Work Text:
Hizashi had been told there would be an adjustment period when it came to his cochlear implants. To expect headaches. He didn't realise ‘headaches’ loosely ranged from mild pain that could be easily remedied to excruciatingly debilitating pain. That morning, as he put on his sound processors, Hizashi knew he was going to be in for a day.
Hizashi forewent any music in the car, which did little to settle his nerves. The monotonous drone of the car's engine eerie and unsettling as his thoughts bashed against his skull. The blonde is so quiet to even garner an inquiry about his wellbeing from his husband. The ringing in his ears less than it used to be but still very prominent, somehow like an even angrier mosquito than it used to be. Even the DJ in his brain had stopped spinning its records. It rarely ever did that.
Shouta watched his husband as the blonde drove them to work. He knew something was wrong. He just hoped Hizashi would tell him, lest he be plagued with worried thoughts for the rest of the day. He seemed particularly jumpy, but there were no sudden movements happening around them? The roads were unusually clear of traffic and zooming motorcycles. Hizashi never flinched and winced this often. Shouta also noticed the apparent lack of humming and singing this morning. Their apartment was never quiet. Hizashi always played music in the morning. Always sung along. He never passed up the opportunity to sing an instrumental or guitar solo. Even, on random occasions, recited entire Shakespeare monologues, acting along all the while. But it was deathly silent this morning.
The dark haired man watched as Hizashi's hand went to touch his left ear. Fingers checking the piercing in his lobe, adjusting the sound processor perched behind his ear, engagement ring glittering on his fourth finger. Shouta never understood how Hizashi managed to get away with wearing his wedding rings to work. His silver wedding band encircled his index finger on his right hand. His eternity ring on his right hand's fourth finger. Marriage hidden in plain sight. Because why wouldn't Present Mic wear diamonds set in rings of silver? He's just flashy like that.
Shouta watched the blonde's fiddle with his ear, blocking and unblocking, like he was assessing the static Shouta knew he lived with. Hizashi had said that the hissing had decreased since getting his cochlear’s, not completely gone, but it was still concerning that he was monitoring it again. Taking a deeper breath than usual, Shouta watched his husband's shoulders tense at the noise, green eyes flickering away from the road to look at him. Hizashi would tell him. It might just take a while.
Hizashi knows that Shouta refuses to ever see him in a negative light. But what if he thinks he's a burden? What if he thinks that he's not worth the effort anymore? And, as much as he was a proud advocate for he and his husband's disabilities within their hero work and at UA, that didn't mean he never felt insecure about his hearing. He even has a bi-weekly special on the radio show about heroes with disabilities. Asking his listeners to donate to research causes, heck, he’s raised millions of yen but still feels like he's not allowed to be disabled. Or at least, Mic, isn't allowed to be.
Too normal.
Too happy.
Too much, without being disabled, already.
The press had a field day when Hizashi had announced he was retiring from hero work. Speculating: why. Did he have a lover? A family? Pictures of him flooded the tabloids, some taken years ago, some more recent. Each trying to get to the bottom of his, apparently, sudden retirement, considering his age and, perceived, good health. The most invasive picture of him being him holding another person's hand. Shouta’s hand. Leaving the convenience store after a particularly rough patrol. Luckily, the paparazzi had failed to catch his husband's face in frame, but a, presumably unmarried, hero holding someone's hand was scandalous enough. Hundreds of letters, emails and the like flooded his inboxes, both at UA and at the radio station.
Hizashi was debating asking Shouta if it was time to tell their students that they were married. A controlled environment that could then slowly seep out into society. That Present Mic was not a bachelor. That he’s been happily married for years and wants to keep it that way. It terrified him that he could be accosted at any moment by the press when not protected by the walls of their apartment, UA or his husband. He felt more and more like a celebrity and it was horrible. Hizashi wished he could have retired silently. People would still ask why they hadn't seen him on patrol, but at least then he could lie.
“So-”, Shouta watched Hizashi almost jump out of his skin, “Are you alright? You’re not normally this jumpy and I'm worried.”
“It’s nothing, Shou’,” Hizashi spoke softly as he lifted a hand off the steering wheel, wafting it in the air.
“Was it the press? Did you get harassed on the way home from the station last nigh-”
“No. Shouta. Please, it’s nothing. Just drop it.”
Shouta fought the urge to huff as he turned his head to look out the window of the car. A small unease settling in his bones. Hizashi turned the car into the UA staff parking lot, driving into a parking space after deciding he did not currently have the capacity to reverse park, enjoying the disturbed silence after he turned off the engine. The rustle of their clothes as the men moved to get out of the car was an assault on Hizashi’s ears. The tie holding his hair in a temporary bun was pulling, exacerbating the dull throb that sat behind his right eye and brow. Each pump of his heart shook his skull.
The sun was so bright. Each, usually beautiful, ray of light bouncing off anything and everything and directly into Hizashi’s eyes. Even his incredibly awesome and totally cool sunglasses weren't doing their job right. Looking at the dark tarmac beneath his feet, a circle of iridescent squiggles dancing tauntingly. A very translucent vignette had formed in the corners of his vision.
It was Thursday. His half day. He just needed to make it to lunch. He just needed to teach three periods. He just had to make it through four and a half hours of teaching. He was praying none of his students dared to ask him about his retirement from hero work. A few of them knew he had diminishing hearing, mostly the more observant students and the ones that sat at the front of the class. None of them knew it had to do with his quirk though and Hizashi had made an effort to hide his choclear’s with his hair while at his places of work. Maybe he could ask Shouta to tell 2-A not to pester him and get on with their work. Quietly.
Hizashi jumped as his husband shut the boot of the car. Taking his outrageously colourful tope bag from him, putting an acceptable amount of ‘just bro’s being bro’s’ space between them as they approached the main entrance. Wishing he’d kissed his husband at one of the many long red lights or convinced him that they should just take the morning off and be with each other for a few sweet hours. Don’t get him wrong, Hizashi loved his jobs and his students, but he loved his husband a lot more.
With Hizashi being completely removed from the hero scene, he had way more time on his hands, a lot of which was spent in their apartment. Alone. With his thoughts. The neighbors had gotten sick of him practicing his instruments for literal hours on end with no breaks after just a week. He’d sit and wait, watching the door, when Shouta was out on patrol. It was terrifying. His husband was out fighting to protect other people and he was just sitting there waiting for him to come home. Since when had he become a housewife? Was this how his mothers felt when he was learning to become a hero at UA? When he came home with gashes and actively bleeding wounds? It’s a chilling thought. Traumatising even.
“Yo’, Eraser?” Hizashi slipped into his persona.
“What, Yamada?” Shouta’s mask pulled at the corners of his eyes, his response more blunt than usual.
“Could you ask 2-A not to pry…”
“About?”
“Y’know.” Hizashi gestured vaguely,
“I don't. That's why I'm asking.”
“Whitty as ever, Aizawa. About my retirement from hero work. I- I just can't deal with the questioning. Today.”
Shouta stopped walking, causing the other to still next to him, leaning closer to whisper, “Why won’t you tell me what's wrong?”
“Because I can handle it, myself.”
“Even so. I am your …,” Shouta mouths ‘husband’, before continuing, “We look after each other. Tell me what is wrong.”
“You’re ridiculous.” Hizashi pinches the bridge of his nose, the constant talking not doing much for the throb in his skull, “I’ve just got a really nasty headache. Okay?
The curly haired man’s left eye blinks rapidly as he thinks, “It’s a sound headache, isn't it?”
“Yes.”
Shouta guessed there was more to this than Hizashi was letting on, “I’ll tell them to leave you alone. If they don't behave, text me. If you need anything, text me. Okay?”
“In conclusion: text you.”
“Yes.” Shouta raised a pinkie finger to Hizashi, “Anything you need, tell me.”
Quickly locking their pinkies together, the touch fleeting, a small promise from both.
Hizashi clapped a hand onto Shouta's shoulder, “I'll see you at ho-, the apartment, later.” The blonde bounded up the few steps to the main entrance, posing ridiculously “Don't be too hard on ‘em, Eraser.”
“Sure, Mic.”
—
Hizashi's steps dragged as he hugged the wall, slowly approaching 2-A's homeroom, hissing as the shrill bell announced the new teaching period. The squeaking of chairs against linoleum floors and forceful opening of doors was unbearable. His vision was starting to blur at the edges within the ever growing vignette. The iridescent squiggles had increased in size too, creating their own dark splotch in his vision. He just had to finish this period and drive home. That was all he had to do. Just had to get through this and he'd be home free.
Bracing a hand against the wall just before the sliding door, Hizashi caught his breath, oddly winded. Looking up as the small wheels ground loudly, heavy boots falling, ever so slightly unevenly, as Shouta stuck his head out the door.
Shouta spoke quietly so they wouldn't be overheard. “I've spoken to them. If you- Mic? You're really pale. Are you sure you can teach right now?”
Hizashi swallowed uncomfortably, “I’m fine. I'll call you if I need you, okay?”
“Teach an easy class today, give them a worksheet, you hardly ever do that, and then go to our apartment immediately. I'll try to be back home as fast as I can after patrol.”
“Worksheets mean grading though.” Hizashi grimaced,
“I'll grade them.”
“Like hell you will, your English is shit.”
“What?”
“Exactly.” Hizashi regretted the light laugh that escaped him. “I’ll see you later.”
Hizashi felt a hand brush his shoulder as he slipped past his husband into the classroom, noting the dozens of pairs of eyes that tracked his movement. It was like he could hear every individual breath taken in that room. The ticking flicker of the lights. Hizashi took a breath before breaking the very obviously awkward silence.
“Alrighty people, are we ready to do some translation practice!? Get out your books and turn to pageeee” Hizashi held the word as he pulled the hefty ‘English 4’ textbook onto the teachers podium, checking the index, “fourteen. Try to get the chapter done in this period, or else it's homework. If you need help, come with your book to the front and I will help you. Do not suffer in silence.”
What a hypocrite he was. ‘Don't suffer in silence’ his flat ass. Hizashi had taken one of the stupid strong painkillers the audiologist had prescribed for when he did get a migraine but it was doing absolutely nothing. He'd taken it some two hours ago. It should be doing something. Right?
Hizashi picked up the heavy tome from the podium, wincing as it thudded onto the teacher's desk, sitting down before idly flicking through the first pages to the exercises he'd blindly given to his students. A few short sentences, Japanese to English, English to Japanese, warmups. Similar exercises that progressively got longer and harder. Hizashi tracked the words with his left index finger, trying to keep the words still for himself as he squinted against the bright light of the room.
The class period passed without much disruption, Hizashi only had to throw a few sharp glances at a small collection of students who were most certainly not talking about the work to silence them. A few of the regular worriers of the class came to get their work checked every couple exercises, needing the reassurance that they were doing well or occasionally to be re-taught something that they hadn't understood the first time around in previous lessons. They were good kids.
Hizashi quickly noted down where each student had gotten up to, dismissing the class five minutes early to go to lunch. Deflecting the handful of considerate questions about him being not quite right during the class. The relative silence of the class period had unnerved a couple of his students. Hizashi had promised them it was just a temporary thing, because ‘Even heroes have off days’, forgetting that he was, in all technicality, no longer a hero.
After gathering his things, Hizashi turned off the lights in the room, relishing in the dim lighting before turning into the hallway. Speed walking to the teachers lounge, arriving breathless and exhausted, he tossed his belongings into his bag pulling it onto his shoulder. Yelping as the landline phone on his desk rang out.
“Fucks sake, I want to go home.” Hizashi groaned to the empty room, throwing himself into the chair at his desk as he picked up the phone. “Hello? Yes, speaking… No, I don't believe we’ve met yet, parent teacher conferences are soon though… Would you mind clarifying if it's my teaching you have a problem with? …” flinching as the voice on the other end of the phone gets louder and their words more aggressive, squinting at the audacity, speaking through gritted teeth, “Sir, our phone lines are recorded, as you should be aware. Furthermore, UA does not tolerate abuse, of any kind, towards staff, I’m afraid I will have to hang up the phone. Have a good day.”
He pressed the ‘hang up’ button with a certain amount of contempt and distaste. Hizashi blinked hard a few times, a hand covering his mouth as he processed the hateful words that had been thrown at him.
“I haven't been called a slur in years.” Hizashi whispered, “Let alone by a grown adult. What the fuck?”
Hizashi carefully pulled off his sound processors for a moment of respite. The dull thud of his heart in his skull amplified ten fold what it was this morning. Resting his elbows on the desk, hands coming to cover his ears as he closed his eyes for a moment. The bell for lunch rang distantly. The thundering of trainers and boots alike in the corridor. A vague reprimand from either a member of staff, or fussy class president, not to run in the hallways. Hizashi startled slightly as there were a couple rasps of knuckles against his desk. The blonde quickly put his processors back on, the onslaught of sound that hit him made him want to cry, looking up to see who had asked for his attention. It was Shouta, concern had pulled his mouth into a line, eye frantically searching the other's face for what might be wrong.
“Why haven't you gone home yet? Are you not able to drive?” Shouta asked.
“I’ll be able to drive. But, uhm- Shinso’s foster father called just as I was about to leave.”
“Oh?” Shouta slumped into his own desk chair, noting the irritation in his husband's voice, his left hand grabbing Hizashi’s right to hold it inconspicuously under their desks, “What about?”
“To make a complaint…”
“But, Shinso’s grades are good in English, aren't they?”
“They are.” Hizashi turned his head to give Shouta a serious look, “He was complaining about me.”
“Why?” Shouta tilted his head, a perplexed expression filtering onto his face, “You are literally one of the best English teachers in the region. You’re fluent in over two languages and teach them press skills as well. You’re perfect for this job.”
Hizashi bit his lip slightly, shaking his head, “That’s not what the problem was.”
“Can you be slightly less cryptic, I don’t understand what's happened.”
“Shinso’s foster father. He- He called me ‘an effeminate fag, who’s a disgrace to Japanese society and the human race.’” Hizashi refused to look at Shouta.
“I’m sorry. He said what?”
“Shouta, I’m fine, just slightly shaken.”
“That doesn't make it okay. You hung up right? We can get Nezu to access the recording.”
“I appreciate the sentiment but I'm more worried about Shinso’s well-being in that house. You've seen the inexplicable injuries that definitely don't come from training. We need to get him out of there.”
Shouta paused, “We?”
“I mean, UA. For now at least. They’ve got the documents to be able to legally foster by having him in the dorms. Ya’ know, like they do for Eri?”
“For now at least? You want kids?”
“Jesus Shouta, you make it sound like it's illegal to want kids. But yes, I do. It's just not a conversation for today.”
“That came out harsher than intended, sorry, I’m still angry for you about what he said. But I agree about Shinso, I worry about him.”
“It’s okay.” Hizashi squeezed Shouta’s hand for emphasis, sighing briefly, “I’m gonna go home now. I’m tired beyond belief.”
“Messag-”
“I will message you if I need anything. Don't worry about me.”
“But that’s literally, like, my one job.” Shouta wiggled his ringless left hand at Hizashi, “Even if it doesn't look like it.”
Hizashi’s vision spun slightly as he stood, trying to orient himself by putting a hand on the back of his chair. He flipped off his lover with both hands as he mouthed ‘I love you’, slowly backing away just so he could watch Shouta roll his eye with a fond smile on his face. A hand reaching into his bag to fish for the car keys while he trudged his way through the groups of students heading for the cafeteria. His keychains jingled obnoxiously as Hizashi descended the front steps, each small downward step shaking his vision dramatically, practically gasping for air as he unlocked the car.
He would’ve liked to have washed the product out of his hair, purely so the drive home wasn't awkward, but he was craving the quietude and familiarity of their few walls. Of their home. The midday sun was doing nothing for the pounding in his skull. Each traffic light was a fuzzy ball of colour even though he had his contacts in. He wished he’d taken off his leather jacket before he got into the car, the non-breathable textile doing nothing but trapping a heat sweltering beneath his skin, having switched off the aircon completely due to its irritating stutter.
Hizashi shied away from the sound of his own fingers unconsciously drumming on the steering wheel. This was hell on earth, he was sure of it. Each set of lights was determined to slow him down, amber to red, wait for two minutes, miss the green light because no-one knows how to press the accelerator pedal. Wait for another two minutes, stop at the next set of lights, question life choices, drive. Just another few turns and he’d wave to the security guard of their apartment complex in thanks. He just had to get home.
After pulling into their allotted parking space, Hizashi sighed dramatically as he turned off the car’s engine, picking up his bag from the passenger seat footwell. He carelessly slammed the door shut, cursing as he made himself jump, cringing at the few flashes of the car's taillights even though it was the middle of the day. Tapping his keycard against the complex's electromagnetic lock, rejoicing at the cold gust of air that hit him as he pushed the door open, shielding his eyes from the sterile white lights in the corridor. He leant against the front door of their apartment, trying to find the key as the low opacity spot in his vision worsened, his own breath, shuddering, loud in his ears.
Jamming the key into the lock with shaking hands. When did he start shaking? He was practically tripping over his own feet as he hastily rid himself of his work boots. Bag slipping off his shoulder with a definitive thunk as his knees decided to give out on him. Hizashi could not have been happier to no longer have to wear his directional speaker to work. All its latches and hooks would have been a pain as his fingers began to no longer comply to his will. He crawled towards the kitchen, bumping into furniture he swore was in a different place, his perception was completely off. He opened the fridge, a hand swiping at a water bottle that didn't exist, was he seeing double? Could that happen? Picking up the cold bottle of water that he was sure was actually there and an electrolyte sachet, leaning his back against the marble of the kitchen island.
He twisted the cap off the bottle, Hizashi tore into the sachet, powder going all over his thighs as he did. He didn't even have the energy to curse anymore. The remaining morsel in the sachet was, more carefully, dumped into the bottle. The cap went back on before he shook the bottle aggressively. He needed this to work. He wouldn't survive if he had to live another six hours like this. Alone and in pain. He knocked back the entire bottle, coughing slightly as he tried to breathe around the water, the vignette in his vision flickering darker with each cough.
The now empty plastic bottle fell over as Hizashi’s shaking hands failed to place it down properly. Hands jumping to cover his ears. A brief moment of clarity allowed him to remember he could now take off his sound processors. He had never thought that having diminished hearing would be pure ecstasy. The apartment was silent aside from the everpresent whistling in his ears. Collapsing further against the counter as he cradled the delicate medical equipment in his hands. The sudden intake of fluid allowed nausea to creep into his chest, not aided by the smell of the bin that sat only a couple steps away from him.
Hoisting himself onto his feet, leaning most of his weight against the kitchen island, dozens of white stars littering his vision at the change in altitude. Hizashi felt around in a drawer for a clean tea towel, stumbling towards the fridge once again to grab an ice pack from the freezer, clumsily wrapping the frosted block in the cloth. Pressing it to his forehead. Not cold enough. Frostbite or migraine. Which was worse? Migraine. Tossing the cloth to the floor without much thought.
Hizashi cradled his choclears close to his chest as he leant against whatever he could as he made his way to the bedroom. Tucking the ice pack under his arm so he could open the door. His hand completely missed the door handle. A frustrated sound leaving him. Placing a hand against the door to feel the familiar grooves as he found the handle, wincing at the squeak of the hinges, regrettably snapping his head away from the bright sunlight filtering in through their windows. He lost his balance, feeling his legs fall away from under him, head banging against the door frame in an attempt to save himself as his hands were otherwise occupied.
His body was giving up on him. It had had enough.
After rubbing the back of his head, checking his fingers for blood, a small amount of relief as there was none, Hizashi shuffled on his knees towards the window. Eyes squinting behind his shades. Why was the sun so damn bright? He pulled the curtains over, glaring unhappily at the small crack of light that escaped into the room. Half heartedly throwing his torso onto the bed, legs still very much on the floor, Hizashi placed his sound processors into their charging bay. Taking off his shades and taking out his contact lenses, the fuzz of his vision was comforting despite his inability to see.
Laying the ice block onto the duvet, placing his forehead against it as he gracelessly fumbled with the buttons and zips of his leather jacket. The leather refused to budge as he tried to shrug it off his shoulders and arms. He winced as he took his head off the freezing relief of the ice pack, his shaking hands attempting to unstick himself from the leather. The peel of the leather from his skin was sickening. A knot twisted itself into his throat as shudders wracked his body. The leather of his pants was similar. Hizashi cursed himself for wearing the more form fitting of his pants today. He writhed on the floor as he tried to wrangle the material off his legs.
The pounding in his head was relentless. Each labored breath excruciatingly loud. Hizashi was gasping for breath as he pulled his ankles free, hands struggling to grab ahold of the socks that still covered his feet, a number of curses directed at no-one in particular. The tubes of fabric tossed into the darkened abyss of the room. Hizashi hauled himself onto the bed, wishing he’d not bothered to do his hair this morning. His hair was epic, but currently, it was not ideal.
His hand searched for the ice pack he knew was at the edge of the bed. Groaning as he realised it had fallen off the bed and was currently soaking the carpet with condensation. Picking the block off the floor, Hizashi held it to his head, trying to configure his limbs into a position that was vaguely comfortable. Fatigue pulled at the corners of his eyes. A weak attempt was made at trying to move as Hizashi realised he’d left his phone in his bag. His limbs were as heavy as lead, any slight movement of his head had his vision spinning. Hizashi slowly succumbed to a painful sleep. The muted ticking of the clock on his nightstand was a painful reminder of how slowly time passed. Hizashi passed in and out of consciousness. He was hungry, but food sounded like a death sentence. He was desperate for fluid even though he was sure a singular drop would drown him.
Above all else, he wanted his husband.
Hizashi startled awake, not entirely sure why, a slither of the early night from the crack in the curtains. Shouta would be home soon. Surely? Right? Hizashi’s stomach churned. He was going to be sick. Hizashi scrambled off the bed, a hand coming to cover his mouth as the back of his throat ached with that familiar feeling of nausea. Accidently slamming himself against the shut bathroom door. The whiplash from standing so suddenly finally hit him as he lost his balance, free hand fumbling at the door handle as he burst into the bathroom, collapsing onto the cold marble tile.
The apartment was eerily quiet as Shouta pulled off his work boots. He noted the chaotic, deserted, look of his husband's belongings in the entryway. He sent a text to his blonde, frowning as the others phone chimed in the abandoned bag. Finding said phone, Shouta hung up his capture scarf alongside his utility belt, moving to flick on a dim light in the kitchen. His attention was drawn downwards as he kicked an empty bottle on the floor. Picking up the empty bottle and the tea towel that was sitting next to it, Shouta slowly put together the pieces of information.
Sticking his head into the bedroom, noting the lack of a husband on the bed but the rumpled mess of the duvet that showed he had definitely been there. The room was completely dark aside from the small slither of moonlight. Shouta froze as he heard a weak retch from the bathroom. Shit. Entering their room properly, Shouta made his way to their bathroom, his eye adjusting just enough for him to see the shivering form of his lover.
“‘Zashi?” Shouta asked softly.
Hizashi’s head snapped to the sound of his husband's voice before turning back to the toilet bowl. A few feeble heaves that did nothing but tire him.
“You’re okay. I'm here now.” Shouta sat down on the floor of the bathroom, carefully stroking the freckled expanse of Hizashi’s back. “My poor thing. I'm so sorry.”
Hizashi had started crying. His weeping was only interrupted by his own uneven breaths and hiccups that shook his body. Pulling himself away from the toilet bowl to lie down sideways, head on his husband's lap, a clipped chuckle as Shouta’s fingers attempted to cart through his gelled hair. Shouta leant backwards to pull open one of the bathroom cupboards doors, a clean towel and Hizashi's new bottles of hair oil just in reach.
“Mucky lil’ boy.” Shouta talked aloud to himself as he wiped his husband's face clean. Profusely apologising as Hizashi gave him an unimpressed look out of the corner of his eye. “Do you think you're up for a bath? Cold water? Do you want help washing your hair?”
Hizashi blinked slowly at his husband, speech slightly slurred, “Sssso many wordsss.”
Shouta carefully turned Hizashi onto his back, leaning forward so the blonde had some chance at being able to see him in the near dark. “Bath?”
A minute nod.
“Nap while I do the oil?”
Hizashi blinked a few times before allowing his eyes to fall completely shut. Shouta placed the towel under Hizashi’s head, over the fabric of his work clothes, making sure the soiled corners were far from his husband's face. Rummaging in his pocket, Shouta pulled out his phone, turning on the flashlight away from the man resting on his lap, laying it down on the bathroom floor. Enough light to see what he was doing but not too much that it hurt the other’s eyes.
The spray bottle they kept for misting hair was empty, the sink was out of reach and Shouta didn't think it was a good idea to try and move his, now settled, lover. So oil on dry hair was going to have to do. He opened the lid of the bottle, squeezing the oil onto his palm, placing the bottle down before spreading the thin liquid between his fingers. Hizashi had taught him how to take down his ‘canary hair’, as Shouta affectionately called it, with the most amount of comfort and the least amount of damage. Carefully coating the point of Hizashi’s do with the oil, the dark haired man carefully started massaging the strands in his palm. Golden threads began to fan out from their sharp point.
Shouta had to reapply oil to his hands every so often as he worked his way towards his lover’s scalp. It was incredulous how Hizashi had mastered this process and could get his hair out of its ridiculous style and washed in under twenty minutes. Though, Shouta will admit, he loves touching his husband's hair. He adores the time he gets to take brushing it, braiding it, cleaning it. Learning each hue and shade. How its colours glimmer under different types of light, bright bronzes and warm golds, just a few to name.
Having successfully broken down most of the product in Hizashi’s hair, Shouta carefully starts to rub at his scalp, lightening his touch as the blonde begins to stir in his lap. Cold fingers grabbed his wrist, not moving him away but holding him still. A bleary green eye looking up at him from his lap. The hand gave two quick squeezes to his wrist before releasing, silently asking for Shouta to remove his fingers from his hair, lingering nearby while he waited for the curly haired man to comply. Shouta wiped his hands clean on the edge of the towel. Sitting in the comfortable silence as he deliberated how to go about getting Hizashi into the bathtub with the least amount of movement and air time.
“‘Zashi?” Shouta spoke quietly, “Can I sit you up?”
“‘eah” Hizashi’s voice was rough from the acid that had bit into his throat.
“Can I touch the back of your head?”
An affirmative, “Mhh.”
Shouta snuck a hand under the back of Hizashi’s head, supporting his neck as he delicately lifted the blonde's upper body to lean against his own and the smooth surface of the cabinet. The curly head rubbed at his residual limb, trying to inconspicuously bring it back to life as it had fallen asleep under the weight of his husband's body, the carbon fiber socket of his prosthetic not doing much to help his cause. Getting up off the cold bathroom floor, Shouta shut the lid of the toilet after flushing it, noting to clean it properly later.
After making sure that the bathtub plug was actually secure, Shouta turned on the tap, running a hand under the water to test the temperature. It was cold. Colder than Shouta would ever even dare to shower in, but exactly what Hizashi needed. Walking back over to Hizashi, Shouta crouched in front of him, tentatively placing a hand on the other’s knee for balance, trying not to startle or overwhelm him.
“Songbird? Are you able to lift your hips for me?” Shouta tucked a finger into the waistband of Hizashi’s boxers.
“Nhg~” Hizashi pressed his feet into the ground, a hand coming to help his husband take off his underwear.
“Horny bastard.” Shouta shook his head affectionately.
Waiting for the blonde to settle against the side of the cupboard, Shouta pulled the fabric down toned legs, calloused fingers smoothing down raised hairs. Tossing the boxers in the general direction of the washbasket, Shouta hooks Hizashi’s arms around his neck, slowly picking him up from the floor. He took careful steps, trying not to jostle his precious cargo who was staring at him with affection despite his emotionless expression. Lowering his lover’s legs into the water of the bath first, he felt the man bristle from the cold, goosebumps jumping up his body as he was placed into the water.
Hizashi cupped his hands in the water, bringing it up to his face as the curly head turned off the faucet, the bathroom sinking into a comfortable quiet. The ends of his hair floated on top of the water, sticking to his waist. The urge to submerge the rest of his body in the water was ever so enticing. To know he had someone watching over him, who would pull him out if they thought he’d been under too long.
Whoever has witnessed this wrestling, struggling and sorrowful existence could not but feel sympathy for the man who demanded so much of himself. Would people laugh if they knew how Hizashi has struggled? Is it still struggling? But, he’s too young to be disabled. They’d think: it’s such a shame that he’s disabled, he has so much of his life left to live. Would he be an ‘inspiration’? He doesn't deserve that title. Who has he inspired by hiding himself?
No-one.
No-one could possibly know that Hizashi is disabled. He hides a condition that is already invisible. He has an entire persona that hides his mental health issues. The anxiety. The depression. The trauma. The mocktail of prescriptions he takes just to remotely function. Hizashi has always had doubts about labeling himself as hard of hearing, even though he got magnets implanted into his skull so he could have a chance at hearing better. He still can't hear even half as well as he could when he was a teenager, and yet, he still believes he’s not disabled enough.
“Shou’?” Hizashi speaks, not bothering to try and control his volume.
“I’m still here.” Shouta moves into Hizashi’s field of vision. Taking a hold of one of Hizashi’s hands beneath the surface of the water.
“Will you pull me out if I go under?”
“Always.”
“Th- thank you.”
Hizashi continues to hold Shouta’s hand as he eases his upper body into the water. He looked to his blurry husband, waiting for him to nod his head, to tell him he was safe.
“I’ve got you.” Shouta squeezed his hand firmly once. “If it'll do you good, you should do it, I won't leave your side.”
Shouta watched his lover take a breath before submerging his head into the water. Golden strands dragged underwater with the movement. A few stray bubbles floating to the surface. Hizashi looked like a renaissance painting. Beautifully tragic. Like a drowning Narcissus who had accepted he could never be with his true love. His expression is soft. A hand against his ear. Hair splayed behind his skull in a dark bramble halo. Just as fascinating as a preserved butterfly in a showcase box. Killed in its prime and pinned in place to be scrutinised.
Hizashi had been behaving differently since he retired from hero work. Shouta knew what the press said about him. They weren't kind and loved to pry. Always hunting for the next interesting piece of gossip. Shouta noticed how the blonde hid his sound processors. How he'd become less vocal about how he was doing. How his soul warming smile was infrequent and fleeting. It was as though the sensation of happiness was a faintly glittering gold, sunken and trapped, at the bottom of a river of inadequacy.
About a minute had passed. Shouta gave a long squeeze to the other’s hand. A question. He watched Hizashi’s eyes move underneath his eyelids through the water that smoothed his husband's features. A firm short squeeze followed by a stream of bubbles from beneath the water. Plunging his arms into the water, Shouta pulled Hizashi's head and shoulders, watching droplets glide off his skin. He tucked wet hair behind ears. Carefully wiping eyelashes dry before they fluttered open. Shouta's breath catching as Hizashi looked at him, eyes clear from the cloud of pain that had misted over them.
“I know this isn't the right time. But you're the most beautiful man to ever exist, songbird.” Shouta admitted.
Hizashi squinted at him, trying to get his eyes to focus enough to see his husband's lips move in the dark, "I can't hear or see for shit right now. There's water in my ears. Hang on.”
Shouta gave a huff of amusement as he watched his lover try to shake the water out of his ears. Smiling fondly at the look of intense focus that would normally be reserved for doing their taxes.
“Okay, yeah, I can hear slightly more now. Come closer so I can see you?” Hizashi asked,
Shouta moved closer, “You, my love, are the most gorgeous human to walk the earth.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes, really, you know I can’t lie to you.” Shouta placed a small kiss to the other's damp cheekbone, “You seem more talkative now. Are you feeling a bit better?”
“Yeah, a little. I just wish I could have a break from my brain.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Shouta took hold of both of Hizashi’s hands, carefully pulling his rings off his fingers so he could stack them back onto his left hand.
“Its stupid though,”
“If something's bothering you, it's not stupid.”
“Yo-, I-, I don't feel broken enough to warrant the label of disability." Hizashi looked at the wall of the shower, not wanting to meet his husband's eye.
The silence was so loud. Each breath Shouta took as he tried to find the right words to speak was excruciating.
“Do you want me to listen first?”
“I mean, yeah? Since all the retiring from hero work stuff happened, it's just been so hard. The speculations particularly. And, it's just aggravating that no-one has thought that it might be because of a medical condition. You'd think they'd have figured out that the guy who's so vocal about representation and awareness is one of the people he’s advocating for.”
“Do you feel ashamed because of your choclears?”
Hizashi nodded.
“And like your diminished hearing shouldn't impact you as much as it has?”
Another nod.
“I hate to be the one to tell you this, but from one disabled human to another, you are disabled, my love.” Shouta paused, watching Hizashi’s head tilt to the side, something he does when he’s trying not to cry, “There is no one way to be disabled. No correct way to be disabled. And, being disabled does not equal being broken.”
“I hate that you’re right.” Hizashi’s voice quivered slightly, “It’s just so unfair. If I were any other person in the world, the press wouldn't care, I'd just be some other dude with issues. I- just, I feel less and less human every passing day.”
“You felt human to begin with?”
Hizashi turned to look at his husband, tear lined eyes squinted, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Expand.”
“I’ve never felt like a human. I'm more like an eldritch horror or a macabre creature from a haunted fairytale.” Shouta released Hizashi’s hands, shaking his own hands around like a zombie from a low budget film, “People are scared of me, don’t like me, because I'm peculiar. Non-human.”
“I like you.” Hizashi pouted,
“You’re an anomaly… Enlighten me, why do you feel less human?”
“I know compared to yo-”
“Don’t compare yourself to me, despite being in the same ocean, we are sinking in different patchwork boats.”
Hizashi took a breath, “I’ve got wires in my fucking head, don’t I? That can’t even fix my hearing completely and give me skull splitting migraines, possibly, for the rest of my life. I’m basically redundant at this point.” Exasperatedly throwing his arms in the air, landing back in the water with a splash.
“But the wires in your head help you keep your autonomy, right?”
“Yes…”
“So then, that means they keep you human. They don’t make you non-human.” Shouta wiped a tear that fell from Hizashi’s left eye, “and also, Hizashi, you are not redundant. We just take up space the world isn't ready to give us at the moment. You are the most amazing person to have ever graced my life and I wouldn't have you any other way.”
“Typical of the world, isn't it?” Hizashi muttered as he rolled his eyes, “I love you too, my prince in this haunted tale.” Pulling Shouta over the edge of the bathtub to place a kiss on his lips.
“As much as I'd love to precariously make out over the edge of the tub, we should probably wash the product out of your hair.”
“Kiss me into senselessness later?”
“If that’s what you’d like.”
“I’m gonna’ hold you to that.” Hizashi grins as he brushes a thumb over Shouta's lips.
“I’d expect nothing less.”
Shouta leans further over the tub to grab Hizashi's hair products. Taking his time to work the shampoo and conditioner through his hair. Slowly pulling the comb through hanks of hair. Stopping at each knot to meticulously them without causing pain. The warming scent of citrus and ginger floating daintily in the air as Shouta swept lathered hands over his lover's freckled shoulders and back. Admiring the subtle muscles in his arms. Laughter rang though the dimly lit room as Hizashi yelped at a touch to his waist. Shouta wasn't even trying to tickle him, yet he was still being told off for ‘attempting murder’.
Fetching a set of clean towels, Shouta wrapped his husband's hair up, extending a hand to him as he stood in the draining bathtub. Long legs carefully stepping over the lip of the tub and onto the plush bathmat. Hizashi laughed as Shouta made a display of drying his legs and feet, down on his knees in front of him like he was a deity, trying not to pull away as the soft material of the towel tickled the sole of his foot. The coarse feeling of his lover’s stubble against his hip as a kiss was placed on it. Soothing.
Hizashi towel dried his hair as he walked into their bedroom. Shouta turned on the bedside lamp, placing his phone onto the nightstand, taking out his prosthetic eye and changing out of his work clothes before disappearing into the kitchen with an armful of laundry. The warm light is slightly more bearable than it would have been a few hours ago. Hizashi quickly pulled his hair into a loose braid. He couldn't stand the idea of using the hair dryer, the warm air and whirring motor, a recipe for disaster.
In the kitchen, Shouta minded the stove, two tins of emergency tomato soup warming in the pan. The toastie machine that Hizashi’s mothers had gifted to their son before university worked away quietly with only an occasional sizzle. The sound of feet against tile alerted him to his husband, who was failing to sneak up on him, faking a small jump as Hizashi’s chest pressed into his back and arms slithered around his waist, holding him captive at the stove. The blonde’s chin was placed over his shoulder, his neck quickly attacked with a myriad of kisses.
“You would make a very good trophy wife,” Hizashi’s voice was smokey, his hands coming to rest on the other’s ribs, “so beautiful on your knees for me,” feeling Shouta’s breath stutter before a deep inhale.
“Why’s that? Because I am obviously more attractive than you and leech off your success like a parasite?” Shouta said with exaggerated sarcasm,
Hizashi laughed, “The first half is definitely true. You’re gorgeous, starling.”
“Every married person has to say that to their lover. It's like the law or something.”
“Then I guess I'm a wanted criminal if you don't believe it to be true. I gotta start sayin’ it more.”
Shouta regretted glancing over his shoulder, “Stop doing that face, that’s your plotting face.”
“What face, what plot?” Hizashi blinked innocently at him before looking at him through heavy eyelids, “But just picture this: you, trapped beneath me, flustered beyond thought from praise and compliments that you’re forced to accept.”
Shouta turned his head to look at Hizashi properly, his eye wide with mild terror, blinking hard as he tried to determine the seriousness of his husband’s threat. “You’re not serious, right?”
“I am entirely serious, my love.”
Shouta pretended to dial a telephone, holding his thumb to his ear, pinkie near his mouth, “Hello? Police? There is a vicious torturer in my house.”
A beat of silence passes before both of them dissolve into a fit of giggles. Hizashi’s fingers scratching his scalp had Shouta nearly melting. Frantic cursing as the smell of burning bread finally reached them. A dead glare from the curly haired man as he looked between the burnt cheese toastie and his husband was met with another bout of laughter. The positively black grilled, burnt, cheese, was placed onto a plate, as a hopefully, soon to be, not so burnt cheese, was placed into the toastie machine. Shouta stirred the pan of soup, watching the growing bubbles at the edge of the pan.
Hizashi watched his husband pull a couple bowls out of cupboards, his hands rifling through the cutlery drawer before pouring the soup into the bowls. Curls of steam floating from the soup's surface as a bowl was placed in front of Hizashi. A golden brown grilled cheese cut into quarters was slid next to him as Shouta sat down next to him at the kitchen island. Hizashi went to grab a quarter of the toastie, only to have his hand batted away.
At Hizashi’s noise of outrage, Shouta stated plainly, “Wait two minutes, it's not going anywhere. You'll burn your tongue otherwise.” Biting into the charred bread of his own toastie before offering it to his husband as a temporary replacement.
“You enjoy your carbon.” Hizashi pushed the burnt abomination away from him with a finger. “I'm good.”
Blowing on a spoonful of, way too vibrant of a red to be natural, soup. Hizashi hummed as the familiar taste of his Ma’s favorite ‘one of my children is sick and I need to feed them something easy’ tinned soup coated his tastebuds. Comfort food. The blonde had always adored the simplicity and perfectness of a good grilled cheese. Bread and cheese in most forms was good, but cheese toasties were different. Hizashi found great pleasure in drowning the golden bread profusely before attempting to get it into his mouth without dripping soup onto the countertop. A skill he perfected in his youth.
Shouta watched his husband from the corner of his eye, happy that he was eating, hopefully no longer nauseous. His energy levels were definitely better than they had been, more talkative than this morning. Definitely back up to his usual level of suggestiveness as well. The ebony haired man just hoped that it would last. That the sound headaches would dwindle to nothing and eventually cease to exist. His ray of pure light didn't need another reason to dim. Not now. Not ever. God knows how many times the world had tried to snuff him out, only for him to come back stronger and more determined to live.
After they'd finished eating, Shouta sent his husband to go brush his teeth and get into bed so he could be smothered with affection. The curly haired man stacked the dishes into a bowl of clean water so they wouldn't be a pain to clean tomorrow. He filled up their water bottles before turning off the soft light above the stovetop, plunging the living space into darkness. Briefly stopping by the entryway, Shouta dug in Hizashi's bag for his medication, hazarding a guess that it had been enough time for him to have another dose.
Entering their bedroom, Hizashi was sitting against the headboard, hair still slightly damp as he gathered it into his bonnet. Shouta waited for the blonde to sit up, watching him tie the silk ribbons around his forehead before sliding his glasses on to see Shouta hit a shuffle and a couple tap pull backs with his left leg in the doorway, mimicking the sound of taps striking the floor with the click of his tongue. Crossing his legs to do a slow turn around, Shouta shook the water bottles in an attempt at jazz hands. Random jazz hands were a habit he'd picked up at social dancing, where he'd first met Hizashi outside of UA in their youth, surprisingly enough.
Shouta smiled contently as his husband sat smitten in their bed. He carefully placed Hizashi's water bottle and medicine on the other's nightstand, listening to the crackle of medicine blister foil as Shouta placed his own bottle down. Nipping into the bathroom to speed run brushing his teeth yet again before taking off the lounge shirt and pants he had on. The blonde had folded back the duvet cover, his pillow already led down, his weighted cat plush sat draped over the headboard, watching over them like their guardian angel.
Shouta sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the pin from his prosthetic, placing it on charge next to his bedside table. A quiet clatter of glasses being placed onto a nightstand behind him. He slowly peeled off the lining and waterproof layers, hands massaging the tender scared skin of his residual limb, checking it over for any blisters. Satisfied with his inspection, Shouta turned off the warm lamp, plunging the room into darkness. Swinging his leg onto the bed, sliding underneath the soft cotton sheet and duvet, allowing a small sigh to fall from his lips as the weight of the day finally hit him.
Hizashi shuffled over to Shouta, “I believe I was promised to be kissed senseless.” He whispered, unable to gauge how quiet his voice actually was without his sound processors on.
“Let me just check your recovery plan.” Shouta looks at his palm in the soft moonlight filtering in through the small crack in the curtains, “So you are.”
Hizashi settled onto his back, head in between his and Shouta’s pillows, feeling the mattress shift as his husband draped himself over his chest. Calloused hands tenderly held his face as Shouta looked down at him. The stupid small smile on his face came into clarity as Shouta lent down to kiss at his cheekbone. His lover's facial hair lightly scratched his face as he worked his way towards his lips before moving over to the other side of his face to do the same. A thumb coming to gently brush the shell of his right ear, Hizashi shivered as a kiss was placed just below his ear and above his jaw. His husband hummed contently at his reaction.
Shouta covered every centimeter of the blonde's forehead in kisses before resting his own forehead against the other's. Listening to Hizashi’s breathing before turning his head to finally place a kiss to his lips. Hizashi had never felt so warm, his soul was singing at the affection it was given, shining brightly as he felt his lover's lips move against his mouth in what could have only been words of love.
Shouta moved his lips slowly against Hizashi’s as he began to reciprocate the delicate kiss. The blonde's breath stuttered as the curly haired man pulled Hizashi’s bottom lip into his mouth, biting it lightly, brushing a warm tongue over it.
Hizashi put a hand between he and Shouta's mouths, “Stop teasing me, I'll get horny. I don't have the energy to be horny right now.” A newly lit flicker of intensity in his eyes as he looked at his lover.
“Okay, noted.” Shouta traced patterns onto the other's chest, feeling the dips above his collar bones. “I'm obviously not doing a good enough job if you're still forming coherent sentences though.”
“That’s also true.”
“Can I keep kissing you?”
“Yeah.”
Hizashi threaded his hands into his husband's hair, lifting his upper back and head off the bed to slowly roll them over. One of Shouta's hands was pressed against his chest, still idly tracing invisible patterns onto his skin, his other wrapped around Hizashi’s bare waist.
Hizashi loved these moments. The quiet nights after troublesome days. When they'd shower each other with affection to end the day on a sweet note. Dripping with endearment. He knows Shouta adores this quiet intimacy too. Kissing being up there on his list of favourite forms of physical affection. Only beaten by Hizashi lying on top of him. Both of which were, luckily, possible at the same time.
Shouta hummed blissfully as Hizashi kissed the bridge of his nose, the blondes hands coming to hold his ribcage, feeling his every breath. Cold fingers finding the grooves of silvered stretch marks, adoring them just as he did the same as any other scar on his lover's body. Hizashi rested his head against Shouta’s chest, an arm coming to hold his shoulder, pulling him as close as possible. Listening to the muted thud of Shouta’s heart through the layers of muscle and tissue.
“What's the verdict?” Shouta asked, the vibration of his voice rumbling against Hizashi's skin.
“You were somewhat successful,” Hizashi joked,
“Maybe if you weren't so horny all the time I'd truly be able to kiss you senseless without turning you on.”
Hizashi gave an offended gasp, “It would be a crime to not get turned on by you, my gorgeous husband.”
“You really were serious about that threat then?”
“But only if you want me too. I don't want you to be uncomfortable, ever, by anything I do.” Hizashi said somberly,
“I’ll let you know when and if I feel up to it.” Shouta said, “Now, are you comfortable there? Can we sleep?”
Hizashi moved his left hand from Shouta's ribs to his pec, looking up to meet his gaze, gently squeezing the muscle, “These will forever be my favourite pillows.”
Hizashi watched Shouta flush in the dim lighting of the room. Feeling the heat radiate from the skin of his chest into the pads of his fingers.
“Also,” Shouta's tone apologetic, “I'm sorry if I made it seem like I didn't want to foster or adopt earlier. It just caught me off guard. I'd love to build a family with you.”
“Oh, my sweet,” Hizashi took one of Shouta’s hands, kissing the palm and each of his fingers, “I’d love that too.”
Shouta brought their clasped hands up to his own face, kissing the back of Hizashi’s hand tenderly. “Okay, that's enough serious talk for the night. Sleep time please. I'm tired.”
“Same. Goodnight, starling.”
“Dream of dancing sugar plums, songbird.”
Hizashi nuzzled his face further against Shouta's chest, enjoying the weight of the arm around his shoulders and the way their fingers were intertwined. The horrendous pulsing in his head had finally dwindled down. Happy to listen to the heartbeat of another rather than his own. Sad at the momentary loss of Shouta’s hand as he pulled the weighted cat, Kitty, from her perch. Hizashi left his hand waiting as his lover situated Kitty underneath his arm and against the right side of his chest, carefully re-tangling their fingers together. Shouta took deep breaths, occasionally tensing muscles before releasing them, slowly sinking into the mattress beneath them. Managing to stay awake long enough to hear Hizashi snore, carefully shutting the open mouth that threatened to drool on him, managing not to giggle at the adorable sight in front of him before drifting off into his own satisfying slumber.