Work Text:
Shouta runs his thumbs down the length of the thin yet sturdy rope in his hands. It's made with good, heavy-duty material, hero grade, technically seeing as it's the backup he'd carried around in his first year as a licensed hero, back when he still didn't quite have the hang of his capture weapon. He was good enough to use it on patrol but with the occasional slip-up he made, his mentor, Knightmare, insisted Shouta carry around something similar in case of emergency. The rope didn't compare to his capture weapon in any way, but it wasn't meant to either. When he still carried it around, the only thing Shouta ended up using it for was to tying up villains when he was in desperate need of restraining them and the one time he'd used it to repel down a building which is how he knows the rope will hold.
That wasn't the only thing his former mentor had taught him, either. The woman was always very adamant Shouta be prepared for any situation a fat lot of good that way of thinking did her in the end which is what led him to take a seminar on tying knots. Before that day he hadn't known anything of the sort even existed and after the lesson, he still wasn't sure why it did. Admittedly, he had used some of the skills he'd learned in his career but not to an extent that justified the waste of time; however, what did justify it was the coping mechanism it allowed him to take up.
Shouta unconsciously glances up at the coffee table and his eyes fall onto the picture sitting atop it. It's a stupid picture from over four years ago, back in his UA days, specifically right after the sports festival from his second year. Within the fame stands a group of five and all but one smile widely at the camera meanwhile only people who had known him well could tell Shouta was smiling just as wide in his own less obvious and open way. He was one of the only two without a medal hung around his neck but he remembers that fact hadn't bothered him. He'd had his time to shine during their first year when Shouta had torn through the hero course students and earned himself first place with an alarmingly low amount of pushback. It's why so many of his peers independently sabotaged him in the first event, making him the only hero course student not to make it into the second game. That had been frustrating but then Iida won gold, Yamada won bronze, and Oboro had gotten into the second round of the tournament while Kayama had gotten first place in the third-year festival. In the end, it had been a good day but one he didn't look back on often because it only ever reminded him of what- of who they'd lost just months later. However, today was a special occasion, one where it didn't matter what he thought about because it would all come around to aviator coats, soft laughter, and wispy blue hair anyway. Today was July 23rd which marked three years since Shirakumo Oboro died a hero. Three years and Shouta still feels the same way he did just months after his best friend's death.
Shouta looks back down to the rope he'd begun absentmindedly fidgeting with, his hands moving in a pattern long since burned into his memory. It's been three years and yet Shouta still falls back on his morbid coping mechanism of tying nooses. They really had covered everything in that knot-tying class he'd taken almost two years before and when the man leading the seminar had demonstrated how to tie this specific knot, something inside Shouta just... clicked. For months afterward, it would become a near-daily thing for Shouta to sit in his shitty cramped apartment and retie the same knot over and over again although there were also times, times like now, when the loop of rope would sit in his hands as his gaze was laser focused on his work. There was something about having the means to end his own life in his hands that was so calming to Shouta. There was an aching, gaping hole in his heart where his friend used to be but with a perfectly crafted noose held tight in his grip, he knew there was a way to escape the pain, and tonight that need for escape screamed unlike it ever had before.
He doesn't know why tonight is so special. Yes, it's the anniversary of Oboro's death, a day always filled with pain and guilt and flashbacks; however, he'd been through two other, more fresh anniversaries and days of depression so bad he couldn't fathom getting out of bed, and yet on some of those days he thought about suicide on others he made plans because he wanted to die. Now though, there is a different kind of feeling stringing him along. The feeling was so faint, like a whisper in the back of his head but it had an iron grip on his heart and the feeling was telling Shouta he needed to do it. He needs to hang up the familiarly tied rope somewhere study, that would hold his weight just like he knows the noose would, and he needs to finally put that length of rope to good use. It's a terrifying feeling because Shouta has no control over it, but it also comes with a sense of calm as he imagines his own lax body suspended in the air, swaying ever so slightly. He can even feel the phantom caress of the noose around his throat, like a slight pressure that a part of him yearned to make real. However, there is still a part of him that is aware and logical that has Shouta's blood running cold from how foreign yet familiar it all was. He's contemplated suicide so many times before but he'd always been in control, he'd always chosen to go on patrol or take a shower or go back to bed but right now, with only part of himself under his conscious command, Shouta's not sure he'd be able to stop himself.
After God knows how long, Shouta breaks out of his daze to find himself standing with the noose held tightly in his arms. With a horrified feeling Shouta finally parts with the rope, throwing it down onto the table beside the picture he can't stand the sight of anymore. His heart burns from the fear coursing through him, his breaths quicken as Shouta paces around his small studio apartment. One hand moves up to tug at his hair, to ground himself and the one uselessly grabbing at his chest soon follows. He's quickly spiraling out of control, he knows but he doesn't know how to stop it.
Suddenly, Shouta's eyes stop on his phone sitting innocently on his kitchen counter. His gaze and attention are inexplicably laser-focused on the small brick and for some reason, in the midst of his panic, Shouta remembers something he never expected to think back on. It's ridiculous, at least some part of him knows that, yet he still lunges toward his phone and unlocks it. Then, once his screen shines showing an empty conversation with the random number he doesn't even remember saving in his phone, Shouta can finally take a full breath which gives him just enough clarity to type out a message.
: I never gave you my name but I helped your son a few months ago and you gave me your number to use. I wanted to know if your offer still stands
Quickly glancing at the time—1am—, Shouta truly feels like an idiot for even trying; however, in less than a minute his phone pings with a new message.
: Of course. What do you need?
Shouta doesn't even have to think before responding to the question.
: I cant be alone right now
This time there was a longer pause but a few minutes later another text drops in, an address and a simple ‘Come over’. There is no outward concern or demand for answers. Somehow it feels like exactly what he needs.
Shouta stumbles to the door and almost forgets to put on shoes before he leaves the apartment. The trains had long stopped running but the walk isn't far and, as the dark thoughts continue to fill his head, Shouta only cuts down the time it should've taken to get to the Midoriya's apartment. When he gets to the door less than ten minutes later, Shouta hesitates for a only second before knocking twice which is a testament to his desperation. It doesn't take five seconds for the door to swing open and reveal the short green-haired woman he'd only met once before. "Come in-“ the woman greets then pauses for a moment. “I'm sorry, I realize I never got your name," she confesses.
Shouta shrugs as he steps inside and shuts the door behind them. "It's Aizawa, Aizawa Shouta, and thank you for having me, Midoriya-san," he answers with a small bow and internally curses how breathy his words are.
"There's no need to thank me," the woman waves him off with a soft smile, "this is technically a favor, remember? Now come sit down, I made tea."
Shouta follows the short woman into the same cozy living room he'd sat in the first and last time he'd been in the apartment and settles onto the only couch as the older Midoriya pours two cups of tea from a steaming kettle resting on the table. He quickly takes a sip of burning hot tea from the offered cup and almost instantly he can feel the lavender flavoring washing away some of the numbness that consumed him before. The two sit in silence for a few minutes, each nursing their drinks before Midoriya speaks up. "Would you like to talk about whatever is bothering you?" Then, when Shouta freezes for too long she continues, "You don't have to, of course, but I'm happy to listen if you need to get something off your chest... If it helps I do understand, at least in some capacity."
"How," Shouta questions, certain he hadn't given anything away about what this day means to him and what it's doing to him.
"'I can't be alone right now,' you told me. I understand that feeling all too well," she answers with a tired smile then eyes older than the rest of the woman's body scan Shouta's face which must give something away because the older Midoriya sighs softly. "My ex-husband, Hisashi, and I were high school sweethearts. Neither of us had good childhoods and neither of us had any people on our side so when we met, God, he was everything to me and I know I was his everything too. That's what made it so easy to ignore his problems though," Midoriya admits as she fidgets with her almost empty cup. "Sometimes he was the sweetest man on the planet but in an instant, he could change and get so angry or depressed. He never hurt me, rarely even snapped at me on his bad days, but he would often hurt himself which hurt me just as badly."
The woman takes a shaky breath, "However, everything changed two years ago when we got some bad news. Hisashi immediately started acting differently, I wasn't around the house as much but from what I saw he was almost always depressed or angry. I thought it was just a low spell or that I was only seeing part of the picture- there were so many excuses I made. But then one day I came home and Izuku- he-" she cuts off with a quiet cry and quickly tries to hide her face in her hands. After a moment the woman takes a gasping breath and uses the sleeve of her cardigan to wipe away her fallen tears which don't long for her eyes to replace. "Hisashi wasn't in the house but when they found him he admitted he'd snapped when Izuku started crying for me and that he used his quirk- he almost killed our baby. Izuku was in the hospital for weeks and Hisashi will be in prison for years- not that I'd have it any other way except... I wish I had done more. I noticed the change but I allowed myself to be blinded and now the people I love most are suffering for it."
"Some days I find it so hard to leave Izuku's side because I'm terrified something will happen to him but also because he's the only person I have left; so, yes, I understand," Midoriya finishes with a heavy breath.
The quiet though oddly less awkward air between them sits for only a moment before Shouta, in a move so unlike him, begins to speak. "When your son told you I was a hero he was speaking based solely on the fact that I helped him, however, he wasn't actually wrong. I'm an underground hero but I try to keep that a secret despite the fact I attended UA. UA was the first place I ever felt accepted and when I moved into class 1-A, I met the first people who ever cared about me. Nemuri, Tensei, Hizashi, Oboro- they were all so different from me but that never stopped any of them from forcing their way into my life. Being in the hero course was still hell but I'd never been happier... then in our second year, we all got our provisional licenses, or rather everyone but Hizashi did," Shouta amends with a fond huff.
"Oboro and I decided to do our first work-study together and it was fine for a few weeks, we made one hell of a team but then one day we were patrolling together when a quirk manifestation gone wrong took out the structural support of a building. We and some nearby heroes began evacuating the building which went about as well as it could have until someone approached us saying there was a group of kids still inside. The building was set to come down at any minute so our mentor refused to let us go in but Oboro didn't care. He went in and found those kids then used everything he had left to save every single one of them but Oboro never made it out of that building. He died that day, on July 23rd and I was right there."
A cold hand rests on his clenched fist without warning, causing him to startle slightly. The older woman looks at him with sad but not pitying eyes. "I'm sorry you lost your friend."
A lump finds its way into Shouta's throat and despite all his loss and mourning, he feels the heat of tears burn in the corners of his eyes for the first time in years. "So am I."
The woman's thumb starts running over Shouta's knuckles tenderly, the feeling so maternal and so foreign. "Aizawa, dear, I don't mean to sound rude, but why come to me, why not one of those friends you spoke so fondly of?" She asks and Shouta feels the urge to pull away while at the same time, the idea of intentionally leaving the woman's kind grasp seems unthinkable.
"We fell out of contact," he admits. "I think- I think Oboro was our glue. He had a little bit of every one of us inside him and that kept us close but without him, gaps began to form and when we graduated there was truly nothing to keep us together anymore."
The woman hums softly and nods before giving his hand a slight squeeze and pulling away. Shouta's hands feel so much colder in the absence of her touch. "I think you should have someone in your life who will look after you, someone who will support you, and someone you know you can go to on hard nights like this. Do you have anyone like that, Aizawa-san?" she asks slowly.
"No. No, I don't,” he admits.
Midoriya places a gentle hand on his arm and Shouta relaxes ever so slightly at the renewed contact. "Then I want to be that person for you. If you ever feel like you can't be alone I want you to text or call me or come here, okay? Because there's far too much tragedy in this world for it to lose someone like you." The woman says so earnestly, so honestly that for the first time since Oboro's funeral, Shouta cries.
"Okay, I will. I promise."