Work Text:
I
Hizashi slinks into the teachers’ lounge with a pounding headache and a sneaking suspicion that his shirt is on inside out. He’s early, but he’d had an interview even earlier (audio only thankfully; Hizashi can feel the tickle of hairs escaping his usually pristine updo) and he has a meeting scheduled with a student before class.
Naturally, Shouta is already here, curled up in the corner in his sleeping bag. He’s sipping from a travel mug, probably coffee that’s as black as pitch and just as appetizing. He fixes Hizashi with a flat look. “You look like shit,” he says, blunt as ever.
“Gee, thanks,” Hizashi says dryly. He drops into the chair behind his desk and realizes it almost immediately as a mistake. “I’m so glad to have such a kind and supportive best friend. Really, Shou, I don’t deserve you.” He gazes longingly at the paper-strewn surface of his desk. Maybe he could put his head down, just for a minute, just to rest his eyes. He resists, knowing that if he even blinks for too long, he’ll be out; Shouta has many admirable qualities, but his penchant for napping anywhere and everywhere is not exactly one that Hizashi wants to emulate.
Shouta just rolls his eyes. “What’s wrong with you?”
What isn’t. He feels like Shouta looks, thirty seconds away from nonconsensual catnap. Hizashi can’t remember the last time he slept for a full six hours, never mind eight. The very idea of being well-rested is an unattainable pipe dream, like world peace or Shouta keeping a full class of 20 without expelling anyone. “Three jobs is. So many jobs. It’s so many jobs, Shouta,” he whines. If villains or teenagers or radio station executives don’t kill Hizashi, and he would lay strong odds on any of them, the exhaustion will surely do him in.
Shouta hums a sound that could almost be mistaken for sympathy. He studies Hizashi for a long moment, clearly warring with himself about something, and then he slithers out of his sleeping bag and holds out his coffee mug toward Hizashi. “Here,” he says. “You might need this more than I do.”
Hizashi stares at the proffered mug. If there is one constant of the universe, more constant even than All Might’s power or the sunrise, it is that Aizawa Shouta does not share his coffee. Hizashi has begged, pled, cajoled, and whined over the years, but Shouta barely dignifies him with a response. He’d actually hissed once, looking so much like a feral cat that Hizashi had mostly stopped asking except in jest.
But Shouta’s holding out the mug with an expectant look on his face. Hizashi wonders briefly if perhaps he has, in fact, fallen sleep sitting up at his desk. It wouldn’t be the weirdest dream he’s ever had about Shouta. “Are you sure?” Hizashi reaches for it tentatively, half expecting Shouta to snatch it back at the last second.
Instead, Shouta lets go of the mug, forcing Hizashi to either catch it or let hot coffee spill all over the stack of essays beneath it on the desk. Hizashi’s not certain even their friendship could survive such a waste of coffee.
“I’m sure,” Shouta says, rolling his eyes. “You can’t show up to class looking like you’re going to fall asleep halfway through a sentence.”
“You do that every day,” Hizashi points out.
“Yes,” Shouta agrees, “but I have a reason.” He rifles through his own desk for one of those awful jelly pouches he loves. “The kids speak their minds freely if they think I’m asleep.”
Hizashi snorts. Shouta does love a logical ruse. One of these days, Hizashi is sure he’s going to tell the wrong lie to the wrong kid to devastating consequences, but he’s long since given up trying to comment on Shouta’s teaching methods.
He turns his attention instead to the coffee. Steam curls up through the lid, fogging up his glasses. It smells incredible, rich and warm and nearly sweet. Coffee always smells better than it tastes, though, and Shouta has always been more concerned with the caffeine content than if it actually tastes good.
With one last glance at Shouta just to make sure, Hizashi takes a careful sip, expecting something akin to peat. And it is black - but it’s also delicious. It tastes like it smells somehow, with none of the bitterness that Hizashi is used to. It’s the perfect temperature. It’s the best coffee Hizashi has ever had. For a moment, before the caffeine actually hits his bloodstream, he’s furious that Shouta has been holding out on him. “What is this?”
“Fine light-roast robusta,” Shouta says smugly. He chucks his empty jelly packet into the trash can. “A coffee shop I frequent imports it special. Worth every yen.”
Hizashi takes another sip, failing to stifle a little moan. He didn’t know it was possible for black coffee to taste like this. He usually prefers tea, which is decent even when it’s lousy, and he has to dump a ton of milk and sugar into the swill they brew in the teachers lounge in order to be able to choke it down. “This is…” He grasps for a word to describe the botanical notes. “...Fruitier? Than I expected.”
Shouta’s mouth twitches up at the obvious joke, but before Hizashi can make it, Kayama cuts in with, “Bet that’s what people say about you, eh, Shouta?”
Hizashi whips around. He hadn’t even heard Kayama come in, too busy having his entire perception of what coffee even is utterly turned on its head. She’s grinning broadly, cackling as she removes her hat and coat while Shouta levels a withering glare at her. Hizashi doesn’t entirely disagree; Hizashi himself is the obvious target of the joke, while Shouta has never really displayed any interest in dating anyone at all.
He catches a glimpse of the clock on the wall and swears - he’s going to be late to meet his student. “I gotta run,” he says, pushing himself to his feet with a colossal effort. He scans his desk for the kid’s essay. He grabs it and then belatedly realizes he’s still holding Shouta’s coffee. “Uh…”
“Keep it,” Shouta says, waving him off. “Just bring me the mug back by the end of the day.”
Hizashi could kiss him. Already, he’s feeling more awake, just after a few sips. And sure, he had already wanted to kiss Shouta, had wanted to ever since Shouta had thoroughly kicked his ass at their first year sports festival. He’d fallen very swiftly and very inadvisably in love, which he’d channeled into an aggressive pursuit of friendship and vowed never to speak of.
That doesn’t mean he can’t still be grateful, though. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, not with Aoki probably already waiting, so he settles for throwing, “You’re the best, Shou, thanks!” over his shoulder on his way out the door.
By the time lunch rolls around, Hizashi is vibrating from the caffeine - apparently a lighter roast packs a stronger punch - and he’s actively dreading the crash he knows is coming. It’s worth it, though, when he hands over Shouta’s mug with a trembling hand, and Shouta laughs. It’s loud but not unkind, bubbling out of him like he hadn’t had a choice. He calls Hizashi a lightweight, and Hizashi pouts, falling just a little bit more.
II
There’s a loud FWUMP as something heavy lands on Hizashi’s balcony. It’s followed by a series of sharp taps against the glass door, and Hizashi does not scream, because he is a professional hero with years of practice training him out of a verbal startle response. It’s maybe a little closer than he’d like, but the important thing is that he hadn’t woken the entire building up because he’d been startled by something that was probably nothing.
Again.
He glances at the clock on the stove. It’s nearly three in the morning, far too late for anything expected. He wouldn’t even be awake himself at this hour except he’d needed to fill in for someone at the radio station, and he wanted to review some files for a case that had fallen into his lap.
With the caution of a professional, Hizashi pushes himself up from the kitchen table and creeps toward the balcony doors. It’s probably… raccoons. Yeah, it’s probably just some poor, confused critter that got all mixed up and landed on his balcony. It’s not that he’s nervous because, again, he’s a professional hero who definitely doesn’t jump at the banal little sounds of things going bump in the night.
Soft music drifts across the living room, barely audible from where Hizashi had it playing softly in the kitchen. He raises a hand slowly toward the certain, intending to pull it aside with a quick tug from a hand that is definitely not shaking, when there’s another sharp tap tap tap against the glass. Hizashi very bravely does not squeak, but he does drop the curtain.
“Hizashi,” says a tired, muffled voice from the other side of the class. “Let me in.”
With a sheepish blush warming his cheeks, Hizashi pulls back the curtain to reveal Shouta standing on his balcony. He’s dressed in his hero costume, which is to say the only clothes he ever wears willingly, and one of his arms is bent at an odd, painful-looking angle. He’s frowning, tapping his foot impatiently.
Hizashi unlocks the door and throws it open, moving aside to let Shouta into his apartment. Any lingering nerves transform at once into concern as he looks Shouta over in the soft yellow glow of the living room light. His face and hands are littered with cuts and scrapes, blood staining the very edges of his capture scarf, and there’s a ragged tear in the knee of his jumpsuit. It bears all the hallmarks of a fall, though not a terribly bad one. Or it would be if not for Shouta’s arm, which is definitely dislocated at least.
“Why are you here and not a hospital, Shouta,” Hizashi demands, shuffling Shouta over to the couch. “That arm looks bad.”
Shouta shrugs his good shoulder and fails to hide a wince. “I was in the neighborhood. Anyway I’m fine; I just need help with my shoulder. I think it’s dislocated.”
Hizashi inspects the damage with careful, light fingers. He’s a fair hand with battlefield first aid, but he’s a long way from an actual medical professional. By some miracle, the shoulder is only dislocated; nothing seems to be broken except skin.
“If this is fine, I’d hate to see injured,” Hizashi quips, his voice just a little too tight for it to land. Rather than knocking at his front door like a normal person, Shouta had landed on his balcony, which means he’d come from the roof, which means he was using his capture scarf with a dislocated shoulder, which means he was using it one-handed.
If villains, teenagers, radio executives, and exhaustion all fail to do Hizashi in, Shouta will surely be the death of him.
Rather than taking Shouta by the shoulders and shaking some sense into him, Hizashi says, “At least let me clean up some of these cuts while you’re here.” The ones he can see don’t look too deep, but there’s a glimpse of red beneath the hole of the jumpsuit, and Hizashi doesn’t trust him not to be hiding something worse.
“If you insist.” Shouta rolls his eyes, but the lack of any argument is practically a plea for help for him.
“Alright, just sit tight for a moment,” Hizashi says, patting Shouta’s good knee. He darts into the bathroom to retrieve the first aid kid he keeps under the sink and returns, setting it on the coffee table. “Shoulder first or cuts?”
“Shoulder.” Shouta pulls his capture weapon off with his good hand and drops it into a pile on the floor.
“It’s gonna hurt,” Hizashi warns, sitting beside him on the sofa.
“Yeah yeah,” Shouta starts, rolling his eyes, “just -” Hizashi shoves his shoulder in place without warning. “- fuck.” Shouta shoots him a weak glare, poking at his shoulder to inspect Hizashi’s handiwork.
“You should put that arm in a sling,” Hizashi says. He knows full well that Shouta will not take this very reasonable medical advice, because Shouta’s favorite hobby, to Hizashi’s immense chagrin, is doing the absolute bare minimum to keep himself alive. He will probably use his capture scarf to swing himself home rather than being sensible for once and taking the goddamn train.
Hizashi shifts onto the floor, shouldering his way between Shouta’s knees to begin cleaning and bandaging the cuts on Shouta’s hands. His palms are the worst - he’d clearly tried to break his fall - but the knee is worse than it had looked at a glance. It’s still bleeding sluggishly, and it’s filthy, bits of dirt and gravel caught in the wound. Hizashi fishes some tweezers out of the first aid kit and gets to work. “You wanna tell me what happened?”
“Fell,” Shouta says, with all of his usual eloquence. Hizashi waits for him to elaborate, but he remains silent.
Hizashi sighs. Shouta’s not immune to mistakes, but he’s been slinging himself around the city with his capture weapon for years at this point. It’s practically an extension of his own body. “Did you catch the guy at least?”
Shouta doesn’t respond, and when Hizashi glances up at him, there’s a dusting of pink across his cheeks. Hizashi raises an eyebrow at him, and he mumbles something unintelligible.
“And now with words this time?”
Shouta huffs, scowling down at Hizashi like a grouchy, perpetually exhausted teenager. “I said there wasn’t a guy. I just. Got distracted.”
“By what?”
“It’s not important,” Shouta says with a slightly stronger glare. He crosses his arms moodily, wincing as he shifts his shoulder.
“I take it I don’t have to tell you to be more careful?” Hizashi says lightly. He returns his attention to Shouta’s knee so he isn’t distracted by the blush crawling down into the hollow of Shouta’s throat.
“Not unless you want me to string you up by your ridiculous hair.”
Hizashi hides a smile in his elbow. His hair isn’t even up right now; he’d showered when he’d gotten home from the radio station. It hangs loose around his shoulders, nearly the same length as Shouta’s. “My hair is perfect, and you know it.”
“Perfect for a cockatoo, maybe,” Shouta mutters.
Hizashi finishes picking gravel out of Shouta’s knee, disinfects it, and then covers the wound with a plaster. “There,” he says, relocating from the floor to sit beside Shouta on the couch. “Now let me see your face.”
“It’s fine,” Shouta grumbles, but he lets Hizashi tilt his chin up to get a better look. It’s not nearly as bad as his hands, but he’s got a split lip and a wide, rough scrape across his cheek that will need to be disinfected. He reaches for an antiseptic wipe, and the movement shifts his hold slightly, thumb accidentally brushing against Shouta’s split lip. Shouta hisses in pain, jerking away from Hizashi’s touch. Hizashi turns back toward him, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but it freezes before he can voice it.
The tip of Shouta’s tongue darts out to soothe the cut, and there is something unreadable in his dark eyes. For a fraction of a second, Hizashi almost lets himself believe there’s heat in Shouta’s gaze, that he might actually want - But no, there must be some other explanation.
Hizashi frowns. Shouta has been as responsive as he ever is, not displaying any sign of cognitive impairment, and his pupils, while blown wide, are dilated evenly. Still, better safe than sorry. “Follow my finger,” he instructs, holding up a finger and moving it slowly through Shouta’s field of vision. He hadn’t noticed any headwounds, but Shouta’s eyes don’t stray from a fixed point, refusing to focus on Hizashi’s finger. He must have hit pretty hard when he’d scraped up his cheek then; it’s a miracle he didn’t break anything. “You’re concussed.”
“I am not,” Shouta protests. His denial is familiar enough that Hizashi can comfortable disregard it; Shouta always thinks his injuries are less severe than they actually are. “I should--”
Shouta makes to get up, reaching for his capture scarf, and Hizashi catches his wrist before he can even shift his weight. “You should stay right here, Shouta,” he chides. He releases Shouta’s hand, and Shouta slumps back against the couch scowling. His shoulder is probably aching terribly, and while he will not actually admit to that, Hizashi wants to to keep him from making it any worse. At least in his apartment, he knows Shouta isn’t swinging on his capture scarf like he’s trying to dislocate his shoulder again.
Still, trying to convince Shouta to take care of himself is a lot like herding cats: he will go exactly as far as he wants to and not an inch further. Hizashi resorts to playing a little dirty. “Please. For me. Otherwise I’ll just be up all night worrying about you.”
Shouta considers it, scowl not abating in the least. Hizashi is resigning himself to a sleepless night (he hadn’t lied about being worried) when Shouta grumbles, “Fine.”
Relief blankets Hizashi like a fresh snow. He’d prefer if Shouta prioritized his health for his own sake rather than Hizashi’s, but even a begrudged acquiescence is more than he thought he’d get. “Great!” he chirps. “I’ll bring you a blanket!”
When Hizashi returns a moment later, arms laden with spare blankets, Shouta is already asleep. Unable to keep a soft, fond smile off of his lips, Hizashi fishes a blanket out from the pile and drapes it over Shouta. It’s an old prototype of some Present Mic merch that’s been retired for several years, but it’s soft and thick enough to ward off the chill.
Shouta shifts a little in his sleep, grasping onto the edge of the blanket, but he doesn’t rouse. Hizashi lets himself indulge in a moment or two to just look. Shouta is battered and bruised from his fall, and there’s a grumpy little furrow between his brows still, but in the warm glow of Hizashi’s apartment, he is safe from anything that might mean him harm.
Hizashi cannot say the same for himself. It’s dangerous, letting himself grow used to the sight of Shouta sleeping on his couch, tucked beneath a blanket with Hizashi’s own hero logo on it. He’s always known he cares about Shouta in a different way than Shouta cares for him, and that’s… it’s fine. It’s enough that Shouta trusts him enough to seek help here instead of trying to ram his shoulder back into place on his own. It’s enough to be his friend, to be allowed whatever Shouta is willing to give. It’s enough that he’s here, like this, tonight.
In the morning, the blanket is folded neatly on the couch, and Shouta is gone.
III
The thing about working three separate full time jobs, Hizashi thinks desperately as he makes his way to the teachers’ lounge to get in some grading after school, it’s that it’s fucking busy. He splits his time between UA and the radio station, squeezing in hero work when he can or when he’s requested. It’s been weeks since he’s seen Shouta in more than passing, and with the end of the school year rapidly approaching, his workload shows no sign of slowing.
He’d thought, foolishly, that the notes Shouta had scribbled in the margins of a casefile Hizashi had left out on the table that night he’d come by with a dislocated shoulder would speed up some of the hero work at least. And it had, in a way: Shouta’s insights led to some actionable leads, cracking a case about a smuggling ring. Except it turned out that the ring was only one cell of a much larger organization, expanding the operation by an order of magnitude.
Shouta and Kayama are bickering when Hizashi slips into the teachers’ lounge. Kayama’s lounging on Shouta’s desk, carelessly sprawled across his papers and batting Shouta’s hands away when he tries to reach for them. He’s wearing an absolutely murderous expression, and Kayama is cackling, which is honestly all pretty normal for the two of them.
Shouta throws an elbow with no real power behind it and grumbles something about cats and tricks. They must be arguing about the Incident that Hizashi had dubbed The Great Cat Deception, which makes sense. The only thing Shouta has a tighter hold on than his capture scarf is a grudge. Dragging him to a meeting he’d been avoiding with zero cats to even soften the blow should have shattered any good will he had for her, but Hizashi can read him well enough to see the fondness beneath his irritation. Kayama’s a lot like him, Hizashi supposes, poking and prodding Shouta to let her in until he does.
Sufficiently distracted by his own thoughts, it takes him several extra seconds to process something about a cat cafe. His mouth speaks before he can consciously decide to, and he offers, “What if I took you?”
There’s a beat of silence, during which Hizashi’s brain catches up with his mouth. “To the cat cafe, I mean.” He’d have to rearrange of few things, and he’d probably have to sacrifice a few hours of sleep, but it’s nothing some puppy dog eyes and Shouta’s fancy imported turbo coffee can’t fix. Besides, it would be worth it to spend some time in Shouta’s company outside of a professional setting.
Shouta wrenches a sheet of paper from beneath Kayama. “It’s fine,” he says, scowling at it. His face is hidden behind the paper, but whatever Kayama sees there makes her roll off of Shouta’s desk. She bows dramatically at Hizashi, gesturing at Shouta as if to say he’s your problem now. She winks, because she’s a menace.
Hizashi replaces her atop Shouta’s desk because, well, he is also a menace. He tugs at the piece of paper Shouta is trying to ignite with the power of his mind. “Hey,” he says, frowning. “What’s wrong? You never turn down a chance to see a cat, let alone several at once in a location that also serves coffee.”
Shouta turns away, crossing his arms over his chest. “You don’t have to do that,” he says. “I’m not a child.”
The pout on his mouth begs to differ, and Hizashi can’t help a fond little smile. “No, but you are my friend,” he says reasonably. “Maybe I want to take you to a cat cafe.”
“I can go on my own,” Shouta says, even though Hizashi knows he won’t.”You’re busy. It would be illogical to waste your time on something like this.” He snatches the paper back from Hizashi, which Hizashi glances at long enough to notice that it is the middle of an essay with no immediately apparent opening. Shouta stares at it with a level of concentration usually reserved for international peacekeeping problems, which is clear Shouta-speak for “this conversation is over now”. Hizashi’s got years of experience ignoring Shouta’s dismissals. They never would have become friends otherwise.
Besides, Hizashi does want to take him to a cat cafe. In Hizashi’s more indulgent day dreams, it’s their first date. Hizashi would whisk Shouta away from school after their final classes and refuse to tell him where they’re going. Shouta would complain the whole time of course, but that too is part of the appeal - Shouta stacking up grievances until he actually lays eyes on a room full of cats. He won’t apologize or take any of them back, but the sour, vaguely guilty look he’d shoot Hizashi would mean the same thing.
Shouta would hole up in an out-of-the-way armchair with a lapful of cats until eventually even the shyest and most aloof cats are draped across him, purring contentedly. None of the cats would deign to even glance at Hizashi, but that’s alright - dogs have always liked him better than cats do. When they finally left the cafe, after hours and countless cups of strong coffee and pastries, Shouta would smile at him, that tiny pleased one that Hizashi treasures, hoarding the memories of it like gems.
This is. Not that. Obviously. Hizashi knows Shouta well enough by now that he has a good handle on which of his boundaries Hizashi can stroll right through, which he can prod and test, and which he should steer clear of. If there was even a chance that Shouta might feel that way about him, surely Hizashi would have picked that up by now. Shouta’s not interested in romance, and that’s fine; Hizashi is happy enough to be his friend. He’ll take what he can get, and if he sometimes spends hours waxing poetic about Shouta to his PA at the radio station, that’s between him and Kinoshita.
“Come on, Shou,” Hizashi wheedles, putting just enough of a whine in his voice that Shouta will relent just to make it stop. Shouta’s students always complain about how mysterious and scary their teacher is, but really, the man is just like a cat - only difficult to read if you don’t know what you’re looking for. “Pleeeease? I need a break anyway; if I have to explain prepositions one more time I think I’ll die. I’ll die, Shouta.”
Shouta scowls at him, but Hizashi can tell his heart’s not really in it. “You’re just gonna bug me until I say yes, aren’t you?”
“Yep!”
“Ugh, fine,” Shouta says. He rolls his eyes like he’s doing Hizashi a massive favor, but he ducks his chin to hide a pleased expression in his capture weapon. “When?”
Hizashi mentally flips through his schedule. If he reschedules the afternoon meeting at the station and grades his essays before going to bed, he can scrounge up a few hours. “Tomorrow?”
“Fine,” Shouta says. He shoots Hizashi a withering glare that does not effect Hizashi in the slightest and shoves at his knees. “Can I actually grade these now?”
Hizashi hops down from Shouta’s desk, unable and unwilling to keep a broad, sunny grin off of his face. “I’ll allow it.” Shouta rolls his eyes, and Hizashi turns to his own grading, humming softly under his breath.
As it turns out, it’s not entirely dissimilar from Hizashi’s day dreams. Shouta knows where they’re going, but he still winds up covered in cats, and he still shoots Hizashi that tiny, pleased smile when they leave. There’s an attractive dusting of pink across his cheeks, and Hizashi wants to kiss him so badly he can’t breathe.
He doesn’t. It’s fine. Hizashi is used to it.
IV
Hizashi hits enter on the last grade he has to input before the semester is finally over. He’s thrilled beyond words to spend a couple of weeks with only two full time jobs rather than three. Well, making sure Shouta actually eats real food occasionally rather than subsisting on jelly packets and caffeine is a job all on its own, so really he’s down to three from four. It’s still an improvement though, and one Hizashi is more than ready for.
He gets up from his workstation and crosses the teachers’ lounge to drop onto the sofa beside Shouta. Shouta is ostensibly studying his class list for the new school year, but he looks approximately ten seconds away from falling asleep sitting up. He grunts a greeting and leans over enough to bump their shoulders together. He doesn’t move away after, just settles in with his arm pressed against Hizashi’s.
He’s been doing that more often lately, Hizashi has noticed, initiating a casual touch. Shouta usually prefers to keep his distance, but lately he’s been brushing his shoulder against Hizashi’s in greeting or squeezing his shoulder in passing. It’s strange - Shouta usually accepts Hizashi’s playful elbows and casual arms round his shoulders with a begrudging, barely-there tolerance - but Hizashi doesn’t want to risk Shouta pulling away again by bringing it up.
To distract himself from the warm weight at his side, Hizashi keeps up a steady stream of chatter, about the weather or their students or the news. Anything that comes to mind spills from his lips as he holds himself back from doing something insane, like brushing Shouta’s hair off of his face or brushing a soft kiss to Shouta’s cheek. Shouta hums an acknowledgement every so often, but he’s not really listening. Hizashi doesn’t mind; it’s for his own benefit mostly anyway.
“...if the little listener would just listen, you know what I mean, Shou?” Hizashi is met with silence, and he glances down at Shouta. “Shouta? Shou - oh.”
Shouta has slid down a little, his head resting on Hizashi’s shoulder and his face tucked into his capture scarf. He’s fast asleep, breathing deep and even. His face is smooth for once, absent all the little furrows that usually follow him into catnaps. It makes him look years younger, hardly older than his students.
Hizashi keeps babbling, white noise against the other teachers in the lounge and the tapping of keys. Shouta never sleeps well or enough, but Hizashi knows he’s been having particular trouble with it lately, so he softens his voice to something Shouta will be able to sleep through. He’s barely paying attention to what he’s saying, focused instead on keeping his hands flat on his thighs rather than carding through Shouta’s messy hair. As much as he longs to trace all the lines of Shouta’s face with a gentle fingertip, he will keep his hands to himself, even with Shouta none the wiser.
One by one, the other teachers file out of the staff room. Kayama lingers the longest; when she finally does leave for the evening, she shoots Hizashi a smirk and winks at him. He scowls at her, and she just laughs, dancing out of the room knowing full well Hizashi won’t do anything to risk waking Shouta.
The overhead lights click off eventually, leaving Hizashi in the glow of the setting sun through the windows. Hizashi has always been discomfited by silence, so he is constantly filling it, with music or his own voice. He’s practically always talking, to students or to Shouta or humming to himself. He’s not sure how much time has actually passed, speaking at this uncharacteristically soft volume, but the slight rasp in his voice indicates it’s been a couple of hours at least.
A while later, as the sun dips below the horizon and leaves behind twilight, Shouta finally stirs. He usually wakes all at once, instantly alert no matter how long he’s been asleep, but he takes his time now, lifting his head from Hizashi’s shoulder and blinking up at him sleepily.
“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Hizashi teases, even though they are about as far from dawn as it’s possible to be.
The weak dregs of daylight cast Shouta’s face in shades of grey, but Hizashi can make out a crease in his cheek from where it had pressed against his jacket. He wants to smooth it away with the pad of his thumb, but he knows Shouta would not welcome such a tender touch.
“Wha’ time’s it?” Shouta says, the words muzzy with sleep.
Hizashi glances down at his watch. “Seven-thirty?”
Shouta frowns, the expression scrunching up his sleepy face. It’s absolutely adorable, and if Hizashi didn’t think Shouta would judo flip him into the sun for it, he’d take a picture and save it as his phone background. “You let me sleep for almost four hours?”
As if any power on earth could have convinced him to move. “Seems like you needed it.”
“Hmph.” Shouta drags himself up off the couch and stretched, his spine cracking like a glowstick. He turns back to Hizashi with a curious look on his face, much more awake now. He studies Hizashi for a long moment, and then says, “Thanks. I guess.”
“Of course,” Hizashi says easily. His stomach rumbles faintly, and it occurs to him that Shouta probably hasn’t eaten any actual food all day. “You want to get some dinner?”
Shouta considers this, no doubt weighing a hot meal against a jelly pouch and the work he hadn’t done while asleep. Before Hizashi can wheedle, Shouta huffs and says, “You’re paying.”
That’s more than fine with Hizashi.
V
Shouta’s been frowning into his beer for an hour and a half.
They’re at a bar a little ways from UA, tucked around a table with Kayama, Kan, and a couple of the other teachers. It normally takes a combination of Hizash’s best puppy dog eyes, Kayama’s blackmail, and a creepy smile from Nedzu that is definitely a threat to get Shouta to participate in recreational activities with other people, especially in public, but when Hizashi had simply asked between classes, a bare minimum of whine in his voice, Shouta had agreed. Hizashi had been so thrilled he hadn't dared question it by asking what kind of pod person had replaced his best friend.
Now though, apparently faced with the actual reality of it, Shouta’s glaring at his glass like it's a student in need of expulsion. And Shouta never looks happy to be dragged into drinks with his friends and coworkers, but his permanent scowl tends to fade into something a bit more neutral after a beer or two. He tends to grunt his acknowledgement every so often even if he's not actively participating in the conversation, but tonight, he gives no indication that he's even listening.
Kan breaks first, visibly unnerved by Shouta’s melancholy mood. “Alright, Eraser,” he says, clapping Shouta on the shoulder, “what’s got you in such a good mood tonight?”
“Besides the company, of course,” Kayama adds, before he can blame the outing.
Shouta turns his glare on Kan’s hand like he might spontaneously develop a fire quirk. Kan quickly removes his hand, and Shouta’s expression settles from death glare to mere scowl. He narrows his eyes at the lot of them and then, correctly identifying that Kayama has never let anything go in her entire life, says, “They’re tearing my goddamn building down.”
“Oh, did they finally condemn that old eyesore?” Kayama says sweetly, laughing. She dodges the end of Shouta’s capture weapon easily.
“It’s not condemned ," Shouta says, sounding as if he's lost a favorite pet, "it’s just been sold.”
Kayama gives him a flat look over the rim of her beer. “Pity, ” she says with exactly zero pity in her voice.
She’s not wrong though; Shouta’s building is an eyesore, and a death trap to boot. He’s lived in the same run down, beat up old apartment since he graduated from high school. The building had been in dire need of maintenance even then, and the intervening years have not improved the situation.
Shouta’s more than capable of dealing with home invaders - and the surrounding crime rate is why he’d selected that prefecture anyway - but Hizashi is convinced that mold or damp or broken glass is going to do him in if nothing else does. He’s brought it up a few times, gently encouraged Shouta to look into a nicer apartment. It’s not like he couldn’t afford it between teaching and hero work, but Shouta had just rolled his eyes and said it was ‘illogical’ since he’s ‘not home enough for it to matter.’
“How long til you have to be out?” Hizashi asks.
Shouta pauses for just a beat too long. “...Three days.”
Hizashi does not use his quirk because he’s a professional with years of experience, but only just. “Three days? Shouta, there’s no way that’s legal, even for that apartment.”
Shouta ducks his head to hide a dusting of embarrassed pink in his capture weapon. “They told me three months ago, I just haven’t had a chance to look for a new place yet.”
Kayama arches an eyebrow at him. “What exactly was your plan then? Move into your classroom and just not tell Nedzu? Live at school like little kids all think their teachers do?”
“No,” says Shouta, turning a glare on Kayama that suggests he had, in fact, been planning to do just that. As if it’s possible to keep anything from the principal on his home turf; Nedzu has cameras everywhere. “I’ll figure it out.”
“What if you stayed with me.” The words are out of Hizashi’s mouth before he can think better of them, and then it’s too late to take them back. He’d like to blame the alcohol, but he’s been nursing the same beer for an hour, mindful of an early morning at the radio station.
He chooses not to think about the fact that his three bedroom apartment contains one (1) actual bedroom. The other two are a recording studio (full of instruments) and an office (full of filing cabinets, spare junk, and various other detritus). He doesn’t even own a spare futon.
Shouta frowns, head tilted in confusion. He has been to Hizashi’s apartment many, many times, and he knows full well about the bedroom situation. “Are you sure?”
Hizashi is still trying to figure a way out of having offered when his mouth says, “Yeah, of course! It’ll be a sleepover, just like when we were kids!”
Shouta’s expression is skeptical, but not enough, apparently, to call him out. “Alright,” he says with a shrug. “I’ll bring my stuff over tomorrow.” With the decision apparently made, Shouta returns to staring moodily into his glass, though with an expression that suggests he is merely pretending to be having a terrible time rather than actually having one.
Hizashi can feel Kayama’s eyes on him from across the table. He ignores her. He can already picture the smug little expression she’s wearing, and Hizashi refuses to give her the satisfaction of actually seeing it. This is - it’s fine. So what if he only has the one bed; Shouta had said yes, after all, and it’s only for a little while until Shouta finds a new place to stay. Hizashi will sneak out after his last class tomorrow to buy an extra futon that he can put in his office - after he moves some things around anyway. It’s not like Shouta has a lot of stuff; his apartment had been downright barren the last time Hizashi had braved crossing the threshold.
Shouta has a meeting with Nedzu after school the next day, so Hizashi actually has plenty of time to rearrange his apartment. Enough, at least - he buys the futon and a spare set of sheets, and rearranges the office to make room for it. Well, he gathers up most of the loose junk and stacks in an (only somewhat!) precarious pile in the corner. He relocates his seventh and eighth most used hair products in order to make room in the bathroom for Shouta’s toiletries, even though he’s pretty sure Shouta doesn’t use anything besides soap and maybe toothpaste. Does Shouta even own a hairbrush? He must own a hairbrush. It would be absurd to have that much hair and not own a hairbrush.
It takes a few hours, but eventually Hizashi manages to whip his apartment into decent shape to receive a houseguest for an unspecified amount ot time. It’s suitable enough for Shouta, anyway, who has been known to sleep anywhere including behind dumpsters, on rooftops, and, to Hizashi’s horror once, dangling from a fire escape.
It’s a little before eight when Hizashi’s phone buzzes with a text from Shouta. Hizashi goes down to let him in and help him carry some things inside. Which turns out to be entirely unnecessary when Shouta steps out of the car with a duffle bag and a single cardboard box. He looks like he’s leaving a job he’s had for six months, not the place he’s lived for nearly a decade.
“That’s it?” he says incredulously. And okay, maybe the volume and the pitch are a little high, but there’s no reason for Shouta to use his quirk. “Shouta, that can’t be everything you own.”
“It’s not,” Shouta says, following him into the building and to the elevator. “I have a storage unit.” He pauses, thinking about it for a moment. “I think. I haven’t checked on it a while.”
Hizashi very kindly does not roll his eyes or sigh heavily. He has known Shouta for more than ten years, and nothing about any of this is new or surprising. It’s little wonder people mistake him for a vagrant on his night patrols.
He leads Shouta to his apartment, and unlocks the door. “So, yeah, just make yourself at home,” he says. He swipes the spare key from the side table and hands it to Shouta. It’s not the actual spare key, as in the one that he got with the apartment, because that one is lost somewhere beyond hope. He’d spent several hours scouring the office for it last night with no luck, so he’d popped out in the morning to make a copy of his own.
Shouta grunts an acknowledgement and tucks the key into his pocket. He hefts the singular box containing (nearly) all of his world possessions and promptly deposits it on the kitchen table, where it will apparently be living for some time because Shouta diverts immediately to the couch. He drops his duffle with a thud and then flops down onto the couch, clearly settling in for a nap.
“There’s a spare futon in the office,” Hizashi says. “Do you want me to put your stuff--”
In lieu of a response, Shouta snores.
They order take out for dinner, because Hizashi has banned those horrible little jelly pouches from his apartment, but he doesn’t really feel like cooking. They eat in companionable silence side by side on the sofa while Hizashi flips through the television channels and Shouta pokes at some grading.
It’s the nicest evening Hizashi has spent at home in a while. He doesn’t feel the need to entertain Shouta the way he does for other friends; it’s easy to simply exist in his company. Still, as nice as it is, Hizashi decides to call it an early night. It would be so easy to forget that Shouta is only staying with him out of necessity, that it’s temporary, to lean a little closer and press his side to Shouta’s.
Shouta hums an acknowledgement when Hizashi gets up, but most of his attention is focused on a page of chicken scratch that is probably supposed to be test answers. Despite the futon in the other room, there’s good chance Shouta will fall asleep right here on the couch again, but Hizashi leaves the office door open on his way to bed anyway.
He smiles softly at Shouta’s toothbrush in the holder beside his own. It’s somewhat promptly erased by the store brand 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner sat next to his organic, sulfate-free moisturizing shampoo in the shower, but even Shouta’s terrible haircare is familiar, and it’s nice to see evidence of Shouta’s presence here.
He’s not sure what wakes him at first until Hizashi feels the mattress dipping beside him. He opens his eyes to glance first at the clock - it’s after three in the morning - and then to the man apparently climbing into bed with him. “Shou?” he says, voice muzzy. He’s more than half asleep still, and dedicating any brain power to figuring out what the hell Shouta is doing is a bit beyond him.
“Shh, go back to sleep,” Shouta murmurs. He slips under the covers beside Hizashi like he belongs there. Almost immediately, his breaths slow and deepen in sleep. Hizashi drifts off to the sound of Shouta breathing beside him in the dark, confusion fading into a still contentment.
In the morning, Hizashi wakes alone. It must have been a dream, he decides, a combination of Shouta’s more regular passing touch and the reality of him in the other room. Shouta’s soft little smile, the rasp of his voice, the solid warmth of his body, they’re all just products of his own mind.
Except it happens again.
And again.
It keeps happening: Hizashi will go to bed, leaving Shouta in the living room if he’s not out patrolling, and a few hours later, he rouses just enough to register Shouta getting into bed beside him. Shouta is always gone by the time Hizashi wakes in the morning, and he never brings it up when Hizashi drags himself into the kitchen for the coffee that Shouta has already gotten started.
So Hizashi doesn’t bring it up either. It really is like when they were kids, when Shouta spent the night and claimed it was illogical to pull out Hizashi’s parents’ spare futon when Hizashi’s was big enough for both of them.
And as strange as it is, it does appear to be doing Shouta some good. The bags under his eyes have begun lightening a bit, no longer the dark purple of a fresh bruise. He still looks perpetually exhausted, but less like he’s going to imminently pass out. It’s hard enough to get Shouta to take decent care of himself, and if this is helping his chronic insomnia, Hizashi doesn’t want to risk embarrassing him into stopping by bringing it up. So Hizashi doesn’t ask, and Shouta sleeps beside him for part of the night, and it’s fine.
Shouta sleeps more, it seems, when he’s beside Hizashi. Hizashi can hear him get up sometimes, a bit before Hizashi’s alarm goes off. Hizashi drifts in the hazy place between sleeping and waking, imagining that Shouta is here because he wants to be and not just because his apartment got bulldozed.
Occasionally, Hizashi dreams of Shouta’s fingers brushing hair from his face or the gentle press of lips to his forehead. They must be dreams, despite how vividly Hizashi can remember them, because he can imagine no universe in which Aizawa Shouta touches him with such reverence, such affection. He knows Shouta cares for him in his own grumpy, feline way, but Shouta closed himself off after they’d lost Shirakumo, locked anything soft in an iron vault of logic to protect himself.
Still, it’s nice to pretend.
Sunlight streams in through the curtains, bathing the whole bedroom in a golden light, and Hizashi wakes slowly for once, nowhere to be for several hours at least. He stretches luxuriously, sleep-warm and cozy, and rolls over to doze for a while. Belatedly, he realizes he can hear slow, steady breaths alongside his own, and he opens his eyes to find himself face to face with Shouta.
Shouta’s face is lax with sleep, absent even the stubborn little furrow that so often follows him into catnaps. His dark hair is a messy tangle against the pillow, sunlight streaking it with cinnamon and painting his face golden. He’s wearing one of Hizashi’s old t-shirts, a soft, worn grey thing with a stretched out collar, and Hizashi can just make out the peek of Shouta’s collarbones below the sweep of his hair.
He’s beautiful. Hizashi can’t breathe around how much he loves him, so full of it that he’s afraid it will spill out of him and ruin this soft, perfect moment. If only he had some sort of time quirk, something to freeze this moment and make it last, let Hizashi live in it for an eternity.
Eventually, Shouta begins to stir, movement behind his closed lids before his eyes blink open. A soft smile settles on his mouth, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. And Hizashi knows this is all temporary, that eventually Shouta will find a new apartment and leave behind a deafening silence. But now, for just this moment, Hizashi can almost believe the expression on Shouta’s face is something like love.
“Morning,” Hizashi murmurs. He’d been aiming for casual, but it comes out far too tender, too fond, his tone a confession.
“Hey,” Shouta says, his voice a soft rasp.
Hizashi has always been rash, prone to rushing in. He could do so now, could close the distance between them and press his lips to Shouta’s. They are balanced on a knife’s edge, and Hizashi longs to tip over the edge of it, to let himself fall or fly.
Reality reasserts itself, as abrupt as Shouta’s capture scarf mid-fall. Hizashi flops onto his back and closes his eyes to escape the temptation of Shouta’s mouth, that crooked smile and his warm eyes. This is not what they are to each other. Shouta is his best friend, and there’s no sense burdening him with the millstone of Hizashi’s unreturned feelings.
Hizashi just… needs to get a grip. Shouta makes him feel like a teenager again, full of dumb puppy love with nowhere to put it. But he’s not fifteen anymore. He’s not fighting for every scrap of Shouta’s reluctant attention - Shouta is here, right here, and even though Hizashi wants, with the same desperate desire that silence craves sound, he will not risk shattering what they already have.
Hizashi does not get a grip. His grip, on both his sanity and his self control, loosens to a frankly alarming degree. More often than not these days, when he wakes, Shouta is still in bed beside him, giving him a sleepy little smile from beneath his tangle of hair before getting up to make coffee. It’s frighteningly easy to get used to it. Shouta fits seamlessly into all the empty spaces Hizashi had never noticed before.
He’s beautiful. He’s a menace. Hizashi is beginning to think he’s doing some of it on purpose; he can think of no other explanation for why Shouta would be stealing his clothes. He brings it up once, unable to hold his tongue any longer. Shouta just gives him a blank look and says, “It’s soft.” And it is, because Hizashi is very particular about the cotton blends they use for his merch, but there’s also no reason Shouta can’t buy his own.
And alright, yes, Hizashi does like seeing Shouta in his clothes. He’d only gotten distracted enough to run face first into a wall the one time, and he's gotten very good at covering the fact that he’s choking on his own tongue with a cough. And sure, he’s got a decade of experience hiding his feelings from Shouta, but it is orders of magnitude more difficult when the man literally lives in his house.
So yes, Hizashi is rapidly approaching the end of an ever-shortening rope. And he knows the solution is to actually talk to Shouta about it, either to clear the air or to put a little distance between them, but they’re both so busy that it’s difficult to find the time. And, well, there’s a tiny, selfish part of Hizashi that doesn’t want to rock the boat. It’s driving him crazy, being so close to Shouta and unable to actually cross the remaining distance, but it’s closer than Shouta’s ever let him before. He doesn't want Shouta to retreat entirely the way he has from everyone else.
He does finally corner Shouta on a Tuesday evening, a rare overlapping night off. “Can I talk to you about something?” he says, wringing his hands nervously. It’ll be fine, he tells himself. Shouta’s never particularly been one for emotional conversations and he's been known to shut down if they go on too long, but that probably won't happen. Probably.
Shouta stares at him for what feels like a full minute, which is not a great sign. His eyes zero in on Hizashi’s fidgeting. He doesn’t even blink. It’s the sort of intense concentration that is usually reserved for particularly dangerous villains or when Nedzu’s in a snit. If Hizashi didn’t know better, he’d think a villain with some sort of paralyzing quirk had snuck in and frozen Shouta.
Eventually, Shouta shakes himself out of whatever it is and shrugs. His intense stare is replaced by an expression of nonchalance that is so fake, Hizashi is almost insulted. “Sure,” he says with a shrug, voice carefully even.
They sit together on the sofa, and Hizashi takes a deep breath. It’ll be fine. Nothing really has to change except that Hizashi won’t be driven absolutely mad under his own goddamn roof anymore.
“I don’t want to rush you,” Hizashi begins, “and I’m perfectly fine with continuing, you know, as things are, but I was wondering…”
Shouta’s nonchalant expression slips for a moment before it’s replaced by an even faker version. Hizashi makes himself get the words out. “Have you made any progress finding a new apartment?”
Shouta stares at him for another full minute. His eyebrows crawl toward his hairline and disappear beneath his bangs. “Why would I be doing that, " he says with absolutely no inflection in his tone.
Hizashi considers, very briefly, abandoning this conversation to go shatter some windows with his quirk. Of course Shouta hasn’t been looking. Why would he? It would be illogical for him to move again when he’s perfectly comfortable living in Hizashi’s apartment and wearing Hizashi’s clothes and sleeping in Hizashi’s bed.
Something in him snaps. He can’t keep doing this, not if he wants to remain friends with Shouta in any capacity. His nerves simply can’t take it anymore. “Fuck, Shouta, I just… I don’t know, something has to change.”
“Change,” Shouta repeats, in a voice so flat it is fully two dimensional.
Hizashi reaches up to rip the hair tie out of his hair and shoves a hand through it roughly. It spills in a curtain over his face, and he yanks at it for something to hold onto. “I just - “I just - I know you don’t - I want to respect your feelings, Shouta, I really do. Your friendship is so important to me, and I would never want to do anything to jeopardize that but I just can’t take it anymore!”
"Hizashi," Shouta says, so still and calm that Hizashi reconsider the possibility of a paralyzation quirk, "are you asking me to marry you or are you breaking up with me?"
Shouta is quick with his quirk, but he's not nearly fast enough to catch Hizashi’s fully-powered shriek before it begins.
"WHAT?!"
Shouta glares at him with red eyes, hair floating around his head as if this is a totally disproportionate reaction to his best friend - who'd always assumed was somewhat aromantic - proposing marriage out of nowhere. And okay, it's not exactly a proposal so much as a confirmation that one is happening, but that is close enough and it doesn't actually make any more sense. "Breaking up?" he screeches because that's somehow the safer part to concentrate on. His volume, in Hizashi’s opinion, far quieter than this situation deserves. If anything, he's underreacting, and Shouta’s glare is just excessive. "How can we - we're not - What?? Shouta, we're not even dating."
"Of course we are," Shouta says matter-of-factly, like he's commenting on the weather and not inspiring Hizashi toward a complete mental breakdown. "Our first date was to that cat cafe. And then I fell asleep on you in the teacher' s lounge." He frowns. "I share my coffee with you."
"That's - that's normal friend stuff!" Hizashi’s voice is rapidly approaching a pitch audible only to dogs, and Shouta’s still erasing his quirk, so he's managing it with standard human vocal chords.
Shouta gives him a flat look that implies if anyone else even hinted at wanting some of his coffee, no one would ever find the bodies. "You asked me to move in with you."
"I offered to let you stay with me," Hizashi corrects. Christ, no wonder Shouta hadn't bothered looking for another apartment; he'd apparently already found one.
Shouta arches an eyebrow at him like Hizashi is the crazy one in this conversation. "Did you not think it was strange that I got in bed with you?"
"Of course I did!" Hizashi yells, throwing his hands into the air. "I thought it was incredibly weird! But you were sleeping so much better, and we shared all the time in high school, so I figured it was just to help with your insomnia. Besides, it was--"
Hizashi closes his mouth so abruptly that his teeth clack together. It's not that Shouta would take it badly, that Hizashi had liked it. It's completely reasonable from his perspective; apparently they'd already been dating for, Christ, six months. But Hizashi hadn't known, and there's something vaguely unsettling about it, like he'd been taking advantage of Shouta somehow.
"It was what?" Shouta demands. There's anger licking into his voice now, but Hizashi knows him well enough to recognize it as hurt. "Because if you were just tolerating me -"
"It was nice!" Hizashi drops his face into his hands and tries not to scream. God, the last thing he wants is for Shouta to think he's been miserable for the last eight months instead of deliriously guilt-streaked happy. "It was nice, okay? I like sleeping next to you and waking up next to you. I like you, Shouta." He lets out a heavy sigh; there's no going back from this. "Always have."
Shouta has the gall to look confused. "I know?" he says, as if Hizashi’s declaration is something so obvious it doesn't even bear mentioning.
And really, that's the problem, isn't it? Neither of them had actually said anything. And sure, Shouta never actually expresses his feelings verbally - they'd been friends a full five years before he'd deigned to call Hizashi anything more than a 'grudging acquaintance' - but Hizashi had also never asked. He'd chalked all of Shouta’s strange behavior to some weird, convoluted Shouta logic that was entirely platonic. He'd decided, explicitly, not to ask Shouta about it in case that make it stop.
Resolving to freak out about how transparent he's apparently been for the last ten years, Hizashi says, "So you really thought… This whole time?"
Shouta scowls and turns his face away to hide an embarrassed flush. "It was the logical conclusion to draw from the available information," he huffs. "Plus I… I liked it. I like you."
And Hizashi had known, sort of mechanically, that if Shouta thought they were dating, that probably meant Shouta liked him in a not-entirely-platonic sort of way. But it's another thing entirely to hear him actually say it. He'd wanted this, wanted Hizashi. He'd fallen asleep on or beside him because he'd wanted to, moved in because he wanted to. Everything Hizashi had ascribed to some convoluted necessity was simply a choice that Shouta had made, not out of cold logic, but because he liked it.
A giddy laugh is bubbling up in Hizashi’s chest, unrestrained and almost certainly unintentionally overpowered by his quirk. "You.. You like me?" he says because he wants to hear it again, wants to hear it every day for the rest of his life. "Really?"
Shouta scowls at him because he hates actually talking about his feelings, but it's entirely too fond to have any real effect. "Obviously," he mutters. There's a pink tinge across the bridge of his nose.
The laugh escapes, and Shouta cancels his quirk just in time. Hizashi can't help it; it's like stepping out into the first bright spring day after an interminable winter. Shouta likes him. "I'm sorry I didn't notice."
He reaches out to take Shouta’s hand, but he hesitates at the last moment. He's still Shouta, with a personal space bubble measured in kilometers, and Hizashi doesn't want to press his luck. But Shouta grabs his hand and laces their fingers together, rolling his eyes like Hizashi is being particularly obstinate.
Hizashi just beams at him. "Can we just… start over? This whole dating thing?" He's going to do it right this time, make up for the eight months he'd missed.
Shouta considers this for a long moment, which is already strange, and then he says simply, "No."
"No??"
"No," Shouta repeats. "It would be illogical to start over from the beginning when we've already known each other for ten years and we already live together. It wouldn't be any different from how it is now anyway."
Hizashi can sort of see the logic in that - it's not like he wants Shouta to move out - but… "I' d like it to be a little different," he says. He wants to woo Shouta properly, do all the little romantic things he never thought he'd be allowed. "I want to take you on a real date."
"You already have taken me on a real date," Shouta says. It is unclear to Hizashi whether he's being willfully obtuse or he genuinely doesn't see the difference. "We go to that cat cafe like once a week."
"That doesn't count," Hizashi says. "It's not a date unless you both know it's a date. Otherwise it's just… a big misunderstanding."
"But it won't fundamentally be any different from what we already do."
He's not wrong, exactly, Hizashi supposes. Even that first visit to the cat cafe had played out alarmingly similar to Hizashi’s indulgent fantasies. That probably should have been a sign of some sort, but Hizashi had been much more concerned with whatever it took to soothe the grumpy, frustrated expression from Shouta’s face.
But he's not exactly right either. "It could be," Hizashi offers. "Like… can I kiss you?"
"If you want to," Shouta says, which is not exactly the enthusiastic consent Hizashi is looking for.
"Okay," he says slowly, "but do you want to. I mean, you've never dated anyone." Hizashi’s track record is not much more involved, but he has, at least, been out on a couple of first dates over the years. "I thought you just… didn't. Like you just weren't into any of that?"
Shouta shrugs, fidgeting with the ends of his sleeves. This is already a lot more emotionally honest conversation than Shouta prefers, and Hizashi can tell he's nearing his limit.
"I'm not," Shouta says. "Or… I wasn't. I dunno. It's - different. With you. Always has been, I guess."
Hizashi squeezes his hand, a warm smile on his face. "I just don't want to do anything that you're uncomfortable with."
Shouta shoots him a flat look at that - he's never been particularly shy about telling Hizashi no, and he, at least, has no problems enforcing boundaries. Still, Hizashi would like to make sure, so he waits until Shouta shrugs, a vaguely pinched expression on his face and says, "I wouldn't mind." Hizashi arches an eyebrow at him, and he continues, "Alright, fine. I would like it. Sometimes. If you kissed me."
"Now?"
Shouta makes a face at him, but then he ducks his chin and nods, expression almost shy. It's incredibly cute. Hizashi leans in slowly, telegraphing the motion so Shouta has plenty of time to pull away. But Shouta doesn't, just tilts his chin up in assent, and Hizashi kisses him. It's a brief kiss, just a buss really, but when Hizashi pulls back, Shouta’s eyes flutter open, pink dusting his cheeks.
"Was that alright?" Hizashi says, He's still holding Shouta’s habdm rough and warm in his own.
"It was… adequate," Shouta says. Before Hizashi can protest, he smiles and continues, "Needs further data."
"Of course," Hizashi says, more than willing, and he leans in for another kiss.
i
"I can't believe you didn't tell me we were dating, " Hizashi says, bumping his shoulder against Shouta’s. They're walking to their usual cat cafe for an after school date. It's not their first or their fifth or even their tenth, and it will not be their last.
" That's because we weren't then, apparently," Shouta grumbles. He jabs Hizashi with his elbow. "Both people have to agree that they're dating, otherwise it's just--"
"Sparkling friendship," Hizashi cuts in, just to rile him up.
It's incredibly effective; Shouta turns a withering glare on him that might actually be kind of scary if Hizashi wasn't so hopelessly in love with him. "I was going to say one person's delusion."
Hizashi throws an arm around Shouta’s shoulders, reeling him in so he can plant a wet, smacking kiss on Shouta’s cheek. Like a cat receiving unasked for affection, he wriggles under Hizashi’s hold, but eventually he settles against Hizashi’s side. "We got there eventually, didn't we?" Hizashi says. He drops a softer kiss to Shouta’s temple, affectionate but not combative.
When they reach the cafe, Shouta makes a beeline for the cat room while Hizashi stops at the front desk to pay. The staff is used to them at this point; the girl behind the counter doesn't even bat an eye when Pro Hero Eraserhead speeds past her.
Hizashi stops by the coffee bar to pick up their usual order, and then he follows Shouta into the cat room.
It has been maybe five minutes, but Shouta is already covered in cats. A little grey tabby is curled up beside him in his usual armchair, and a calico is purring at his feet, tail wrapped around Shouta’s ankle.
Hizashi hands Shouta his coffee and sits down on the floor beside his chair. He dangles the end of his shoelace for the calico, who bats at it lazily. A cream colored cat hops down from a nearby perch and flops into Shouta’s lap, paws dangling over his knee.
Hizashi slips out his phone to snap a picture. He has about a million photos with the exact same composition with these exact same cats and a million similar ones with different cats. Hizashi will not apologize for taking photos of his very adorable boyfriend.
One of the older cats, a skinny, jet black thing with a smoker's meow and a missing eye, leaps from the top of a bookshelf directly into Shouta’s capture scarf. He manages to hand Hizashi his coffee just in time to prevent it spilling everywhere.
The cat struggles with uneven footing in the capture weapon, rousing the other cats in Shouta’s lap. Shouta scoops it up, depositing it around his neck to settle like a second scarf. It immediately starts purring like a jet engine, single eye closing for a nap.
Shouta looks at Hizashi with an impressive set of puppy dog eyes. They've got two cats at home already, a fat ginger tom and a skittish longhair princess who wants absolutely nothing to do with Hizashi, but Hizashi recognizes the look on Shouta’s face.
He sighs, a fond smile on his lips. "I'll get the paperwork started," he says, pushing up from the floor.
Shouta settles back against the armchair, a content little smile on his face. Hizashi can't help dropping a kiss to the top of Shouta’s head before he returns to the front desk to inquire about adopting another cat.