/hey, Mic/

A minute and a half passed before his phone pinged.

/Present Mic: whats up/

Shota replied, /have you done a segment on all mights retirement yet? on your radio show?/

/Present Mic: no way dog, Put Your Hands Up Radio is all music and good times. I dont do depressing things. If you actually listened to it you'd know that :P/

Shota rolled his eyes. He typed, /are you willing to cover all mights retirement anyway?/

/Present Mic: i mean i could if i really needed to? Whats this about?/

Shota replied, /i got a favor to ask. Your show is on fridays right? I want you to interview me about all might tomorrow. Can you work that in?/

/Present Mic: you? in the studio? but you hate being in the media/

Shota replied, /just answer the question. Will you do it or not?/

/Present Mic: i mean sure, yeah. Come in to the studio at 6:00 A.M. i broadcast from morning till afternoon, until my shift at U.A./

It wouldn't be hard to make it there. Shota didn't think he'd be sleeping at all tonight. He was glad he thought to buy himself some energy drinks while he was at the store.

Shota typed, /how many people listen to your show?/

/Present Mic: not as many as you'd think, but i have enough of an audience where it could make a big splash if people spread what you're talking about via word of mouth. What are you planning on saying, anyway?/

Shota typed, /just trust me/

/Present Mic: you better not be planning anything super controversial, ya dig? if you ruin my reputation, i'll broadcast that dirt i have on you, from back when we used to date :) /

Shota groaned. /shut up/

Present Mic sent another message, but Shota didn't care to check it. It was probably some crass emoji like the eggplant or something. He clicked off his phone and shoved it into his back pocket. He was just about to get up and grab himself an energy drink from the fridge when he heard Toshinori's muffled voice calling from his bathroom.

"H-hey, uh… Shota?"

Shota pushed himself upright and headed down the hall to the bathroom door. He didn't peek his head inside, instead, calling from where he stood. "What's up?"

"This is… this is monumentally embarrassing, but. I can't… ah-... I'm having trouble getting out of the tub."

Shota was glad that he admitted he needed help, though he imagined this was not going to be a very pleasant experience for him. Earlier, the man was blushing like a maiden at the mere thought of being seen naked. Now, it seemed his fears were becoming reality.

Shota pushed open the door and approached the bathtub, taking in the scene that greeted him. Toshinori was startlingly, distressingly thin. Shota had always known how frail he was, but seeing him nude, it was impossible to ignore how tightly his flesh was shrink-wrapped around his bones. He was sprawled with his back pushed up against the sloped end of the tub. His haphazardly waterproofed cast was raised to rest on the edge of the tub, to keep it out of the water. His freshly washed hair stuck to his face and clung to his pallid skin. Shota glimpsed that he had placed a washcloth in his lap for some semblance of decency, but that wasn't where his eyes lingered.

It was impossible not to look at his scar on his left side, and Shota found himself staring.

It reminded him of shattered glass, like what happened when bullets struck his car's windshield. Toshinori was so thin that Shota could easily see his stark-white ribcage pushing up through his chest, and he didn't have enough ribs. The damaged part of his body was concave and far too deep, as if he was empty inside. The ravaged flesh of his scar spiderwebbed out across his chest, side, and back. His skin wasn't the right color, a bruised sort of red-purple that mottled the hills and valleys of his flesh. It wasn't the right texture, either, like his skin was grafted from other places because there wasn't enough of him left to stitch him up right.

It was like something exploded inside of him, blasting him apart from the inside out.

He had never seen the scar before. All he knew about Toshinori's injury was that it was bad, causing him chronic pain, and resulted in the loss of several organs. But now that Shota was looking at it, for the first time, he felt horrified.

What sort of sick, twisted creature did this to him?

"Pretty gross, isn't it?" Toshinori's voice snapped Shota out of his thoughts. His eyes peeled themselves away from the chaos on the man's side to his face. There was no false smile. Just a tired, worn-out grimace that showed a hint of his bottom teeth. Shota couldn't even see the blue of his eyes anymore, they were so sunken into the pits of his skull.

"How-" Shota swallowed. "How did you even live?"

"I'm still trying to figure that out, myself."

Shota could hear his own pulse in his ears. He felt hot beneath his scarf, and for once, he debated taking it off. He swallowed thickly. "Who...?"

"It was … All for One. Five years ago."

"The same villain you defeated? He did this to you?"

"Yes." Toshinori's forearm lifted out of the water, dripping, the sound too loud and echoing. He massaged at his face. "I was supposed to defeat him five years ago. But I failed. I got him this time, but… I… fear I was still too late."

Shota opened his mouth, but no words came. He had a million questions, but none of them were worth asking a man in this state. Toshinori needed to get out of this tub before he turned into a prune, and he needed to sleep. Maybe when he was in a better state, Shota could get him to talk more about his experiences with this All for One.

All things considered, despite how public and televised the battle was, and despite the high profile nature of the villain who was taken into custody, there was very little known about him. Shota suspected Toshinori knew far, far more than he was letting on. There must be a reason for all the secrecy, but Shota didn't like it.

Toshinori will realize that the more secrets he keeps, the worse off society will be. He should have already learned that lesson. When he's ready, he'll talk. And if he doesn't, I might just have to force him.

Shota cleared his throat and refocused his mind on the present. Right now, there was a naked, sick guy who needed help out of his bathtub.

"Well, come on, then."

Shota rolled up his sleeves, bent forward, and looped his arms beneath Toshinori's frail shoulders. The man tensed, grunting as he tried to rise, but as soon as his abdomen curled, he coughed thickly and went slack. "H-having a hard time using my core muscles," he admitted in a weak breath before devolving into hideous, gut-wrenching coughs. Blood sprayed between his clenched teeth and Shota watched it spread into a mist in the clouded bathwater.

Shota grimaced and considered his options. At the angle he was standing, it was difficult to leverage Toshinori out of the bathtub.

So, he kicked off his boots and socks, rolled up his pant legs until the fabric was bunched up over his knees, and stepped into the water behind Toshinori.

"W-what are you doing?"

"Gonna pick you up."

"You could have drained the water first."

"It'll take too long."

He reached down to slip his arms beneath Toshinori's armpits, his hands gripping his sides as carefully as he could, and started to pull him upright. Despite being 7 feet tall, he was too light. Too easy to lift.

If he could get the man to stand upright without tensing his abdomen too much, then maybe he could manage to get the rest of the way out on his own. It was a bit of a bumbling mess of sloshing water and twig-thin limbs, but he managed to get Toshinori standing. Consequently, his washcloth fell, too. From his angle, Shota couldn't see much, nor did he really care to. His only goal now was to maneuver him over the walls of the tub, get him a towel, and see if he could get himself dressed without falling over.

When Toshinori was standing safely out of the tub, Shota made sure he got a grip on the bathroom counter before asking, "you got it?"

"Y-yeah. It's just- getting up from- from lying down is the hard part."

Shota released him and grabbed a towel that was hanging on a hook on the door. Toshinori snatched it from him and quickly wrapped it around his waist.

"You act like you've never been seen naked before," Shota commented, folding his arms as he watched Toshinori struggle with his cast, trying to rip the duct tape off of it one-handed.

"The last person who's seen me naked was probably my own mother. When I was still in diapers."

Shota's eyebrows shot up. Of all the surprising things he'd learned about Toshinori Yagi, that one probably took the cake. Shota had estimated his age around his early 50s- had he really gone his whole life without being seen naked, not even once?

"Never been with anyone?"

"No. Never really thought about it much."

"Huh." Shota squinted at him. He supposed it made sense. The Number One Hero did seem pretty much married to his work. "Ever been interested in anyone?"

His cheeks flushed a little. "Sometimes I've… entertained the idea of. Going on dates or kissing someone, but. Never really amounted to anything. I'm just too…" He trailed off, as if he couldn't find the right word for what he wanted to say. "...Nevermind, sorry, this is awkward."

Shota shrugged. "No it isn't. Go ahead and say it."

Toshinori managed to get the garbage bag off of his cast and slipped the oversized shirt over his head. If there was one good thing about that stretched-out shirt, it was easy to get his cast into the arm hole. "Well, you've seen me. I'm not exactly prime boyfriend material. And I'm not interested in, ah, sexual relationships. It's just not appealing at all. That's just how I am."

Shota got it now. "Ah. You're ace."

"Ace?"

"Asexual. Ever heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have heard of that in this context, no."

"You should read about it some time. Research is easier to come by these days than it was in your day, I think."

Toshinori seemed thoughtful as he stood there, drumming his fingers on the bathroom countertop. Then, after a moment, he picked up the pair of boxers and said, "can you not watch me while I do this?"

Shota turned around, his back facing Toshinori. "Can you even bend over and put those on without too much trouble?"

"It's going to hurt. But I can manage."

Shota couldn't see what he was doing, but he imagined he was bending to the bare minimum, lifting his long legs one step at a time to get his boxers and pants on.

"Okay. I'm ready."

Shota turned back around and offered his shoulder for Toshinori to lean on as they made their way out of the bathroom. Freshly washed and wearing clean clothes, he finally smelled like a living human being.

Still wasn't any color in his face, though.

"Where do you want to go? Bed?"

"No. My recliner, please."

"You should sleep."

"I can't sleep in bed right now." Toshinori drew in a sharp breath. "Can't sleep on my left side. Hurts too much. And can't sleep on my right side right now, because of my arm. And I just… don't like sleeping on my back. It's uncomfortable." He gestured loosely to his recliner. "I'll be fine there. I'll sleep."

Shota trusted him. One step at a time, he helped the man walk to his recliner and let him slide back down again.

"Want me to pop it back for you?"

"No, not yet."

Shota nodded. He left Toshinori there to wander into his kitchen and retrieve his long-awaited energy drink from the fridge. He returned to the beat-up, sad little couch and leaned back, sighing. He couldn't help feeling like there was still something he needed to do, like he had forgotten something important. He popped the tab of his energy drink and slurped it, thinking.

Let's see here… Present Mic… the radio interview… ah, Midoriya. That's it.

"Mic texted me earlier. Said that your class is worried about you. He's worried, too. Wanted me to pass along a get-well message."

"Ah… that was very kind. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Thank them when you can come back to school." With his free hand, Shota idly removed his phone from his pocket and scrolled through his Twitter feed. "Oh. And Mic said Midoriya wanted to come visit you. I told him I wasn't sure you'd feel up to it, so I'd ask."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a guilty sort of grimace on the man's face. "Oh." He drew in a deep, uneasy breath. "Young Midoriya is a tender-hearted boy. I'd hate for him to see me like this."

"Are you ashamed?"

"Yeah."

"You shouldn't be. I can understand wanting privacy and keeping things low-key, but if you decline because you're ashamed to be seen in this state, I think that's a bad reason." Shota stopped scrolling when he saw a funny cat video. "That boy's obsessed with you. I doubt he thinks any less of you, now that you're like this."

Shota hoped his words were reassuring, but nothing changed on Toshinori's face. There was clearly something else on his mind, but he wasn't talking about it.

Well, the crowbar approach can only get me so far. I'll leave him alone.

Shota lost himself down a rabbit trail of cat videos. As he thumbed through Twitter, he repositioned, lying lengthwise on Toshinori's couch. Every once in a while, he glanced over to the man in his recliner. Minutes ticked by, and nothing changed. Toshinori wasn't doing anything. He didn't even seem to be trying to sleep. He just sat there giving the wall in front of him a thousand-yard stare.

"You need a TV or something. Didn't you say once that you liked movies?"

"I only like movies if I can watch them with someone."

"Guess you don't have many guests over, do you?"

Toshinori huffed a sound that Shota guessed was supposed to be a laugh, if it wasn't for the fact that it sounded so soulless and empty.

"Don't you have something you can do on your phone? Netflix?"

"I'm not subscribed to anything like that. Never had the time."

"Well, you're retired now. Might as well do something for entertainment. What do you do for fun, anyway?"

"I like to go on hikes. Sometimes I take trips out to Yakushima, to see the cedars. I like parks. And nature." Toshinori dipped his head into a hand, rubbing at his forehead. His breathing was getting a little heavier. Shota knew that look, the twinge of nausea that tightened his brows. "Since I lost a lung, it's… harder for me to go on long hikes. I get breathless. And exhausted."

Poor guy. Robbed of his favorite hobby, too.

He didn't feel right just leaving the topic there. Toshinori was starting to look ill, and the sight of him doing nothing but stare at the off-white paint on the wall was depressing. Shota felt the wisest thing to do would be to provide a distraction. "Well, here. I found some funny cat videos. I'll text them to you. Do you have your phone on you?"

"I, ah. Forgot to take it out of my pants pocket. In the bathroom."

Shota got up to retrieve it, feeling a little odd to be picking up the man's clothes and digging through his pockets. The cell phone came out with a bit of loose change. He returned to pass the red phone over to Toshinori, who grasped at it weakly with his free hand.

Shota texted him the cat videos and settled back onto the couch. Every once in a while, he could hear the audio from Toshinori's phone, proving that he was at least opening the links and watching them, but he never laughed, even at the funniest ones.

Probably a good thing, Shota thought. Wonder if he'd just hurt himself if he did.

"Wonder how Fearless is doing," Shota muttered aloud as he scrolled through Twitter, searching for more ammunition to send Toshinori's way.

"Who's Fearless?"

"Oh. Sorry. The cat I hit earlier. Named her Fearless."

"Oh. That's a good name."

"If you end up adopting her, are you going to rename her?"

"No. I'm keeping it. I like it." Toshinori paused. "Any reason why you called her that?"

Shota felt his cheeks heat up, though he wasn't entirely sure why. He tugged at his gray scarf. "It takes a strong sort of creature to get the shit beat out of it but still get up again. So I named her Fearless for good luck."

It was only half true. What he really wanted to say was, 'I named her Fearless after you.'

For a while after that, neither of them talked. Occasionally Shota would send Toshinori links to things he saw online, hoping to keep his mind from drifting to dark places. The evening dwindled until the last of the sunlight retreated from a darkening sky. With his energy drink and the comfort of night sinking into him, Shota got a second wind. He pushed himself up from the couch and padded bare-footed into Toshinori's kitchen to start doing dishes and wiping down countertops. He started playing classical music off of his phone again.

He didn't know if it was a side-effect of his quirk, but Shota had no trouble seeing in the dark. All he needed was a little bit of moonlight, or dim street lamps, or light bleeding between the cracks of doors and window blinds. So even as all the lights in Toshinori's apartment were off, the orange glow of street lamps filtering through his windows made his surroundings clear as day.

He wouldn't stop scrubbing the countertops until he could see his reflection in it. Once that was done, he planned on taking a little break before getting rid of all the trash bags that had accumulated in Toshinori's entry hall.

"Shota."

Toshinori was twisted a little in his chair, his bone-thin fingers grasping around his mouth and chin. He was breathing heavily, in and out through his nose, and it sounded wet and thick in his chest. In the dim light, his face was so drained of color it looked gray-green.

"C-can you-" Toshinori swallowed. "Trash can."

Shota snatched the poor, abused trash can where he had left it near the doorway, hurrying to the side of the man's chair. Toshinori was pushing himself up with shaking, spindly arms, straightening his spine, the recliner rocking forward a little. Shota shoved the trash can into his lap.

Toshinori snagged the edge of it, white-knuckled, his shoulders heaving up and down as he breathed. He bent forward, jaw slack.

It's going to be very inconvenient if he gets puke in his hair again. It was a bit of a pain getting him in and out of the tub. Shota thought as he slipped his hand up against Toshinori's moist forehead, pulling back the man's weird bangs and pressing his hand heavily to the top of his head to hold his hair in place. Wonder if he's ever going to get a haircut now. He only has his bangs like this because he had them styled to perk up in his hero form. It was his trademark.

Toshinori lurched and gagged, fluid rushing up his throat. He vomited heavily into the trash can. Shota's free hand pressed to his upper back, hoping to provide a comforting weight as he watched the poor guy bring up a nauseating concoxion of miso soup, protein shake, bile and blood. He coughed and choked. Between his retching heaves, he sounded like he was having a hard time filling his lung with a single, solid breath.

"Easy, easy." Shota said, his hand rubbing over the tense and knotted muscles on his back. He could feel the bony ridges of his spine sticking through his shirt. Toshinori's shoulders went rigid and shook less as he stiffened, and Shota realized he was holding his breath. Shota looked over at his face, at the tendrils of spit that hung from his lips. His throat was locked in a swallow. He was trying not to cough.

"Let it out, Toshinori. Breathe."

He stopped holding his breath and immediately vomited again. The coughing fit that followed was wretched. There was more blood than bile. Shota's palm smacked lightly on his back, on the right side.

"You'll get through this. Just gotta get it all out. I know it hurts."

In truth, Shota was genuinely worried that the man might die. It was a lot of blood. And he had no idea how long he was going to be sick. He didn't know how much of that food managed to digest, and he hadn't had enough fluids.

As he listened to the man dry heaving and spitting at stubborn threads of bile, he realized it was getting harder not to care. Earlier today, Shota felt completely unwilling to nurture this guy, hold his hair and rub his back. But now, he couldn't, in good conscious, just leave him to it.

How things changed, in just one day.

It felt like an eternity passed before Toshinori managed to breathe again without coughing or retching. He was shivering violently. Shota took the trash can from him and set it down on the floor near his recliner.

"I'll be right back. Two seconds."

He went to grab some paper towels from his kitchen. Toshinori was so weak and tired, he didn't seem to have the strength to even wipe his mouth. He hadn't even said anything. His eyes were closed.

So Shota pressed the paper towels to his lips and chin, drying it off for him. He tossed it in the trash can, then grabbed the glass of water and held it up to him, pressing the rim of the glass to his mouth.

"You gotta drink this."

Toshinori didn't even acknowledge him, so Shota tilted the glass back until the water started to spill from the corners of his mouth. That, at least, finally got him to start drinking it. He only managed a few swallows before Shota was forced to set the glass aside again.

Was he going to be like this all night?

Shota stood there, watching him, feeling conflicted. He wanted to do something, say something, but he didn't know what. He didn't feel right just leaving Toshinori and sitting back on the couch to ignore what just happened.

As he battled over what to say, Toshinori spoke instead.

"Thank you."

Shota's chest felt tight, heavy. "Yeah. It's fine." He found himself saying. It wasn't what he wanted to say. But he didn't know how to put it to words. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Do you need anything?"

Toshinori shook his head, the movement almost imperceptible.

Shota looked around the room, noticing the plate with the single pill that Toshinori failed to take. Shota picked it up.

"This pill. Why didn't you take it?"

"For sleep. Wasn't ready to sleep yet."

"You want to take it now?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Nightmares."

"You gotta sleep, Toshinori."

"Yeah. I know."

"Go ahead and take it. See if it stays down. And sleep. I'll be here."

Toshinori swallowed thickly and nodded. Shota took his hand and pressed the pill into his palm. Once he had it in his mouth, he gave him his glass of water again. At least he took more than a few sips, this time.

"I'll be on your couch. I won't be asleep. So if you need me, just say it. You won't be waking me or anything."

Toshinori nodded.

Shota started to leave, but he felt Toshinori's hand snag his own before he walked away.

"Wait."

Shota looked at him.

"Shota. Are we friends?"

Shota swallowed. His eyes stung. "Yeah."