Chapter Twelve
Irish Coffee
Besides the Extroverted Hermit, this was the only place Hizashi ever visited more than once. He sat at the villainous bar, running his finger around the rim of his drink while he waited for company. Hizashi Yamada was in his full villainous attire, with leather and spikes, hair standing tall and his Directional Speaker around his neck. He was there as Present Mic.
He'd sent Aizawa a text, letting him know he'd had a great time (besides the villain attack) and that they definitely had to do it again sometime. Hizashi hadn't visited the café though, as it was Thursday and he'd had a show to do, but he had plans to go in the next day. He'd visit around Aizawa's lunchbreak and bring the barista something nice to eat while he proposed a second date. Aizawa hadn't responded to his text, but he'd probably had a busy day at work, so the blond didn't take it personally. Besides, for now he had bigger fish to fry.
Kurogiri stood on the other side of the bar, cleaning a glass while the black mist swirled around him. He was a pretty swell guy, in Mic's opinion, who could always be depended on to keep things discrete - for the right price. "Haven't seen you around in a while, Bat."
He pointed some over-the-top finger guns at the bartender. "Present Mic," he corrected in a showy voice and a smug grin. They were the only two there … for now.
"Present Mic," he instantly clarified, and it felt nice to hear Kurogiri confirm it. Mic sipped his Irish coffee. It was good, but now he wondered what it would taste like if Shouta had made it instead of the bartender. It was his third drink since arriving, an idea that would've frightened him in his youth.
When he was drunk, he had no control over his Quirk, but doing business with villains in Japan meant he couldn't avoid alcohol. It'd been hard on him, and he'd once ended up in hospital from alcohol poisoning, but he'd forced up his tolerance. Three drinks was nothing, especially with baileys as the key ingredient.
"I've been busy, Dear Listener," he said, grin never faulting, even as he glanced at the door for the billionth time. "Those losers give you any trouble?"
"No," said Kurogiri, "but one of them wasn't pleased with you. Mentioned he was deaf in one ear."
"Well, well, well," he said with a rolling laugh. "They should know not to interfere with a cool guy like me!"
"Guess it was bad timing," called a rough voice. He glanced back to the door just as a tall man in a suit entered and, to his displeasure, Mic recognised him immediately. Giran: an information broker and illegal tech dealer. The Trojan Bat had once worked for him. It'd been lucrative and enjoyable, until… "Hey Bat. Nice new getup."
"Present Mic," corrected Kurogiri before the blond could open his mouth. Man, he was getting a good tip tonight.
Mic downed his drink and signalled for the bartender to fetch two of something strong as he removed his orange specs. Guess he'd have to do this as the Bat after all. Kurogiri brought them two glasses of whisky and as Giran sat down beside him the blond slid him a drink. "So," he said in his normal voice, "you wanted to have a nice civilised conversation, and you thought the best way to drag me out of hiding was through intimidation. I'm offended."
"Didn't realise you were on a date," Giran answered honestly, his grin almost apologetic. At least he remembered not to smoke around the blond: cigarettes were bad for his lungs.
"You're lucky I was," Hizashi said with an innocent smile, although there was a sinister gleam behind his emerald eyes. "If I'd been alone, I would've killed four of them."
Giran sighed, as if it were all some small misunderstanding. "They weren't supposed to attack you, Present Mic." Hm, it didn't feel as nice when he said it. "But, after last time, I didn't think you'd want to talk."
"'After last time'?" Hizashi slammed the whisky in a single gulp; damn he was going to need it to deal with this man. "You were paying me to build weapons for kids! I'm not a man who abides by many rules, Giran, but I made it very clear that: Kids. Don't. Touch. My. Stuff!" He bore his teeth at him, anger riling. "That was the one line I never wanted to cross, and you made me cross it!"
Giran sighed and sipped his own whisky. "Look, I was wrong and I'm sorry. Happy? Come back and work for me again. I'll double your pay and guarantee you'll be working on adult costume support-ware only. My customers get good tech, you get paid a fortune to do what you love, everyone wins."
"You think I need your money?" he asked with a sneer, but Giran just laughed.
"Tell me about this hero of yours. You like him?"
Hizashi did the worst thing imaginable: he hesitated. "I'm gonna kill him. I'm making my big debut as a solo villain, and he's gonna be my first victim."
"You're already a pretty scary villain."
"A villain for my Quirk, not for my tech."
"Isn't it your fault Crocodile Dundee was captured?"
Hizashi smiled twistedly. "I built him some replacement teeth and he refused to pay. He didn't know it was me though, just a happy little coincidence."
To his surprise, Giran placed something down on the countertop and slid it over to him: the broken pair of orange specs he'd lost during the building collapse. "You're a crazy one, it's what I like about you, but if you really wanted this hero dead you would've killed him already."
So the man had kept an eye on him since then… "As you said, I'm crazy. You don't know what I have in store for him. I need him alive and unharmed, for now."
Giran waved at Kurogiri for another round and two more whiskies were brought forward. "You made one of my men deaf."
"Only in one ear. He attacked my prey: I couldn't just let that go." Hizashi sipped at the second whisky, still feeling nothing but a slight warmth from the alcohol. "I can get a little possessive." He pulled out the small silver disc – his Hearing Nail - and spun it on the counter, but neither Giran nor Kurogiri were perturbed: the bar was a safe place. If Hizashi even tried to attack the dealer, the bartender would warp him somewhere else and he'd never be allowed back. Kurogiri was too good of a contact (and bartender) to risk it.
Giran smiled. "Eraserhead, right?" His stomach dropped at the name. "Works at that little oxymoron café, stays at the Capsule Hotel, sixth floor, should be asleep about … now. He's a pretty cool guy, or so I've heard, but a bit too set on routine."
Hizashi turned to him, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "If you dare touch him, Giran-"
"In our line of work, why would I need to touch him?" His grin widened. "You messed up my men, and I don't take too kindly to that, so we have to do things the hard way. Work for me and you can do whatever you want to that little hero. Refuse, and I'll beat you to the punch. My associates have been hounding me for your tech, and I don't like to let them down."
Hizashi knocked over his whisky as he leapt to his feet. "What the fuck have you done?" The glasses rattled at his voice.
Giran laughed, finished his drink and pulled out a cigarette. "Let's just say, I hope Eraserhead can hold his breath."
-x-
Hizashi hadn't visited the coffeeshop, and although the blond had sent him a message he hadn't responded. How could he respond?
Hizashi Yamada was a support-ware villain called the Trojan Bat. He'd broken into Eraserhead's life at the behest of the Voice Villain Present Mic, all for some twisted game Aizawa wanted no part in. Had anything been real about Hizashi Yamada, or was it all just some persona he put on, like what he did on the radio?
What he hated most, really, was that he hadn't seen the signs. His life had been fine until the moment Hizashi had walked through those café doors. Only after he'd appeared had everything gone to hell. Present Mic had appeared that same night. He'd always thought he'd fallen into the villain's debut by chance, but what if it had all been planned beforehand? What if the Bat had come to the café to size him up on Present Mic's order?
In the past, women had flirted with him because he was an aloof mystery (who made decent coffee), but he'd thought Hizashi had liked him because… because Shouta was handsome, and witty, and funnier than he looked.
But it was all a lie and that hurt.
It hurt and he was tired – just so damn tired.
That night, while he ate his noodles, he got a call from Nemuri. "Shouta!" she called eagerly over the phone. "How're you and the eyesore? You kissed yet? Dated yet? Done unmentionable things to each other in a public elevator yet?"
"Nemuri," he said quietly, his voice betraying just how exhausted he felt, "can I call you tomorrow?"
She was silent, but only briefly, and when she talked again her voice was genuinely concerned. "Okay, just…don't be afraid to call sooner if you need to talk. I'm here for you." Nemuri always knew when to give him space, which was probably the only reason they'd been friends for so long.
"I know." He hung up the phone but didn't have the appetite to finish the noodles he'd waited all day for. All he could think of was the blond who'd sat across from him only the night before, and how nice it had been to share that with someone. Aizawa threw the leftovers in the trash and went to his pod to sleep – he had a hero shift in a few hours.
The eyes of the toy cat stared at him as he entered, and he couldn't stop himself from remembering how Hizashi had smiled on their date, how happy he'd been, how right it had felt to kiss him. Everything had been fine until they'd been attacked. Why had they been attacked? The thugs had undoubtedly belonged to Present Mic, so had something gone wrong in their dealings?
He shut the pod door behind him and drew the curtain to get some sleep. As he lay there, he couldn't help but stare at the USB port and imagine Hizashi sitting where he slept, plotting his demise.
Before sleep took him, however, his pod came to life with the colour red. It flashed on and off and, before he realised where the light was coming from, the pod's emergency sprinkler turned on.
Dammit, his stuff was going to get wet and he wasn't going to fit in any sleep before his hero shift. Was there a fire?
He shoved his worldly possessions into the sleeping bag and dragged it behind him as he crawled to the pod door, only to find it wouldn't budge. All the other pods were empty, their lights normal and their sprinklers off. Where was everyone?
Shit.
Aizawa checked his phone, but although it was still working, it refused to pick up a signal – a jammer? Always useless when he needed it!
He tried throwing his body against the door, but the tightness of the space didn't allow for enough momentum. The capsule was beginning to take on water, far more than a regular sprinkler should've managed. He turned his attention to it and tried to shut it off manually.
There were no switches on the sprinkler, just the red warning light that continued to flash on and off, leaving him in darkness half the time. He tried kicking it, and he successfully knocked it off, but rather than stop it, water poured into the pod directly from the pipe.
Shit.
He tried to block it with his arm, but with the slight arch of the sprinkler, it was impossible to get the right angle with the pressure, and water leaked through everything else. Aizawa returned to kicking at the pod door, at the very least hoping someone heard, but it was built with thick safety glass. Where was everyone? The lock should've automatically freed in an emergency. Was this Hizashi's doing? Was he planning to drown him? Didn't the pod have an emergency drain or something?
The water was up to his chest now and only growing higher. Aizawa opened his sleeping bag and wrenched out his backpack. Water had seeped into it already, but he managed to pull on his capture weapon and grab his titanium knife. The water reached his shoulders.
"Shouta!"
He turned back to the door to see none other than Hizashi Yamada trying to pull it open from the other side, but it was futile. It wouldn't budge.
Water sprinkled out between the edges, not enough to stop the rising water but enough to give him an idea. He inhaled just as the pod completely filled and jammed his titanium knife into the edge of the door. Hizashi continued to pry at it from the outside, and although he was running out of breath, Aizawa pressed all his strength onto the handle.
There was a bang and suddenly he was forced from the pod and onto the hard ground. He was cold, but at least he could breathe. Just as he managed to sit up, a warmth grabbed him and hands were on his sodden face, frantically brushing his hair away. "Shouta, fuck, Shouta!" Traitorous arms wrapped around him, holding him close in a desperate embrace. He was so warm and he smelled like cologne and … alcohol?
Aizawa took hold of Hizashi's shoulders and wrenched him away. His blond hair was down but it stuck out at weird angles, as if gel were through it, and his glasses were gone. He only wore a white singlet, despite the cold weather and the lack of colour, and when his eyes drifted lower: since when had the blond worn leather pants? He looked back up and froze.
Hizashi's eyes were wide, but no longer with fear. His mouth twitched, and the hands on Aizawa suddenly tightened. "They'll burn," the Bat whispered darkly as utter rage engulfed those emerald eyes. His nails dug deep. His face contorted. It was like he couldn't even see Aizawa anymore. "Fuck, are they gonna burn." Aizawa's capture weapon suddenly wrapped around the criminal, dragging the Trojan Bat back to reality. His green eyes grew focused. "Sh-Shouta?" He looked so confused.
Eraserhead's eyes flared with red and his hair floated around him, despite the weight of the water. "Trojan Bat," he said coldly and pressed the edge of his knife to the blond's bare throat. "You're under arrest."
