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Hizashi watches his partners run out from under the rain, laughing while they dart under the nearest verandah, and wonders when it all went wrong.
When did Hizashi start watching instead of being there with them?
And when did they stop seeking him out, content and wrapped up in each other?
If Hizashi is honest with himself, he’s not sure he was ever truly with them. Not like they are with each other.
When Shouta and Oboro gaze into each other’s eyes, holding hands as they walk along the pier, Hizashi is behind them, because otherwise the couples walking the other way won’t have space.
It’s been a long time since Shouta has looked back, been a long time since Oboro beckoned with slender fingers for Hizashi to join them.
When did Hizashi become the actual third wheel, and not part of Shouta and Oboro’s life?
It must be pity, Hizashi thinks to himself a day later. There’s nothing else. They must’ve known that if they dated each other and not Hizashi, that he’d fall apart. And here he is, dating them both, and falling apart anyway.
Shouta and Oboro are tangled up in each other on the couch, sleeping contentedly and Hizashi wants nothing more than to join them.
But if he does, dinner won’t get cooked, the benches won’t be cleared, the laundry won’t be folded.
Besides, Hizashi scolds himself, the couch isn’t big enough for three.
So when the call comes in after dinner, that his agency needs someone to help run ops, Hizashi… Hizashi looks at his partners, Shouta rubbing a hand through his tangled hair and scowling at his marking, at Oboro who’s frowning as he types out a report, and looks at the pile of dishes that need to be done.
“I have to go in,” Hizashi says idly, and Sho gives him a distracted nod while Oboro waves in acknowledgement. Neither man looks up. “It’s a priority case,” he continues, “so I’ll be leaving in a few minutes. Can one of you do the dishes tonight? And the cat litter needs to be emptied before bed-“
“No worries,” Oboro says brightly, and he finally looks up. “Sho and I can handle ourselves, you know?”
“Right,” Hizashi says, and his stilted answer must get through to something in Shouta’s brain because he also looks up, fixes Hizashi with his dark eyes.
“We’ll be fine on our own.”
Hizashi thinks he be trying for reassurance, in his own awkward, uncomfortable way. But the thing is, Hizashi knows they’re fine on their own. He doesn’t need reassurance of something he sees every damn day.
He wants to know they need him.
His phone buzzes again, and Hizashi swears. “Gotta go,” he says hastily, and he strides across to the table to press a kiss to Oboro’s brow and then Shouta’s. “See you later, I shouldn’t be home too late.”
The mission, while successful, runs several hours overtime, and Hizashi is exhausted by the time he can head home. He won’t have a huge amount of sleep, four hours at most, before he has to be up and heading to UA for a full day of teaching.
Except, when Hizashi gets home, he can see from the entryway that the dishes are still piled by the sink, and there’s the acrid smell of ammonia that belies an unhappy cat. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and gets to work.
He washes the dishes, empties Belle’s litter tray and cleans up her pointed mess as she sits and watches with bright blue eyes. She’s a good cat, if a little spoiled, and justifiably fussy about her litter.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Hizashi murmurs to his fluffy white cat. “I know you don’t like going on the floor anymore than I like cleaning it up. I should’ve emptied it before I left, huh?”
He nearly doesn’t notice it, but by the time Hizashi is putting the cleaning supplies back under the sink, his cheeks are damp with tears. He notices only because Belle jumps into his arms, and licks furiously at his face while purring as loudly as her little body can manage.
“You’re a good girl,” Hizashi mumbles to her. “Let’s go to bed.”
Hizashi, Shouta and Oboro all have their own rooms, in addition to the master bedroom that they usually share. It’s a matter of practicality; they’re three adults that need their own space.
Hizashi’s room is probably, however, the most seldom used of all the bedrooms. He really only uses it if he’s sick, or if he wants to compose on one of those nights his brain won’t shut up and let him sleep.
For the first time in months, Hizashi sleeps in his own bed, and he shudders under the cool sheets until his body warmth finally makes it bearable. Belle curls up beside his head, kneading rhythmically at the pillow, and falls asleep.
It takes far too long before Hizashi can as well.
Given everything, Hizashi wishes he could oversleep, or even call in for a rare day off. But with exams coming up, Hizashi has promised his students through review classes, and extra tutoring after school for the ones that want or need it.
When he slumps into the kitchen, all he’s really thinking about is coffee, so he’s disappointed when he sees the pot is empty. Whatever, he’ll just make a new -
“Morning, Hizashi,” Oboro chirps, and Hizashi musters up a tired grin for his partner. “Didn’t know you were home!”
Hizashi feels his smile freeze. “The mission ran over,” he says, biting back a snarky comment about having texted both Oboro and Shouta the circumstances. “Sorry.”
“Ah, you’re fine,” Oboro dismisses, “it was just a normal night anyway. Nothing missed.”
“Mm,” Hizashi says, and mutters a mental prayer of thanks when the coffee machine whines loudly and cuts off any further discussion.
Nothing missed, huh.
“Thanks, Sensei,” several students chorus after the tutoring session, and Hizashi waves them off with a soft smile. They’re good kids this year, with most of the class being hard workers; Hizashi doesn’t think he’s ever had so many come to a voluntary extra class before.
Once they’re gone, Hizashi stretches, rolling out his shoulders and heaving a sigh of relief. He loves his kids, really, but he’s also incredibly ready for this day to be over.
With that in mind, Hizashi calls up his radio station manager and all but begs for the night off, which she gives him with a laugh. “Spend some time with those boys of yours,” she instructs, and Hizashi huffs out a laugh before she hangs up on him.
But she has the right idea, and Hizashi texts Shouta and Oboro immediately that he has the night off, if they want to go out for dinner together. It’s a Friday, and while Hizashi normally has his radio show, Shouta and Oboro are usually free until later in the evening.
He doesn’t get a response but that’s fine; normally, Hizashi would be dropped off at the station by them on their way home, but today when he gets to the teacher’s lounge, he sees a note on his desk saying they’ve left early for dinner, and that they’ll see him at home.
He doesn’t mean to crumple it into a tiny ball, but it’s what happens.
It’s also what Nemuri sees right as she walks in, and the minx of a woman is at his side in an instant.
“Zashi?” she asks cautiously, and Hizashi knows it’s because he seldom loses his temper in even small ways like that, and then -
He bursts into noisy tears, and Nemuri has him wrapped in a tight hug before he can do anything else, cooing meaningless noises in his ear. It’s something that’s always helped calm him, the tight pressure of her arms around his ribs, the soothing, familiar noises.
“Baby,” Nemuri murmurs, “baby, I need you to breathe for me, C’mon, Zashi.”
It takes a while, but eventually he manages to follow Nemuri’s gentle counting, to come back to himself and be grateful that it was late enough that no other teachers were around to see… that.
“Talk to me, sweetheart,” Nemuri demands, and Hizashi has never been able to keep his feelings down for long.
“You’re staying with me” Nemuri informs Hizashi, and he doesn’t argue. He’s too tired, too worn down from… from weeks and months of… of well, nothing.
And Shouta and Oboro haven’t texted him back. Haven’t even read his message.
It’s not okay, and Hizashi… he needs to stop pretending that it is.
In the end, it takes until midday the next day before Hizashi gets a call. He’s perched on a stool at Nemuri’s breakfast bar, and Belle is staring unblinkingly at him from a mere foot away on the bench as he shovels down his cereal. Nemuri has promised him retail therapy, and Hizashi is more than a little excited.
It feels like too long since someone has wanted to do something with him that he likes.
When Hizashi checks the ID, it’s Oboro calling. Suddenly numb, he answers the call, and puts it on speaker, placing his phone closer to Nemuri than himself. “Oboro.”
“Zashi, there you are! Shouta and I have been looking all morning, but Belle has gone missing! She must’ve gotten out of the apartment somehow,” Oboro frets, and something in Hizashi cracks and shatters for good.
“I take it you didn’t see my note. Or my texts.”
“Huh- your note?”
“On the kitchen bench, beside the coffee pot,” Hizashi sighs. “Belle is fine, she’s with me.”
“Oh, did she have to go to the vet?” Oboro asks, and there’s faint clattering noises with the familiar squeak of their bedroom door. The bedroom door.
“You should’ve told us, we would’ve made time…” Oboro trails off, and Hizashi knows he must’ve made it to the kitchen. Must’ve picked up the note, and read it.
“What is this?”
“It’s a good thing,” Hizashi says coolly, “that neither you or Shouta wanted to get married. It makes this easier. I picked up all my stuff last night, so you don’t have to worry about that.”
“Hizashi-”
“As I said, Belle is with me. I know it’s Shouta’s name on her paperwork, but as I’m the one that feeds her, clips her claws and cleans her litter box, I figured she’s better off with me.”
“Hizashi.”
“You’ll tell Shouta, I trust?”
“Hizashi.”
Hizashi hangs up, stands, and then promptly dumps his phone in the coffee pot. Nemuri winces as coffee splashes over her bench, but doesn’t say a word, just plucks Belle off the bench before the cat can lick up any of the liquid.
“I’m going to have a shower,” Hizashi tells her, reaching over to give Belle a quick scritch behind the ears.
“Alright,” Nemuri replies, and her eyes are sad. Sad, but understanding.
Hizashi appreciates her not mentioning that his hair is still damp from his first shower that morning.
He started dating Shouta and Oboro in their second year, after Oboro’s close-call with death. They were seventeen. As soon as they graduated, they moved into a flat together, and while over the years they’ve become able to afford nicer and nicer homes, they’ve never been apart for longer than a few days.
Hizashi is twenty-three and he doesn’t know who he is on his own.
When he tells Nemuri, she tilts her head consideringly. “I’m only a year older than you,” she says eventually. “And I don’t really know who I am either.”
“We should find out together.”
“Oh?”
“Not like that Nemuri!”
Hizashi calls off of work for his agency and UA for the next week.
He feels bad that the kids will be going into their exams without him there, but he has faith they’ll be fine. His agency is just relieved that he’s actually using up some of his accrued leave for once.
He doesn’t call out of his radio show, if only because there’s only so many pre-recorded episodes, and Hizashi… he loves his show, loves talking to his fans and playing music, loves chatting about the latest in pop culture news.
It keeps… it keeps his mind off of things.
And for a week, it’s enough. Hizashi lazes around in Nemuri’s apartment, spends time with Belle, and goes to his radio show.
Out of an overabundance of caution, he makes sure Ayame knows not to let calls through from his… from his exes.
She doesn’t say any condolences, just nods in understanding and continues on with her work. And if Hizashi sees her slam the phone down more than once over the week, he doesn’t say a word, and neither does she.
A week passes, and Hizashi resumes patrol, and steps back onto the UA campus. His kids are thrilled to see him, and he has more than one concerned student asking after his health.
He reassures them all with a laugh, and raises an eyebrow when one cautiously raises their hand to ask if there’s an illness going around the teachers, because Aizawa-sensei and Shirakumo-sensei look awful and -
“Don’t worry about it,” Hizashi interrupts with a smile, “if they were sick, they know better than to come to work and risk getting you kiddos sick, not with Recovery Girl around.”
And so it goes.
“You took the cat.”
“You noticed the cat was gone before you noticed I was,” Hizashi snaps back and Shouta recoils. “And of course I took her, I’m the one that fed her and kept her litter clean.”
“Zashi-”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Hizashi-”
“No.”
Shouta looks broken. “What do you want me to say?”
“There are a lot of things I want you to say,” Hizashi says after a moment. “But at the moment, there’s nothing I need from you.”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing,” Hizashi confirms. He keeps his heart locked away, his expression cool.
“Did you ever love us?”
Hizashi laughs. And laughs, and laughs and laughs, until Shouta goes from looking offended to sheer concern, half-rising from his seat with his hands outstretched.
“I can’t believe,” Hizashi manages to choke out between hysterical laughter, “I can’t believe you have the audacity to ask me that.”
“Hizashi,” Shouta says, something ugly and cracked in his voice, “Please, talk to me, talk to us-”
“I’m leaving,” Hizashi says, and he finally manages to stop his giggling. The nearest waitress looks concerned, but he just waves her over and definitely pays far too much for his simple americano.
“See you at work,” Hizashi calls as he leaves the café. “Follow me again and I’ll give you a repeat of our third year festival.”
“Shouta and Oboro broke up,” Nemuri informs Hizashi two months after he moves in with her.
Hizashi chokes on his coffee, and it takes a few minutes of wheezing before he can ask, “What?”
“They broke up.”
“How do you even know this?” Hizashi asks, because Nemuri has been treating his exes with cool indifference. She hadn’t been very impressed by their behaviour, she’d informed him, having sat both Oboro and Shouta down for friendly ‘chats’.
“Shouta cried about it to Emi, and she told me,” Nemuri says, patting Hizashi gently on the back. “She was super confused, she had no idea there was anything going on.”
Hizashi raises an eyebrow, and resumes shovelling down his cereal. “So what was me leaving?” he asks incredulously, and Nemuri snorts.
“See, that’s the thing,” she says slowly. “He never told her until last night; that’s why she called me, to verify.”
“Huh,” Hizashi says. “Weird.”
“Zashi.”
Hizashi sighs, puts down his spoon. “What do you want me to say, Nem?”
“Nothing,” Nemuri retorts, blue eyes fixed on him. “But, can you listen?”
“I don’t want to hear about them.”
“Not about them,” Nemuri promises. “Kitten, look at me; please?”
“There you are,” she coos when Hizashi does, and she cups his cheek gently. “Love, you’re not happy.”
“I’m aware, as is my bank account.” Retail therapy isn’t a substitute for actual therapy, and Hizashi knows that. Hence, he does both.
“You miss them.”
Hizashi blinks, deflates against Nemuri, and she pulls him in for a hug. “I hate that I do,” he mumbles into her shoulder. She smells of clary sage, as always, and it’s reassuring to feel her warmth. “I don’t want to miss them.”
“Your heart has never been very smart,” Nemuri says quietly. “But it has always known what it wants.”
“I want us back.”
“I know,” Nemuri murmurs, and she starts carding her fingers through Hizashi’s hair. It’s soothing, a familiar trick they always use on the other to calm them before they can truly get worked up. “Give it time; things will work out. I have faith in that.”
“You’re an atheist.”
“If I believe in anything, it’s you three.”
“Nemuri,” Hizashi starts a week after Oboro and Shouta have their falling out, “do you want me to leave?”
“Huh? Why on earth would I want that?” Nemuri asks, and okay, maybe the incredulous expression is justified as they’re both laying on her balcony, face masks on and enjoying the cool breeze.
“I… I’ve been here for months now.” Hizashi rolls on his side to look at his best friend. “When you asked me to stay, you probably didn’t mean forever.”
“Sweetheart,” Nemuri says, and she’s heedless of the cream on Hizashi’s face as she sits up so she can cup his chin, “what’s this really about? You know I love having you around, even if Belle does chew up my left shoes.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, sweetheart.”
“You’re not… not tired of me?”
“Never,” Nemuri promises, and then pulls him up into a hug, and they both laugh when they realise that maybe that was a bad idea with the face masks, but they laugh.
Saturday, 3PM, our spot.
It’s Oboro’s messy scrawl, in the end, that draws the three of them back together.
Two notes, passed to Hizashi and Shouta by a wary Nemuri, in front of an office full of their colleagues that know something has been going on, but never knew that the three of them had been an item in the first place.
Hizashi stares at his for a long, long moment, the smooth paper crinkling as he grips it too tight. He can all but feel Shouta’s gaze boring into the side of his head, but he’s become well accustomed to ignoring it.
In the end, he decides to go. The notes were passed to both him and Shouta, and Nemuri must have approved whatever plan it is that Oboro has cooked up.
Hizashi knows she has faith in them, faith that they can come back from this, but he also knows it’s a realistic faith. If she didn’t truly believe Oboro meant whatever it is he said to convince her, she never would’ve agreed to play messenger.
Hizashi… appreciates the thoughtfulness. If Oboro had simply left the note on his desk, he would’ve ignored it. He’s been hurt enough.
But Oboro was respecting his boundaries. It’s… It's something.
So Hizashi goes.
The beach is cold, the sea breeze whipping in over the water. The sun is already sinking down, and the golden glow over the water is mesmerising.
The sun should be warm, but Hizashi feels only the wind nipping at his cheeks. No doubt he’ll be flushed with windburn for the next few days.
Hizashi is the first one there, at ten minutes to, and he’s starting to regret it, shivering even in his leather jacket. He’s never done well in the cold, never been able to keep enough weight on to truly deal with it.
And then a warm weight settles over his shoulders, familiar with the scent of nutmeg and coffee.
Shouta’s capture weapon, Hizashi realises idly, burying his cold fingers into the soft fabric. The metal alloy woven through it runs warm with the static electricity it needs to move, and it’s a blessing against the cold air.
“You never dress warm enough,” Shouta mutters, and Hizashi turns to face him. His own hands are stuck in his pockets, a heavy frown settled on his face.
“I know,” Hizashi says quietly. “Thanks, Shouta.”
And then they wait, and even though it’s only ten minute, it seems an age in the cold silence, until Hizashi sighs. “Come here,” he snaps, and Shouta, ever-vigilant Shouta, startles. But there’s a flush on his cheeks that’s not only his embarrassment, and he sidles up to Hizashi cautiously, like…
Like he had when they first started dating.
He doesn’t say a word as Hizashi links their arms to huddle them together, but there’s a quiet awe in his eyes that almost hurts to look at.
Hizashi doesn’t look away, just looks, until Shouta relaxes against his side.
Together, they wait.
And wait.
“He’s late,” Hizashi sighs, when it’s been twenty minutes, and Shouta snorts.
“He always is.”
“I’m so sorry I’m late!” A voice calls, nearly lost to the breeze and crashing waves. “The café messed up the order, and I wanted to run, but if I ran I’d spill the drinks, but then I realised I could put them in my clouds and-”
“Why are you laughing?” Oboro demands, skidding to a halt in front of them.
Hizashi and Shouta share a look, before smirking in unison. “Because you’re an idiot,” they say together, and Oboro twitches back in offence, before rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, grimacing sheepishly.
“I… suppose it’s kind of a dumb move, huh,” he admits, “inviting you both here and then being late.”
“That’s an understatement,” Shouta says dryly. “Speaking of, why did you invite us here. And where’s my coffee?”
“Right, right!”
When Hizashi takes his drink, he greedily wraps his freezing hands around it, welcoming the near-burning warmth. “Extra hot soy flat white,” Oboro informs him, and his smile is huge but the lines around his eyes bely his stress.
He’s nervous.
Loud Cloud, fifteenth ranked hero in the country, is nervous.
“Well, one of us is going to have to start,” Shouta grumbles, and Hizashi grins into his takeaway cup. But he can tell the man is getting antsy, the tension between the three of them thick and heavy.
So Hizashi holds his hand. Yes, he has to let go of the beautiful warm coffee with one hand to do so, but with how tightly and desperately Shouta clings to him, Hizashi considers it a worthy sacrifice.
And Shouta runs warm anyway, gods know how many times Hizashi has plastered himself against the other man in the middle of the night, seeking out his warmth.
But Shouta is here, and he’s trying, and Oboro is here and he’s scared and -
And Hizashi can be brave. He still doesn’t know what drove Shouta and Oboro apart, can’t really imagine something would, but that’s fresher than his separation from them both.
“I’m sorry I left like I did.”
“Hizashi,” Oboro says after a long moment, and even though it’s for Shouta’s comfort, Hizashi thinks holding his hand is the only thing keeping him from bolting right now. “You… don’t have to apologise for that. You needed to do what was best for you.”
Shouta squeezes Hizashi’s hand, a silent agreement.
It’s something Nemuri has told him countless times, but hearing it from - from Oboro and Shouta is different.
He might be able to believe it some day.
“I still probably should have talked to you both,” Hizashi admits, and he ducks his head, hopes his hair will hide his shame. “But I just ran away from you instead.”
“And we shouldn’t have been assholes,” Oboro retorts. “We’re the ones that made you feel like you couldn’t talk to us.”
“Still-”
“We all made mistakes,” Shouta interrupts, and he tightens his grip on Hizashi’s hand. “Oboro and I more than you.” He pauses, swallows loudly enough for Hizashi to hear. “We fucked up, bad. And I’m sorry, Hizashi.”
“I’m sorry too.”
Well, was Hizashi not supposed to burst into messy tears?
“I miss you both so much,” he sobs, and Oboro coos, stepping forward to bracket Hizashi in his arms. Shouta takes his hand from Hizashi’s only to wrap around him from behind, tucking his chin over his shoulder.
Pinned between them, Hizashi thinks maybe he can find a little of that faith Nemuri keeps talking about.
It’s not quite a new beginning, not yet. But eventually, it will be.