Chapter Text
Aizawa was forgetting him. That was the thought spiralling through his head. He was forgetting. It was only natural. Reasonable. Logical. Rational. It had been ten years.
But that didn’t make it feel better.
He was doing the one thing. The one thing he’d promised himself not to do. Forget him. Why, out of everyone, did it have to be him? His eyes were blue, right? Dark? Or.. light? Fuck. Oh fuck. What colour were his eyes? Blue? Green? Purple? Gray? Oh gods no. Not this. Please. He could handle anything else. Just not this.
Aizawa scrambled, grabbing his wallet out of his uniform pocket. It was still there, right? It had to be. It just had to. Where..? Behind his credit card (overdue)? His coffee shop rewards card (too many stamps to count)? His debit card (with ¥10 in it)? No, no, no. None of them. He was shaking now. Come on, where was it?
Where was his photo? With the three of them? He needed to see it. Please, fuck, where- Oh thank the gods. It was still here. He focused. It was grounding. Grounding in the pain. The three of them in high school. Hizashi, himself, and, of course..
Oboro.
Eyes. Right. What colour were they? Blue. Slate blue. He took a quick breath. Write that down.
You see, he’s becoming a little… obsessed with this. He had an entire notebook titled with just one thing.
Shirakumo Oboro.
He was going insane. In-fucking-sane. It had been so long. He had to get over it at some point. It had been a decade. That’s too much. That’s a problem. But it hurt. He was starting to forget his voice, his dumb jokes, his stupid confidence, the way he sounded when he laughed. Every tiny detail that made him Oboro was just.. fading away. Everything that made him matter to Shouta, to Hizashi, to Nemuri, hell, even to Tensei, was all slowly disappearing. He was slipping through his fingers. All those small stims, habits, the way he liked his weird American sushi, his smile. The way he fought with a weapon (staff? sword? fists?), the way he liked the sky (what weather? clear? cloudy? rainy?), how he couldn’t handle spice (or was it sourness?). He was always questioning himself now, was that what Oboro was actually like? Did he really like the sky?
The doubt was creeping in. He was second guessing himself. Memories were faulty. Humans were faulty. Shouta was faulty.
The person he cared for most was dying again.
And then the guilt came. So strong. It was his fault. It was all his fault. Why did he have to let Oboro die? Why, oh why, couldn’t he have just been better? He pushed Hizashi away. He hurt him. He hurt everyone. Fuck.
Shouta didn’t know how he ended up at the liquor store.
He didn't mean to, not really. It wasn’t a conscious decision. He shouldn’t get drunk. Alcohol was not the solution. What did he always tell his interns?
Don’t fix your problems by giving everything to one thing that’ll destroy you, problem child.
Yeah, that sounded about right. And yet. He was at the counter. He was pulling out another credit card. He was taking the cheapest bottle he could find. He was in an alley.
And then he was drinking. Drinking and drinking and drinking and-
Shouta, you idiot.
~~~
Hizashi was on patrol. It had been a pretty good day, in general! He’d met some lil’ listeners at the grocery store, and they were adorable! So cute and happy to see him! And get his signature too! Gods, little kids were so lovely. He cooed internally just thinking about it. Adorable. He so wanted kids.
Patrol was going nice, too! No villains had come up, just a petty shoplifting teen. Easy work. Maybe he should run a radio show soon, and ooh he was gonna go to that job interview for UA! An English teacher! He could hang out with lil’ listeners all day! This was gonna be goddamn awesome. YEAHHH!!! As he strolled down the street, humming the tune to Sincerely, Me (so he liked Dear Evan Hansen, sue him) and sipping on boba tea, when he saw something in an alley. Or rather, smelt something.
Alcohol?
More drunk teenagers? Really? Guess it was Friday night, but damn. Kids these days. He poked his head in, ready to deliver a lecture, and froze. Dropped his boba. Clamped his mouth shut.
…that was Shouta. Aizawa Shouta. The underground hero he hadn’t seen since high school. Since Sushi and Oboro and that fucking graduation ceremony. His ex-best friend. Still as pretty as ever tho-
No, Yamada, dumbass! Don’t fucking think that! He’s passed out in an alley!
That thought snapped him out of his simp state. This wasn’t drunk teenagers. This was drunk Shouta. Which is so much worse. Shit. The pro was out cold in a dirty, cold, dangerous alley surrounded by dripping alcohol. Still lightly gripping the bottle in one hand. There was something in the other too, what was it?
Oh.
It was a photo of them. The three of them. The three dumbigos, as their high school class had ‘affectionately’ dubbed them.
“God, you’re a mess,” Hizashi muttered to himself. What should he do? He could call someone? Kayama? Tensei? Tsukauchi, maybe?
He cringed as he imagined how that would go. Yeah, no. Great. He wasn’t gonna leave him here, either. He was petty, but not mean. So there was only one real option.
Take Shouta home himself. Hizashi had a rather big apartment, working multiple jobs and all, and it could certainly fit a somewhat short, underweight (UNDERWEIGHT?! He needed to help this man, fast.) 24 year old man.
Hoisting the underground hero up into a bridal carry, Hizashi sighed. This was certainly not how he imagined his night going. Oh well. He lived nearby, anyway. At least it was interesting.
~~~
Shouta woke up in an unfamiliar bed. Well, not really. He woke up in a bed so familiar it hurt, next to a person so regular in his past it stung, and yet everything still felt so abnormal it made him want to curl up and die. Why was he here? He hadn’t talked to ‘Zashi, in nearly a decade. It hurt. Shouta liked avoidance. And he’d been such an idiot to him the last time they spoke.
His head pounded. Gods, how much did he drink? Too fucking much, that’s for certain. So much for being the forever rational eraser hero. He rolled over..
Straight into Hizashi’s back. Ah, shit! He scrambled back. Or tried to. His head was killing him, he felt very nauseous, everything was shaky and he was so goddamn exhausted. So he tried to roll away, but it was more like a disgruntled cat batting at its owner. Didn’t do much.
He was so tired. This was so familiar. Hizashi was so familiar. The closeness. He was too tired to do any of this. To pretend to hate him.
~~~
Hizashi woke up to a Shouta clinging to his back. A very asleep, very cat-like, very hungover Shouta. Who Hizashi just had to admit was so incredibly cute.
Great. That stupid crush hadn’t gone away, even after years of radio silence from both ends. He just looked so cute, and soft, and like he needs to be protected immediately with cats and blankets. Oh, cats. That reminds him. He was gonna go see Nemuri and Sushi today!!! Aww, that was gonna be awesome. But first..
“Shouta. Shouta. Wake up.”
Shouta did not rise. Hizashi rolled his eyes. This had always happened, whenever they had sleepovers together in the dorms, Hizashi would wake up first and Shouta would sleep in until twelve. Usually Oboro used to wake him up, but well.. that wasn’t exactly gonna happen.
Luckily Hizashi was loud. It was his speciality, after all. He took a breath.
"one, two.. SHOUUTAAAAAAAAAAAA!! WAKE UP!!!!"
This earnt him a somewhat annoyed slap. He laughed. Shouta glared. It was relaxed for a second. Before it inevitably wasn’t.
Shouta tensed. “'Zashi-Yamada. Why am I here."
Hizashi almost flinched. Being called his surname hurt more than it should’ve.
“Whaddya mean, Shou? You’re here because ya were out cold in that alley, and I brought ya home, ya dig? I wasn’t just gonna leave ya back there, I ain’t that mean,” Hizashi spoke, making sure his words weren’t betraying any of his hurt or concern.
Shouta’s eyes narrowed. He was on the defensive. “What happened? I don’t remember much. Am I in your shirt? Where’s my capture scarf? Why didn’t you call anyone else?” He flushed slightly. “Why am I in your bed? And why are we pressed together?”
Hizashi gave a slight grin. It was nervous. Small. But flustered Shouta was hilarious. “Aww, Shouta, are you flustered about waking up in my bed?~ Having some dirty thoughts in that logical mind of yours?~”
He got whacked by a pillow. Worth it. Shouta glared, activating his quirk. Effectively, for lack of a better term, muting Hizashi. Who was now silently laughing his ass off. The underground hero crossed his arms.
“Seriously, Yamada, what happened.”
Hizashi pouted and gestured at his mouth. He still couldn’t talk. Shouta sighed but deactivated his quirk.
“Talk, Yamada, or I swear to god-“
“Sheesh man, alright, I’m talking. So, I was going on patrol last night, and I smelt some alcohol. Strong shit. I went to go see what it was, figuring it was some drunk teenagers or something, it was Friday night after all. And there, Lo and behold, was you, my dear Shouta, passed out with a bottle of alcohol in one hand and a photo of…” Hizashi trailed off. “A photo of the three of us.” He shook his head, quickly regaining his usual vigour. “Then, being the insanely cool pro hero I am, I took you home. Didn’t wanna leave ya out there on ya own!”
Shouta tensed. Hizashi blinked. Had he said something wrong? Yes, they hadn’t seen each other in a while (a decade wasn’t that long, right?), but it’s not like this was a massive deal. He was just helping out a coworker. He kept on rambling, slightly more frantically.
“Uh, and then, well, once I got home, you were kinda dirty, and I’ve just bought this new fancy couch, and I didn’t want it to get dirty, so I put you in one of my shirts, um, it’s just some merch from my radio show, and then, uh, you were, um, a little clingy? And, well, you see, I just, uh, couldn’t be bothered to get you off, so I just.. went to bed with you..?”
Oh shit, he was stammering now. Shouta’s face was still unreadable. Shit, shit, shit! What should he do, what should he do, what-
“..you.. saw.. all that?” Shouta mumbled. His voice was.. quiet. Strangely so. He didn’t sound angry, like Hizashi was expecting, but more vulnerable? Weird. Shouta wasn’t one for vulnerability. Hizashi titled his head, still confused but somewhat softer.
“..yeah.”
“Do you have that photo. The one with.. us. That I was holding. Where is it.”
Hizashi rolled off the bed.
“I’ll go grab it. It’s in the living room. With the rest of your stuff. Wait here, m’kay?”
And then he was gone.
~~~
Aizawa was going to rip out his hair. Then his teeth. Then die alone in a pitiful hole. Someone had seen him like that. Not just someone, HIZASHI HAD SEEN HIM LIKE THAT. Fuck. He was an underground hero, a damn good one, and he had gotten himself drunk in an alleyway. He was so stupid. It wasn’t even that much! Aizawa mentally slapped himself.
Stop drinking on an empty stomach, idiot.
And Hizashi. Motherfucking Yamada Hizashi. He was acting like everything was normal! Like Shouta hadn’t been the worst possible friend! Like Aizawa hasn’t ghosted him for a decade! Why was he doing that? It made no sense!! Hizashi should hate him by now. No sane person would still like him. Not after everything he’d done.
Aizawa hugged his knees to his chest. His head hurt. His everything hurt. Turns out, unsurprisingly, being homeless, hungover, and hungry (triple H) isn’t the best for someone’s wellbeing. Who woulda guessed? Not him, that’s for sure. Fun.
He was too drained for this. Shouta didn’t really want to go to sleep, that would be even more pathetic, but he really couldn’t help himself.
Come back soon, ‘Zashi..