Chapter Text
Hizashi spends the rest of the day stewing in his own anger. He’s short with a reporter who probably doesn’t deserve it, and shorter with his security team, who definitely don’t deserve it. At the recording studio, he does five takes of a new song before storming out when his producer tells him that the irritation in his voice is ruining the tone of the music.
He spends a good hour on his apartment balcony afterwards, going through a pack of cigarettes.
It’s stupid, he thinks, that a single comment from Aizawa can make him feel like this. Sure, Aizawa’s opinion of his music has always mattered to a certain extent, but it throws Hizashi off guard to realize that somehow he’s started caring about what Aizawa thinks about him as a person. It’s not like they’ve really gotten to know each other – there’s not exactly much talking involved in what they usually do together – but for some stupid reason Hizashi had expected Aizawa’s opinion of him to have changed, just a little bit.
As Hizashi stares out over the city, cigarette still dangling from between his lips, he hears his doorbell ring. For a moment, Hizashi considers just ignoring it, but in the end he puts out his cigarette and makes his way over to the door.
“What?” he snaps as he opens the door, expecting to see one of his security agents.
Instead, it’s Aizawa.
“How’d you get up here?” Hizashi demands, although he realizes in the back of his mind that despite his fit earlier, he hadn’t actually thought to call apartment security to have Aizawa removed from his approved visitors list.
“Yamada – ” Aizawa starts.
“You know what, I don’t care,” Hizashi interrupts. “Fuck off.”
With that, he makes to slam the door in Aizawa’s face. However, before the door can close fully, Aizawa shoves his foot in between it and the doorframe, stopping it with a dull, unpleasant sound. Hizashi stares at him for a moment with wide eyes, and watches as Aizawa clenches his teeth against the pain but doesn’t try to move his foot. For the first time in a long while, Hizashi regrets letting his temper get the best of him.
“I need to talk to you,” Aizawa says though gritted teeth.
“What sort of idiot are you?” Hizashi demands, swinging the door back open again. “God, can you even walk on that now? Here – ”
Hizashi reaches out to slip an arm around Aizawa, helping him limp over to the couch.
“Shit,” Aizawa hisses as he takes a wrong step, gait faltering slightly, and Hizashi nearly drops him.
“You are so lucky I do daily strength training,” Hizashi mutters, plopping Aizawa down on the couch before kneeling down on the floor and tugging Aizawa’s shoe and sock off to inspect the damage. Aizawa’s skin has already turned a little reddish, and Hizashi’s certain he’ll have a nasty bruise there in a day or two.
“Fuck,” Aizawa hisses as Hizashi prods at the bridge of his foot, flinching away instinctively. “Are you trying to make it worse?”
“I’m trying to make sure it’s not broken,” Hizashi huffs, glaring up at Aizawa. “Seriously, you’re probably lucky it was your foot and not your hand. I could have definitely fractured a couple of your fingers. And anyway, it’s your own fault you’re in this situation.”
Aizawa’s quiet for a moment.
“I wanted to apologize,” he finally says, and Hizashi frowns, his brow furrowing.
“Apologize?” he repeats.
“For what I said earlier,” Aizawa mutters. “My comment about writing you a good review was in bad taste. I know you wouldn’t – that you’re not like that.”
For a moment, Hizashi doesn’t say anything.
Then, he sighs and says, “I might have overreacted a little. I’m still pissed at you, though.”
“I could make it up to you,” Aizawa replies, and Hizashi lets out a little snort.
“While I appreciate the sentiment, you just got your foot slammed in a door,” Hizashi points out, pulling himself up into a standing position and heading over to the kitchen. He opens the freezer and digs around in it for a moment until he comes up with an ice pack.
“Unless you have a fetish you haven’t told me about yet, I don’t think the state of my foot impacts whether I can blow you or not,” Aizawa snorts as Hizashi makes his way back into the living room.
“Don’t tell me this doesn’t hurt,” Hizashi replies, crouching down again to press the ice pack against Aizawa’s foot. Aizawa bites back another pained sound and Hizashi gives him a pointed look. “I don’t mind rough sex, but this sort of pain is definitely a turn off.”
The two of them fall into silence again, and Hizashi wracks his mind for something to say. He’s never had a problem with finding words before, but after Aizawa’s apology, awkward as it was, all of the angry accusations that have been accumulating in his mind today have dried up. Sure, he’s still a little annoyed, but not enough to hound Aizawa about it.
“Have you eaten dinner yet?” Hizashi blurts out suddenly. Aizawa blinks at him for a moment, clearly caught off guard.
“No,” Aizawa finally admits, looking at Hizashi a little warily, clearly unsure where this conversation is going.
“I’m ordering pizza,” Hizashi announces, sitting down on the couch next to Aizawa and grabbing his laptop off the coffee table. “What do you want?”
“What?” Aizawa asks, clearly caught off guard.
“I’m not going to make you hobble home on that foot right now,” Hizashi snorts, tapping on his keyboard and pulling up the website of a local pizza parlor. “If you don’t tell me what toppings you prefer, I’m just going to order pineapple and bacon for both of us.”
For a moment, Aizawa looks at Hizashi like he’s trying to solve some sort of puzzle, but then he says, “Mushroom and sausage.”
Part of Hizashi is tempted to make a joke about Aizawa liking sausage, but that’s a little too immature, even for him. Instead, he just says, “Great,” and busies himself with ordering the pizza.
When he finishes submitting the order, though, Hizashi finds himself wracking his mind for something to say again. He and Aizawa haven’t exactly done much talking before, and all of the potential conversation topics that come to Hizashi’s mind are likely to cause an argument.
“We should prop your foot up,” Hizashi finally announces, setting his laptop down on the coffee table again and grabbing a pillow off the couch. “Elevation, right? To decrease swelling.”
“If you say so,” Aizawa replies, and Hizashi busies himself with maneuvering the coffee table so he can use it and the pillow to prop up Aizawa’s foot. Of course, that only kills about a minute, leaving Hizashi to wonder how to proceed again.
“You wanna watch a movie?” Hizashi finally asks. Honestly, the thought of watching a movie with Aizawa is more than a little bizarre, but it’s either that or argue about music, and he’s not in the mood for more drama tonight.
“Alright,” Aizawa replies, his tone a little awkward.
Which is how Hizashi finds himself watching some documentary about sea turtles while eating pizza with Aizawa. It’s more than a little surreal.
(Hizashi had wanted an action flick, Aizawa had wanted a horror film, and neither of them had wanted a rom-com. They were at an impasse. Ergo, sea turtles. At least Hizashi now knows that green sea turtles can grow up to five feet long and weigh seven-hundred pounds, which is honestly a little terrifying.)
Halfway through the film, though, Aizawa’s eyelids start drooping, his body listing slightly to one side. Hizashi tries to ignore it, but the further Aizawa’s body tilts, the more distracting it becomes, and finally Hizashi finds himself scooting closer to Aizawa, using his shoulder to help prop him up. Surprisingly enough, Aizawa doesn’t protest the contact, and it takes Hizashi a moment to realize that it’s because Aizawa’s eyes have slid fully shut now, his breathing deep and heavy with sleep.
With a sigh, Hizashi adjusts the position of his arm a little, wrapping it around Aizawa’s body so that Aizawa’s head is resting more against his chest than his shoulder. As he looks at Aizawa’s sleeping face, he’s suddenly very aware of how much younger Aizawa looks like this, face relaxed and forehead free of stress-induced wrinkles. The last time Hizashi had seen Aizawa asleep, he hadn’t bothered to really look at him, more intent on waking Aizawa up and shooing him out of bed than appreciating the view.
Right now, though, Hizashi can’t find it in himself to wake Aizawa up again, even as his shoulder starts to go numb with Aizawa’s weight pressed up against it. Really, he should still be mad at Aizawa – after being insulted and having his home invaded – but right now he can’t muster more than a vague feeling of annoyance.
Well, Hizashi supposes he’s had worse evenings.
When the credits for the documentary start rolling, though, Hizashi shakes Aizawa gently, and says, “Hey, time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”
“Don’t call me that,” Aizawa grumbles as he cracks his eyes open again, reaching a hand up to rub the sleep from his eyes.
“I won’t be allowed to call you anything at this rate,” Hizashi huffs as Aizawa straightens up into a proper sitting position. Hizashi suddenly feels a little too cold without the warmth of Aizawa’s body pressed up against his. “First you veto babe and baby, and now this.”
“You can call me by my name,” Aizawa snorts, stifling a yawn behind his hand.
“Yeah?” Hizashi asks, a smirk spreading across his lips. “Shōta?”
“Aizawa,” Aizawa corrects, his tone short, but Hizashi thinks for a moment that he sees a light dusting of pink on Aizawa’s cheeks.
“Alright, alright,” Hizashi says, rolling his eyes. He pauses for a moment and then adds, “It’s kind of late. You staying or going?”
“Do you want me to stay?” Aizawa asks, and Hizashi –
Hizashi does.
It’s been a long time since he just hung out with someone other than Tensei, and he’s surprised to find that he liked it more than he thought he would, even if Aizawa spent half the time just sleeping on him. The realization makes a strange feeling build in his chest, an emotion he can’t quite identify.
“Go home and rest your foot,” Hizashi finally replies. “You can complete your apology another time.”
Aizawa studies him carefully for a moment, and Hizashi has to resist the urge to fidget under his intense gaze, but Aizawa finally nods and says, “I’ll call you. Thanks for the food.”
“Yeah, well, I did slam your foot in a door,” Hizashi mutters, his face flushing ever so slightly. “Which, I mean, was mostly your fault anyway, but. You know. You better not try to sue me or something now.”
“I think I’ll manage to avoid the temptation,” Aizawa says dryly, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. “Goodnight, Yamada.”
“’night,” Hizashi manages, trying not to stare at the first genuine smile he’s seen Aizawa make.
This, he thinks, is getting dangerous.
---
The next time Aizawa comes over, Hizashi doesn’t bother with any niceties. Last time was a fluke, a lack of judgement, and he’s not about to start falling for someone who hates his guts as much as Aizawa Shōta does. (Although granted, lately Aizawa seems to be hating his guts less and less.)
But this is just sex. Nothing more, nothing less.
“C’mon, c’mon,” Hizashi says as he pulls Aizawa down onto the bed with him, spread out on his back with Aizawa on top of him. Aizawa doesn’t hesitate to capture his mouth in a kiss, sloppy and thorough.
The kiss tastes like cigarette smoke. Hizashi’s managed to cut back some after the incident a few days back, so it has to be Aizawa. Part of Hizashi wants to ask Aizawa what he was so stressed about – stressed enough that he thought smoking was the best solution – but instead Hizashi pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind and kisses Aizawa harder.
“You promised me a blowjob,” Hizashi pants as he breaks the kiss, fingers still tangled tightly in Aizawa’s hair.
“Someone’s eager,” Aizawa snorts, leaning in to suck a bruise against the column of Hizashi’s throat.
“Yeah, well, I had to wait because you went and injured yourself,” Hizashi huffs, his breath hitching slightly as Aizawa’s teeth scrape against his skin.
“You’re the one who slammed a door on my foot,” Aizawa grumbles, giving Hizashi a mild glare.
“Can you really claim that if you were the one who purposely put your foot in front of my door?” Hizashi asks, quirking an eyebrow at Aizawa in challenge. Aizawa scowls, but doesn’t push the subject, instead rucking up Hizashi’s shirt and kissing his way down Hizashi’s chest. The feel of Aizawa’s stubble against his skin makes Hizashi shiver, his fingers tightening a little more in Aizawa’s hair as Aizawa sucks a bruise into the dip of his hipbone.
“You got my text, right?” Hizashi asks as Aizawa undoes his belt and zipper.
“The photo of your test results?” Aizawa replies, tugging down Hizashi’s jeans and boxer-briefs just enough to free Hizashi’s cock. He smirks and strokes Hizashi’s cock to full hardness. “Yeah, I got it.”
Then, he leans in and licks a stripe up the underside of Hizashi’s cock. Hizashi lets out a little moan as Aizawa sucks at the head of his cock, so glad to finally have Aizawa’s hot mouth directly on him, instead of separated by a thin layer of latex.
“God yes,” Hizashi groans as Aizawa sinks further down on his cock, enveloping him fully in wet heat. “Fuck, I love your mouth.”
The look Aizawa shoots him at that comment is vaguely annoyed, but Aizawa doesn’t bother to tell him off, instead hollowing his cheeks and sucking hard enough that Hizashi’s hips twitch up in an aborted trust. Aizawa manages to avoid choking, instead bobbing his head a little. He pulls back to tease the head of Hizashi’s cock again, before sinking back down until Hizashi’s cock hits the back of his throat. He swallows around Hizashi, and Hizashi lets out a pleased noise, overwhelmed by how fucking good Aizawa’s mouth feels.
This time, Hizashi doesn’t fuck Aizawa’s face. It’s been a long week, and, for once, he’s happy to let Aizawa do as he pleases, bobbing his head and sucking like he has all the time in the world. However, when Aizawa shifts position a little, hands gripping Hizashi’s thighs right where they meet the curve of his ass, an idea occurs to him.
“Hey,” Hizashi says, tugging at Aizawa’s hair a little until Aizawa gets the hint and pulls off.
“What?” Aizawa asks, his voice sex rough and a little annoyed sounding. Part of Hizashi wants to make a quip about how eager Aizawa seems to get back to sucking his cock, but somehow he manages to refrain.
Instead, Hizashi twists around to reach for his bedside table, opening the top drawer and grabbing a condom and half-full bottle of lube.
“I did all the work last time,” Hizashi says, throwing them towards Aizawa. “Now it’s your turn.”
Aizawa blinks at him for a moment, clearly surprised, but then he lets out a little snort and says, “I would have gotten tested too, if I’d known this is what you wanted to do today.”
Hizashi can’t help the rush of arousal that goes through his body at the thought of Aizawa fucking him without a barrier between them. It’s been a long time since Hizashi stuck with the same person long enough to do that. Unfortunately, it looks like they’ll have to save that for another day.
“Fuck,” Hizashi groans, lifting his hips up off the bed and shoving his pants and underwear down over them, kicking them off and not caring where they end up. “Next time. We can do that next time.”
This time when Aizawa wraps his lips around Hizashi’s cock again, his lube-slick fingers also press at Hizashi’s hole. It’s been a while since Hizashi’s done this with a partner, and at first he tenses up a little, but the feeling of Aizawa’s hot mouth on his cock soon makes him relax again.
Aizawa opens him up slowly, almost lazily. It doesn’t take him long to find Hizashi’s prostate, though, and Hizashi lets out a low moan as he rubs up against it. Hizashi finds himself automatically fucking himself down on Aizawa’s fingers, chasing that sensation. It wouldn’t take too long for him to come like this, with Aizawa’s talented mouth around his cock and long fingers inside him, rubbing at just the right angle.
Eventually, though, Aizawa pulls off of Hizashi’s cock with a wet pop. He runs his tongue over his swollen lips, probably salty with the taste of Hizashi’s pre-come, and draws his fingers back out of Hizashi, shoving his jeans down over his hips and reaching for the condom packet.
It feels so good when he finally pushes inside, and Hizashi lets his eyes fall shut, just taking in the sensation of being so deliciously full. Damn, it’s been too long.
“Good?” Aizawa asks, leaning forward to nip at a spot just below Hizashi’s jaw. His tone is annoyingly smug, but Hizashi ignores in in favor of rolling his hips, fucking himself back on Aizawa’s cock.
“It would feel better if you actually moved,” Hizashi snorts.
So, Aizawa does.
The pace he sets it slow, languid almost, like he has all the time in the world to fuck Hizashi. Part of Hizashi is tempted to try increasing the pace, to make Aizawa fuck him hard and fast, but at the same time he doesn’t want this to end too quickly, doesn’t want to lose the sensation of Aizawa inside him.
“Fuck,” Hizashi pants as Aizawa slides into him at just the right angle, hands sliding up under the back of Aizawa’s shirt, nails digging into Aizawa’s skin. “Right there – ”
When Aizawa fucks into him again, it’s at that same perfect angle, and Hizashi doesn’t even try to stifle his moans. His breathing’s gotten heavier, too, chest rising and falling with steady breaths.
Aizawa leans down to capture Hizashi’s mouth in another kiss, his pace never faltering. The kiss is just as steady and slow as Aizawa’s thrusts and Hizashi lets his eyes fall shut, enjoying the feeling of Aizawa’s lips on his.
Eventually, though, Hizashi starts getting a little impatient and reaches a hand down to stroke his cock, which has been lying neglected against his stomach.
“You know,” Aizawa says, breaking their kiss, but his lips are still close enough to Hizashi’s that their mouths brush together as he speaks. “If you’re patient enough, I could let you finish in my mouth after I’m done fucking you.”
“Fuck,” Hizashi groans, his hand stilling on his cock. “Fuck, you’re evil.”
Aizawa’s only answer is a noncommittal hum, but Hizashi thinks that he feels Aizawa increase his pace ever so slightly. After a brief moment of internal conflict, Hizashi lets out a frustrated sound and takes his hand off his cock. Aizawa better swallow.
It feels so good to have Aizawa inside him. Hizashi can feel himself getting closer and closer to his own orgasm, each one of Aizawa’s thrusts sending sparks of pleasure up his spine, but unfortunately he’s not one of those porn stars who can get off without actually touching his cock. He finds himself rocking his hips, though, trying to match Aizawa’s rhythm, and soon enough he hears Aizawa’s breathing go a little more ragged, getting closer to tipping over the edge.
In the end, it only takes a few more thrusts before Aizawa comes with a low moan.
Hizashi feels remarkably empty when Aizawa pulls out of him, but thankfully he’s soon distracted by the feeling of Aizawa’s hot, wet mouth on his cock again. Aizawa also slips a couple of fingers inside Hizashi’s hole, pressing up against his prostate, and the combination of Aizawa’s mouth on him and Aizawa’s fingers in him has him coming only a few moments later. Aizawa swallows what he can, but a little bit dribbles past his lips, down his chin. It looks obscene, and Hizashi would love to snap a photo of it, if Aizawa weren’t likely to kill him for it.
Instead, Hizashi leans in to lick Aizawa’s chin and lips clean before capturing his mouth in another kiss. The salty bitterness of Hizashi’s come almost entirely obscures the taste of cigarette smoke from earlier, but Hizashi can still taste a hint of it in Aizawa’s mouth. It’s kind of a disgusting combination, but Hizashi couldn’t care less right now.
“Maybe next time I’ll return the favor,” Hizashi says when he breaks the kiss.
“Finally your mouth will be too occupied to make annoying comments,” Aizawa says dryly, but there’s a hint of a teasing smile on his lips.
Hizashi elbows him in the stomach.
---
The next morning, Hizashi wakes up to the blaring of his alarm clock, as usual. Next to him, Aizawa grumbles something unpleasant and Hizashi rolls his eyes, but doesn’t make any move to kick Aizawa out of bed yet. Instead, he goes about his morning as usual, pulling on his workout clothes before going down to the gym.
However, when he comes back up the apartment, he’s surprised to find Aizawa actually awake, standing in the living room clad in a pair of Hizashi’s sweatpants.
“I didn’t think pink was your color,” Hizashi says with a smirk, sliding up behind Aizawa. He places a hand on Aizawa’s hip, letting the tips of his fingers slide under the waistband of the sweatpants.
“They’re your pants,” Aizawa huffs, shooting Hizashi a mild glare.
However, Aizawa only looks at Hizashi for a moment before turning his eyes back to the shelves lining one wall of the living room, all of them filled to the brim with CD cases. He reaches out to pluck a CD off one shelf, turning it over in his hand and inspecting the tracklist. Then, he says, “I’m surprised you have so many CDs. The technology’s kind of outdated, isn’t it?”
“I like having a hard copy,” Hizashi says simply. “You never know when someone’s going to steal your laptop or you’re going to get a virus or something.”
“Isn’t that what all that new cloud technology is for?” Aizawa snorts, still inspecting the CD cover.
“Yeah, well, I don’t trust it,” Hizashi huffs. “Not with my music collection.”
“You’ve actually listened to all of these?” Aizawa asks, finally tearing his eyes away from the CD to glance back at Hizashi.
“Listened to all of them?” Hizashi snorts. “I can sing every fucking song here by heart.”
“Really?” Aizawa replies, skepticism clear in his tone. “Then sing – ” He glances down at the CD in his hand. “ – track eight.”
Hizashi grins. He starts humming the opening, tapping out a beat against the bare skin of Aizawa’s hip. It’s a familiar rhythm, one he’d committed to memory years ago.
“Jag blev ett måndagsbarn,” he sings, the notes flowing easily off his tongue, although he has to lower the range slightly to fit his deeper voice. “Hela livet blev en helg.”
He sings the first verse easily, despite how long it’s been since he actually took the time to listen to this particular CD. As he continues, the words are a little more awkward in his mouth, but Aizawa doesn’t stop him, just listens quietly as the sound of Hizashi’s voice fills the room.
“You can speak – what is that, Norwegian?” Aizawa asks when Hizashi finally finishes.
“Sweedish, actually,” Hizashi replies. “But no, I just memorized the words. I don’t even remember what they mean anymore.”
Aizawa makes a small, noncommittal hum and then puts the CD back on the shelf before reaching for another one.
“Track twelve,” Aizawa says, holding up the case.
“Oh, come on. I’m sure you’ve heard that song before,” Hizashi huffs, his expression dangerously close to a pout.
“Maybe I just want to hear you sing it,” Aizawa replies, lips quirking up in the barest hint of a smile.
Hizashi rolls his eyes, but sings flatly, “Every night in my dreams, I see you, I feeeeeel you – ”
He doesn’t get much farther, though, because he’s interrupted by a soft, amused snort from Aizawa. Aizawa’s face has turned a little pink as he bites his lip, clearly trying to contain a full-blown laugh.
“You know what, I’m not singing that for you,” Hizashi huffs, plucking the CD from Aizawa’s fingers and shoving it back onto the shelf. “Pick something else.”
“You’re the one who owns the CD,” Aizawa snorts, but he reaches for a new case, flipping it over and inspecting it for a moment, before saying, “Sing this one.”
Hizashi rolls his eyes, but sings, “何回目の過ちだろう,” wishing he had an electric guitar in his hands.
He loses track of time quickly as Aizawa gives him more and more songs to sing, everything from rap to classical (which he does his best to hum without sounding completely ridiculous). He’s not about to back down from this challenge that Aizawa’s given him, and, if he’s being truthful, he kind of enjoys it. It’s been a long time since he messed around like this, or even just sang for someone privately.
And, despite Aizawa’s clear amusement at making Hizashi sing a few ridiculous songs, he never actually insults Hizashi’s singing. Briefly, it occurs to Hizashi that despite all the scathing reviews Aizawa’s written about him, Aizawa’s never complained about his voice – just the songs themselves.
Hizashi’s in the middle of singing “Under Pressure” and trying to goad Aizawa into dancing with him when his front door abruptly swings open. Hizashi freezes, arms still wrapped around Aizawa’s waist, and Iida Tensei also freezes, standing awkwardly in the doorway.
For the first time, Hizashi kind of regrets giving him a key. It’s late enough in the morning that normally whoever Hizashi picked up the night before would be long gone by now, and Tensei’s eyebrows have almost disappeared into his hairline as he stares at Aizawa.
“Am I interrupting something?” Tensei finally asks, still standing in the doorway.
“No,” Aizawa answers, pulling away from Hizashi. “I should get going.”
Part of Hizashi wants to say he doesn’t have to, but Tensei’s not someone he’s willing to blow off, and he can’t imagine Aizawa actually hanging out with him and Tensei together.
Alright, so maybe he can imagine it a little. In fact, he can almost see them getting along in a weird sort of way. Tenesi would take Aizawa’s dry, sarcastic sense of humor in stride, and honestly, the two of them would probably end up making fun of Hizashi together, in a good-natured sort of way.
But, well, Aizawa isn’t actually his friend or anything like that, so there’s no reason for Hizashi to ask him to stay and make nice with Tensei.
Aizawa brushes past Hizashi and leaves the living room, heading back to the bedroom to get properly dressed again. Tensei enters the apartment fully, shutting the door softly behind him and makes his way over to Hizashi, giving him a significant look. Hizashi grimaces, already not looking forward to the grilling Tensei is going to give him.
“So,” Tensei says, his voice low. “Did you finally get a boyfriend and not tell me about it? Because this is a major development, and I’m hurt that you wouldn’t share it with me immediately.”
“I’m not dating him,” Hizashi huffs.
“Really?” Tensei asks, skepticism clear in his tone. “Because I’m pretty sure you’ve never let a one night stand stay this late before.”
“He’s not really a one night stand,” Hizashi mutters, but he cuts himself off as Aizawa comes back through the living room, fully dressed now. Part of Hizashi wants to drag Aizawa into one more kiss before he leaves, but he has no justification for it, not in front of Tensei.
“I’ll see you around,” Aizawa says, a little awkwardly, clearly unsure how to act with Tensei there.
“I’ll text you,” Hizashi replies, and Aizawa nods stiffly before turning to head out the door.
The door closes behind Aizawa with a soft click, and both Hizashi and Tensei are quiet for a moment, before Tensei finally says, “So. This is a regular thing.”
“Sort of,” Hizashi grumbles, collapsing down onto the couch. “He’s a good lay.”
“Uh huh,” Tensei replies, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “You sure that’s why you keep him around? Because it kind of looked like I interrupted the two of you dancing in the living room. Dorky dancing, not sexy dancing.”
Hizashi feels his face flush a little.
“We were just messing around,” Hizashi protests. “It doesn’t mean I want to date him or anything.”
“Yeah, well, I still wanna know his name in case he ends up sticking around,” Tensei replies, and Hizashi stiffens up.
For a moment, he considers lying to Tensei, but then he sighs and says, “Aizawa Shōta.”
Tensei stares at him.
“That was Aizawa Shōta?” Tensei asks, incredulous. “You’re fucking Aizawa Shōta? The guy who writes terrible reviews of all your songs and albums?”
“He’s not that bad in person, most of the time,” Hizashi huffs, but he can’t quite meet Tensei’s eyes.
“Please tell me you’re not falling for him,” Tensei says, looking genuinely worried.
“I’m not!” Hizashi sputters, indignant. “Look, it’s nothing. Can we talk about something else? How’s that kid doing – the one whose demo I sent you?”
Tensei studies him for a long moment, searing for truth in his expression, but then he sighs and says, “I asked my little brother to help show her the ropes. They seem to be getting along okay.”
“Great,” Hizashi replies, already planning how to relay the news to Aizawa as soon as he can. However, when Hizashi really registers the thought, he freezes.
Maybe Tensei is right to be worried.
---
Hizashi wakes up slowly.
It’s Saturday, and Saturday is cheat day, so for once there’s no alarm blaring, urging him to wake up. Aizawa’s still sound asleep, chest rising and falling with steady breaths, and Hizashi finds himself staring for a moment, looking at how the soft sunlight dapples Aizawa’s face.
For a moment, he finds himself thinking that Aizawa looks kind of cute. As soon as the thought registers, though, he stiffens. Hot, sure, but cute?
God, he needs coffee.
When he glances over at the clock on his bedside table, he finds that it’s actually only seven-thirty. Granted, that’s an hour and a half later than he wakes up most days, but it’s still probably too early to wake up Aizawa without repercussions. So, carefully, he slips out of bed.
Hizashi slips on underwear and a worn pair of sweatpants, but he doesn’t bother with a shirt. He heads to the kitchen and spends a moment fiddling with his high-tech coffee maker before it finally sputters to life. And, when he finally has a warm mug in his hands, he makes his way his studio.
Well, it’s not an actual studio – it’s more of a practice room than anything. He’d had it soundproofed when he first moved in, though, and it’s where he keeps all his instruments: guitars, drums, a piano.
Today, he picks up an acoustic guitar.
He spends a moment tuning it, testing the strings under his fingers. To warm up, he plays whatever comes to mind, bits of songs he’s heard on the radio recently, or tunes he’s had memorized since he was a teenager.
Then, he gets to work. There are a couple of melodies that have been floating around his head since yesterdays, ones he’s been itching to really try out. They’re just little snippets of whole songs, nothing terribly polished, and the first run though is rough around the edges. This is the part Hizashi likes best, though, tweaking a melody and hearing it transform into a proper song, music coming alive under his fingers.
As he strums his guitar, he finds himself humming along. A few short lyrics that he’d scribbled down on the back of a receipt the other day pop into his mind and he adjusts the tune’s rhythm a bit to match them, singing along softly. As the words and notes start to fall into place better, he raises his voice, testing how the music fits the space.
It doesn’t take long for Hizashi to fully lose himself in the music. He’s always loved composing songs, would write lyrics in the margins of his textbooks in high school and tap out beats on the dining room table at dinner. It’s a simple thing to block out the rest of the world when he’s making music.
Eventually, though, he pauses to pull out a notebook filled with staff paper and starts jotting down his progress.
“That was good.”
Hizashi startles and almost drops his pencil, tearing his eyes away from his notebook to find Aizawa standing just inside the doorway, leaning against the wall. It takes a moment for Aizawa’s words to fully register in Hizashi’s head, but when they finally do, a surge of annoyance wells up in his chest.
“I thought I’d finally gotten it through your thick skull that I’m not going to accept anything less than a completely genuine compliment when it comes to my music,” Hizashi huffs, his lips turning down in a scowl and his good mood evaporating instantly.
“It was genuine,” Aizawa replies, now wearing a scowl to match Hizashi’s.
“Right, so you’re saying that some little tune that I spent – ” Hizashi glances at the clock. “ – half an hour on is better than anything on the three albums I’ve released?”
“Yes,” Aizawa says bluntly.
“Fuck off,” Hizashi huffs, clenching his teeth.
Aizawa’s quiet for a moment, but then he says, “It felt genuine.”
“What?” Hizashi asks, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“I said,” Aizawa repeats slowly, “that it felt genuine. Your other songs don’t feel like you. They sound fake.”
“Oh, and you’re suddenly an expert on me because we’ve fucked a couple of times now?” Hizashi snorts, giving Aizawa a disbelieving look. “And anyway, aren’t you the one always calling me arrogant and shallow? I’m pretty sure my songs fit that just fine.”
“I’ve never called you shallow,” Aizawa huffs. “Also, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have called your other songs arrogant and shallow if you actually liked them.”
Hizashi clenches his jaw and tries not to think of the notebooks upon notebooks of rejected songs he has, stashed away in the back of his closet.
“You don’t know shit,” Hizashi finally says, but he can’t quite look Aizawa in the eye.
They fall into silence for a moment, Hizashi gripping his pencil so hard he wonders if he’ll break it.
“The first time I heard you preform, I was nineteen,” Aizawa says suddenly, and Hizashi looks over at him, finally meeting his eyes again.
“I’m pretty sure you’re thinking of someone else,” Hizashi replies, frowning. “I didn’t get a recording contract until I was twenty.”
“I know you didn’t. But it was you,” Aizawa says, his tone steady. “I was in college, writing for the school newspaper, and was assigned to go write some stupid piece about an open mic program at a local coffee shop.” He pauses for a moment. “Instead, I wrote it about you.”
“Say what now?” Hizashi asks, giving Aizawa his most incredulous look. Sure, it fits with his timeline well enough – he definitely played lots of little informal gigs at coffee shops when he was nineteen, in between high school and an actual recording deal.
“It was some of the best music I’ve ever heard,” Aizawa says, and Hizashi just sort of… stares, for a moment. “The stuff you sing now, though…” Aizawa lets out a derisive little snort. “You sold out to this shitty industry. You had this amazing potential but then you threw it away in favor of making quick cash. What you just sang now, though – that was the sort of music you were making before. Your real music.”
“You’re so fucking pretentious,” Hizashi finds himself saying, hands balling up into fists. “All my music is real music, whether it suits your tastes or not.”
“You can’t honestly tell me you like the music you’re making now,” Aizawa snorts.
“Yeah, well maybe I’m not actually in it for the music anymore,” Hizashi sneers. “Maybe I’m just in it for the fame and money.”
It’s a lie. It’s such a lie, but Hizashi doesn’t want to think about what that means for him if he admits it to himself.
“Someone who only cared about the fame and the money,” Aizawa says slowly, pinning Hizashi with an intense look, “wouldn’t have blown up at me about wanting to actually earn a positive review.”
Hizashi swallows thickly, his chest feeling a little too tight.
“I’m never going to give you that review unless you start singing things that actually mean something to you, though,” Aizawa finishes.
“Fuck you,” Hizashi snaps, anger bubbling up inside him as he shoves aside his guitar and stalks over to Aizawa. “Just – fuck you. You don’t get to just waltz on in here and call me a fake. I have not sold out to anyone and I don’t give a shit what you think about my music.”
“I didn’t say you were a fake,” Aizawa huffs. “I’m just saying that you’re pandering to – ”
“Look, I can’t deal with this anymore,” Hizashi interrupts, his hands trembling slightly with the force of his anger as he comes to a stop in front of Aizawa. “Just get out.”
“Yamada – ” Aizawa starts.
“Get out,” Hizashi snaps, taking another step forward, and this time he actually forces Aizawa to take a step back. “Just get the fuck out of my apartment.”
“Fine,” Aizawa retorts, anger clear in the tenseness of his frame. “Maybe I was wrong about you, but for a second there I thought you actually cared about music.”
With that, he turns on his heel and leaves Hizashi in the doorway of the studio, still trembling with anger. Hizashi tries to calm himself down as Aizawa goes to collect his things, but Aizawa’s words keep reverberating through his mind.
When Aizawa finally leaves, the door closes behind him with a loud bang, and Hizashi slams his fist into the wall.
---
The thing is –
The thing is, Aizawa’s right. While Hizashi doesn’t hate the songs he’s been singing recently, he doesn’t really like them either. If he’s being completely honest with himself, it was more fun singing random songs to Aizawa in his living room than preforming his last couple of concerts.
Hizashi spends an hour listening to his latest album before he goes to dig out all of his old notebooks, flipping through pages upon pages of discarded songs. It’s here that all of his favorite songs reside, packed away in notebooks that haven’t seen the light of day in months – or years, even. They’re songs that don’t fit his “image,” though, stupid little songs about old high school crushes and staying up until dawn listening to music while watching the stars. Acoustic songs, rock songs, songs with intriguing, syncopated rhythms.
And, when Hizashi finally circles back around to read through his most recent songs, he pauses.
Dark hair. In every single song, he describes the person he’s singing about as having dark hair. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything – shouldn’t mean anything – but it’s rare for Hizashi to think of a specific person when writing songs, and reading these lyrics again, the only person that comes to mind is Aizawa.
He’s written almost a month’s worth of songs about Aizawa Shōta.
The progression of his attitude towards Aizawa is so obvious through these songs. They’re not all complementary – in fact, a good half of them aren’t. His frustration is clear in many of them, but, well, maybe he should have questioned earlier why it was so easy for Aizawa to make him this frustrated.
Still, some of the later songs are softer. He finds half a page of lyrics that he’d scribbled down the day after Aizawa had fallen asleep on his shoulder, while they were watching that turtle documentary. They words so sweet that they make Hizashi feel vaguely nauseous. He hasn’t written something this romantic since high school, when he had the world’s worst crush on the girl who sat two desks in front of him.
Maybe Tensei was right about him falling for Aizawa.
After this morning’s argument, though, Hizashi doesn’t know how he could possibly admit it to Aizawa. Hell, now that he’s really thinking about it, he has no idea where he stands with Aizawa. Sure, Aizawa seems to like having sex with him just fine, seems to tolerate him to a certain extent, but…
But Hizashi doesn’t just want to be tolerated.
As he thinks about it, though, it occurs to him that he does know a way to get Aizawa to actually like him. Aizawa had told him to start singing things that meant something to him again, so maybe…
Maybe he should try.
Of course, it’ll probably take quite a bit of convincing to release a song or two that clashes so much with his established celebrity persona. Making that sort of change will take time. Hizashi doesn’t want to wait that long to try to make up with Aizawa, though.
It occurs to Hizashi that his contract doesn’t prohibit him from posting to YouTube.
A few hours later, Hizashi’s managed to scrape together a workable song. It’s comprised of a couple different melodies that have been stuck in his head recently, and the lyrics are a conglomeration of things he’s written over the past month. He’s changed them around a little so the song isn’t entirely sweet, his frustrations with Aizawa clear enough in the tone, but it’s still very different than anything he’s ever publically released.
When he’s finally ready to start recording, Hizashi pauses for a moment, wondering if he should do up his hair and change into something more presentable. In the end, though, all he does it pull his hair up into a half bun, keeping his worn t-shirt and not bothering with contacts, his glasses still perched on his nose. If he’s trying to show a new side of himself, he might as well go all out.
Then, Hizashi grabs his acoustic guitar and sets his webcam up to record. He pauses for a moment, wondering what to say.
“A certain person recently told me that I should start singing songs that actually mean something to me,” Hizashi starts, not looking directly into the camera. “And while I don’t think that all music has to have some great ‘meaning’ to be worthwhile, I do think he was right.”
Hizashi takes a deep breath and looks up.
“The songs I’ve been singing lately don’t really mean anything to me,” Hizashi says bluntly. Briefly, he wonders how much is publicist is going to hate him after he releases this video. “The melodies aren’t bad, but they’re certainly not exciting, and the lyrics are starting to get repetitive. I don’t love my music anymore – not the stuff I’ve actually released.
“So,” Hizashi continues, trying to keep his voice steady, “I’m going to share an unreleased song with you. There’ll be a free download link in the description if you decide you like it, but I’m recording this at home without any editing, so…”
He trails off for a moment. Honestly, he hasn’t felt this awkward performing since he was a teenager.
“Here goes nothing,” Hizashi finally says.
Then, he starts strumming his guitar.
It only takes a few moments for Hizashi to lose himself in the music, nervousness falling away. He finds himself really getting into it as he sings, head bobbing along to the music as he alternates between strumming and tapping out beats on the side of his guitar. As the sound reverberates through the room, briefly Hizashi wishes that Aizawa was here with him again, standing by the doorway and listening quietly.
The video will have to be enough, though. And maybe if he’s lucky, he’ll get another shot at performing for Aizawa.
When the song finally comes to a close, for a moment Hizashi wonders if he should make any closing remarks, but then decides against it, simply shutting off the recording instead. He takes a moment to play it back, listening for any glaring errors. The video’s sound quality is less than stellar, but it’s decent enough, so Hizashi posts it to YouTube without a second thought.
Then, Hizashi texts a link to Aizawa.
Hizashi spends what feels like every other moment checking his phone for a reply, but after an hour he gives up, shoving his phone into his pocket and resolving not to look at it again until he actually feels it vibrate. Briefly, he wishes he actually had something he needed to do today – an interview or performance or even a photoshoot.
In the end, he finds himself going through all of the songs he’s written and discarded in the past few years, separating them out into piles of ones he might actually try recording and ones that were discarded for good reason.
In fact, Hizashi manages to get so absorbed in this process that he almost misses the sound of someone banging on his door. As soon as he registers the sound, though, he grimaces, briefly checking his phone for any missed calls from his publicist or producer. He doesn’t see any, but maybe they decided that this was a matter that needed to be discussed in person.
Hizashi sighs and drags himself up off of his couch, making his way over to the doorway.
However, when he opens the door, he’s surprised to find Aizawa standing there.
“Aizawa,” he says awkwardly, as all of the things he’d planned to say abruptly vanish from his mind.
“Can I come in?” Aizawa asks.
Hizashi thinks about the absolute mess that is his living room right now, strewn with sheet music and scraps of paper with half-finished lyrics – many of which refer not-so-subtly to Aizawa. He doesn’t move out of the doorway, and instead says, “Why can’t we talk here?”
“You mean besides the fact that the last time we talked in your doorway, you almost broke my foot?” Aizawa says dryly, and Hizashi suppresses a wince.
“I thought we already established that that was technically your fault, not mine,” Hizashi complains. “As long as you don’t – ”
However, before he can finish his sentence, Aizawa cuts him off with a kiss.
It’s not like the kisses Aizawa’s used in order to shut him up before. It’s soft and chaste, closed-mouthed. There’s no particular urgency to it, and it actually only lasts a moment, leaving Hizashi dazed when Aizawa pulls away.
“Can we talk inside?” Aizawa asks softly.
“Okay,” Hizashi manages, and steps aside to let Aizawa in. He watches as Aizawa brushes past him and into the apartment, making his way over to the sheets of music strewn over the coffee table and living room floor.
Finally, Aizawa turns back to Hizashi and says, “You wrote a song about me.”
“I don’t know how you missed it, but ‘Fuck the Critics’ is also about you,” Hizashi replies, hoping that his nervousness isn’t too obvious in his voice. Now that he’s fully aware of how he feels about Aizawa, talking to him seems so much more difficult.
Aizawa gives him a flat look.
“You wrote a real song about me,” Aizawa corrects, carefully studying Hizashi’s expression, like he’s looking for a certain answer there.
Hizashi swallows thickly and simply says, “Yeah.”
“So?” Aizawa asks, looking at Hizashi expectantly.
“So what?” Hizashi replies, frowning.
“So what does it mean?” Aizawa clarifies – not that it actually clarifies much.
“Did you not listen to the song or something?” Hizashi asks, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “You’re the critic. You tell me what it means.”
“I know what I want it to mean,” Aizawa replies, taking a step closer to Hizashi and looking him directly in the eye. “But I want to know what it means to you.”
For a moment, Hizashi’s quiet, his heart beating fast in his chest. Then, he says, “I think it means I like you more than I probably should.”
Aizawa studies him carefully, like he’s looking for truth in Hizashi’s expression.
“Get dinner with me,” Aizawa says suddenly, making Hizashi blink at him in surprise.
“Are you asking me out on a date?” Hizashi blurts out.
“Yes,” Aizawa replies simply. “Do you want it to be a date?”
“Fuck yes,” Hizashi replies, his face splitting into a grin before he drags Aizawa into another kiss.
He should definitely record more songs about Aizawa, if this is the result.
---
“So? What do you think?” Hizashi asks, looking eagerly over at Aizawa as the final track on his new album finally comes to an end.
“It’s disorganized,” Aizawa says bluntly. “The musical styles vary drastically from song to song and there’s no unified theme apparent in the lyrics either. You can tell that they’ve been written over a long period of time.”
“God, you’re so hard to please,” Hizashi huffs. “You’re lucky you’re not this picky in bed, or I’d – ”
“I loved it,” Aizawa interrupts. “I’ve always appreciated the sound of your voice, and combined with the emotion in these songs… I really loved it.”
For a moment, Hizashi just stares at him.
“You know, next time you should start with that part,” Hizashi finally says, trying to sound annoyed, but he can’t quite keep the grin off his face.
“I’m not going to hold back on my criticisms just because we’re dating now,” Aizawa huffs.
“Mmm,” Hizashi replies. “I guess things would get pretty boring if you did that, wouldn’t they?”
Aizawa lets out a little snort and then says, “Play it again.”
Hizashi complies.