Archive of Our Own

The apartment was quiet. It always had been.

The clock in the living room ticked lazily, filling the silence that no one else seemed interested in breaking. Sunlight slipped through the curtains, painting pale rectangles across the wooden floor, but the warmth never quite reached the little boy sitting cross-legged beside the coffee table.

A single lit candle cast shadows that danced as soft winds blew from the open window. He had asked for more candles once, when he was younger. His mother had simply looked at him over the rim of her mug and said, "One works just the same."

So every year since, there had only been one.

His parents had already left for work by the time he woke up. They'd left behind the usual reminders instead—

There's food in the fridge
Lock the doors if you're leaving
Don't be too loud

A birthday greeting had been squeezed into the bottom of the same sticky note. Hizashi stared at the note for a long moment before carefully peeling it away. He smoothed out the curled edges with his thumb, then folded it into a neat little square. He kept all of them. Not because they were special, but because they were all he had.

Hizashi looked at the convenience store cupcake. The vanilla frosting had begun to soften, and the candle stood crookedly in the center.

"...Happy birthday to me," he whispered.

For a moment, the little candle made the room feel warmer than it really was. He smiled anyway, because birthdays were supposed to be happy, weren't they?

He took a deep breath.

"...Happy birthday..."

The words faded before he could finish the song. Instead, he closed his eyes and blew out the candle. Darkness returned almost immediately.

Outside, he could hear children laughing somewhere down the street. Maybe they were celebrating someone's birthday, too.

He hoped they had a big cake, and that someone sang the whole song for them.

When the day came again during his first year at U.A. High, Hizashi almost forgot.

It wasn't because he disliked birthdays, but simply because it was just another school day to him. The first week at U.A. had been exhausting. New classes, new faces, and new instructors that seemed determined to prove why U.A. produces the country's best heroes. Between training exercises and adjusting to being around new people, July had slipped by almost unnoticed.

So when someone slammed both hands onto his desk during lunch, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"YAMADA!"

Hizashi yelped. "What?!"

Shirakumo Oboro stared at him with wide, horrified eyes. "You weren't gonna tell me?"

"...Tell you what?"

"THAT IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY!"

Half the cafeteria turned to look. "...Oboro!"

"What?!" Shirakumo looked genuinely offended. "That's a big deal!"

"It really isn't..."

"It IS!"

Before Hizashi could protest further, he had already thrown an arm around his shoulders.

"We're fixing this."

"...We're?"

"Yes."

"Who's 'we?'"

Shirakumo grinned. "Me."

"...That's just you."

"And you."

Shirakumo then disappeared for the rest of the afternoon. By the time the final bell rang, Hizashi had already convinced himself the whole thing had simply slipped his mind. But just as he was about to head back to his apartment, Shirakumo appeared out of nowhere, grabbed his wrist, and started dragging him back toward campus.

"Close your eyes."

"...What? Why? Where are we going?"

"Trust me."

"...Shirakumo."

"Close them."

"..."

"...Please?"

"...Fine."

Shirakumo started moving again before he could protest another time.

"Hey—"

"No peeking."

"I'm literally walking blind."

"Exactly! Makes it more dramatic."

He then led him down the hallway, up a staircase, and out onto the rooftop.

"Okay."

"...Can I open them?"

"Not yet."

He hears a bit of rustling around him, followed by a muttered, "Seriously?" and the unmistakable sound of something falling over.

"...Shirakumo?"

"One second!" A moment later, he feels Shirakumo's presence back in front of him. "Now!"

When Hizashi opened his eyes, he saw the rooftop is covered in convenience-store decorations. Nothing fancy. There was a cheap 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY' banner hanging crookedly because Shirakumo definitely put it up himself. Paper streamers were peeling off because the tape sucks.

And two slices of cake instead of a whole one because that's all a first-year can afford, along with two canned sodas and plastic forks.

"..."

"Happy birthday, Hizashi!"

He just stood there, frozen. His own name caught him off guard almost as much as everything else, because no one had ever said it with that much excitement before.

After a while, he finally found his voice and murmured, "...You—" His throat tightened. "—did all this?"

Oboro scratches the back of his head. "I mean, it's kinda lame. I would've bought a whole cake but I'm broke. And the banner fell like six times, and I may or may not have almost gotten caught sneaking up here."

"..."

"...Hizashi?"

"..."

"...Why're you crying?"

"...I'm not."

"You're literally crying."

"...Shut up." He murmured, trying to wipe away the stray tears that escaped without his permission. "...Thanks."

The cake wasn't anything big or fancy. The soda had already gone warm. The banner fell halfway through the evening. But none of it mattered, because Hizashi couldn't remember laughing that hard in years.

And this—on their first year at U.A. and already sneaking somewhere they definitely weren't supposed to be at—was the first birthday he could remember that didn't feel small.

As they packed up the paper plates and crooked banner later, Oboro slung an arm around his shoulders with that same easy grin.

"Same time next year?"

Hizashi looked at him for a second before smiling. "...Yeah."

"Awesome!"

The next July arrived faster than Hizashi expected.

A lot had changed in a year. Their little rooftop tradition had quietly grown beyond just the two of them. The other big change had started months earlier—during the Sports Festival.

Hizashi still remembered the final match vividly. He'd gone into it grinning, already riding the high of making it all the way to the finals. His opponent had been a quiet General Studies student with unruly black hair and tired-looking eyes.

Aizawa Shouta.

Nobody had expected much from him, but Hizashi had. He'd seen the way Aizawa fought through the previous rounds—not flashy, not loud, but definitely clever. Every movement had been deliberate, every decision calculated. It was the kind of fighting style that forced people to underestimate him.

Hizashi hadn't. And yet, he still lost. The match had been close enough to leave both of them bruised, exhausted, and covered in dust, but in the end, Aizawa Shouta had won the Sports Festival.

And with it, came a place in the Hero Course.

The first time they met properly was at the beginning of second year. Oboro, of course, made sure that happened within the first five minutes.

"AIZAWA!"

The transfer student looked up. Oboro pointed dramatically between them.

"Yamada, meet Aizawa. Aizawa, meet Yamada!"

"...We already know who each other are."

"Oh! Right. That's even better then!"

Hizashi studied him for a moment. Up close, Aizawa looked nothing like the intimidating fighter who'd beaten him months earlier. Though another thought came to him. He looked... cute.

Hizashi decided he absolutely wasn't thinking that.

Aizawa was quiet. Painfully so. He wasn't rude, just... reserved.

If Oboro was the one constantly dragging people into conversations, Aizawa seemed perfectly content standing beside them without saying a word.

Which, of course, only encouraged Oboro. "Oh, you're eating alone?"

"...Yes."

"Not anymore."

"..."

"Come on."

"..."

"You're one of us now."

"...I don't remember agreeing to that."

"You don't have to."

"...That's concerning."

It took exactly three weeks before Hizashi looked over during lunch and realized Aizawa had stopped trying to leave after finishing his food.

He simply stayed.

Not long after, another person wandered into their orbit.

The three of them were hiding out on the rooftop during lunch with a tiny stray kitten Oboro had rescued on his way to school. Aizawa was trying to convince Oboro that feeding it bits of his lunch was a terrible idea, but Oboro insisted the kitten looked hungry. Hizashi mostly watched the argument unfold with a laugh.

"...You know bringing animals onto campus is against the rules, right?" Aizawa sighed, feeding the kitten from a bottle of cat milk he'd brought instead.

Before Oboro could answer, another voice spoke up behind them.

"You boys know the rooftop's off-limits, right?"

The three of them turned. A third-year student—whom Oboro recognized to be Kayama Nemuri—stood by the rooftop door, dressed in a costume so bold that Hizashi wasn't entirely sure where he was supposed to look.

She glanced between them, then at the kitten happily drinking from the feeding bottle.

"...Well," she said with a grin. "I do appreciate a little rebellious youth."

Later, she left the rooftop with the kitten tucked comfortably beneath her arm. Oboro watched her disappear down the stairwell. "...She's keeping him."

Aizawa didn't even look up. "...Yeah."

Hizashi smiled. Somehow, he had a feeling they'd be seeing her again.

He was right. Before long, lunches on the rooftop had become a little louder. And just like that, three became four.

By the time July came around, Hizashi had already forgotten what day it was again. He should've known better. Oboro hadn't forgotten, and apparently, neither had Kayama after Oboro told her what happened last year.

"Absolutely not."

Hizashi sighed. "...Again?"

"Again."

"You're not kidnapping me twice."

"We're not kidnapping you," Kayama smiled sweetly. "We're escorting you."

"Against my will."

"Details."

This time, when they reached the rooftop, it wasn't just Oboro waiting.

Shouta was already there, leaning against the railing with his arms crossed. Trying very hard to pretend he hadn't been involved.

"...You knew."

Shouta looked away. "...Maybe."

"You helped."

"...Maybe."

Nemuri laughed. "He bought the cake."

"I did not."

"Don't listen to him, he did."

The cake was still from a convenience store, but it was bigger.

There were four paper plates now instead of two, four sodas, and a slightly straighter banner still held together by terrible tape.

"Happy Birthday!"

This time, three voices sang. Or well, two voices, and one Shouta who mumbled the words so quietly they were almost swallowed by the wind.

Hizashi laughed before they even reached the chorus. "You call that singing?"

"...I participated."

"Barely."

Much later, the sun had begun to disappear behind the city skyline. Nemuri had somehow convinced Oboro to help her clean, which mostly meant they were making an even bigger mess.

Hizashi found himself standing beside Shouta, watching. "...Thanks."

Shouta blinked. "For what?"

"...Being here."

"...It wasn't a big deal."

"It is to me."

Shouta glanced toward the two. Oboro was trying to balance the empty soda cans into a pyramid while Nemuri was actively making it worse.

"...Yeah." He paused for a moment, then—

"...Happy birthday."

Quiet and simple, almost lost beneath Oboro's dramatic wail after the pyramid inevitably collapsed.

Hizashi smiled. Somehow, those two words stayed with him longer than the song had. "...Thanks."

The next July came anyway. It always did.

The rooftop looked exactly the same. The same cracked concrete. The same rusted railing. The same skyline stretching endlessly beyond U.A.'s walls.

The only change was that it was quieter now.

Hizashi climbed the last few steps, a paper bag in hand. Inside was a convenience store cupcake.

He stopped right in front of the door leading to the rooftop

"...Huh."

He hadn't even realized he'd bought one. Not until now.

His phone suddenly buzzed from his pocket, startling him slightly. He opened it and spotted a few messages from Nemuri.

Nem:
Happy birthday, Hizashi!! 💜
I'm so sorry I couldn't be there :(
Today's been insane, agency's got me running around all day.
I'll make it up to you, okay? Promise!
Have a good birthday! Don't let yourself mope too much!

He smiled a little before typing out a reply.

Zashi:
No worries. Good luck out there.
delivered.

Then, after staring at the screen for a second, he typed again:

Zashi:
Miss you.

He deletes it after a moment. Instead, he sends:

Zashi:
Take care.
delivered.

He closed their chat after that, before opening another. He stares at the last message he sent Shouta around an hour ago.

Hizashi:
You free?
seen.

There was no reply. There hadn't been for a while. The few more messages he'd sent the past few weeks weeks were enough proof of that.

Hizashi:
Want to grab coffee after class?
seen.

Hizashi:
Hey, you okay?
seen.

Still, he types another text.

Hizashi:
Happy birthday to me, huh?

He watches the cursor blink for a few seconds before eventually deleting it, then he locked his phone and shoved it back into his pocket, before finally stepping through the rooftop doors.

There, he simply sits with the convenience store cupcake. The vanilla frosting had begun to soften, and the candle stood crookedly in the center.

The entire scene looked painfully familiar.

He laughs at the irony of it. "...Guess it's just us again."

Then he sings. Although 'whispers' sound much closer to it. He gets further than he did as a kid. But still quietly.

"Happy birthday to—"

He stops there, then he blows out the candle. Smoke curled into the summer air before disappearing completely.

Somewhere downstairs, he hears laughter echoing across campus. Probably first-years. Maybe celebrating someone else's birthday.

He hoped that someone sang the whole song for them.

The years passed quietly after that. Birthdays came and went, and so did summers.

Hizashi buried himself in hero work. Patrols filled the mornings, emceeing events occupied the afternoons, and his radio show stretched well into late evenings. Somewhere along the way, he became the loud, smiling hero everyone recognized.

It was easier that way. The louder he was for everyone else, the easier it became to ignore just how quiet July always felt.

Somewhere along the way, Hizashi stopped buying cupcakes and blowing out candles. It wasn't a decision he made consciously. One July, he simply realized he hadn't stopped by the convenience store on the way home. The next year, he didn't think about it at all. Because somewhere between growing older and learning how grief settled into the quiet corners of everyday life, blowing out candles stopped feeling important.

Even so, Nemuri stayed true to her promise. Every year, without fail, she texted him the moment the clock struck midnight. Sometimes, they managed dinner together. Sometimes, they were both too busy and settled for convenience-store coffee after patrol. Sometimes all they had was a five-minute phone call before rushing back to work.

It wasn't the rooftop anymore, but she stayed. She never forgot, and neither did he.

Shouta, on the other hand, was different. As their graduation approached, their conversations became shorter and the messages became fewer. Eventually, they stopped altogether.

After graduation, he disappeared entirely.

Sometimes, Hizashi still caught glimpses of Eraserhead on some reports. A villain arrest, a successful rescue. A grainy footage of Shouta walking away from the cameras before anyone even tried to get to him.

Even through the poor video quality, he could still tell he always looked tired. Hizashi wondered if he was eating properly, then he'd laugh at himself.

Some habits were hard to break.

Another year passed, then another.

Until one afternoon, Nemuri burst into Present Mic's agency office without knocking. "Hizashi!"

He nearly fell out of his chair. "Jesus, Nem!"

"Guess who just accepted a teaching position at U.A.!"

"...No."

"Oh, yes."

"...Shouta?"

She grinned. "Eraserhead himself!"

And for a moment, Hizashi forgot how to breathe.

The first day they saw each other again wasn't anything dramatic. It wasn't some heartfelt reunion or a movie-worthy conversation. Just the faculty lounge.

Shouta walked in carrying a cup of coffee. Then, he looked up.

"...Hi."

"...Hi."

Silence. Then—

"You still drink yours black?"

Shouta blinked. "...Yeah."

"Huh."

"...You remembered."

Hizashi smiled a little. "Guess I did."

It was awkward. Painfully so. Years of distance couldn't simply disappear overnight.

Sometimes they exchanged nothing more than a nod in the hallway.
Sometimes they'd share a table during lunch without speaking.
Sometimes Nemuri had to physically shove one of them into the other's company.

"Both of you are exhausting."

"We're literally sitting here."

"In complete silence."

"We're eating."

"You've been eating for twenty minutes."

"It's a long lunch."

"No, it's emotional constipation."

Somehow, little by little, the silence stopped feeling uncomfortable. Coffee became routine. Then grading papers in the same room. Then walking home together after late faculty meetings.

Conversations returned, too. It felt like remembering how to breathe after holding it for far too long.

By the time July came around again, Hizashi didn't think much of it.

He had patrol in the morning, classes after lunch, and faculty paperwork waiting on his desk. Just another day.

Then his phone buzzed.

Nem:
Dinner.
7 PM.
Don't argue.

Hizashi smiled despite himself.

Zashi:
Bossy.
seen.

Her reply came almost instantly.

Nem:
I have to be for you.

The restaurant wasn't anything fancy, just the little ramen shop they'd all frequented as students whenever they had enough pocket money to spare.

Nemuri was already seated when he arrived. "You're late."

"I am exactly five minutes late."

"Still late."

He laughed, slipping into the seat across from her.

"Happy birthday."

"Thanks."

They chatted easily while waiting for their food, filling each other in on students, coworkers, and whatever ridiculous headlines hero society had produced that week.

Then, the chair beside Hizashi slid back.

"...Sorry."

Hizashi looked up, then paused. "...Shouta?"

Shouta scratched the back of his neck, looking almost as awkward as Hizashi felt. "I got held up."

Nemuri took a completely innocent sip of her tea as Hizashi turned to her and narrowed his eyes.

"You knew."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You absolutely invited him."

"I invited both of you...separately. For the same dinner."

Hizashi looked between the two of them before letting out a helpless laugh. "...You're unbelievable."

Nemuri beamed. "I know."

Dinner wasn't loud the way it used to be. Oboro was no longer there to tell three stories at once. But it wasn't quiet either. Not anymore. For the first time in years, July finally didn't feel as empty.

Later that evening, they stepped outside into the warm summer air.

Nemuri checked her phone. "Oh no."

Hizashi raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I completely forgot."

"You definitely didn't."

"I have paperwork."

"I don't think you do."

"I do."

"You don't."

She was already walking backwards down the sidewalk. "You two have a nice walk!"

"Nemuri."

"Goodnight!"

And just like that, she disappeared around the corner, leaving two exasperated adults standing beneath the streetlights.

"...She planned that."

Shouta sighed. "...Yeah."

For a while, they simply walked without a destination. No urgency, just the quiet rhythm of their footsteps against the pavement.

Eventually, Shouta reached into his jacket pocket. "...Here."

Hizashi blinked. "...What's this?"

"A... birthday present."

"...You got me a birthday present?"

He accepted the tiny paper bag anyway. Inside was a small box from the convenience store around the corner. He opened it and found a pack of birthday candles. One was obviously missing.

Hizashi stared. "...You bought me candles?"

"They only sold them in packs, and I needed one."

"...For what?"

"... Don't ask."

Hizashi laughed. Really laughed. The kind that made his shoulders shake. The kind he hadn't realized he'd missed.

He looked back down at the little box. Such a tiny thing. And yet, his chest felt strangely warm. "...You remembered."

Shouta looked away. "...Yeah." He paused. "Happy birthday, Zashi."

The words were quiet and simple. Almost shy.

But somehow, they stayed with Hizashi long after they said goodnight. Long after the walk ended. Long after he got home, he placed the little box of candles inside the same drawer where he'd once kept every birthday sticky note.

It no longer felt like a drawer full of reminders, it felt like memories.

For the first time in a long while, he found himself looking forward to next July again.

The following July felt different. The date hadn't changed, but somehow, everything else had.

There wasn't a dramatic story to tell. There wasn't any grand confession or a movie-worthy kiss beneath the stars. One day, Shouta had simply started waiting outside Hizashi's classroom after work. Coffee became dinner, dinner became walks back to their apartments, and walks back to their apartments became...home.

It happened so quietly that, looking back, Hizashi couldn't quite point to where their friendship gave way to something more. Not that he minded.

July seventh arrived.

Hizashi woke to the smell of coffee and some other food cooking.

"...Shouta?" He called out.

"In the kitchen."

He got up and wandered into the kitchen. Shouta was standing at the stove in an apron that looked hilariously out of place over his usual hero gear.

"...Why are you in my apartment?"

A pause. "...You gave me a key."

"...Right."

He took in Shouta's current attire, and raised an eyebrow at him. "You're wearing an apron."

"...I am."

"Voluntarily."

"...Yes."

"...Can I take a picture?"

"No."

Hizashi pouted at that and considered to press further, but ultimately chose not to.

Breakfast wasn't fancy. The toast was burnt. The eggs were slightly overcooked. The only fully made one was, unsurprisingly, the coffee.

"...This is terrible," Hizashi mused, though the smile on his face suggested he was enjoying every bite anyway.

"...Eat."

"Yes, dear."

"...Don't call me that."

Before they left for work, Shouta stopped him at the door. "...Wait."

"Huh?"

"...Close your eyes."

Hizashi stared. "Absolutely not."

"...Why?"

"Last time I heard that, I ended up kidnapped onto a rooftop. Twice."

"...Fair."

But eventually, he humored him anyway. "Fine."

Shouta then pressed something into his hands. "...Okay. You can look."

Inside a small box was a tiny vanilla cupcake, and taped to the lid of the box was a small candle.

Hizashi froze. Shouta immediately misunderstood that. "...You don't like vanilla?"

Hizashi shook his head quickly. "No, no—it's not that."

Shouta was already frowning. "I can get another one."

"...Shouta." He smiled, stopping him before he could say anything else, "it's perfect."

Shouta rubbed the back of his neck. "...You uh—stopped buying them." He murmured, almost as if he was hoping he was actually wrong. "...I noticed last year. And Nemuri told me what happened to the past few."

Hizashi simply smiled, before looking back to the little cupcake. "You're supposed to sing."

Shouta sighed. "...Do I have to?"

"It's the rules."

"There are rules?"

"There are now."

"...Fine."

He moved closer and pulled Hizashi in, gray looking into green, then he whispered the song to him.

"...Happy birthday to you..."

And sealed it with a kiss.

Hizashi laughed once they parted. "You're adorable."

"You're enjoying this far too much."

Then, Hizashi carefully peeled the little candle from the lid. For a moment, he simply held it between his fingers. One candle, just like always. Only this time, it was different.

He smiled before gently pressing it into the frosting. Shouta reached into his pocket, pulled out a lighter, and clicked it once. The tiny flame flickered to life. "...Go on."

"Together?"

Shouta blinked. "...Okay."

The two of them leaned in. A tiny candle, two people, and one breath. Then, the flame disappeared.

As they headed toward U.A., Shouta quietly reached over and took Hizashi's hand onto his own.

"...Happy birthday, Zashi."

"...Thanks, Shou."

And they kept walking.

The new school year had only been going for a month when Hizashi noticed him.

Well, it was hard not to notice Shinsou Hitoshi. Mostly because he made it a point not to be noticed. He slipped into classrooms before the bell and left as soon as it rang. He ate lunch alone, answered questions politely, and never started conversations.

It reminded Hizashi of someone. "...He's literally mini you."

Shouta didn't even look up from the papers he was grading. "...No."

"He broods."

"I don't brood."

"He sleeps in class."

"I rest my eyes."

"He has eyebags."

"...Those aren't hereditary."

"...You checked?"

"...Shut up."

At first, it was just small things. A hello in the hallway, a wave after class. An extra carton of milk left beside his lunch. Nothing overwhelming, just enough for Shinsou to realize that his homeroom teacher wasn't going away.

One afternoon, just after class had ended, Shinsou lingered by Hizashi's desk while the rest of 1-C filed out. "...Mic-sensei?"

"Hm?"

"...Can I ask you something?"

"Always."

Shinsou hesitated for a second, then, "...How long have you known Aizawa-sensei?"

Hizashi smiled. "Ooh, curious?"

"...No."

"Liar." He laughed lightly when Shinsou looked away, embarrassed. "...Since high school."

That earned him a glance. "...Really?"

"Mhm. We were classmates."

"...He wasn't always this grumpy."

"I heard that." The voice came from the hallway.

Hizashi leaned out the classroom door with a grin. "See? Grumpy."

Shouta sighed. "...Your class ended five minutes ago."

"So did yours."

"...Go home."

"We're literally headed to the same place."

Shinsou watched the exchange in silence before the corner of his mouth twitched upward. It was the first time Hizashi had ever seen him smile.

The weeks passed quickly. Training with Shouta after school gradually became part of Shinsou's routine. Sometimes he'd leave campus exhausted enough to barely keep his eyes open. Other times, Hizashi would catch the two of them talking quietly in the training grounds before heading home.

Little by little, the walls Shinsou had built around himself became just a little shorter.

Near the end of June, Hizashi happened to overhear a conversation as he walked past class 1C's classroom.

"Wait. Your birthday's on the first?"

"...Yeah."

"You doing anything?"

A pause. "...Probably sleeping."

Hizashi slowed to a stop. He didn't hear the rest, but he knew he didn't need to.

That afternoon, he found Shouta in the faculty lounge. "...Shou."

"Hm?"

"...Do you know when Hitoshi's birthday is?"

Shouta nodded once. "July first."

Hizashi blinked. "...You knew?"

"I checked his file after the Sports Festival."

"...Of course you did. You didn't tell me!"

"He was my prospective transfer student."

"...That's the excuse you're going with?"

"It's also the truth."

Hizashi laughed before his smile softened. "...He's not doing anything."

Shouta looked at him for a long moment. "...Neither did you."

Silence settled between them. "...You're thinking."

"I am."

"...Nemuri's going to help."

"She is."

July first arrived.

The day had gone as normally as it could for Shinsou. After training with Shouta, he was halfway to the school gates when he realized he'd left his phone behind.

The classroom lights were already off, but he was almost certain someone was inside. He looked around cautiously before blindly reaching toward the walls where he knew the light switch should be at.

"..."

"Surprise!"

Hitoshi blinked. Three of his teachers stood there with a tiny lit birthday cake and a few decorations.

"Happy Birthday!"

"...How did you—"

"It's in your files."

"...Right."

Hitoshi stood completely frozen. "...I've never—" His voice caught. "—Never mind."

Hizashi understood anyway, and so did Shouta. But nobody asked him to finish that sentence. Instead, Hizashi smiled.

"C'mon. Your cake is waiting for you."

When it came time to blow out the candles, Hitoshi hesitated. "...Do I...?"

Hizashi smiled. "Yeah." Then his smile turned slightly mischievous, and Shouta groaned. "...But before that—! We'll sing first!"

This time, the song wasn't whispered by one person. Not by two, either. Three voices filled the room.

One was loud, one was soft, and the last was somewhere in between. When the song ended, Hizashi smiled softly at Hitoshi. "Go on."

"...What?"

"Make a wish."

And he did.

Everyone cleaned up afterward. Hitoshi quietly approached Hizashi. "...Thank you."

Hizashi smiled. "For what?"

"...I would've forgotten."

"No." Hizashi gently ruffled his hair. "You would've remembered. You just wouldn't have celebrated."

Six days later, Hitoshi arrived at the faculty lounge carrying a paper bag.

"Yamada-sensei?"

"Ah, Shinsou!"

"...I uh—Happy birthday."

Hizashi blinked, seemingly only realizing the bag Hitoshi was carrying. "...You got me something?"

"It's not much..."

Inside the bag were a pair of headphones and a microphone keychain, probably bought with whatever allowance Hitoshi had.

It couldn't have cost much, but Hizashi nearly cried anyway. "...Shinsou."

Hitoshi visibly stiffened slightly at that, but before the teenager can panic, Hizashi gently pulls him into a hug. "...Thank you."

Hitoshi stood still there for a moment, then very awkwardly, he hugs him back.

"Hitoshi. You can call me Hitoshi, sensei."

September arrived with rain. Neither of them spoke much about the raid afterward, there wasn't much to say. Some victories didn't feel like victories at all.

The little girl they'd brought back to the campus barely spoke during the first week. She flinched whenever someone moved too quickly. She apologized for everything.

"...Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize."

"...Sorry."

Hizashi's smile hurt. "...We'll work on that one."

Their shared teacher's dorm room above the 1-A Heights Alliance slowly changed without either of them noticing. Blankets began appearing on the couch because Eri kept falling asleep there, the refrigerator slowly filled with juice boxes instead of canned coffee.

Shouta somehow accumulated an alarming amount of cartoon-themed bandages despite insisting they were 'practical.'

"They have little smiles on them."

"...They're still bandages."

The first time Eri smiled, neither of them was beside her.

Mirio was.

He'd somehow ended up carrying her onto his shoulders before Class 1-A's performance had even begun, making exaggerated faces that earned him nothing more than a puzzled blink.

Then the music started. Hizashi and Shouta watched as lights flooded the school grounds. Their students threw themselves into the performance with everything they had. And then—

Eri smiled.

Not a hesitant or a fleeting one. A real smile. Bright enough that even from where they stood, they could see it. Mirio laughed first. Then the rest of the students noticed. Soon, the joy spread across the stage as if that single smile had been what everyone had been waiting for all along.

Beside him, Hizashi felt Shouta quietly let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"...They did it."

Shouta nodded once. "...Yeah."

Neither of them moved. They simply stood together, watching Eri laugh as she clapped along with the music, her smile growing wider as the song continued.

That night, after she'd fallen asleep almost instantly from exhaustion—

"She looked happy," Hizashi said quietly.

Shouta looked toward the living room, where Eri had curled up beneath a blanket. "...She did."

Silence settled between them. For the first time since meeting her, neither of them wondered whether she'd smile again. They knew she would.

The rest of the month passed, and soon, November became December.

Healing, they learned, wasn't loud.

It sounded like tiny footsteps padding down the hallway in the middle of the night and shy "good mornings."

It sounded like someone finally asking for seconds at dinner, and like a child beginning to believe she was allowed to stay.

One evening, Eri wandered into the living room clutching a coloring book. "...Papa?"

Both of them looked up. "...Which one?"

She frowned. "...Both?"

Silence. Hizashi looked at Shouta, and Shouta looked at Hizashi.

"...I think," Hizashi managed, voice suspiciously unsteady, "...I think we're both okay with that."

"...Okay."

She accepted that answer as if it were obvious and wandered back to the floor without another thought. Neither of them spoke for the next several minutes. Then—

"...Did she just—"

"...Yeah."

On Eri's first birthday with them, she stared at the cake as though she wasn't sure she was allowed to touch it.

"...It's mine?"

Hizashi smiled. "Every bit of it."

"Even the apples?"

"Especially the apples."

She looked at Shouta for confirmation. He nodded once.

"Happy birthday, Eri."

"...Can I make a wish?"

"Of course."

Very carefully, she closed her eyes. The little girl smiled before blowing out the candles.

They made sure it wouldn't be her last.

The next July arrived carrying a silence none of them knew how to fill. The war was over. They had won. And yet, nobody felt like celebrating.

Class 1-A had become Class 2-A. Hitoshi was finally in Hero Course, exactly where he belonged. Eri smiled more easily now, though sometimes she'd still wake from nightmares.

Life moved forward, even when pieces of it refused to.

Shouta no longer reached for the eye he couldn't see through. His prosthetic had become part of his daily routine. Some mornings, Hizashi still caught him instinctively trying to stand before remembering the weight of metal where flesh used to be. He never complained, but that somehow made it worse.

There were other absences, too.

The faculty lounge felt too quiet without Nemuri's laughter drifting through the halls. Every so often, Hizashi would catch himself glancing toward the doorway, expecting her to burst in complaining about paperwork or teasing the two of them for drinking terrible coffee.

She never did.

And then...there was Oboro. Or what remained of him in Kurogiri, before completely dissipating as well during the final battle.

Some wounds, it seemed, could find new ways to open.

July 7th came anyway. Birthdays had a habit of doing that.

Hizashi didn't expect anyone to remember. Instead, there was a knock at their door. When he opened it, nearly all of Class 2-A stood crowded in the hallway.

Some held grocery bags, some carried presents. Kaminari somehow had balloons tangled around his arm. Ashido had brought party hats. Iida was trying—and failing—to organize everyone into a proper line. Midoriya clutched an embarrassingly detailed birthday planner he'd apparently been working on for weeks.

Behind them stood Hitoshi, Eri tucked comfortably against his side.

"...Happy birthday, Yamada-sensei," Hitoshi said.

Eri beamed. "Happy birthday, Papa."

For a second, Hizashi couldn't speak. Shouta stepped beside him, resting a hand lightly against his back.

"...Looks like they're not leaving."

Hizashi laughed, wiping quickly at his eyes. "...It's better we take this down to the common area."

The common area grew louder than it had ever been. There were too many voices, and too much food. Someone started singing off-key. Halfway through, everyone else joined in.

They didn't sound the best, but nobody cared.

Later that night, after the students had gone back to their dorm rooms and Eri had fallen asleep on the couch with wrapping paper still tangled around her feet, Hizashi found himself standing on the balcony.

Shouta joined him a minute later. Neither of them spoke. After a while, Hizashi looked up at the stars.

"...I miss them."

Shouta didn't ask who, he already knew.

"...Me too."

Silence settled between them, not empty, but full of people who should've still been there.

Hizashi leaned gently against Shouta's shoulder. "...We'll keep celebrating."

Shouta nodded once. "...For all of us."

Time had a funny way of refusing to slow down.

Before either of them realized it, Class 2-A had become Class 3-A. Graduation arrived with tearful speeches, too many photographs, and promises to visit that everyone insisted they'd keep.

And they did.

Hitoshi graduated alongside the class he'd fought so hard to join. When it came time for photos, he found himself standing between Shouta and Hizashi without really thinking about it.

The camera flashed. It became one of Hizashi's favorite pictures.

Months passed quietly after that. Summer melted into autumn. Leaves turned gold.

Then November arrived.

Shouta never liked making a fuss over his birthdays.

"They're unnecessary."

"They're mandatory."

"They're literally not."

"They are if I say they are."

November eighth began much like every other birthday before it.

Coffee, breakfast, and a dramatically off-key rendition of 'Happy Birthday' despite Shouta's repeated objections.

"...You're doing that on purpose."

"I'm naturally talented."

"You are naturally loud."

"See? You do compliment me."

"...That wasn't—"

"It counts."

That evening, they found themselves back on U.A.'s rooftop. Not because they had to, but simply because it had somehow become tradition.

The city stretched out beneath them, painted in gold by the setting sun.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Hizashi leaned comfortably against the railing.

"Happy birthday, Shou."

"...Thanks."

Silence settled between them, comfortable and familiar. It felt like home.

Then Shouta reached into his coat pocket. "...Here."

Hizashi blinked. "...Another pack of candles?"

"...No."

"Aw..."

"...Open it."

Inside the small box sat a simple silver ring. For a moment, the world became very, very quiet.

"...Shou?"

Shouta rubbed the back of his neck. He looked almost embarrassed. "...I was going to say something."

"You still can."

"...Right." He took a slow breath. "...We've spent... most of our lives celebrating each other's birthdays."

Hizashi laughed softly through already-blurring vision. "...We have."

"...I'd like to celebrate the rest of them too."

A pause.

"...With you."

Hizashi just stared at him. "...You forgot the question."

Another pause. "...Will you marry me?"

There wasn't a dramatic speech. No kneeling or fireworks or any dramatic effects. Just two teachers standing on the same rooftop where a broke first-year had once taped up a crooked birthday banner.

Hizashi laughed, then cried.

"...You absolute idiot."

Shouta looked uncertain at that, the confidence he'd forced himself to gather faltering. "...Is that a no?"

Hizashi grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him before he could continue the sentence.

When they finally pulled apart—

"...That's a yes."

The wedding took place the following year. It was small and simple, only inviting family, friends, and their former students who insisted on decorating despite repeatedly being told not to.

When the ceremony ended, Hitoshi quietly handed them a framed photograph. It was the three of them at his graduation, still standing exactly where they'd belonged.

Hizashi smiled. "...We'll hang it beside the birthday pictures."

Shouta glanced at him. "...Birthday pictures?"

"You think I'm not keeping all of them?"

"...You have all of them?"

"Every single one."

"...Even the blurry one Kaminari took?"

"Especially that one."

Because by this point, birthdays have become a family tradition. There are photos from every year. Candles that were blown and 'Happy Birthday' songs that were sung.

Exactly what little Hizashi never had.

Years passed. The calendars changed. Students came and graduated. New first-years filled the halls every spring, loud and hopeful in the same way every generation somehow managed to be.

Some things changed, though some things never did.

One morning, Hizashi stepped into the faculty lounge only to stop short. "...Midoriya?"

The young man looked up from a stack of lesson plans, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "...Good morning, Yamada-sensei."

Hizashi broke into a grin. "...Look at you."

Before Midoriya could react, Hizashi had already pulled him into a hug. "Our little green bean became a teacher."

"I-I'm not little anymore!"

"You absolutely are."

Shouta glanced over the rim of his coffee cup. "...Congratulations, problem child."

"...Thank you, Aizawa-sensei."

Hizashi laughed. "...You're never escaping being our kid either."

Midoriya sighed with the long-suffering expression of someone who had accepted this fate years ago.

"...I figured."

Outside of school, life remained comfortably busy.

Their former students had become professional heroes scattered across Japan. Some visited every few weeks, while some only managed once every few months. Some arrived completely unannounced, claiming they had 'just happened to be nearby,' despite carrying homemade food and clearly having planned the visit days in advance.

Their house was almost never quiet anymore.

Eri turned fifteen before either of them were ready. Music had become her world. She still knew how to fight, Shouta had made sure of that. But when people asked what she wanted to do in the future—

"I want to make people smile."

It reminded Hizashi of someone.

On the morning of December twenty-first, she wandered into the kitchen to find a familiar sight waiting for her.

A birthday cake, Shouta making coffee. Hizashi singing far too loudly before breakfast.

"...Papa."

"Hm?"

"...You're off-key."

"That's deeply offensive."

She laughed. "You say that every year."

"Happy birthday, kid."

"Happy birthday, Eri."

She smiled. "...Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Papa."

Eventually, the paperwork became heavier than the patrols. The patrols became fewer. Then one day, they realized they'd been discussing retirement more often than active cases.

It wasn't a difficult decision. They'd given enough.

U.A. held a small farewell ceremony. Their former students somehow turned it into something much, much bigger.

There were speeches. Far too many of them.

Kaminari cried. Ashido cried because Kaminari was crying. Iida attempted to maintain order through his own tears.

Hitoshi somehow ended up giving the final speech. "...Thank you." That was all he managed before his voice broke.

Hizashi cried first. Shouta insisted he had dust in his remaining eye, though nobody really believed him.

Retirement turned out to be peaceful.

Mornings began with coffee instead of alarms. Afternoons were spent reading on the porch, arguing over crossword puzzles, or taking slow walks through the neighborhood.

Sometimes Eri visited. Sometimes Hitoshi stopped by before patrol. Sometimes they came together. Sometimes half of Class A showed up without warning, filling the house with laughter until well after sunset.

The door stayed unlocked more often than not. Someone was always coming home.

Every year, candles were lit. Not just for Hizashi anymore.

July first belonged to Hitoshi.
The seventh belonged to Hizashi.
November belonged to Shouta.
December belonged to Eri.

Eventually, birthdays became excuses for everyone to gather. There were too many candles to count, too many presents, and too many voices trying to sing over one another.

Exactly the way Hizashi liked it.

Because nobody celebrated alone. Not anymore, and never again.

Every year, they also visited the cemetery carrying two bouquets. One for Oboro, and another for Nemuri.

Hizashi still talked enough for all four of them.

"...Hitoshi's doing great."

"...Eri's composing music now."

"...Midoriya's becoming more like us every day."

"...The kids still visit."

Shouta stood quietly beside him, one hand resting against Hizashi's shoulder.

"...We miss you."

The wind stirred through the trees.

And for a moment, it almost sounded like laughter.

When Hizashi blew out the candles that year, everyone counted down together. The room erupted into applause afterward before the smoke had even cleared.

He looked around the table.

Shouta sat beside him, their hands brushing together beneath it. Eri was laughing so hard she nearly dropped her fork. Hitoshi was pretending not to smile.

Their students—no, not students anymore—their family filled every remaining chair.

Once, a long time ago, there had only been one candle. One cupcake. One little boy singing half a birthday song to an empty apartment.

He'd spent years believing birthdays were meant to get smaller as you grew older. But now, there were too many voices to even hear his own.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

He smiled, closing his eyes for just a second, and let himself listen.

Their home was loud. It always was.