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Hizashi was feeling a little down today.
But he kept smiling.
He kissed his husband on the cheek before classes began.
He tried (and failed) to hype up his students the same way he always did.
He teased his coworkers like usual.
He kept smiling.
Hizashi was always smiling.
No one questioned it.
They only questioned it when he stopped.
But the raised brows only added onto the pressure he felt to be happy—act happy.
When Oboro had died all those years ago, Hizashi wept only in secret and when it was expected of him.
At the funeral.
Gatherings with close friends in the months after.
And silently in his room, behind closed doors where no one could see.
But then it became too heavy.
He fell into a slum, turning to liquor.
But that wasn't sustainable. Not for him, not for the people he was supposed to be strong for.
The world kept spinning, it didn't wait. Time passed—past what was deemed as acceptable to grieve in public.
So Hizashi smiled.
After all, it wasn't just heavy for him, it was for Shouta, and Nemuri, and Tensei, too.
So Hizashi smiled.
To lift the mood.
To cheer them up.
To change the topic.
Because if they didn't, Hizashi would break down.
And that wasn't his job.
So Hizashi smiled.
Then, when Kurogiri was caught, the world seemed to end all over again.
Shouta was torn from the inside out, and he cradled the pain in his arms and held it between his palms and hid it inside the cage of his fingers.
And Hizashi was torn only from the inside, but it began to show from the way his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched and the way his veins popped.
Everything hurt.
Everything was always hurting.
Then Nemuri died.
And the world was flipped upside down one too many times and Hizashi felt his stomach turn.
Everything became noxious and itchy and he couldn't sleep anymore.
Hizashi couldn't smile anymore.
So he didn't smile.
Not during the war.
Not when his students and comrades and friends nearly died.
Not when realized he might not make it.
And sometimes he still wakes up in a cold sweat, laying beside his husband.
It was harder to smile.
But he didn't make an effort to force it anymore.
He was tired of pretending.
And this time, everyone understood.
It wasn't a question, but a reason.
And so they cradled Hizashi as he once had for them.
Shouta put Hizashi’s ear to his chest and let him hear his heartbeat.
His students didn't stare when he started crying.
And sometimes they'd join in. They had dealt with the war just like him.
Hizashi’s sense of community was back, even if it was missing some key people.
He was still learning how to show his emotions, but he was getting better.
And when he was curled up in bed with Shouta and their two cats, the world seemed tolerable again.
“I love you, Sho.”
“Love you, too, ‘Zash,” Shouta replied sleepily, his fingers combing through Hizashi’s long blonde hair.
Hizashi shut his eyes, letting the low light of their room consume him, the heat and the comfort draw him deeper.
His heart ached.
But he didn't have to hide it behind a joke or a smile anymore.