need titles."
The hero twists their head backwards in turn to meet the direction, only to be left bewildered. The only other hero stationed in sight is none other than Eraserhead, eyebags more bruising on his stubbled face than ever. The man’s postured horribly over his phone. Preoccupied.
Blue light flickers out from the device in dappled droves as his fingers thumb from site to site.
“Plus, I'd like to think that I’d know if we liked each other that way,” Hizashi finishes dreamily, fiddling with his silver ring. "He's never been good at keeping secrets when it comes to me."
Eraserhead seems to finally take notice of them then, prying his sights away from his phone at such a crawl that it makes the hero wonder if it really takes that much of an effort. It's quickly amended, though, as he waves lazily at Present Mic, wry grin stifled by the tiredness wracking through his frame.
Some energy is pulled from his reserves then. He stands upright within what feels like an instant, ironic for what they'd all but assumed to be a man far too sleep deprived to move that fast, trudging towards them with his hands now tucked giddily into his pockets.
"But then again," the blond murmurs, "When it comes to him, I've never been much too good at keeping my trap shut either."