Archive of Our Own

Four Years Ago

Hitoshi’s neck cracked when his head snapped up, not expecting his door to be swung open at 10 pm on a Wednesday night. Mr. Sakai tended to leave him alone when he was in his room, not having the energy to search out a punching bag that wasn’t in his direct vicinity.

When the door opened fully, he saw Mr. Sakai flagging slightly to the side in his drunken state. This was not new. What was new was the very young, very small girl whose shoulder was caught in the man’s large grasp.

“This one’s new.” Mr. Sakai said, shoving the girl into the room and, with unnecessary force, to the ground. Then it began to come together.

The tear in the girl’s already worn dress.

Her mussed black hair and tears welling in bright crimson eyes.

The half-zipped fly of Mr. Sakai’s pants.

Hitoshi was too stunned to move for a moment, the slamming of the door as Mr. Sakai left shaking him out of his stupor. He stood, approaching the girl slowly.

“I’m Hitoshi,” the preteen said, his voice croaky with disuse. The girl looked up, and her watery eyes met Hitoshi’s.

“Tamiko,” the girl whispered shakily. Hitoshi extended a hand, and Tamiko took it, despite the wary look she gave him. Her legs shook as she stood.

Leading her to the bed, Hitoshi crossed the room to his dresser, pulling out the largest t-shirt he owned.

“Do you… want to change?”

The girl nodded, and he handed her the shirt, turning to face the wall until he no longer heard the rustling of fabric. He felt a small tap on his back, and he turned to see Tamiko with his own shirt falling past her knees. Her dress sat in a pile on the floor.

“Are you… okay?” Hitoshi whispered. At this point he was feeling less shocked and more desperately-in-over-his-head.

“I’m tired,” Tamiko whispered in return. Hitoshi nodded.

“Yeah, that’s… yeah. Let's just sleep.”

Hitoshi drew the thin blanket back on his bed, and Tamiko crawled in. “Would you rather I just slept on the floor?” He asked.

Tamiko studied his face for a moment, before shaking her head. He crawled in after her, a good foot of space between them despite the fact that the mattress was a twin.

Hitoshi felt he had to say something but wasn’t sure what. He waited, counting his breaths. He could feel the small girl shaking, and it occurred that she didn’t agree to him being in the bed because she was okay with it, but rather because she feared what reaction would come from her refusal.

“Do you- you could go to the police.” Hitoshi said, looking over at her. His suspicions that she was still awake were confirmed when he saw bright eyes gleaming back at him through the darkness. Tamiko didn’t respond, and he took that as enough of an answer. “What do you want?”

The little girl seemed to consider this for a moment. “I don’t want him to come in while I sleep.”

This was the most Hitoshi had heard her say in the short time they’d known each other. His heart broke. In a moment, it seemed like his mind made itself up. He sat up, his back to the headboard. “I’ll stay awake. I’ll- I’ll protect you.”

The girl smiled, still nervous, and turned around with her back to Hitoshi. It was unlikely that he was going to sleep that night anyways. For the next six hours, he read the rest of his book for English literature. Every time his eyes started to droop or he wondered if he could naturally wake up before Tamiko so she’d never even know, he glanced at the dress heaped in a pile in the corner of the room and it woke him back up.

By the time the sun rose, his eyes were bone dry and he seemed to be functioning at half speed, but it was worth the shy smile that Tamiko gave him when her own eyes cracked open.

“Did you really stay awake?” She croaked.

“I told you I’d protect you, didn’t I?”

Today

“Her name is Eri,” Aizawa said as Hitoshi sat across from him at the dining table over breakfast. To most, his voice might seem monotone, even bored, but Hitoshi had spent long enough being overly attuned to adult’s emotions that he could see the anxiety glinting in the man’s eyes.

“When is she coming?”

Hitoshi had known that Aizawa had been involved in a very private and very intense case, but it was news to the boy when the man sat him in the living room yesterday and proposed the idea of temporarily fostering one of the victims.

“She’s due to be discharged from the hospital today. Hizashi is going to stay here and I’m going to pick her up-” The man paused, searching the boy’s eyes for a minute, “that is, as long as you’re okay with her being here. Seriously, if there’s an issue, we can find-”

“It’s okay,” Hitoshi cut in. He wasn’t stupid. If he fought Aizawa on this, if he brought up why he wasn’t comfortable with a little girl in the house, there was a chance that the two men would freak out. Demand details and tell his therapist he has to talk about it.

The alternative… well he’s been moved around enough to be more than familiar with the process. It’s taken him a long time to get used to the fact that Aizawa and Hizashi don’t plan on sending him back into the system, but then again, who wouldn’t trade in a teen boy for a cute little girl?

“Hitoshi?” The boy in question blinked when Aizawa’s hand was waved in front of his face.

“Huh? What?”

Aizawa’s brow’s furrowed. “Did you sleep last night?”

No. Not really. “Yeah. I slept fine.”

“Okay. I said if you have any issues with her once she’s here, you just need to let us know.”

“I mean… it doesn’t really matter at that point,” Hitoshi muttered as he picked at a hangnail on his left thumb.

“What? How so?”

“She’ll already be here.”

“You’re already here too, you know,” Aizawa said, leaning back and crossing his arms. Hitoshi dug his fingernail into the skin a little harder and watched as a drop of blood welled up.

“She’s been through a lot recently. She needs stability.”

Aizawa was silent for a moment, and the blood on Hitoshi’s thumb was smeared as he continued picking. The boy jolted when a hand pulled his thumb out of his own grasp.

“You’ve been through a lot too. You need stability. I want to make sure you understand that bringing this girl into our home won’t change much.”

You stupid, stupid man. This will change everything.

Hitoshi nodded dumbly.

“Look at me.”

The boy was dismayed to find the speed that this demand had his eyes flying up to meet Aizawa’s tired ones.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Another nod. “Okay. Go put a band aid on that.”

Hitoshi stood clumsily, wandering to the bathroom and digging a small band aid out of their slightly overkill first aid drawer. You could never be too safe when in a house of two heroes and one clumsy, slightly accident-prone teenager.

He couldn’t focus that day at school. It was a real catch-22, because he could hardly focus on what they were learning but was desperate to keep his mind from going where it was inevitably headed. By the end of the day, he couldn’t remember a single thing he had done.

Entering the library, he was already regretting his decision to participate in the class 1A study group. Three steps in and he could hear Kaminari’s whining from all the way across the room. If his math grade wasn’t suffering so intensely, you couldn’t have paid him enough to agree to this crap.

As he turned the aisle, Kaminari’s eyes lit up when they landed on him. “Shinsou! You showed up!”

“Great,” Bakugou grouched, “another idiot looking to me to save their grade.”

“You agreed to this, man,” Kirishima grinned, poking the blond’s side, “don’t sound so butthurt.”

The blond tried to play off his squirm as if he was turning on the redhead in the first place. “I’ll show you butthurt, shitty-hair-”

“You’ll show him what, Bakubro?” Sero grinned. The blond was practically fuming.

“I’ve had it up to here with you fucking imbeciles!” The blond shouts, still vibrating as Kirishima grabs his arm with an apologetic smile towards the librarian. When the boy finally settled, he resigned himself to answering every stupid question posed to him by the rest of the group.

Hitoshi tried his best to focus, but today his attention span was worse than Kaminari’s, and that was saying something.

“-sou? Shinsou?” The blond said, jerking back when Hitoshi snapped back from his thoughts and turned on the blond. “Do you want to bum an adderall or something man? You’re seriously out of it.”

“I’m fine,” the purple-haired boy murmured.

“Are you sure?” Kirishima asked, leaning in a little closer.

“Would you fucking focus shitty-hair?” Bakugo barked, “your grades aren’t gonna survive this semester if you don’t start listening when I take precious time out of my day to teach you this shit.”

“Look at Shinsou, Bakugou. He looks tired.”

“I’m right here,” Hitoshi muttered boredly, “in case you forgot.”

When he looked up, the purple haired boy met Bakugo’s intense gaze. Normally, Hitoshi wasn’t afraid of the boy like everyone else in their grade seemed to be, but today his red eyes were too much. If he looked too long, other red eyes replaced them, and he felt something in his chest collapse with the memory.

“I’m fine,” Hitoshi said quietly, looking back at his notebook. The rest seemed to get the message and turned back to their own work. The rest of the session went by quickly.

It was dark out by the time he got home, and when he stepped through the door, he could smell whatever it was that Hizashi was cooking in the kitchen. He pulled his shoes and coat off, placing them by the doorway.

“Toshi!” Hizashi grinned when the purple-haired boy made his way into the kitchen.

“Hey” Hitoshi smiled, trying to ignore the knots of nerves in his stomach. The more he tried to ignore why he was anxious, the more anxious he got. It was an exhausting cycle. He slumped down at the kitchen island and sighed, nearly jumping out of his skin when Hizashi placed a bunch of carrots and a peeler in front of him.

The blond’s eyebrows drew together. “You’re jumpy. Are you okay?”

Hitoshi dragged a hand down his face as his heart rate calmed down a little. “I’m okay”

“If you’re nervous about Eri coming, you don’t need to hide it. Your father and I are nervous too.”

Hitoshi looked up at this. “What do you mean. You guys are already… foster parents”  

“Well, taking care of a teenage boy is different than taking care of a young girl. There’s going to be a lot of adjusting.”

Hitoshi nodded slowly, picking up the carrots and grasping the peeler a little too hard to hide the shaking of his hands. “I’m sure she’ll be lucky to have you guys.”

Hitoshi looked down at the carrots, missing the look Hizashi sent him. The boy sounded far too resigned for the blond’s taste. Before he had a chance to bring it up, however, he heard the sound of the door creaking open. Footsteps padded towards the kitchen, and Hizashi and Hitoshi turned simultaneously to see Aizawa’s looming figure enter the doorway.

The, from behind his leg, peeks out a pair of red eyes that make Hitoshi’s heart stutter in fear.

One of the men is saying something, but Hitoshi can’t hear it. He’s locked eyes with the small, white-haired girl and he feels like he can’t feel his fingers. Get it together, idiot he thinks to himself, don’t give them more of a reason to get rid of you.

“-toshi” Hitoshi hears Aizawa say. He snaps his head up, but the other man isn’t even looking at him. He’s addressing the girl at his feet. “Do you think you can say hi?”

She glanced at the man, before stepping towards Hitoshi and extending a shaking hand. Hitoshi bent down to take it, shaking it lightly. The gesture was almost laughable coming from a toddler, but the air in the room was too tense for anyone to laugh.

“Well,” Hizashi coughed, none too awkwardly, “how about we all sit and eat? I’m sure we’ve all had a long day.”

At the table, Hizashi tried desperately to engage everyone in conversation, but it seemed that nobody was going to take the bait except for Aizawa, and the grouchy man’s conversational skills were shoddy on a good day. Hitoshi kept a close eye on Eri, who was picking at her food. The only thing on her plate that she seemed to want was the grilled eel, having down hers within the first two minutes that they were all sitting there.

Hitoshi picked up his own grilled eel, discretely placing it on her plate. She startled at the sudden movement, then looked up. She met his gaze, and her shy smile made him feel like there was something melting in his chest. I’ve seen that sort of smile before, he thought to himself.

“Hitoshi,” Aizawa’s voice brought him back to the present, “do you not like the eel? I thought it was your favorite.”

Hizashi looked up at this, and Hitoshi flushed under the gazes of both men. “No, it’s good. It’s just… all she wants to eat.”

Both men looked at Eri, and the little girl wilted a bit. Aizawa’s eyebrows shot up when he noticed that everything on her plate was untouched except the fish. “You like grilled eel, Eri?”

The little girl nodded, and to Hitoshi’s surprise, the older man smiled. In the years that he’d spent in the Yamada-Aizawa household, he’d become adept at reading the man’s expressions due to the lack of smiling. It truly was a rare occurrence.

At this realization, Hitoshi felt guilty for being upset that they were slowly replacing him. If Eri made Aizawa this happy on their first night together, who was he to stand in the way of that? He certainly can’t remember the last time he made Aizawa smile like that.

“Hitoshi,” Hizashi said to the boy, catching his attention. “You should eat, baby.”

Hitoshi looked down at his own plate and realized at once that he had been watching Eri so much, that moving the eel was the first time he’d actually touched his food. He nodded an apology to the blond, shoveling a few bites in his mouth. The food settled like a stone in his stomach, and he was nauseous immediately.

For the next twenty minutes, he mostly just pushed food around his plate. Hizashi actually managed to get the little girl talking, even if it was just him telling her about what UA was like. Hitoshi hung on to every word out of the girl’s mouth.

When dinner finished, Hitoshi took the saran wrap out of the drawer to wrap his plate and put it in the fridge.

“You haven’t had to do that for a while,” Aizawa commented from the other side of the kitchen. Hitoshi jumped a little in response, spinning to look at the man.

“Yeah,” the boy scratched his neck awkwardly, “just… wasn’t hungry I suppose.”

“It’s been a while since you were too anxious to eat.”

“That’s not what this was,” Hitoshi lied, “I think there’s a bug or something.”

Aizawa nodded slowly, but it wasn’t hard to see that he didn’t believe the boy. “Alright. Make sure to go to bed early if you’re not feeling well.”

Hitoshi nodded shakily in return.

That night, he had trouble falling asleep and what little sleep he did get was restless. It wasn’t as though he could hear Eri next door, but he was, for some reason, acutely aware of her presence. By the early hours of the morning, he was tossing and turning in a state of half-consciousness only to be jolted awake by the soft sound of the door next to his closing.

Like a rocket he shot out of bed, stumbling blearily out to the hallway. His door swung open as quietly as he could manage, and he locked eyes with Hizashi, who was standing outside Eri’s room, hand still on the doorknob. The blond man startled, and the two locked eyes.

“Hitoshi? Wha-”

“What were you doing in there?” Hitoshi cut him off.

“What are you talking about? Why are you awake?”

“Answer me” the boy pressed. The hesitant smile on Hizashi’s face fell as he saw how serious the boy was.

“Eri had a nightmare. She came to our room because she was so worked up. Shouta and I talked to her for a little bit and I just put her back down.”

“Liar” Hitoshi hissed, ignoring the hurt confusion plain on Hizashi’s face.

“I’m telling the truth, Hitoshi.” Hizashi muttered, “do you want to ask Shouta?”

Hitoshi studied the man’s face a little, nodding succinctly and brushing past Hizashi to march to the older men’s bedroom. Hizashi trailed behind him. Shouta was sitting on the bed when Hitoshi opened the door. The room was dark, but whatever the man was scrolling on his phone cast a blue glow on his face.

“Hey Hiza-” Aizawa cut himself off when he looked up and saw the boy standing in his doorway.

“Why are you awake right now?” Hitoshi asked. Aizawa cut to the chase, thankfully.

“Eri had a nightmare. Woke us both up.”

Hitoshi nodded, and turned, nearly bumping into Hizashi, who had been following him. “Wait a sec,” the blond said, grabbing Hitoshi’s shoulder and guiding him back into he and Aizawa’s bedroom, “what’s all this about?”

Under the scrutiny of both men, Hitoshi wilted, his anger shriveling up inside of him. “Nothing, I just- nothing.”

“It doesn’t seem like nothing,” Aizawa commented.

“Can I go back to sleep?” Hitoshi mumbled, fighting a flinch when Hizashi patted him on the arm once.

“You know you can talk to me and Shouta, right? Is this about Eri?”

Not in a way you’d ever know, Hitoshi thought to himself. He shook his head. Hizashi’s hand dropped, and Hitoshi was quick to slip out of the room. Passing by Eri’s door in the hallway, he stopped. He wanted to check on her but was scared to confirm his own suspicions. Eventually, his fear was beaten out by his misplaced protective streak. When the door creaked open, it wasn’t to reveal Eri cowering in fear in her bed, blood streaking the sheets. The girl was curled up, fast asleep. A tension dropped out of Hitoshi’s shoulders that he hadn’t even known was there.

The next morning, Hitoshi was like a zombie when he made his way down to the kitchen. Eri was sitting at the island, drinking a glass of orange juice while Hizashi fried eggs at the stove.

“Morning,” Hitoshi said to Eri, sitting beside the little girl. Hizashi turned at the sound of the boy’s voice.

“Morning, baby. You want eggs?”

Hitoshi shook his head. “Not hungry, thanks.”

“You didn’t eat last night,” Aizawa said as he came through the doorway into the kitchen, “at this rate you’re gonna start losing muscle mass.”

“I just don’t feel great,” the boy muttered into the mug of coffee he poured himself, “didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Aizawa asked lowly, nodding to the cup of coffee in Hitoshi’s hands.

“I’m tired.”

“Typically, lack of sleep and caffeine are two things that make your anxiety ramp up to eleven. You seem on edge enough already, given our conversation last night.”

Anger streaked through Hitoshi at this. Before he could snap, however, Eri spoke up.

“Did you wake up last night too, Hitoshi? Did you also have a nightmare?”

Hitoshi shrugged, strategically avoiding mentioning that he was never really asleep in the first place. “I don’t sleep well sometimes.”

“I shoulda gone to you, if you were already awake.”

“Well,” Hizashi cut in, “usually we let Hito-”

“Yeah,” Hitoshi blurted out, “come to me next time, okay?”

Eri nodded, and Hitoshi stared into his coffee to avoid the confused looks that both adults were giving him. The rest of the conversation was jilted and awkward after this, and Hitoshi regretted not waiting until he and Eri were alone to tell her to come to him before waking up Aizawa and Hizashi.

Oh well.

By first period, Hitoshi was kicking himself for not listening to Aizawa about the coffee. Not only was he still half asleep, but his heart rate was through the roof. The teacher sounded like she was underwater, and as Hitoshi walked through the hallways, it felt like he was walking through a dream.

“Can I go to the bathroom?” He asked Midnight, his hand trembling where he had raised it. The woman nodded, and he stood on weak legs, leaving the classroom as quickly as possible. It wasn't until he made it to the bathroom when he noticed his fingernails digging into his palm.

His breath came quick and shallow, and he turned the water as cold as it could go, splashing some on his face and simply holding his hands under it, hoping the sensation of the cold would ground him.

He looked up when someone entered the bathroom, making eye contact in the mirror with the boy from Class 2B who had the same quirk as Kirishima and the stupidest name Hitoshi had ever heard.

“Shinsou?” Tetsutetsu said quietly, approaching the boy.

“Tetsutetsu. Hello.”

“Are you… okay?”

“Fine,” Hitoshi turned off the faucet, drying his hands. His heart was still racing, but he managed to hold eye contact with the grey-haired boy. “I’m leaving now. Bye.”

“Right… bye.” Tetsu nodded. Hitoshi exited the bathroom.

At lunch that day, Kirishima approached him.

“Hey” Hitoshi nodded. Kirishima didn’t smile.

“Are you doin’ okay, man? You seemed wicked wound up while we were studying yesterday, and Testu texted me to say he walked into the bathroom to find you, like, totally freaked out.”

Damnit, steelhead.

“I’m okay. Thanks for checking.”

“You sure? You look exhausted, man. No offense.”

“Didn’t sleep well last night. I’m fine. Promise.”

“Well at least it’s Friday! Rest up over the weekend, yeah?”

“Sure.”

Kirishima nodded, far from convinced. He plopped his own tray across from Hitoshi, and the purple-haired boy stayed mainly silent as his sanctuary of peace and quiet slowly became invaded by members of Class 1A. Kaminari and Ashido argued about who wore their uniform better. Bakugo loudly beat a drum pattern on the tabletop. Sero and Hagakure (for some reason) traded terrible pick-up lines. Hitoshi buried himself deeper in his lunch, praying for the bell to ring quicker.

When he finally got home, Hitoshi took a breath on the doorstep before reaching for the door. To his surprise, the door opened on front of his face to reveal Hizashi standing on the other side, Eri on his hip. The blond’s face lit up upon seeing Hitoshi.

“Hey baby! How was school?”

“Fine,” Hitoshi muttered, squeezing around the two and dropping his bag on the floor inside. “Are you on your way out?”

“Yeah. Picking up some stuff for Eri.”

“Yeah?” Hitoshi muttered distractedly, untying his shoes, “like what?”

“Toys. Books. She needs some new T-Shirts too. That sort of thing.”

At this, Hitoshi’s attention was drawn. “Clothes shopping?”

“Yeah?” Hizashi’s eyebrow rose, “do you need anything?”

Hitoshi knew little girls loved clothes shopping because new things are fun. He knows grown men love shopping with little girls because dressing rooms are private, and the attendants don’t ask questions when a father wants to help his daughter try on a pretty dress.

“I- yeah. I want to come.”

“You hate shopping” a deep voice pipes in from behind Hitoshi. He spun, and Aizawa was looking at him suspiciously, “what do you need?”

“I, uh–”

“Aw,” Hizashi smiled, “come on Shouta! Family shopping trip.”

Shouta looked at Hitoshi, who was busy studying his shoelaces. “Sure.”

Hizashi made a happy noise and slipped out the door. When he looks up, Shouta is staring right at him. His face was indecipherable to the boy. “You hate shopping.”

“It’s... family bonding?” Hitoshi muttered quietly.

“You hate family bonding,” Shouta responded. At this, Hitoshi’s heart dropped. Is that what the older man thought? That he hated them? Is that why they’re trying to replace them?

“N-no I don’t,” Hitoshi stumbled over his tongue trying to get the words out, “you guys are the best family I’ve been with, I promise, I- I-”

“Hey, calm down,” Aizawa muttered, walking towards the boy and putting a hand on his shoulder, gracefully ignoring the flinch, “that wasn’t an accusation.”

Hitoshi nodded, gulping. They don’t care how much you love them, he thought to himself.

“I just… want to get to know Eri better.”

“Alright kiddo. That’s all you gotta say.”

The car was loud, Hizashi playing upbeat music while rattling on about his day to Shouta and Eri, who was surprisingly receptive. For a girl who was so shy when she first came, she’s seemed to really warm up to the blond man in the past 24 hours. She giggled at his anecdotes, even asking a very quiet question once in a while.

Hitoshi buried his chin into his hoodie, as if it would be possible to duck down far enough to escape the car altogether. His eyes are closed when he feels something light land on his chest. Opening his eyes, he sees a pair of earbuds laying tangled where they’ve been tossed to him. He looked up to see Aizawa looking straight ahead.

He plugged the earbuds into his phone, switching out the surrounding sounds of the car for something slower and darker. His father had offered to play his music in the car a million times, and Hitoshi had yet to agree. He didn’t want to bring the mood down. He was usually able to resist the urge to plug in his own earbuds while in the car with others, knowing it was seen as rude, but today was an exception. His nerves were frayed from him being so on edge the past week, and as ironic as it seems, he was too nervous to be nervous about their reaction. If they were sending him back, there was nothing he could do about it now.

When they got to the mall he gave Aizawa the earbuds back, wordlessly thanking the man. Entering the store, Hizashi and Eri headed off to the girl’s clothes. There was no reason for Hitoshi to follow them, and as he stood frozen in the entrance, he realized he should’ve made a game plan before insisting on coming with them. They didn’t want him there. Eri doesn’t need him to protect her.

“You need to buy something?” Aizawa asked from somewhere on Hitoshi’s right. The boy turned towards him, and he wasn’t sure what expression his face was making, but whatever it was caused something in Aizawa’s eyes to soften. “Come on. There’s a food court near here. I’ll text Hizashi to meet us when they’re done.”

Hitoshi chewed at his cheek for a moment, tossing a glance to where Eri was following Hizashi through aisles of small shirts. “Okay.”

The walk through the mall was quiet, Hitoshi sticking to Aizawa like his shadow. There were a few times where it looked like the man was going to say something, but he bit his tongue every time. It wasn’t until they were sitting at a bench, both holding food court Chinese, that he said something.

“You know I’m not a mind-reader, Hitoshi.” The boy looked up at this, confused. “I know something’s going on with you, but I’m never going to be able to help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

I’m fine was on the tip of Hitoshi’s tongue. It would be so easy, to lie and drive the divide between them even deeper. “It’s just been a rough week,” Hitoshi sighed, “nothing you guys need to do about it.”

“We’re your family,” Aizawa muttered around his straw, “it’s not that we need to do anything. We want you to be okay.”

“Your Eri’s family now,” Hitoshi said to himself. Apparently, his exhaustion was affecting his volume control because there was no world in which Aizawa was meant to hear that but the man’s eyes snapped to Hitoshi’s, nevertheless.

“You’re jealous,” Aizawa states plainly, and Hitoshi blanches. “No no,” the older man sighs, scrubbing his face with his hand, “that wasn’t meant to be an insult. It’s normal for foster kids to get uncomfortable when another kid is introduced to the home.”

She’s not the issue, Hitoshi’s brain is screaming, I am!

“Please don’t get rid of Eri,” Hitoshi begged, his grip on the plastic fork in his hand tightening, “you guys are going to be the best thing that has ever happened to her.”

“Hizashi mentioned you saying something along those lines,” Aizawa said.

“It’s true. I’d know.”

“Sure, sure. We don’t have an issue with what you’re saying. What we have an issue with is that you keep saying it as if you aren’t going to be there.”

“No, I- I will be. I know I will be.” Hitoshi hoped he sounded as confident as he wished to in that. He didn’t want to leave, and he didn’t want Eri to leave, but she’d only been there for one day and he feels like his brain’s imploding. The nausea that had been gnawing at his stomach was increasing and there was a migraine pulsing at the forefront of his mind.

“Okay. As long as you know that” Aizawa responded. Hitoshi still had most of his lo mein in the Styrofoam container, but the thought of eating anymore felt impossible. The two of them made their way back to the store as Hizashi and Eri were standing in line to checkout, Hizashi holding a small stack of children’s clothes in his arms. The sight made Hitoshi nervous, but he managed to suppress it.

“Did you guys enjoy your food?” Hizashi asked. Aizawa and Hitoshi both nodded, waiting while Hizashi paid for the clothes. Eri walked shyly up to Hitoshi, showing him a yellow dress in front of her. He knelt down, hoping his smile looked more reassuring and less manic.

“It’s nice,” Hitoshi said quietly, “the color looks good with your hair. Do you like yellow?”

“Yeah,” Eri nodded, “someday I want to have a big yellow bedroom, and a big yellow bed.”

Hitoshi nodded, hoping his smile didn’t look as plastic as it felt. He knew the ins and outs of the foster care system, and there were no big yellow bedrooms. There were no big yellow beds. He didn’t know where she was coming from, but he was intimately familiar with where she was going. He didn’t want to tell her that, though, because she looked as joyful as he’d seen her yet.

The ride home was much quieter and when the four piled back inside, Hitoshi tugged on Aizawa’s sleeve, keeping the man outside as Hizashi and Eri disappeared into the house.

“What’s up, kid?”

“You should adopt her.”

Aizawa was stunned. In the year that Hitoshi had been living with them, nobody had ever raised the issue of adoption. The men had expressed that they wanted Hitoshi there permanently, and that if he wanted that then they’d be more than happy to start the paperwork. Hitoshi had shrugged, but never asked further about their plans with him. He never wanted them to feel stuck with him if they were to come across a better deal. Someone younger and cuter maybe. Someone who they could share meaningful milestones with, instead of just getting them for a few years before they moved out anyways.

“What makes you say that?”

“She wants a big yellow bedroom.”

“I don’t follow.”

“She wants a big yellow bedroom and- and she deserves it! I don’t know what she’s been through, but she’s just a kid. She doesn’t deserve the system. You guys have the chance to save her from it, and you should.”

Aizawa didn’t say anything for a moment. “What makes you think there’s no family out there better equipped to give her what she wants than us.”

“Because I don’t know them,” Hitoshi answered honestly, his fingernails digging again at the hangnail on his thumb. Aizawa followed the motion briefly, his brow furrowing in concern. “I don’t know them, but I know you guys, and even if you can’t give her a yellow bedroom, you can give her what she needs.”

“I hate that you keep talking like that. You keep talking like if Eri has a future here it means you don’t.”

“No, I-” Hitoshi swallowed thickly, feeling his eyes get a bit damp with frustration, “I’m just saying, if you guys had to choose, for some reason, I can take care of myself. She’s just a kid. You can’t just… send her to strangers, okay?”

“There’s no choosing. Eri being here, at the moment, is a temporary arrangement. Whether that changes will be a discussion we all have, but if she does go elsewhere, Hizashi and I would make sure it’s somewhere safe-”

“You can’t know that!” Hitoshi exclaimed, “even if the family seems nice, the state promises that they’re keeping the kids safe but they still get sent places like-”

Hitoshi cut himself off, digging his sleeve ends into his tear ducts, trying to force the tears back in. He hadn’t cried in front of Aizawa in a very long time, and the sight was clearly jarring to the older man.

“Places like what, Hitoshi?”

Hitoshi just shook his head, and Aizawa clearly sensed that the issue didn’t need to be pressed. The boy felt a hand on his shoulder as the larger man drew him into a hug.

“You’re shaking, kid.”

Hitoshi laughed, something small and desperate. “I don’t feel that great.”

Aizawa pulled back and looked at Hitoshi closely. “You don’t look the best. You said something about a bug going around?”

It was a lie when he said it, but Hitoshi’s immune system was pretty bad to begin with and the lack of sleep combined with the chilly weather didn’t spell anything good. He nodded, and Aizawa pressed a hand to his forehead.

“You feel warm, but that could also just have to do with my hands being cold. Make sure to go to bed early tonight, yeah?”

Hitoshi nodded, and Aizawa ruffled his hair. He was going to miss casual touch. When he had first moved in with them, it had been a struggle to explain that yes, he did want them to touch him even if every casual hug or pat on the shoulder was accompanied by a flinch. That was just his body's reaction.

That night, Hitoshi shivered even under all the blankets. His headache was feeling worse by the minute and his stomach was turning. Still, seeing how exhausted he was after last night, he was able to fall asleep with little trouble.

He awoke to the sound of light tapping on the door, and he was on his feet in seconds. He opened the door, seeing a teary-eyed Eri standing on the other side. He ushered her in.

“Nightmare?” he whispered. Eri nodded, and he rubbed her back while she took shuddering breaths. He gestured over to his bed, where she crawled in and laid down.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hitoshi asked quietly. Eri shook her head. “It’s okay. I’ll stay awake, yeah? I’ll protect you.”

“You can sleep,” Eri finally spoke, “I just don’t like to be alone when I’m scared.”

Hitoshi wouldn’t be able to sleep right now. Luckily, he didn’t plan to. “Little girls need someone to keep them safe. I’ll keep you safe.”

Eri shrugged but seemed to fall asleep immediately when she closed her eyes. Hitoshi expected it to be harder to stay awake, but the familiarity of the situation set him too on edge to truly get tired.

“I’m hungry,” Tamiko complained quietly. Hitoshi knew that her complaints meant that she was comfortable with him, and for that he was grateful. Still, it wasn’t like he kept food in his room. He had managed to stop doing that in the past few years, now mostly just keeping a few energy bars in his backpack when he managed to smuggle them out of the gas station near his house. He’d offer her one, but he didn’t have any at the moment. He made up his mind.

“I’ll be right back,” he looked at her. She knew better than to try and follow him. He snuck out of the room, sure to step in the middle of the floor and skip the creaky boards. He could hear Mr. Sakai snoring from his place in the living room, but the man was a light sleeper.

In the kitchen, Hitoshi ransacked the cupboards for something the little girl could eat. Most of his findings were ingredients or old take out. Finally, he found a half-empty pack of mandarin orange cups, snagging and stuffing them in his hoodie pocket. He was so focused on his task that he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him. A large hand grabbed the back of his head, smashing his face into the cabinet. His nose exploded in pain, but the lack of a cracking noise was a good sign.

“The fuck are you doing awake!” Mr Sakai roared. Hitoshi slipped out of his grasp easily and sprinted back to his bedroom. The man didn’t have the energy nor the inspiration to chase the boy, but Hitoshi still listened for footsteps after slamming his door shut as quietly as possible. He nearly forgot why he had left his room in the first place, until he saw the small form cowering in his bed. Tamiko had tears pouring out of her eyes, and she only seemed to become more distressed when Hitoshi lifted his head to look at her.

Feeling something warm his face, Hitoshi lifted his hand to learn that his nose was bleeding profusely. A blow that hard would probably leave him with black eyes. He must look monstrous to the little girl before him.

“Hey,” he tried, “it’s okay. I’m okay.”

“He-” she sobbed, “he hurt you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have complained.”

“No, Tamiko, it’s okay. Really.”

He wished, not for the first time, that he could just report Mr. Sakai and get him and Tamiko removed. The only reason he hadn’t was that, as far as he knew, there had been no repeats of her first night there and if they got separated then there would be no guarantee that there would be another person to protect her like Hitoshi could.

Hitoshi found a dirty t-shirt and his water bottle. After cleaning the blood off of his face, he and Tamiko sat cross-legged across from each other and ate the mandarin oranges. Hitoshi told her about the paper he was writing for history class, and while she likely didn’t understand anything he was telling her, she sat and listened. Hitoshi was pretty sure she just felt guilty about him getting hit, which was ridiculous.

No little girl should feel responsible for something like that.

Hitoshi found ways to pass the time, ignoring the clawing hunger in his stomach. It blended with the nausea and formed a sort of deep ache. He knew there was a box of saltines in the back of the cabinet but eating them would require getting them in the first place. Logically, he knew that Aizawa and Hizashi would have no issue with his late-night snacking (they’d caught him before and did nothing but offer tea), but that didn’t stop the phantom pain in his nose from making a recurrence.

Before long, his stomach was making angry noises, and he didn’t want Eri to wake up. Silently, he creeped toward the door and out into the kitchen. His heart was beating wildly. As he stood in front of the cupboard, he momentarily forgot what he had been doing there in the first place. Memories of the split-second in which the cupboard door was rushing towards his face suddenly overtook his memory.

Snapping out of it, he grabbed the saltines and crept his way back to his room. Neither of the older men woke, and he was thankful for that as the crunching sound of him eating the crackers resonated throughout the quiet room. He tried to do his homework until the sun rose, still shivering and rubbing his eyes as though that would diminish the headache.

When Hizashi came down the stairs that morning, he wasn’t expecting to see Hitoshi sitting, slumped over the dining room table. The boy had a glass of orange juice in his hand, but his head was down on the table, resting on his opposite arm.

“Hitoshi,” Hizashi said quietly. The boy jumped a little, looking up blearily at Hizashi. The pallor of his face was concerning, but not nearly as concerning as the way his eyes seemed to take an extra minute to focus on the blond. “Are you feeling okay? You don’t look good.”

Hitoshi rubbed his eyes, red rimmed as they were. “Could- if there’s painkillers. I might… need one.”

Hizashi nodded distractedly, pulling one of the many bottles of generic painkillers they kept in the house down from the cupboard above the sink. “Did you sleep well last night?”

“Fine,” Hitoshi lied.

“It’s been a while since you weren’t able to sleep all night,” Hizashi bulldozed past the obvious lie, “did you take a sleeping pill?”

“Yeah.” Another lie. “Didn’t help”

Hizashi hummed, handing Hitoshi two of the pills. While the boy was distracted with downing the pills, Hizashi pressed a hand to his forehead.

“You feel warm. Shouta said you might be coming down with something.”

Hitoshi shrugged. He probably was, and a good night’s sleep would go a long way, but he seemed to be unable to get any of those recently.

“How about you go lie down on the couch, kiddo. Is your stomach bothering you at all?” Hitoshi nodded in return, and Hizashi frowned even more. “Alright. Think you could handle toast?”

Hitoshi shrugged yet again, most of his focus at this point going to not falling over when he stood. He didn’t even realize Hizashi was gripping his arm, seemingly catching on to how unsteady Hitoshi was on his feet. The blond gently guided him to the couch, pulling a blanket over his shivering frame. Hizashi turned the TV on quietly, handing the boy the remote.

It seemed like Hitoshi had only blinked and Hizashi was crouching in front of him holding a mug and a plate of toast with nothing on it. “Thanks,” Hitoshi croaked, sticking a hand out of his blanket cocoon and taking a few bites off the corner of the toast.

“Can I get you anything else, baby?”

Hitoshi shook his head at the same moment that Aizawa tore into the room, stress plainly lining his face. He didn’t spare a glance at Hitoshi.

“Eri’s not in her room or the bathroom,” Aizawa grunted, spurring Hizashi into action. The blond rose, all traces of gentleness draining out of his eyes. He raced after Aizawa, only pausing when Hitoshi’s croaky voice spoke up.

“Check my room.”

The men looked at him briefly, before both disappearing down the hallway. Hitoshi closed his eyes, breathing deeply until he heard heavy footsteps returning. “What’s Eri doing in your bed, baby?”

“She had a nightmare,” Hitoshi murmured, “I stayed up with her so she wouldn’t feel unsafe.”

“What do you mean you stayed up?”

Hitoshi’s brows furrowed, not understanding Hizashi’s confusion. “She needed someone to protect her. I stayed up?”

“You were awake all night?” Aizawa butted in.

“Hitoshi, Shouta and I are pro-heroes,” Hizashi said gently, “our job is to protect people. If Eri wanted someone to stay up, you could’ve gotten one of us, you didn’t have to-”

“She didn’t ask. She needed it.”

Hizashi and Aizawa exchanged a glance. “If there’s something in the house that you think makes us vulnerable-”

“No, no,” Hitoshi groaned, rubbing his eyes, “there’s not- there’s nothing in particular.”

“So you just… decided you need to stay awake and protect her? From what?”

Hitoshi shook his head in response, the pounding behind his eyes eliciting an involuntary groan. The men dropped the issue, Hizashi rubbing Hitoshi’s back while Aizawa disappeared, returning a minute later with an ice pack in his hand. Hitoshi pressed it to his forehead, sinking deeper into the couch.

There were footsteps from around the corner, and Hitoshi sat up ramrod straight before Eri peeks her head around the corner. Her red eyes were worried, and Hitoshi was quick to climb off the couch and go over to her.

“Hey, Eri, what’s wrong?”

“You don’t look good. Are you sick?”

“You don’t look okay,” Tamiko said quietly when Hitoshi shut the door to his bedroom behind him. He had felt off all day, but nothing too concerning. It wasn’t until dinner with Tamiko and Mr. Sakai that he started to feel really bad. He felt like he was shivering and burning up at the same time, and there was a sort of pressure mounting behind his eyes. Mr. Sakai had smacked him for not finishing his food, but he was nauseous and apparently Mr. Sakai was feeling nice that day because the blow wasn’t even going to bruise.

“I think I’m coming down with something,” Hitoshi answered honestly. Tamiko put down the doll she had been holding, pressing a small hand to Hitoshi’s forehead.

“My mom used to do this whenever I didn’t feel good,” Tamiko whispered, stroking Hitoshi’s hair lightly. He closed his eyes, for a moment forgetting that he was the one meant to comfort and protect her, instead reveling in the feeling of her cold hands in his hair. In the six months they’d known each other, Tamiko had seemed mostly unwilling to talk about her parents. It was only from eavesdropping Mr. Sakai’s conversations that he knew that Tamiko’s father had skipped town a long time ago and her mother was a junkie that had OD’d in front of her.

“Don’t worry about me, ‘miko. I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning.”

“If you’re sure,” Tamiko murmured back.

“I’m okay” Hitoshi said to Eri, feeling the two men’s eyes on his back. Eri looked at him for a moment longer, then reached out to pet his head once, gently. Hitoshi reared back, tears immediately springing to his eyes as his heart rate increased. Eri’s face contorted in worry as Hizashi approached, distracting her with the promise of breakfast. Aizawa crouched in front of Hitoshi, who still felt too stunned to speak.

“What is going on with you?” Aizawa muttered worriedly to the boy, rubbing his shoulder. The older man guided him back to the couch. “You already gave him something,” Aizawa called out to Hizashi, “for the fever, right?”

“He took a painkiller,” Hizashi called back, “but I’m pretty sure it doubles as a fever reducer.”

“You’re prone to fevers when you get sick. They’re always high,” Aizawa says lowly to Hitoshi. Hitoshi had only ever been sick once while he was here, right when he moved in. It had been a stomach thing that time, but he knew that he’d been in the hospital for fevers a few times as a kid so anyone that had his file could’ve easily known that. What they couldn’t know is that for the past four years, fevers make him anxious to the point of full-blown panic attacks. He usually tries to take decent enough care of himself to avoid fevers, but the past few days haven’t been the best in that regard.

“I don’t like fevers,” Hitoshi said, not quite sure why he was even mentioning it. Aizawa’s lips quirked up in something resembling amusement.

“I don’t think you’re exactly spearheading that idea, kid.”

“Last time I had a fever,” Hitoshi answered, “I was totally delirious and locked myself in my room for two days. By the time I came around, I had to be hospitalized for dehydration.”

At this, Aizawa’s smile disappears. “Which house was that?”

“The Kaneko’s”

“You said you were only there for a little while.”

“When I left the hospital, I was moved.”

Hitoshi peeped one eye open, and Aizawa looked profoundly sad. The man pressed the icepack back to Hitoshi’s forehead and stood up, pulling the blanket over him.

He woke next to find Eri sitting on the floor in front of the couch, doodling in a coloring book. He looked around, finally meeting the eye of Aizawa who was sitting at the dining room table and grading papers. The man looked up and got out of his seat when he saw that Hitoshi is awake.

“It’s three in the afternoon. Hizashi’s teaching weekend lessons, and you’re due for another round of pills. Think you can eat something?”

The words were called out from the kitchen, but Hitoshi was too focused on the feeling of saliva flooding his mouth. “I- I don’t feel good,” Hitoshi groaned, looking to the side of the couch and seeing the bowl on the coffee table. He pulled it into his lap, and Eri turned, backing up a few steps. Aizawa rushed to the couch, putting the pills down on the table and setting a hand on Hitoshi’s back.

There was a thin line of spit dripping into the bowl, and Hitoshi’s stomach tensed as he gagged. Nothing came up, but the dry heaving was painful nonetheless, and Aizawa rubbed his back while small sounds of pain made their way out of his throat.

“Just… try to relax,” Aizawa muttered. Eri was nowhere in sight anymore, and Hitoshi breathed deeply for a few minutes.

“I’m good,” he whispered, his voice wrecked after repeated heaving. Aizawa nodded, picking the pills off the coffee table.

“Think you could stomach some more fever reducer? You’re burning up.”

Hitoshi shook his head, his stomach still turning. “Where’s Eri?”

“I’m not sure,” Aizawa answered, “would you like me to go find her?”

Hitoshi nodded, swallowing around the lump forming in his throat. As Aizawa disappeared around the wall, Hitoshi pulled his hands out from under the blankets. Holding them out in front of him, he watched them tremble before clenching them into fists. They seemed to dip and sway in front of his eyes, and he squeezed his eyes shut to avoid the disorienting double vision.

“I can sleep on the floor,” Hitoshi muttered, “if you’re worried about getting sick.”

Tamiko frowned worriedly and shook her head. “We’re in the room together. If I’m going to get sick, we might as well both be comfortable.”

Hitoshi felt a hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes to see a concerned Eri standing in front of him with Aizawa standing behind her, leaned over with one hand on Hitoshi.

Hitoshi propped himself up on one arm, reaching a hand out to place it on Eri’s head. Her upset frown broke, and the corners of her mouth turned up into a smile. She giggled, two small hands reaching up and encircling her wrist. Aizawa seemed to notice the lessened tension in the room, dropping into the armchair and watching as Eri happily fiddled with Hitoshi’s collection of band bracelets.

“I made this today at school,” Tamiko said, handing Hitoshi a friendship bracelet. It wasn’t very professional-looking, stray threads sticking out of the pattern, but Hitoshi held it with reverence still. He needed her help to tie it to his wrist, but he thanked her and praised her work.

Nearly a year later, the thread would wear down to the point that Hitoshi had to be extra careful when using his left hand, wary of snagging the fragile string on anything. It would fall off his arm one day on his walk home and he wouldn’t notice until he got back, immediately retracing his path back to and from school.

He couldn’t find it.

The bare wrists made him feel sick, and when he saw a shallow bucket of rubber band bracelets next to the register at the gas station near his current foster house, he grabbed one while the attendant had her back turned. His wrists hadn’t been bare since, except for his training sessions with Aizawa. During these, of course, he was unable to get too distracted unless he was keen to get taken down by the stronger man.

Hitoshi fell back into a fitful sleep, waking every hour or so to gag fruitlessly and be forced to drink a little more water. Aizawa tried to get him to take more fever reducers, but he felt too nauseous more often than not. Eri was watching some kids show and as he fell in and out of consciousness, the plotlines and voices all blended together.

Hitoshi opened his dry eyes, seeing Tamiko asleep in the bed next to him. He rolled off the mattress, reaching his backpack and sticking in a trembling hand to find his water bottle. It was empty, the disposable plastic crinkling in his hand.

“Toshi?” Tamiko yawned, the sound of crinkling plastic having woken the notoriously light sleeper. “What are you doing up?”

Hitoshi looked at her, then looked back down at the bottle in his hand. It felt like he was moving through a dream and as hard as he was trying, he couldn’t remember what he was doing there.

“I’ll go get you some water,” Tamiko said, taking the bottle out of his hands. His heart raced, and his head pounded.

She shouldn’t go out there.

Why shouldn’t she go out there?

Hitoshi’s eyes cracked open, and he pulled his head off the pillow, only able to register the shivering deep inside of him. There was a clock on a stove he couldn’t recognize blinking 11:43. Where was Tamiko? He needed to get her where he could keep an eye on her.

He stood, despite the soreness in his bones. He stumbled to the hallway, steps uneven and doing nothing to help the dizziness in his head. He wanted nothing more than to get to his room, where Mr. Sakai wouldn’t catch him out of it, but he couldn’t do that until he found Tamiko and got her to safety.

Hitoshi pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, trying to remember what he was so worried about. He reached into his backpack, looking for his water bottle. He couldn’t find it, and his thirst was causing his stomach to turn. He upended the bag, hardly caring about the noise that the books made when they hit the floor. Mr. Sakai could wail on him all he pleased, but Hitoshi needed water now.

He stopped at a door on his right, knowing instinctively that Tamiko was behind the door. He creaked it open and there she was, asleep in her bed. He hadn’t seen her sleep in her own bed in the time they’d spent at Mr. Sakai’s. It wasn’t safe.

“‘Miko,” he hissed, stumbling forward and shaking the little girl, “Tamiko, get up. We gotta go, before Mr. Sakai finds that we’re awake.”

“Hitoshi?” The girl sat up, rubbing her eyes. Something was off. Something was different, but the red eyes were familiar. Hitoshi took her wrist, pulling her slightly as she climbed out of bed. “Where are we going?”

“We-” Hitoshi cut himself off, his stomach contracting but not quite a gag, “we gotta get to my room. It’s safe in my room.”

“I want to go back to sleep,” the girl whined quietly. Hitoshi had never heard her complain like this before. She knew just as well as him why it was so important that she didn’t spend the night alone.

Hitoshi ignored her, leading her into the hallway. For a moment, his dizziness overwhelmed him, and his shoulder crashed against the wall. The thump was followed by the sound of footsteps coming from the room on his left, and Hitoshi inhaled sharply as his heart rate rose.

He heard a thudding noise while he tore through the contents of his backpack, mostly old food wrappers and loose paper. Suddenly, he remembered where his water bottle was. He got to his feet unsteadily, lurching toward the door. A man was yelling something, but he couldn’t make it out. He rested his forehead on the cool wood of the door, his hand posed on the doorknob.

A girl screamed.

Hitoshi felt like all the sound was underwater.

A thud.

A man yelling.

Suddenly, silence.

Hitoshi dragged Tamiko into the nearest room, which happened to be the bathroom. He locked the door, keeping the light off.

“Hitoshi,” Tamiko asked, the anxiety in her voice clear even if her accent sounded slightly off, “what’s going on?”

Hitoshi shushed her, staying silent as he heard a pair of footsteps make their way into the hallway, hushed voices murmuring. Mr. Sakai could’ve had a friend over, and anyone that associated with that man wasn’t someone that Hitoshi wanted around Tamiko.

“Eri?” A voice sounded from the hallway, “is that you?”

Eri opened her mouth to respond, but Hitoshi covered her mouth. A hand jiggled the doorknob.

“Hitoshi?” Another voice called, “is that you?”

Hitoshi didn’t respond, but his breathing was heavy. He could only hope nobody heard him.

As Hitoshi held his breath, he heard a man’s voice curse loudly. The curses got louder and more panicked, and he heard the sound of gagging. A door slammed shut, and Hitoshi decided that it was likely safe to investigate. If nothing else, he was still too thirsty to go back to sleep.

“Which one of you is in there? Seriously, why is the light off? Are you okay?”

“Hitoshi isn’t in the living room,” one of the voices says quietly, “and Eri isn’t in her bedroom.”

“Are you both in there? What the hell is going on?”

Hitoshi looked worriedly between Tamiko and the door. His heart was pounding in his ears, and the pressure in his head was quickly becoming overwhelming. “You can’t have her!” He called out.

“Hitoshi? You sound really sick, kid. Just unlock the door and we can figure this out.”

“No!” Hitoshi called back, his voice cracking on a sob. He hadn’t even realized he was crying. “You can’t do this again!”

“What is he talking about?” One of the voices asks the other. There is no reply.

The house is eerily quiet as Hitoshi makes his way down the hallway, his hand on the wall keeping him steady. He can only hear his own wet breaths.

“Tamiko?”

“The- the door is locked… so you can’t get to Tamiko!”

“Hitoshi, baby, it’s Hizashi and Shouta. Just unlock the door. We’re here to help you!”

“You want to hurt Tamiko!” Hitoshi cried out, “and I won’t let that happen!”

“Who’s Tamiko, Hitoshi?”

Hitoshi wandered down the staircase carefully, listening to the clock on the wall as it’s ticking reverberated through his skull.

Tamiko was crying now, and none too quietly. There was a loud bang on the door of the bathroom, and Tamiko cried out, covering her mouth to stifle the sound.

“I won’t let you hurt her!” Hitoshi yelled out.

“We don’t want to hurt anyone, Hitoshi!” one of them yelled, followed by another rattling thud to the door, “you’re sick and you aren’t making any sense! We’re worried about you!”

It was too much.

It was all too much.

“You’re scaring Eri, Hitoshi!” the other voice cried.

 Hitoshi turned to look at Tamiko, and he realized suddenly that he didn’t recognize the girl in his grasp. He released her and threw himself against the opposite wall. His chest was on fire, and he sobbed into his hands.

He turned toward the mirror, looking at the boy in the mirror. His hair was longer than he thought it was, and he looked more filled out. The person staring back at him was someone vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t Hitoshi. The third bang on the door was accompanied by a cracking noise, and Hitoshi buried his face in his knees as he sunk down the wall to avoid the hallway light flooding in.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered into his knees, “I’m sorry, Tamiko. I tried to save you. I’m so sorry.”

There was a pressure on his shoulder, but Hitoshi didn’t see who it was, because the prolonged hyperventilation and high fever finally caught up to him. As he raised his head, his vision whited out completely, and his head was rushing. He felt his body tilt to the side, but he was unconscious before his shoulder hit the floor.

Hitoshi couldn’t describe the feeling he was experiencing as he entered the living room. Some might call it paranoia, others intuition. Hitoshi only knew it by the drop in his stomach when the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock.

He was standing on the edge of something very, very bad, but he didn’t know what it was.

Not until he saw the bare pair of feet peeking out from in front of the couch, that is.

“Tamiko?” Hitoshi whispered, suddenly grateful for the fevered cloud that’s surrounding his brain because there was nothing he wanted to believe less than the sight laid out in front of him.

Tamiko’s sleep dress was ripped in the back, and there was a red handprint around her wrist. She was face down on the ground, her black hair mussed.

There was a red halo of sticky blood around her head that was steadily growing bigger.

Her chest wasn’t rising.

Hitoshi doesn’t remember much of the next hour. There was screaming and it was his, then it was the neighbors, then the screaming devolved into the murmur of police officers and EMT’s.

It was from the back of an ambulance that Hitoshi watched a body bag be rolled out of Mr. Sakai’s house. It was almost comical, the outline of the tiny body in the large black bag. Hitoshi leaned over the side of the gurney and threw up into the bag that the EMT was holding.

When he woke up in the hospital, his social worker was sitting at the end of the bed. The two of them had always had a good relationship, even if the social worker was a little oblivious to Hitoshi’s situation. He didn’t blame the man, knowing he was just a cog in an underfunded, overworked machine. His morbid sense of humor meshed well with Hitoshi’s, and their lunches together when Hitoshi was being moved between homes were always full of banter.

The man looked at Hitoshi, but there was nothing to say.

Hitoshi turned over in the hospital bed, squeezing his eyes shut and praying that he’d either wake up to find that the past twenty-four hours were a dream or not wake up at all.

When Hitoshi came to, his senses were immediately overwhelmed by the icy cold surrounding him. He flailed a bit, his limbs grasped by stronger hands. Before long, he slipped back into unconsciousness.

He woke up again, thankfully far more acclimated to his surroundings. He was lying in his bed, Aizawa asleep in his sleeping bag on the floor. Hitoshi felt like utter shit, his whole body sore and weak, but he did feel better than he remembered feeling yesterday.

“Hey,” he croaks out, clearing his throat when his voice barely makes a squeak, “Hey. Aizawa.”

The man in question woke just as suddenly and violently as he always did, sitting straight up and looking around before relaxing slightly. “Hey. I’m glad to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“I- uh… okay, I guess. I don’t… remember a lot. Of yesterday.”

Something in Aizawa’s eyes changed when Hitoshi mentioned yesterday, but the boy couldn’t place what it was. “Hizashi and I did some digging while you were unconscious. I’m… I’m so sorry Hitoshi. I can’t imagine how it was, going through something like that.”

Hitoshi’s mind raced, and he hardly wanted to process what it meant that Aizawa knew.

He knew.

“What happened last night?”

“How much do you remember?”

“I remember Eri playing with my bracelets. Then she was watching TV. Someone was yelling at some point. Then I was… in a shower? I was cold, I know that.”

Aizawa sighed, getting up to sit on the end of the bed. “Your fever spiked last night. Totally delirious, you got off the couch and woke Eri up, bringing her to the bathroom and locking the two of you in. Hizashi and I were trying to get in, and you kept yelling stuff about protecting her, but you kept referring to her as ‘Tamiko.’ We didn’t know who it was… at the time.”

Hitoshi nodded slowly, only in slight disbelief.

“Why… why doesn’t your file say anything about it, Hitoshi? We had to do a total deep dive to find out what happened, considering her name was only listed as a temporary foster sibling.”

Hitoshi winced at Aizawa’s blunt wording. “I don’t know. I don’t see my own file. I guess that because I wasn’t involved in the incident, whether or not it was listed in my file wouldn’t be important. I just talked with my social worker, and he agreed not to place me in any other houses with young girls in them.”

“Of course it’s important, Hitoshi. We never would’ve agreed to take in Eri if we’d known that having a younger sister was such a trigger for you. Does this have a correlation with your mental state for the past few days? It doesn’t take a professional to see that your anxiety had completely nosedived. If we’d known, we- we…”

“Eri needed somewhere to go,” Hitoshi muttered.

“You need to be somewhere you feel safe, kiddo. We haven’t talked to anyone about fostering her, because we wanted to talk to you first-”

“Don’t move her,” Hitoshi sighed, “it’s not like she did anything wrong. I wasn’t lying when I said you guys were the best thing that could happen to her.”

“If having her here is this hard for you-”

“I think it’ll be okay. I just… needed to be honest with you guys. I haven’t told anyone about-” he cut himself off when he felt his eyes dampen, “about Tamiko. I think talking about it might help. Or something.”

“Not even your therapist?”

Hitoshi shook his head, and Aizawa sighed, carding his fingers through the boy's hair. “Well, if there’s anything you want to tell us about her, we’d be happy to listen.”

Hitoshi nodded. Thinking about it hurt, but he knew it would make him feel better. Keeping it all inside of him was difficult, and there was nobody he could mourn with considering nobody else knew her. The only other person was Mr. Sakai, but he was rotting away in a jail cell somewhere and Hitoshi would die before commiserating with him. Grief was heavy, and all he ever wanted was someone to share the burden.

He reached out a shaking hand, and Aizawa enveloped in his larger, calloused one.

“She- she was smart. She always did well in school.” Hitoshi started, “she would have me read over all her homework, even though I barely ever needed to correct anything. She liked when I read to her from my books at school, even though she’d always fall asleep. She really liked chocolate and whenever I had some, I’d always split it.”

“Hitoshi, I-”

“She’d lost her mom right before she came to Mr. Sakai,” Hitoshi said, and Aizawa winced at the mention of the name, “so she had nobody else other than me. Mr, Sakai, he… he tried to do a lot of bad things to her. I tried my best to protect her from it. She slept in my room more often than not. I wanted to get the police involved. I could deal with him hitting me, but what he was doing to her? I didn’t want her around it, but if she got moved, then what was the guarantee the next foster father wouldn’t have the same taste for little girls? Who’s to say there would be someone like me there to protect her from it?” Hitoshi’s voice broke as tears made their way down his face. “I should’ve gone to the police. Other men might do evil shit to her, but she’d probably- she’d probably still be here.”

Aizawa helped Hitoshi into a sitting position, pulling the boy into a hug. Hitoshi sobbed into the shoulder of Aizawa’s worn hoodie.

“Is that why you’ve been so over-protective of Eri? You think Hizashi and I might…”

“No,” Hitoshi responded, looking up to look Aizawa in the eye. “Logically, I know you guys would never do something like that, I just- I see it where it isn’t, and I couldn’t quite convince myself-”

“Hey, that wasn’t an accusation,” Aizawa said warmly, “I don’t need you to prove you trust us or something. The best I can do is tell you that Hizashi and I would never-”

“I know, I know-”

“And if it eases your mind, we can do more stuff all together. We just need to know what you’re thinking, kiddo. We want you to be able to trust us, and we understand why you’re paranoid, especially considering what you’ve been through.”

Hitoshi sighed, scrubbing one of his hands down his face. His eyes opened when there was a small knock on the door. Hizashi and Eri stood in the doorway, the blond’s hand posed to knock on the frame again.

“Hey” Hitoshi croaked, holding out a hand as Eri approached. She took his hand in both of hers.

“Are you okay?” The little girl asked. Hitoshi nodded, dragging her into a loose hug.

“I’m sorry if I scared you, Eri. I was really sick, and I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“You did,” she answered honestly, and Hitoshi winced, “but don’t worry about it. I talked to papa, and he explained that when you get really sick, you sometimes forget where you are and stuff.”

Hitoshi glanced up to Hizashi, who gave him a sympathetic half-smile. He was glad that the man at least seemed to have avoided detailing PTSD and severe anxiety to the younger girl.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

Hitoshi yawned, and Hizashi pulled Eri back out to whatever she was doing prior to their appearance.

“We’ll figure this out kid,” Aizawa muttered as Hitoshi laid back down. He rubbed the boy’s back until he fell back into a peaceful sleep.

A Week Later

Hitoshi dropped his bag and coat in the doorway, making his way through to the kitchen in search of a drink. He wasn’t too surprised to see Aizawa sitting at the counter, but he was a bit surprised by the sorrowful expression that the man gave him when he saw Hitoshi.

“Aizawa? What’s up?”

“I’ve got something to show you.”

Hitoshi shrugged and followed Aizawa to the man’s bedroom. On the bed was a box, taped together with the sides fraying and falling apart. He didn’t recognize it, but he recognized the words scrawled on top.

Tamiko, Kindergarten Class B

“We got in contact with her old teacher. They collect student artwork and such to give to the parents at the end of the year, and they weren’t quite sure what to do with hers, so they just kept it. I explained the situation, and she was more than happy for you to have it.”

Hitoshi was only half-listening. His heart was pounding, and he reached out to rest a trembling hand on the lid of the box. For years, he’d struggled with trying to mourn someone who he had no tangible memories of. After the bracelet fell off, he’d stayed up a lot of nights running through his memories of her, if only to reassure himself he wouldn’t forget them.

Here, in front of him, was proof that she had been real. That his pain was real. He had news stories and articles and everything but to those, Tamiko was no more than the name of a victim. In this box, Tamiko was a vibrant, young elementary schooler with a bright mind and a brighter future.

She was everything he remembered.

Everything that had been taken away from him.

Aizawa placed a hand on Hitoshi’s back, and he pulled the lid off. The box was bursting with doodles and worksheets. Friendship bracelets and dried pasta that had fallen off her macaroni pony. Hitoshi didn’t know when he started crying, but it was somewhere between the watercolor painting of a tadpole and the alphabet practice sheet.

At the very bottom of the box, there was a page out of a coloring book. The only print on the page was at the top, the words ‘Family Portrait’ bolded.

In the blank space, there was two figures drawn. One, small and brunette in a long pink princess dress. The other, taller with wavy purple hair stood behind her, and the background was a colorful castle with sunshine and flowers everywhere. It wasn’t hard to decipher who it was supposed to be. Hitoshi sobbed, and Aizawa pulled the boy into a hug.

“We could frame it, if you want. Put it up in the hallway with the rest of the pictures.”

Hitoshi pulled back slightly, giving Aizawa a confused glance. “You don’t have to. You guys didn’t know her or anything.”

“It’s up to you, but… you’re a part of this family Hitoshi, and she is a part of you, even if she isn’t here anymore. We’d be honored to help you memorialize her however you’d like to.”

Hitoshi nodded, tears still streaking down his face. He packed the rest of the art pieces up in the box but left the family portrait out, next to it. Aizawa picked it up gently, studying it.

“She seems amazing, Hitoshi. I’m sorry if there was something we did that made you feel like you couldn’t tell us about her earlier.”

“No, nothing, I just got used to dealing with it alone. Sometimes I worried that if I let it out… if I somehow stopped holding her so close to my heart… that she might disappear.”

Aizawa didn’t respond, giving Hitoshi a sad glance before pulling the boy into another tight hug.

The next day, when Hitoshi got home from school, he pulled his shoes and coat off in the entrance just like normal. He walked down the hallway, toward the kitchen, until something caught his eye. There, between the picture of Hizashi and Aizawa’s wedding and the picture of Hitoshi and Aizawa, both asleep on top of Hitoshi’s bed while they were halfway through building it, was the framed drawing. Hitoshi stopped in his tracks, just staring.

He jumped when a hand fell on his shoulder, spinning to see Hizashi behind him. His eyes were tinged with sadness, but his smile was as genuine as ever. “Hey baby, how was school? Eri and I are cutting up some fruits if you want some.”

Hitoshi’s eyes darted between the drawing and the doorway of the kitchen, where he spied white hair and a pair of red eyes peeking from around the doorway. He smiled, even if he felt a bit like crying.

“Yeah. Sounds good.”