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“Aaaaaaaaaaaall right, dear Listeners! I think we have time for one more story tonight!” Hizashi booms into the mic and pushes his glasses back up, that slowly but steadily slipped down his nose. “Let’s hear one final engagement story!”
Once again, the last Friday of the month has come around, which means, as usual, it’s time for Hizashi’s monthly special at the station: instead of his usual music-heavy show with the occasional caller to break it up, Hizashi turns it around for the night and lets his Listeners lead the way. A different topic marks the end of every month and Hizashi usually gets about ten to fifteen callers in (with a few songs in between, because it is a radio station, after all) before the four hours are up.
It’s been a particularly long and tiring week already, so even though Hizashi doesn’t usually dress up in full hero gear for his shows anyway, tonight he didn’t even bother with the basics; his hair tied up in a loose, messy bun at the base of his neck and clad in comfortable clothes that are about two sizes too loose on him and smell like laundry detergent, yesterday’s curry and Shōta.
The line connects with a click and Hizashi clears his throat as his assistant Yukiko gives him a thumbs-up, signalling him that he’s on air.
“Hey, hey, hey!” Hizashi thunders into the mic and stretches his aching back, “Thanks for tuning in and calling in today! You have the honours of being my last guest tonight, dear Listener! Your engagement, however sappy or embarrassing it was, we wanna know it all – Take it away!”
“It’s Shōta.”
Hizashi almost drops his glass of water onto the audio console.
“Shōta! Welcome! You’re live on air, here at Put your hands up! radio!” Hizashi mutes himself for a second and swallows, shooting Yukiko an alarmed glance. Shōta never calls him at work–what the hell is going on?
“You left the dishes out again. I told you, just yesterday, that you should put them back after you finish breakfast because now I come home in the morning and feel like I have to make myself some real food.”
Hizashi blinks. Shōta can’t be serious. This has to be a dream. He’s still fast asleep, next to Shōta, who’s probably furiously trying to wake him up by now. Or passed out on the sofa again with his still ungraded tests in his lap. There’s no way, Shōta would call in during his show just to tell him that he forgot to clean up the dishes. …Right?
Before Hizashi can even react to what Shōta said, his crackling voice goes on, “You also did the laundry again, even though I told you to leave it. I was gonna do it tonight. Also the bathroom’s filled to the brim with all of your hair stuff that I can’t even take a bath without starting a one-day cleaning session first.”
Apparently he is. And apparently he has a lot more things on his mind than just some forgotten dishes, because Hizashi can hear Shōta take in a deep breath now, like he’s preparing for a whole speech. He cringes slightly, unable to cut Shōta off, because he is on air right now, and unsure what to say, frozen in shock.
“I also, repeatedly, told you not to cook for me because I’ll just grab dinner somewhere on the way home and yet I come home every night and there’s food in the fridge. You’re an idiot. You work three fucking jobs,” Hizashi sucks in a sharp breath at the swear word and sees Yukiko pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation, “who almost collapses on the floor as soon as he walks through the door every Saturday morning and yet you still do unnecessary stuff like this.”
It’s never unnecessary, Hizashi wants to retort, not if it’s for you. But he knows that this is neither the right time, nor the right place for this conversation. Instead, he clears his throat again and scoots a bit closer to the mic, frantically racking his brain on how to save this situation before Yukiko throws a fit.
“Well, well, dear Listener, it seems like you’re not having the best day, but I’m sure there’s something more positive you wanted to share with all of us, am I righ–“
“I love it. I love all those annoying things about you, you know.”
Hizashi’s mouth snaps shut.
“I love it when you take forever in the bathroom every morning and sing that same stupid song every time, even though it makes me even more late than I already am. I love it when you refuse to go to bed without one of your face masks, even though it’s always way too late and you’re already exhausted from the day.”
Despite himself, a small smile tugs at Hizashi’s lips at those words, memories of Shōta carefully applying his mask for him filling his mind. Yukiko motions for him to say something, anything, because this is clearly not what the call was supposed to be like, but Hizashi finds himself transfixed by Shōta’s voice, lapping up every word that leaves his lips.
“You know, you never do what I want you to do. Whenever I tell you not do something because I’m going to do it myself when I get home, you always do it anyway. And I know I constantly complain about you never listening to me, but I know you do it because you love me. Because you know I’m too tired to do it.”
Hizashi’s breath hitches in his throat and he finds himself leaning even closer to the speakers, not sure what brought this sudden behaviour on but not wanting to miss a single one of Shōta's words. He’s so captivated that he doesn’t even think about the fact that by now, all of the media will know that he’s in a relationship.
“I love it when you roll over in your sleep and hit me in the face with one of your impossibly long limbs, mumbling some stupid shit under your breath. You always end up stealing the blankets, too, you know. And I can’t even order you to give them back, because you can’t hear me anyway without your hearing aids.”
A flush creeps up Hizashi’s cheeks at that last part, because even though he doesn’t actively try to keep it a secret, he’s sure not everybody knows about the fact that he’s hard of hearing. Well, they do now. Because Shōta just told them. Hizashi doesn’t mind it half as much as he probably should.
“You never even give me a chance to be mad at you because whenever I am, and believe me you do give me enough opportunities to, you put on that stupid smile and lighten up the whole room like the fucking sun or something and then I’m left to deal with my anger evaporating into thin air. It’s unfair, because you still get mad at me, and I can’t.”
Hizashi doesn’t even flinch at the second swear word, his hands digging into his thighs beneath the table, and Yukiko doesn’t seem faced by it either, she, too, enrapt by the low voice on the speaker now.
“Even though you know that I love my sleep, you still manage to wake me up every single morning when you once again bump into something, cursing so loudly probably even the neighbours can hear, or clatter with the pots in the kitchen. Because you just can’t seem to be quiet for the life of you. But it’s fine. Because I don’t mind getting woken up, if it’s by you.”
A soft sound escapes Hizashi as his lips part slightly in awe, because this must be one of the nicest things Shōta has ever said to him. Suddenly, his chest feels tight and Hizashi wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around Shōta right now, crushing him in his embrace while he grumpily complains about needing his space.
He’s not sure how much time has passed since Shōta called, or if his Listeners are still tuned in, but Hizashi can’t bring himself to care right now. He never wants this moment to end.
“I can hoover as often as I want to and would still find strands of your hair lying around the apartment.” Shōta pauses briefly and his breath seems shaky as he inhales. “You know as well as I do that our tiny apartment is already way too cramped, with your piano and the cats and all your CD’s, and yet you still come home every other week with a new plant in your arms, grinning like it’s the best thing you ever saw while you tell me that this’ll definitely be the last time.”
A laugh escapes Hizashi and he realises that must have been the first time he audibly reacted since Shōta started talking. It sounds breathy and wet, and Hizashi finds that same wetness gathering in his eyes.
“You never stop pestering me when I’m in one of my moods again, dragging me out of the house and god knows where, even though I keep snapping at you to leave me the fuck alone. And I know that you’re having doubts about it, but I want you to know that it’s okay. Because I would go anywhere with you. All of the time.”
There’s a brief pause again and Hizashi can hear the rustling of paper. Did Shōta write all of that down…? “Even if it’s just that shabby cat cafe at the other end of the road, or the arcade we went to as kids.”
Hizashi’s eyes widen at Shōta's last words. Now the media will not only know the name of the person he’s in a relationship with, but also the fact that they knew each other since childhood. Hizashi’s brows furrow in worry, as he thinks about how it would affect Shōta’s career if they find out that he’s in a relationship with the underground hero Eraserhead.
“Every time you slip in another English word into the conversation, I get irritated. But not because you do, but because I never paid enough attention in school to know what you’re saying.”
That’s true. Hizashi has to bite his tongue to keep from chuckling, because Shōta really is the worst when it comes to English. Hizashi thinks it’s weirdly endearing.
“When you ask me for the millionth time what kind of nail polish you should wear, or when you drag me shopping with you because you don’t have enough clothes as it is, I pretend to be annoyed. But I like it. Because you care about my opinion. And that feels nice.”
Briefly, Hizashi’s gaze flicks down to his nails, the nail polish already chipped and cracking away in more than a few places. It’s the dark shade of green Shōta picked out last week though, so Hizashi wasn’t in any rush to remove it.
When Shōta speaks next, there’s the hint of a smirk in his voice. “Also, you’re a total disaster whenever you get drunk and start gushing about how much you love me and all of your friends and colleagues while crying into your drink because you don’t think you’ll ever be able to show them enough.”
Yukiko raises an eyebrow at him and Hizashi tries to hide his rapidly heating cheeks from view. He’s an absolutely embarrassing drunk and he’s well aware of that fact. Before he has time to get lost in his thoughts, however, Shōta goes on.
“I don’t know how many romantic comedies you have already forced me to watch with you, even though I find them absolutely unbearable. I always make you watch my horror movies in return though, so I think we’re even. Although I do love the fact that you always end up clinging to me throughout the whole movie. As if you’re not one of the best heroes out there yourself.”
Hizashi’s not sure how Shōta managed to insult and compliment him at the same time, but he doesn’t even mind the underlying dig at him, because Shōta’s voice is soft and so full of affection that Hizashi feels his chest swell with love for the man he can call his boyfriend.
“Although I do question that fact sometimes, when you shout the house down once again because you found a spider somewhere and I have to get rid of it for you.”
Okay, now Hizashi takes it back. That was definitely a low blow, to call him out like that in front of his own audience. Before Hizashi can come up with a witty response however, Shōta exhales loudly, directly into the phone by the sound of it.
“You’re, quite possibly, one of the biggest nerds I know. But for the sake of your dignity I won’t go into detail here.” Hizashi huffs. So now, Shōta starts caring about his dignity? “But I love you like this.”
Hizashi’s mouth falls open and he stares at the speakers, too stunned to hear anything beyond his own heartbeat thumping in his chest and the blood rushing in his ears.
“I love you when you're casual and relaxed, when you lean onto me on the sofa in the most baggy clothes you could find at the back of your closet. With your big glasses and wet hair. When you don’t care about appearances and images. Because it’s only you and me, at home. Because it means that you trust me, and that you feel comfortable enough not to care.”
There’s something wet on Hizashi’s cheeks and when he lifts his hand to wipe at it, he realises that they’re tears, flowing down the sides of his face and gathering below his chin before they drip onto the table.
“But I also love you when you’re dressed up and loud. When you’re out there, saving people and teaching English to those kids. When you’re partying and singing. When you’re once again overly enthusiastically commentating on a sports festival.”
Hizashi can’t help the laugh that spills from his lips that sounds awfully like a sob, because he doesn’t deserve Shōta.
“I love you, always. In every form, in every way. Every second of every day.”
“Shōta, I–“ Hizashi starts, his voice croaky and raw, but there’s a hand on his arm, squeezing lightly and when he turns around, Yukiko’s behind him, softly shaking her head at him.
“Because I love you. Yamada Hizashi. Everything that makes you you. Every single one of those things I just told you about. Every moment shared between us, whether we fight or laugh, every breath you give me, and–“
There’s a shaky inhale on the other end of the line and Hizashi’s fully sobbing into the mic by now, only held together by Yukiko’s hands drawing soothing circles on his back, but he waits, and lets Shōta finish–in his own time. On his own terms.
“–and…and you don’t even wanna know how many goddamn hours of sleep I’ve sacrificed to write this. Not because I don’t love you enough, but–but because I love you too much. And because I’m shit with words.” Hizashi laughs shakily, furiously wiping at his eyes that won’t stop leaking, snot dripping from his nose before Yukiko finally hands him a tissue.
“So I’m just going to–“ Shōta takes another deep breath and there’s the sound of paper being crumpled up. “Hizashi. Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” Hizashi sobs into the mic before he fully breaks down, burying his face in his hands while words keep tumbling out of his mouth in an incoherent jumble and Yukiko comfortingly strokes his back, a smile on her face.
“A million times yes, Shōta. I–You–I didn’t–God, Shōta, I love–I love you so much. You’re insane–You–A whole speech, Shōta, I’m gonna–I love you, I–”
Shōta laughs softly on the other end and Hizashi’s heart aches because he wants to be closer to him, wants to feel that laugh against his skin.
“Good,” Shōta whispers. “Now come home, so I can give you your ring.”
———
(“I’m sorry I ruined your show,” Shōta says after they settle into bed for the night, Hizashi’s new ring sparkling in the moonlight.
Hizashi’s eyes widen, red and swollen from all the crying and his cheeks still tear-stained. “Ruined?” He repeats incredulously. “Shōta, that was the best show I ever had. Nothing will ever even come close. I hope you know that.”
A smirk tugs on Shōta’s lips, like that’s all he wanted to hear, and Hizashi huffs at the expression of smugness on his fiancée’s face (His mind still stumbles upon the unfamiliar word).
All of a sudden, Hizashi gasps and sits up with a jolt, dragging Shōta up with him by their intertwined hands.
“Now we have to plan the wedding!” Hizashi exclaims, eyes glinting with excitement, and Shōta groans, burying his face back in his pillow.
“Oh god. What have I done.”)