Archive of Our Own

It was a Tuesday night. Tuesdays were always quiet. In the years since the war, many things had changed; but Tuesdays remained pretty much the same. Still, Shouta knew better than to let his guard down, his dark eye scanning every shadow from his perch on the rooftop. He wasn’t expecting to find trouble, not at 3 am when even most of the troublemakers of the world were at home and asleep; but it wasn’t unusual for him to spot someone down on their luck who was in need of help.

A flash of movement caught his attention. He took a moment to plan his path to the ground, double checking his mental calculations. He’d grown adept at navigating the world with only one eye, even with the impact on his depth perception; but he had needed to become more cautious now than he had been in his twenties. He threw out a length of his binding cloth and swung off the ledge.

It was muscle memory as much as anything else, he’d done it thousands of times. But even with the familiarity, it still gave him a rush; a flutter of nerves in his gut as he was momentarily in freefall. His nightly check-in with mortality.

On the ground, he approached the darkened storefront where he’d seen something moving. He sighed, knowing there was a homeless woman who would sometimes use her Quirk to slip inside empty buildings. She never stole anything — or at least nothing of enough value for anyone to notice — but it had become something of an issue when occasionally the shop owners would open up the next morning to find her asleep in the middle of the floor.

“Kowada-san,” Shouta called, leaning in close to the large glass display window, “we’ve talked about this. There’s a shelter nearby where you can sleep.” Shading his eye against the glare of the streetlights on the glass, he scanned the interior—

The hair on the back of his neck rose, and he spun around just in time to throw up his forearm, blocking a heavy punch. He ducked under the arm of his assailant, foot darting out to kick the back of the man’s knee, forcing him to stumble sideways, giving Shouta a little more room to maneuver.

Activating his Quirk, Shouta was able to focus and get a better look at his attacker. For a split second, he wondered if the man had been in some kind of accident; but no, the crimson streaks across the exposed skin of his face and arms were too neat and symmetrical to be smears of blood. As the man got his footing and turned to fully face Shouta, his mouth curled up in a cruel approximation of a smile, a wild look in his eyes.

Fuck. Well, apparently there was at least one troublemaker out of bed.

“Don’t you know it’s Tuesday?” Shouta grumbled; but the man gave no indication he cared about one of the cardinal rules of the universe that he was breaking.

Instead, he stood up tall, trying to look threatening— and with a broad, muscular build that was nearly a head taller than Shouta, it was a move that probably worked on most people. “That’s my snack,” the man said, licking his lips, his eyes darting over to the storefront. “Stay outa my business. You want something for yourself, go find your own.”

“Store’s closed,” Shouta deadpanned. “No snacks.” Since the shop in question sold footwear, he was reasonably sure the guy wasn’t looking for mochi. Trusting Kowada to keep herself safe inside the shop, he dropped into a fighting stance and threw a length of binding cloth at the man, hoping to get this wrapped up quickly.

Unfortunately, the creepy bastard was fast, dodging away, jumping into the empty street before barreling headlong towards Shouta, the same manic smile plastered on his face. Shouta sprang back, pivoting and aiming a kick towards Creepy’s legs as he charged.

His ‘shin’ connected with Creepy’s shin, and the man howled in pain as he tumbled to the sidewalk.

Shouta occasionally appreciated the advantages of having a prosthetic leg.

Creepy didn’t stay down, though, springing back to his feet before Shouta could snare him with his capture weapon; and by that point, Shouta’s eye was watering with the effort of keeping Erasure activated. Even on his best days now, it was harder to maintain than it had been with two eyes. Taking a risk, he blinked before Creepy could turn to face him again. Since Creepy seemed to rely on his fists rather than a Quirk, Shouta wasn’t even sure if Erasure was helping; but without knowing what the guy’s Quirk was, it wasn’t a gamble Shouta was willing to take.

Quirk flaring back to life, Shouta tried again to snare Creepy with the capture weapon. This time, while Creepy managed to get his arm up to block, the cloth wrapped around it, giving Shouta a better foothold in the fight.

Or it was supposed to, anyway; but Creepy yanked on the length of cloth, hard.

Back when he had both his legs, that kind of move wasn’t a problem for Shouta. Even now, it only managed to pull him forward a single step.

He was only off balance for a moment…

But there were disadvantages to having a prosthetic leg as well. Even with the osseointegration, that allowed him to attach his prosthesis to an implant directly in his bone, ensuring stability and a degree of sensory feedback; even with the best technology for the prosthesis itself, giving him a range of motion and control that was almost on par with his own natural limb; even with years of rehab and training and practice that had allowed him to move with the kind of speed and strength he needed to do his job…

The prosthetic leg was still not the same as his own limb.

And while flesh and blood bodies could fail in a million different ways; when it was the artificial limb that failed him, the betrayal somehow cut deeper.

So as Shouta was forced to step forward and Creepy dove — not at him, but just off to his side, yanking hard on the binding cloth to pull Shouta sideways — the mechanical ankle joint in his prosthetic couldn’t respond to the shift in pressure and direction the same way his own flesh and bone would have been able to.

Creepy’s leg shot out in a flash, kicking Shouta down by his ankles. It should have been a stupid and ineffective move… except that Shouta was already just a tiny bit off balance. Just enough that the kick had his arms flailing out to try and stabilize himself, but Creepy was already moving behind him, yanking again on the binding cloth.

Fuck. The bastard was fast… and Shouta gritted his teeth, pushing aside the certainty that, if he were whole, he would still have been faster. Dwelling on that wouldn’t change anything.

The world flipped in a nauseating swoop as Creepy grabbed Shouta by the arm and took advantage of the fact that he was still off balance, wrenching him around and slamming his back down onto the concrete. There was no time for Shouta to brace as his head bounced against the sidewalk and the breath was punched out of his lungs in a rush; but he reached up to grab at Creepy anyway. Forcing himself to move through the shock and pain, one hand twisted in the front of Creepy’s shirt, the other moving to push at his face as he tried to lean in close. Shouta’s muscles tensed as he prepared to flip them over—

“My turn!” Creepy squealed with glee, which didn’t make sense. Shouta wasn’t sure if it was because of his mild head trauma, or the fact that the guy was entirely unhinged; but either way, something about the way he said it sent dread curling through Shouta’s gut.

Something was very wrong.

One of Creepy’s hands grabbed Shouta’s wrist where he was trying to push his face away. The other moved down towards Shouta’s face.

Fingers moving towards Shouta’s eye.

His unprotected eye.

He hadn’t had a chance to pull his goggles up.

When Shigaraki had taken his right eye, Shouta had known with complete certainty that if he blinked, he, his students, and countless others would die. Sacrificing his eye — and then his leg — in order to keep Erasure, in order to prevent Shigaraki from destroying everything was the only choice.

But Creepy wasn’t Shigaraki. He wasn’t some world-ending villain. For all Shouta knew, the streaks of red on his skin were his Quirk…

And he didn’t want to lose his other eye. Not that he had a conscious thought about that in that split second as Creepy’s hand shot towards his face.

He simply blinked.

Something warm and wet closed over the heel of his hand, and sharp teeth bit into the muscle there, sending a sharp flash of pain shooting down his arm. He tried to open his eye, to see what the fuck Creepy was doing; but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t move.

He was paralyzed.

Body boneless on the ground, his arms collapsed at his sides as Creepy released his wrist and pulled his hand off of Shouta’s face.

“You like my Quirk?” Creepy asked, sounding practically giddy. “It’s famous, y’know. ‘Bloodcurdle.’ The same as Stain had. I never liked being called a copycat, but the kids at school stopped calling me that after I got a taste of a few of them.”

Shouta’s breath was stuck in his chest. His lungs weren’t paralyzed, but they might as well have been. He strained, trying to move an arm, a leg, a finger; but there was nothing. Even if his eye was open, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to activate Erasure.

There had been too many times in his life where he thought he’d felt helpless; where his ability to take action had been insignificant to what the situation demanded. At the Coffin in the Sky. Jaku. USJ. The day Shirakumo—

He’d thought he felt helpless then.

But even as the Nomu had shattered his arms, Shouta had still been able to use his Quirk to save Asui. Even as Shigaraki had taken his eye, Shouta had prevented him from spreading Decay until it had consumed everyone.

It was different now. Now, he was a useless lump on the sidewalk. Pain still pulsed in his head, and his hand, and throughout his body; he could feel every unresponsive limb. He simply couldn’t move. He couldn’t even consciously draw a deeper breath, his lungs only working thanks to his autonomic nervous system.

The effects should only last a few minutes; but it would only take Creepy a few seconds to kill him, if he chose to.

“You’ve ruined my fun, ya know.” Creepy’s voice was much closer now. “My snack probably got away already, I’ll have to find a new one.” Hot breath ghosted over the skin of Shouta’s neck. “Too bad you’re not to my taste.”

Clammy fingers gripped his wrist again, lifting his arm, his hand still throbbing with pain from the bite wound.

“You do lots of fancy tricks with that scarf of yours. I don’t like it.” Creepy’s voice was icy as he placed Shouta’s arm out to the side, palm facing the rough sidewalk. “This oughta stop you.”

An empty scream bubbled up inside Shouta’s chest in the split second before the heel of Creepy’s boot crashed down on the back of his hand.

Metacarpals. That’s what those bones were called, the ones that he felt snapping, shooting white-hot agony down his arm as Creepy ground his heel down harder.

Phalanges. The finger bones. He’d broken them more than a few times over the years. Occupational hazard. But as Creepy’s boot came down a second time, crushing his fingers, he couldn’t banish the image of Midoriya, in his first year at UA, from his mind — bones shattered nearly into paste by a power he couldn’t control.

That’s what he imagined it felt like now, as Creepy stomped down again, and again.

Shouta’s eye burned, and he felt something wet trickle down his face. Hollow, ragged screams clawed at the inside of his ribs, trying to get out; but the most that escaped him was a mild hitch in his breathing. He wasn’t sure how long it went on for, and he lost count of the number of blows that fell.

Not that it mattered how many it was. It was too many.

“That oughta do for that one,” Creepy said, lifting his foot from the throbbing mass of pain where Shouta’s right hand had once been. If he could open his eye and look there now, he wasn’t sure what he’d see.

He was pretty sure he didn’t want to see.

He wanted to fight. To kick and thrash. To bind up his mangled hand, grit his teeth, and take this creepy bastard down.

He wanted to not be helpless.

He felt a growl of frustration and agony rumbling in his chest…

And he heard it.

“Ahhh, damn, you must have type B blood,” Creepy said. “Gotta be quicker.”

Shouta sucked in a sharp breath, his lip twitching. His pulse hammering in his veins, he tried to will his eye open.

It didn’t work.

He heard Creepy’s footsteps walking around the top of his head to stand at his left side, and he ground his teeth together. Still, his body was useless as Creepy grabbed his arm and pulled it straight out to his side.

The dread was a lump of ice in his gut, but there was nothing he could do. He tried to struggle, but all he managed was to force out an angry grunt.

For a moment, everything was still.

He tried to twitch his fingers, needing to protect his hand—

When Creepy’s foot slammed down, it was in the middle of his forearm. It hurt, but it paled in comparison to the agony still radiating from his right hand. He stomped again in the same spot, then again, heavy blows until sharp pain shot along his arm to his fingertips.

“No time for this,” Creepy said, planting his foot down next to where he’d been stomping, just below Shouta’s elbow. Confusion swirled in Shouta’s muddled brain as Creepy grabbed onto his wrist, but a grim and sickening clarity slithered through the fog as Creepy began to pull up.

He knew his ulna and radius were already fractured, but as Creepy pulled, he could feel a grinding, creaking ache, and he knew there wasn’t much time. His fingers twitched, he was so close to being able to move, he just needed to move—

Shouta opened his eye just in time to see Creepy grin, then pull a little harder.

The bending, creaking sensation deep in his arm finally gave way, and with another white-hot flash of pain, the bones snapped.

There was no holding back the scream that ripped out of him, just as there was no holding back the jagged spur of bone that ripped through the skin of his inner arm.

At least when the Nomu had broken his arms, it’d had the decency to crush the bones without breaking the skin.

Every impulse in Shouta’s brain was demanding his body flail, fight, do something; creating an impotent tension that he could feel from his head to his toes. But all he could do was draw rapid, shallow breaths and fight to get his eye to focus on Creepy. Erasure flickered in the haze of pain, a pale red ghost all but lost in the halo of the streetlamp above them.

Useless.

A manic giggle filled the air as Creepy stepped back off of Shouta’s arm. “Oooohhh, that’s a lot of blood,” he said gleefully. “Alright, my Quirk will finish wearing off in about two or three minutes, but you’re a dead man by then anyway. That’s what you get for meddling in other people’s business, you know.”

Shouta’s vision blurred in and out of focus as he watched Creepy walk away down the street. His foot twitched, a sensation he was vaguely aware of through the symphony of pain singing along his nerves. He was able to loll his head to the left enough to see the blood spilling out of his sleeve, soaking through the fabric to form a bright puddle.

It really was a lot of blood.

Too much blood.

The ground was cold beneath him. Or maybe he was just cold as the warmth spilled out of him, staining the sidewalk red.

He couldn’t call for help. Even if he could, there was no way it would be able to get here in time. He wasn’t going to make it.

He thought about his students. All of them, hundreds of fresh young faces over the years who had grown up into heroes — into people he was proud of. He hoped he’d taught them well enough that they wouldn’t make the same mistakes as he did.

He thought about his parents. He hoped they’d forgive him for making them bury their only child.

He thought about Eri. His eye stung, and his chest ached as he thought of all the milestones and events he wouldn’t be there for. He hoped she knew how proud he was of her, and how much it pained him now, realizing he would miss out on so much of her life. He hoped she’d forgive him for not being there for her.

He thought about Hizashi. Hot tears streaked down his cold cheek. He wished he could apologize to him, for leaving him as the last man standing. Shirakumo, Kayama, and now Shouta, all gone. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Hizashi didn’t deserve that, and Shouta wished…

He wished he’d told Hizashi… how much he appreciated him. How much he cared. He assumed that Hizashi knew; but he still wished he’d said it out loud.

He wished he’d told Hizashi… lots of things.

“‘M s’ry, Zashi,” he whispered into the chilly night air.

The world faded to black around him as his eye slid shut.

*

Shouta was warm.

He was warm, and he wasn’t in pain.

If this was death, it could be a lot worse.

But death probably didn’t smell like antiseptic and plastic. It probably didn’t include the telltale beeping that could only be a heart monitor.

It probably also didn’t include the distinct deep rattle of Yamada Hizashi snoring. Shouta’s eye fluttered open, his head turning towards the sound.

Sure enough, there was Yamada, half-sprawled in a position that would certainly have his muscles screaming at him later, head tipped back and snoring steadily, mouth open. A gentle smile tugged at the corner of Shouta’s mouth, a mix of comfort and melancholy swirling inside him.

Just behind Yamada was a window, curtains open to show a dark and quiet world outside, pinpricks of lamposts in a mostly empty parking lot the only light on an overcast night. It must be late, and the dimmed lights in the room and the hallway outside allowed Shouta to float in that liminal space where the world is not quite asleep, but not quite awake.

He closed his eye and focused on breathing, trying to take stock of his body as the memories came back to him. He wasn’t in pain, so he must be getting the good meds; but he could feel the way his right hand and left arm were splinted and immobilized. He wondered if he was going to need surgery… or if he’d already had surgery and had slept through all the chaos.

He opened his eye again to look at Yamada, and was surprised to find green eyes looking back at him. Yamada hadn’t moved in his seat, just tipped his face towards Shouta, watching him closely.

“You’re awake.” Yamada’s voice was rough as he blinked and sat up in his chair, sniffing to try and stifle a short yawn. “How are you feeling?”

Clearing his throat, Shouta could feel the soreness left over after intubation. “Better than I would have expected,” he said. He hadn’t expected to wake up at all, but he wasn’t going to mention that to Yamada.

“Well you’ve been out of it for four days already,” Yamada said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Figures that you’d sleep through the worst of it, all the surgeries and everything.”

Shouta looked more closely at Yamada. Dark circles under his eyes, pale stubble all over his cheeks and chin. Clothes rumpled, and hair darker than usual with grease where it was pulled back into a bun that was several stages beyond ‘messy.’ Shouta wondered if his friend had showered or slept in a real bed at all over the past four days.

It made his chest ache.

“What happened?” he asked, dragging his mind away from those thoughts. “How’d I get here? I was losing a lot of blood — the guy who attacked me, there were red stripes all along his skin, his Quirk was Bloodcurdle—”

“Yeah,” Yamada said, a snarl pulling at his lips for a moment before he smoothed out his expression. “They caught the guy. He wasn’t far away when reinforcements showed up. There was a homeless woman… she, uuhhh, she saved your life. She called for help as soon as the guy started attacking you, so the whole cavalry of heroes, cops, and the ambulance got there less than a minute after he ran off.”

“Kowada,” Shouta murmured. There was no adequate way to thank her, but he was certainly going to spend the rest of his life trying.

“Yeah. She told them what happened, and they were able to get him into custody.”

“Good.” Shouta frowned, thinking of what he’d said about ‘snacks.’ “Make sure they run his DNA against open sexual assault cases.”

Yamada’s eyes went wide behind his glasses. “Aizawa—?”

Shouta shook his head. “I’m not his type.”

Sinking down into the chair with relief, Yamada huffed a laugh. “Dude has no taste,” he teased before growing somber again. “He did a real number on you, though.” Shouta grunted an acknowledgement.

Licking his lips, Yamada looked down at his hands in his lap, nails picking at his cuticles. “Do you remember, back in UA, how you kept breaking your fingers when you were first learning how to use your binding cloth?” he asked. Shouta nodded. “And how, before we graduated, Recovery Girl warned you that if you kept breaking them, it might fuck them up in a way they can’t come back from?”

“Pretty sure I don’t remember her using those exact words.” Shouta tried to smile, but he already knew what Yamada was going to say.

“Aizawa…”

“My right hand.”

Yamada swallowed thickly, moving to stand up. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything, I should go get a doctor—”

“Sit, Yamada.” Yamada sat back in the chair, looking away. Shouta closed his eyes and took a breath. “What have they told you?” Yamada was his medical proxy, the staff would have been keeping him updated.

“It was… bad. They didn’t need to amputate; but they considered it.”

A fuzzy sort of detached feeling moved through Shouta at the idea of losing another piece of himself. At the rate he was going, there’d be nothing left on the right side of his body…

But they hadn’t amputated. His hand was still there.

“They said there’s probably a lot of nerve damage. It’s gonna be months of PT, maybe years before we know what the final result is really gonna look like. But…”

“But it doesn’t look good.”

“Maybe we can see about getting you some kind of support item that will help you out, for patrols, ya know?” Yamada suggested, a smile on his lips that didn’t reach his eyes. “I mean, you lost your leg but that didn’t stop you!”

Except, maybe it did. Shouta had to wonder; if he still had both legs, would that fight have gone down the same way? What if he had both eyes? Not that he would let himself sit and stew in what-might-have-been; but… what about moving forward? Would it be rational to try and find a way to keep patrolling? Or would he be clinging irresponsibly onto a dream that he should have let go of years ago?

“How about my left arm?”

Yamada grimaced. “It was ugly, that’s for sure; I saw the bone sticking out right before they got you in for surgery. You were bleeding bad; but they got the break all patched up, and they seem pretty confident that your arm will be up and running as usual within a month or two, with the obligatory PT that I know you love so much.” Yamada paused, giving Shouta a sly look. “We could always ask Eri—”

“We’re not talking about that right now,” Shouta said. The option was always tempting; but it wasn’t a magic solution for every injury. Even though Eri could control her Quirk now, it wasn’t without risks of its own. Shouta was already stabilized, had already gotten surgeries to help start the healing. Her Quirk would rewind him back through moments where he had been very close to death… It was one thing for her to intervene in the moments right after an injury; but after the fact was a different thing altogether.

“Ok, ok,” Yamada said, holding up his hands. “Just sayin, something to keep in mind.”

“I know.” Shouta sighed, tipping his head back against the pillow. He was tired, but he knew that there was no way he’d be able to sleep any time soon. He just kept turning over all the information Yamada had given him. The information he knew. His right hand was never going to be the same. He would never have the dexterity back that he needed to use his capture weapon effectively. He kept wondering what his future might look like…

He had a future, though.

The memories of bleeding out on the pavement hung at the back of his mind, hazy but not forgotten. The certainty that he was leaving behind things undone, words unsaid…

Glancing back over at Yamada, Shouta felt words trying to gather in his mouth; but they got tangled up in his throat. He coughed, trying to clear the way, and immediately Yamada was on his feet, grabbing a pitcher of water and pouring some into a cup.

“Here, take a sip.” Yamada raised the head of the bed and lifted the cup to Shouta’s lips. “There were ice chips at some point, but now you’re stuck with this delightfully tepid liquid instead.”

Tepid or not, the water was a relief to his parched tongue; but it did nothing to ease the way for the words trying to make their way out. He switched tracks, to something more familiar. “How long have you been sleeping in that chair?”

“I told you, you’ve been here for four days.”

He said it so plainly. As if it was obvious that he would sit vigil by Shouta’s bedside for as long as it took. It made Shouta’s throat thick again.

“You should go home, get some sleep in a real bed. You look like hell.”

“You look worse.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

Yamada snorted and waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll hang out till the doctor comes by for morning rounds, then I’ll go home and shower and change my clothes. Promise.”

“You need to sleep too.”

“Nah, what I need is some real coffee, not the stuff they’ve got around here. You want me to bring you some when I come back later?”

The sly smirk on Yamada’s face told Shouta that he knew he was playing dirty, heading off Shouta’s inevitable arguments against the idea of him coming back rather than sleeping. It worked; not just because Shouta was weak for coffee, but because he found himself reluctant to reject Yamada’s company.

“Don’t forget the cream,” Shouta said.

“As if I ever would,” Yamada huffed, feigning insult with a glint of humor in his eye. “How scandalized would generations of UA students be, knowing that big scary Eraserhead drinks his coffee with sugar and cream.”

“We will never know; because they will never know.”

“Of course not. You’ve got a reputation to uphold,” Yamada said with a wink.

It all felt so comfortable, so normal. Easy banter with his best friend, no matter how fucked up the situation was. It was one of the things about Hizashi that Shouta had always…

Words started crowding together on the back of his tongue again, pressed against his closed lips by the memory of the warmth flowing out of him, leaving him cold, his heart aching with all these things unsaid…

“Yamada… I…” Fuck, those two words should be easy enough, and even still, he already felt like he was fumbling. Why was it so hard to just say this? But Yamada was looking at him now. Shouta took a breath.

He could do this. “You know I appreciate you, right?”

Surprise flashed across Yamada’s face before he directed a brilliant smile at Shouta. “Hah, what’s not to appreciate? You’ve got the best best friend in the world, whether you like it or not.”

“I do, though. Like it.” The words were unwieldy on his tongue; too big and too small all at once. “I need you to know that.”

Leaning forward, Yamada peered more closely at Shouta, his brow furrowed in worry. “Is something wrong? You’re scaring me, man.”

It hit him like a gut punch. He’d barely scratched the surface of what he needed to say, but even that little bit had Hizashi worried? Shouta shook his head. “It’s not like that.” He frowned, trying to sort through the words that were tangled up inside him. “It’s just that… before I blacked out, I was thinking…” The words got all snagged and twisted together again. Maybe now wasn’t the right time, maybe he needed to rest more…

Except he knew that was a bullshit excuse. There would never be a ‘right time;’ it would always be hard for him. Closing his eyes, he took a breath, thinking back to those last moments, laying on the ground. The regret and despair that had overwhelmed him.

Saying these things was hard for him. But that feeling was worse. He didn’t want to have that regret hanging over him.

“I was thinking that I want to be… more present for the people in my life who matter. I need to make sure that they know that I’m proud of them, that I love them.”

Hizashi’s frown gave way to a soft smile, understanding settling on his features. “I gotcha. You wanna call Eri? A video call should prolly wait till your face looks less like death warmed over, but a voice call should be fine in a few hours when she’s up.”

Shouta blinked at him. “I… No. I mean, yes, I do want to talk to Eri, but that’s not what I meant.”

Tipping his head for a moment, Hizashi smoothly switched gears. “Oh, ok. I was gonna call your parents later, to let them know you’re awake, but if you want to call them now, we know your mom’s prolly up, she’s almost as much of a night owl as you are—”

“No, that’s not—” Shouta huffed in frustration. “That can wait till morning.”

“Yeah, ok, ok, sorry, just trying to figure out what ya need, that’s all.” Hizashi was clearly getting almost as flustered as Shouta.

“I’m just trying to talk to you.” Shouta wondered if this was a wise idea. He decided it probably wasn’t. He was going to do it anyway.

“Oh. Ok, fair enough,” Hizashi said, sitting down and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’m all ears.”

Shit.

All the tangled words rushed into Shouta’s mouth again, sitting behind his teeth, ready to be bitten off into pieces small enough to chew on, to swallow and digest before moving on to the next. He just needed to start with something small, something simple that might get the rest of them flowing a little more easily.

“I love you.”

Fuck.

Well, it was small… small enough to choke on, if it went down wrong, he supposed, but there was no taking it back.

Hizashi stared at him for a moment, jaw hanging slightly agape before a slightly hysterical laugh slipped out of him. “Man, they must be giving you the really good painkillers.”

“That has nothing to do with it,” Shouta grumbled, frowning at him.

“I tell ya what,” Hizashi said gently, “Why don’t you get some rest. I’ll be here to listen to you when you wake up. I promise.”

Of course he would be there. Shouta knew it; was completely certain of it. Everything Hizashi had ever said and done had instilled in Shouta the absolute confidence that he would always be there. Shouta knew, all the way to the marrow of his broken and battered bones, that Hizashi cared about him.

But with growing dread, Shouta was starting to worry that Hizashi didn’t know how much Shouta cared about him. Why would he think that a declaration of love was the product of an overtired or drug-addled mind? It gnawed at Shouta, building his frustration.

“I’m trying for once in my life to tell you plainly what I’m thinking; what I’m feeling.” Shouta felt his irritation loosening his tongue. “I almost died, and in what I thought were my last moments, I was filled with regret, knowing that I’d left so many things unsaid. Things I want to say to you. But it’s so hard, and I don’t know why.”

Hizashi put up his hands as if in surrender. “Hey, man. It’s ok. You don’t gotta say anything—”

“Apparently I do. Because I do appreciate you, and it shouldn’t throw you for a loop just because I said it out loud. I’m glad you’re my friend, and you need to know—”

“Dude, I’ve seen how you treat people you don’t like,” Hizashi said with a laugh. “I know that we’re good, even if you don’t say it.” He flushed, a stark contrast to the pale, tired complexion that had been haunting his face. “And I know you care about me. You tell me all the time, dumbass. Every time you bitch at me to get some sleep, or remind me to eat. When you let me vent to you so that I don’t go off on a tirade in front of the press. You don’t need to spell it out. Actions speak louder than words, and all that jazz.”

Shouta blinked at him. It made sense… but… “Then why did you act like you don’t believe I love you?”

“Shouta… we’ve known each other since we were kids, been best friends all these years.” Hizashi’s smile was soft and genuine, but there was something sad in his eyes. “If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

Oh. Hizashi thought he meant platonically.

Maybe… maybe that was for the best.

It was the part that mattered, after all. The depth of care, the importance to each other…

But Shouta was out here trying to make himself understood, trying to fucking communicate something with intention. To be clear, to be sure that Hizashi knew and understood, because whatever came of it, Shouta was suddenly certain that it was something Hizashi deserved to know.

The thing about Shouta was that he wasn’t bad with words. He could be downright eloquent at times.

The problem was the mortifying ordeal of being known. Of baring his truths and secrets for others to see; vulnerable fragments of himself that he guarded closely.

After all this time, hadn’t Hizashi earned his trust?

He took a breath. The words behind his teeth settled down, sinking into his tongue.

“You’re right, that is love,” Shouta said. “Movie nights and take-out dinners. Going to the arcade as teens, and to the bar as adults. Telling each other to take care of ourselves, and stepping in when we’re too stubborn to listen.”

The words flowed out of him now, an unstoppable tide of things that he had tucked away deep inside himself. Things he understood he needed to share, for himself and for Hizashi.

“But it’s deeper than that, too,” he continued. “It’s not just about us, but about you. There’s so much about you that I admire, that I love. The way you go out of your way to get to know everyone, and the way you’ll do whatever you can to make them feel special. The way you sing and dance without giving a damn what anyone thinks, always unapologetically yourself. The way you know this is an unjust world, but will still fight for justice at every opportunity. You are clever and kind and funny. I hate to see people underestimate you, but I love the way you prove them wrong every time. You’re one of the only people in the world who can make me laugh till my sides hurt, and the only one left who I’d trust to see me cry.”

“Shouta…?”

“I love you, Hizashi. It doesn’t have to change anything between us, but I need to be certain that you know. That you understand what you mean to me. I almost died without telling you, and the regret I felt makes me sick. So I’m telling you now, as clearly as I can. I love you.”

He took a shaky breath as he looked into Hizashi’s eyes, wide and shining brightly. Now that he’d said what he needed to say, Shouta found himself sinking back into the liminal calm of the early morning hours. He had no idea what was coming next, but it didn’t matter much. He trusted Hizashi. Whatever happened, it would be fine. He just needed Hizashi to know, and now he did.

Hizashi’s mouth dropped open, then snapped closed. He drew a swift breath in through his nose and stood up tall, staring down at Shouta, mouth falling open again as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. A tired smile tugged at the corner of Shouta’s mouth; it wasn’t often Hizashi was at a loss for words, but he was cute when it happened.

“Cat got your tongue?” Shouta teased.

Closing the distance between them with one stride, Hizashi leaned over Shouta, green eyes moving fast, scanning his face, looking for… Shouta wasn’t certain what Hizashi was looking for, but he’d let him look as long as he needed.

When Hizashi bowed his head, it was slow, hesitant. Part of Shouta wanted to lean up, to meet him halfway; but this was Hizashi’s choice to make. Shouta only tipped up his chin, offering a better angle as he heard the beeping of the heart monitor pick up the pace.

The kiss was gentle, little more than a chaste press of lips together; but in it, Shouta heard a litany of promises.

They would talk more later; but for now, this was enough.

Actions could speak louder than words.