Work Text:
YOU HAVE: ONE NEW MESSAGE
Hey listener! ... Gotcha, didn't I? Sorry about that! You've reached PRESENT MIC's personal line!
Sorry I can't come to the phone right now, but I promise I'll answer in a jiffy, 'kay? Please leave a message after the dial tone!
...Or, beep? I don't know, haaha! Just leave a message!"
"...Hey, Hizashi. This is Shouta. It's been a while since we've talked."
A while was an understatement. Roughly three months had passed since then.
Throat bobbing, he clears it, a loud sputter that nearly has him wheezing into his arm before he bangs on his chest. It takes him a few moments to relieve the breath in his lungs, hand grappling for the arm of his couch.
A sigh. "I-- when you get this, you'll probably be pissed at me for wasting air time." He thinks on it for a hot second before chuckling, a soft sound. "Well, maybe not. You always did try to get me 'out of my shell' a lot. It's annoying. I'm not surprised you did, though. Talking has always been your thing, not mine. I'd rather leave that department up to you. You..."
Fumbling, he pauses, for effect, curling his index and middle finger to mime air quotes. Then hesitates, before imitating how Hizashi would normally strum his electric guitar after work. "...Rock, that."
It sounds ungainly in his mouth.
Shouta swallows. "Better than I ever would be able to. Take, for example, your show. How do you come up with all these ideas on that show of yours?"
Put Your Hands Up radio had flourished since Hizashi's debut into the hero scene -- for obvious reasons, since he'd founded it, but it'd blossomed with Hizashi from the moment it'd been born into existence, as if he had a green thumb. No surprises there.
Lately, it'd been losing some traction since Hizashi had taken a temporary leave.
"You take these crazy, half-brained things that your fans spout and spin them into something comprehensible. It's a miracle you haven't lost your mind, really."
Articulating his feeling on the subject is elementary; it's true. He's always been baffled by the type of content the listeners of the show send in sometimes. There had only been one incident where he'd had to go off air due to one such thing, and that had simply been for Hizashi to square away his concerns about a quirkless kid who'd called in.
That type wasn't nonsense, but, still. Shouta has no clue how he does it so easily.
Holding back onto the arm of the couch, he sinks back, letting the cushions swallow his back. These were the decorative pillows he'd been hoodwinked by Hizashi into buying; to 'spice up' his 'minimalist mojo'. Whatever any of those words meant. Shouta had just gone along with it because Hizashi had eventually found it nice to collapse on sometimes. He's never been opposed to Hizashi crashing on his couch.
The phone is held back to his ear. "Or maybe you already have. Maybe that's why you talk so much."
A clatter can be heard as Bast swings back over to her cat tower, the toy she'd been messing with discarded as her interest is quickly piqued in the fish treat Shouta had left at the top. Thump.
His eyes shoot over to her.
"What do you think, Bastard?" he asks, flatly. "Do you think the pretty, blond man who comes over sometimes talks too much? Yeah?"
A curt mew greets the air, eyes devolving into slits as she tilts her head at him questioningly, before meowing, again.
He nods. "We're in agreement, then."
Turning his attention back to his phone, a short huff leaves him. "Hear that? Even the cat you originally found thinks you're too talkative."
Imagining Hizashi's retort is amusing.
They'd had this talk before, Hizashi aghast at her original loyalty towards him being usurped by Shouta after they'd made the decision for Shouta to keep her. He'd never divulged on his supposed 'secret', but he'd never revealed that his go-to had been a bribery with the premium version of the fish treats Hizashi had lured her out into the open with. His wallet had most certainly complained, but nothing but the best for his cat, right. Nothing but the best.
Hizashi had, apparently, assumed the role of the more 'responsible' of them both when it came to that sort of thing. Researching how to take care of her even when he'd been too busy with his own work to even fish some time, on occasion. Shouta had always stolen his time by coming over himself whenever, having a key to the other's apartment.
He still has it in his nightstand.
'Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, punk. Y'know, I'll figure out your secret eventually,' Hizashi would say. 'We'll see who has the last laugh then."
A faint chuckle escapes him. Lip curling over, he lets himself glance down at his lap.
Then back to the cat tower.
When he looks closer, unsure of what to say, he spots the final centerpiece to the puzzle.
There's a toy Hizashi bought. A yellow cockatiel. Fitting, considering the whole shtick with his mustache, the blond swoop of hair he'd been trying to grow out, recently. Beyond the other mess of toys on the stand, it's the only one that hadn't been torn to shreds the instant he'd brought it home.
Hizashi had considered it a raging success. Pumped up his fist and everything-- there'd been so much bright elation on his face that Shouta couldn't even attempt refuting it without feeling the fast thump in his chest, the red flush in his cheeks at the joy of such a simple win.
You'd think he'd beaten the world's worst villain with how loud he'd cheered. Some of his neighbours had filed a noise complaint afterwards.
"Bast misses you," he says, softly.
He'd give anything for another complaint.
"We're sorry, the number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service."