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The sun is just peeking over the horizon, filtering lazily through the sheer burnt orange curtains contributing to the warmth of the atmosphere in the living room. It’s a Sunday morning, which means there’s a small window where Hitoshi has the apartment to himself, where Yamada has left for his early morning patrol and Aizawa is still trudging his way back across town after his late night shift.
Hitoshi is typically dead to the world at this hour sleeping soundly wrapped in his mass of blankets. But last night like many others recently had not been kind to him, trapped in the tight grip of insomnia that plagues him. Even with his tried and true alternating brown noise and rain sounds playlist filtering in from his bedside speaker sleep had evaded him, or more accurately had abandoned him after a single hour of fitful slumber. Anticipating Aizawa’s return and feeling a need to be useful he busies himself in the kitchen, watching the coffee machine percolate with resolute disinterest for his want of its assistance in passing the time.
He hears his dads key in the door shortly before his shuffling steps bring him into the dim kitchen. He’s already shed his shoes, utility belt, and scarf, grumbling appreciatively at the cup of coffee Hitoshi presses into his hands. Aizawa appraises him with a half lidded gaze before tilting his head vaguely toward the living room.
“Come sit with me.” He requests, tone soft, before turning on his heel. Hitoshi falls into step behind him, so close he could be mistaken for the man’s shadow. Clutching his own mug close he settles next to his fathers slouched form without hesitation despite the shift of the air between him, knowing that somehow his dad has seen right through him in the early morning haze.
“How was your patrol?” He enquires, tilting his head inquisitively. The slow blink he gets in return is all that fills the space between them for long moments as the tired eyes become more aware by the second, pieces slotting together in the mans mind, he takes one last large gulp from the mug before setting it aside on the coffee table.
“Is that really what you want to talk about kid?” His voice is gentle in a way Hitoshi hasn’t heard in a while, like he’s worried one misstep will spook him into silence, he’s probably not too far off. Hitoshi just grimaces.
“No.” It’s barely more than a whisper, and there’s patient silence for a beat, the expectation for elaboration going unfulfilled as the words stick in the teens throat throat like kitten claws in a knit sweater.
“Ok.” His dad continues in that velvet tone.”You can take your time.”
“I don’t know how to…” He offers awkwardly, eyes pricking dangerously already, something about his dads calm and seeming omnipotent countenance making his carefully crafted shields fall away like fruit from a vine, so instinctual that it takes him by surprise every time.
“Do you want to tell me what’s been bothering you?” The question is soft at the edges, like he knows the answer already but he’s giving Hitoshi a soft place to land. Even faced with the unknown his dad anticipates his needs, fills the gap where his own ability to communicate effectively misses the mark. Immediately his eyes do more than prick, tear ducts deciding to betray him exceptionally.
“Nothing.” He starts with a shrug of his shoulder. “Everything?” He wipes a sleeve under his eyes in embarrassment. “I don’t know.” The words are watery and uncertain.
“Take your time.” The reassurance comes naturally, the same unwavering support he’s come to expect from both of his parents, it still makes the intensity of his tears pick up. He tries to avoid looking directly at his dad, the pain reflected in his eyes is like a cold knife twisting in his chest.
“I’ve been feeling like I’m underwater? Like everything is murky and distant and dark. I thought it was just stress but I think it’s more than that..” He chokes out. “I’m . . . struggling” the admission is awkward as it falls from his lips. “You asked me the other day if I was ok, that I’ve been distant, I told you there was nothing wrong, but I- that wasn’t the truth.”
Strong hands reach out toward him, palms coming to rest on his upper arms, a reminder, a silent ‘I’m here to catch you’. It takes him by surprise, a byproduct of his avoidance of eye contact. He jumps by the slightest degree, eyes sliding over to land on his dads face. Fuck. There are tears pooling there too, pain etched into his pale face. Just witnessing the show of emotion makes Hitoshi want to gag. Guilt flares in his chest, so strong it threatens to pull him deeper in the turbulent waters.
“I’m sorry.” He sobs, shaking his head like it will help clear the thoughts that pile there in inarticulate jumbles.
“Don’t be sorry Hitoshi.” There’s a hitch to his breath, and he swallows thickly, it feels like a punch to Hitoshi’s gut.
“But I am. I don’t want to burden you or papa, I just want to be fucking normal for once so you don’t have to worry about me.”
“You are never a burden to us Hitoshi.”
“Ok.” He mumbles. Shifting uncomfortably under the full weight and intensity of his fathers gaze. The thumbs of each hand rubs unconscious circles into his biceps, as in they’re a coded message an unspoken ‘you’re not alone’.
“I need to ask you something, and I want you to be honest because it changes how I can best support you. Have you-“ there’s an awkward gap as his dads voice wavers and breaks at the thought he’s attempting to verbalize “done anything to hurt yourself.”
“No” He shakes his head weakly. “Nothing like that.”
“Have you had thoughts about-“ The next question comes out supported by even shorter breaths.
“No.” Hitoshi cuts in, and sees the way some of the mounting tension leaves his dads shoulders as he lets out a steadying breath.
“Alright, so I’m going to get some recommendations from Hound Dog for therapists and we can pick one you think sounds like a good fit.” He lays out the plan like a carefully laid mosaic, lips pressed together between his words to try to stop the way they shake.
“I’m sorry.” He can’t help but apologize, the guilt crashing back into focus. Because there’s no way he deserves someone as genuinely good when he’s done nothing but burden the man with his problems.
“For what?” Unkempt eyebrows crumple together in confusion.
“You’re crying.” Histoshi half raises a hand to indicate the overlapping tear tracks on the normally stoic face before him.
“You don’t have to apologize kid, I’m crying because I love you and you’re hurting. Kind of part of the job description as a parent, your wounds are my wounds. We can carry the load together, ok?”
“Ok, I love you too dad.” He says with wobbling words and tear blind eyes. His previously silent sobs overtake him, shoulders shaking violently, his head falling forward into his hands. Between the space of one heartbeat and the next his dads strong arms are pulling him by the shoulders, crushing him to his chest. His own arms come up to wrap around the solid form in front of him, clutching at the fabric of his jumpsuit that stretches across sharp shoulder blades. His own stuttering breath echoed in the body wrapped around him protectively.
“I’ve got you Hitoshi. It’s going to be alright.”
“I know.” He whispers into his chest. Even if he’s not sure he fully believes it for himself, and the tumultuous feelings that saturate the darker corners of his mind still spill over everything tinging it with deep rooted melancholy. He does believe in his dad though, has been a witness to his commitment to their little family of three enough times to know he means it when he says he can share the weight that’s been dragging him down.