He's really not that hurt, Shota thinks, looking at bruised knuckles as they glow and heal. He rolls his head, relieving some tension from his neck after sitting in this cot for more than a while. Like many times he finds himself in Recovery Girl's office, he isn't sure why he's there. He wasn't hurt that badly. Unlike his partner for the exercise they were given…
"You were so cool back there!" Yamada says from the other bed beside him, voice not hoarse, but cheery, even for all the shouting he did. Though despite that, everything else seems weakened. Well, before Recovery Girl worked her magic, that is. He's still pinching at his nose from time to time, which was previously broken, bandages wrapped around his arm.
"Shouldn't you be resting?" he grunts.
The blond has been practically gluing himself to Shota's side ever since the latter transferred to his same class, which meant nonstop chatter. Every day. Which is headache inducing. Even if he doesn't actually mind that much. And even now, it seems as if he's unable to escape. Or, he can. He can leave. But he doesn't.
Yamada laughs. Bright and earnest like the dark haired teen is one of the funniest out there. "Something you should know about me, Aizawa, is I'm not one for rest." His voice is a little sluggish though, still. Tired. And Shota has to agree with that statement. Even when they haven't known each other for that long, he can tell he's speaking the truth. "And don't tell me you came to stay by my side here just so you could have some peace and quiet. And not because you care?" He murmurs, high pitched which has Shota frowning, looking back down at the white sheets. He's not sure why he came here. He can leave. He can, really.
"If you're feeling fine I'll just go,"
"Noo!" Yamada chuckles, a little frantic and he pats at the air so Shota would stay, "I'm feeling awful, ooh, my. My leg hurts!" He hisses, clutching at his knee that, if Shota remembers correctly, was not injured. He rolls his eyes, staring down at healed knuckles as Recovery Girl pays no mind to Yamada's bickering, doing something on her computer. "I was just telling you how awesome you were today!"
He doesn't answer immediately, letting the compliment roll around in his head like a loose roll of toilet paper that he's a bit too lazy to crouch and pick up in orderly fashion and he burrows his head a little more into his capture weapon. He wasn't all that good today. Average. After using his Quirk, beating the enemy is as easy as snatching candy from a toddler anyway. Which would be an illogical decision to make. Unless they were over the limit with how much sugar they are allowed that same day, he guesses. But roughing up other hero in training students is kind of illogical in its own sense, sometimes.
If anything, Yamada is the one who seemed to struggle. He was the one who worked harder, after all. And he did a good job in the end, all in all. But Shota's not really sure how to point that out without sounding… friendlier than he would like.
"Do you think your leg can handle classes? Because we have some in a few minutes."
"My leg doesn't actually hurt," Yamada says with a smile and eyebrows raised, "I was just bluffing." His voice is humorous, like he knows Shota was playing along but still wanted to irritate him.
He's tried, and sitting on this bed is already too much for his droopy eyes. So, he stands up. Yamada doesn't wait longer than need be and follows him out the room, talking more when it isn't necessary. But Shota learned that he isn't expected to remember everything the taller teen says, and is allowed for it to escape from one ear and out the other, letting the blond's voice be nothing but background music to his unwavering life. Or noise, would make more sense. But Yamada's voice is nice enough to be on that same level of music, he thinks. He doesn't listen to music much in any case; all that's left is some sort of rhythmic beat. Maybe it's more like poetry.
Messy, cluttered, easing poetry.
"So you did come to check up on me, right? I mean, I wasn't hurt that badly but that still was super nice of you— oh, this means we're friends now, by the way. I don't make the rules, sorry."
"I'm broken… This has taken all the life out of me. I can't anymore…" Hizashi griped, rolling over on his bed and accidentally crumpling some of the pages of his text book.
Shota groans as well, letting his head plop down on his own notebook from where he's lying on the floor. He could… just. Fall asleep right there. It's surprisingly comfortable here, with the literal background music of Hizashi's radio lightly playing some sort of song too quiet for Shota to register the lyrics of, the capture weapon bunched up around his face like a blanket pulled up to the chin… which is the only right way of being tucked in, as far as he's concerns. The fluffy carpet isn't exactly helping, either.
He turns his head, peering at the shadow casted from the small table in the blond's room over the pale carpet, like a bridge over grass. Which wouldn't make sense. Maybe more like dense pond scum, where you think you can step on it before you get splashed into the water and drown from the panic and confusion of the sudden cold wetness. Much like these math questions they thought they would easily be able to finish in under a few hours. Math never changes. Numbers always stay the same, and that's why Shota likes it so much. But here he is, considering just closing his eyes shut and drowning peacefully.
Hizashi hums from the bed beside him, shuffling. "This calls for a break." he says before sitting on the edge of his mattress, sheets yellow. Shota grunts, letting himself not understand fully the unsteady poetry the other is tossing at him, simply allowing it to flutter around him like falling leaves. At least until Hizashi nudges him with a socked foot, "More like." he slurs before pausing, "Ending. We're ending today's session of mind rotting… stuff, yeah."
Shota sighs before pushing himself off the ground and onto his knees, flattening the slightly buckled pages of the notebook he used as a pillow before plopping on his butt, resting on the bed-frame right between Hizashi's knees. The blond yawns again before speaking, fingers snaking through black hair that the shorter teen doesn't care enough to pry out, "Are you hungry?"
"No." Shota mutters, peaking up at his friend. Hizashi isn't looking at him. Instead, he's pursing his lips while looking at somewhere near his nightstand. He does sense someone is watching not long after, though, and looks back down at the broody teen, smiling warmly and tucking a golden strand of hair behind his ear as the other hand continues to weave through Shota's.
"Yo!"
The shorter boy looks back down, squinting. He's not giving a person that greets someone with 'yo' the time of day, if he can help it. And that thought only makes it more embarrassing that when Hizashi's legs disappear from his sides and the weight of a hand on his head is gone he has to physically stop the whine building in his throat by clearing it. The blond doesn't seem to notice the other teen's struggles, luckily, as shifting, objects dragging over paper and cords being popped in and out of places cables generally pop in and out of can be heard somewhere beside him.
There's a faint rustling of an odd sound, then, like a guitar but if you pressed your hand on all the strings on the fingerboard so barely any pleasant sound could be heard. It's brief, before the blond is leaning to drop off something at the small trash can near the bedside table and reclaiming his position behind Shota, gently nudging a Nintendo Switch into the seated boy's hands and beginning to smoothly rap some poetry again,
"Okay so now that I cleaned that," Hizashi murmurs, wrapping his legs around Shota's waist and even though his pineapple themed socks don't smell that great, they're clean, somewhat. So Shota guesses it isn't as bad as it could be. And besides, he can kind of use the blond's legs as some sort of pillow and blanket. He's tired, see.
He turns on the console… He's not really some sort of gamer, or a person that ever plays any sort of game, really. But Oboro and Nemuri made some sort of bet that after a Mario Kart competition, the three losers will have to pay for the pizza or takeout or whatever they would order the same night while the winner… wouldn't. So it would only make sense if he practiced his virtual racing during his free time. He can sleep later, anyway. Even if he's so comfortable now.
The not so unfamiliar feeling of a hairbrush sweeps through his hair as he chooses the character he always uses in this game, Cat Peach, and he grunts at the confusing action from the other boy. But Hizashi doesn't explain himself. Instead, he asks, "Do you ever use hair conditioner, Sho?"
"No."
"Figured."
The blond blabbers on, talking about this old show from before the Quirk era that's called Queer Sight, or something like that. Shota's not really listening. Only groaning a little when the tugging in his hair is a bit too much as he tries using an obvious shortcut in one of the races but failing every round and scowling when he gets hit with a green shell when he's already in last place.
The brushing is nice, soothing. And it only makes it harder to not just take a nap. Even when Shota knows his hair is not the silkiest, smoothest out there, the blond continues on with minimum complaint and actually tries to not rip his hair out of his head, which is considerate.
The first time Shota saw Hizashi with his hair down, it had felt as if some sort of lightbulb turned on in his head. For what? He doesn't know. The loud teen kind of tends to do that a lot, brighten up places with or without knowing. Whether it was his intention or not.
His hair is so smooth, unlike his own, and many times did Shota want to give in to the irrational desire to run his hand through it. To remember and register fully how it perceives between his fingers. And it kind of felt like Hizashi was two different people sometimes, between when he lets his hair loose and when he styles it. Though he isn't, Shota knows. He still gives off that same bright energy and makes Shota feel the same way no matter what direction the blond presented himself at the time.
Platonic… adoration, that is. Probably.
But there would be no reason for him to weave a hand through golden hair. It would just feel like hair, in the end. It's not even the sleekest out there, just telling by looks. Queer Sight, and all that. So he'll just keep his desires and wishes and hands to himself.
"It's a shame, really," Hizashi babbles at some point, "You're hair is so nice, like that, but I guess the fluffiness kind of gives it charm? Was this all a ruse, actually? Do you super try to look specifically like that because that's totally, like. A type?"
Shota grunts, more out of instinct than anything, letting his head hang to the side until it's rested on the taller teen's surprising warm knee while he gets his controller buttons mixed up again and finishes the race in sixth place. The compliment kicks in a couple seconds late and he feels his cheeks heating, shrugging so his capture weapon would hide them. Hizashi sighs, and by the movement of his feet, he's resting on his back now.
"My hair isn't brushed yet, Hizashi. Are you giving up?" he asks teasingly. And hisses when a foot bonks him in the head and the blond snorts,
"Impossible. You'll have better chances winning first place on Game Night than what it would take to sort that out."
"Oh, please. You're being dramatic." Shota grunts as he lifts himself onto the bed.
"Maybe," Hizashi hums, flipping himself a few times until he gives up on a comfortable position and sits upright and cross legged, "But I usually only brush my own hair, so I'm not an expert."
Shota nods because, well. He can't relate. So he passes on the Switch and watches as the blond's face lights up from technology and he hands him the hairbrush in return as Hizashi himself turns around, "Okay! Now's your turn. Promise it's easy." Oh. Shota gulps. Blond hair beckons. Alright then.
It's not the sleekest out there, but it still doesn't help Shota and his platonic adoration for his best friend.
Who decided that a giant jigsaw puzzle would be a great idea? Tensei did. And he still thinks so, as it seems, by how much he's laughing his ass off. They're all at least a little drunk; Shota deduced with his awesome deduction skills as he doesn't help at all with the puzzle.
"Do you know what this means?" Nemuri whines, hand clutching the mostly empty beer bottle as her face rests on her other fist, "I'm old enough to drink alcohol! I'm not a teenager anymore!"
"To be fair," Tensei says, repositioning himself a little from around the low table at Hizashi's apartment's living room, "You're still pretty young and youthful. You're twenty-five at the most, right?"
"I'm twenty, you ass!"
The man cackles again and Shota tears away his gaze from the scene to the man beside him, the blond drumming his fingers on the table and squinting at the pieces, humming, "There are supposed to be… four corner pieces." he slurs, "But I only see one!"
Tensei snorts, hand covering his mouth partly, "I have one," He immediately hiccups.
"What?!" Nemuri barks, "And you've bena- been hiding this away from us?"
"Yeah!" He tosses the corner piece and it hits Hizashi in the face before it clutters to the table, which has the engined man barking out another laugh, though the usually loud one doesn't seem deterred, caring mostly about the puzzle,
"Now I need… two more." he murmurs after smiling at the newly discovered, or more like revealed, piece.
Nemuri hums, rummaging a hand through the piles, "Here," She points to a tiny corner piece amongst the other, inferior puzzle pieces. Pretty impressive, considering she's most likely the drunkest out of the four.
Hizashi gasps out of pure joy again and Shota can't help the small smile that tugs at his lips, "Bring it here!" he chirps.
"No. Do it yourself. I'mo- I'm not a kid anymore! You can't tell me what to do." she mutters slowly.
"You're older than me, though."
"Please stop speaking to me."
The blond man sulks, ignoring Tensei's smile that hasn't flickered out in the last hour or so before shrugging and moving his hand to reach for it just to find that he can't move his arm past a simple nudge. He goes stiff for a moment, possibly thinking of all the horrible scenarios to why it wasn't moving. Perhaps it was cut off? While he hadn't noticed? Or kidnapped? The possibilities are endless. Until he looks down and finds the culprit. It's Shota. Who's leaning heavily onto Hizashi's side.
When their gazes meet, Shota's smirk widens and he nuzzles more into the black T-shirt, "Yo." His voice is very, very low. Practically nonexistent. Just so Hizashi can hear him. There're a lot of things that he would only show Hizashi. Like. The secret corner in one of the alleyways where Shota leaves food and milk for the cats there, sometimes. He would tell his other friends but it's his secret corner alleyway and he doesn't want them to take his cats' full attention, okay? But Hizashi can know.
"What's that about alleyways…?" Nemuri murmurs. Ah. Did he say that out loud?
"Nothing!" the blond snaps, slinking a hand around Shota's waist and tugging him closer and he melts a little more into Hizashi. That's right, these cats are exclusive. Only they are allowed to know about their existence.
The woman blinks slowly, gaze flickering between the two, "Alleyway…" she repeats, fingernails tapping the bottle she's still uselessly clutching until she smirks, "Oh- oh! Oh…"
"Said something about secret cats." Tensei provides, eyes droopy and grin lazy. Hizashi and Shota deflate harmoniously.
"Rats." The blond sighs, "Anyways-"
"Is he like, okay though?" Nemuri asks, twirling a finger at Shota, who at this point is smothering his face fully against Hizashi's shoulder, softening as the taller man rubs circles on his back mindlessly and smiling at the familiar, safe scent. He's warm, okay? And Shota's tired. Or. Sleepy. Shota's sleepy. He's drunk.
"Maybe he passed out?" Someone muses. And Shota, even with his awesome deduction skills, can't even start to theorize who it is. Maybe he himself said that out loud without realizing again.
"Maybe he died?" Someone else says. Nemuri said that, he can tell because the voice is feminine. Which means… Tensei asked that earlier question. Or it could have been Hizashi?
"I think he's just tired." Hizashi says. Yeah, because he can feel the blond's chest vibrate underneath him… Which means the order of people speaking in that interaction were Tensei, Nemuri and then Hizashi. He nods to himself, nuzzling more into the crook of the taller man's neck and sighing. Awesome deduction skills strike again. "I cannot," Hizashi announces suddenly, then, almost stunning Shota into the moon, "piece together this puzzle like this." His voice comes out as a whine, and the gruff man smirks some more at the tone.
And then there's another hand snaking around him and Shota blinks his eyes open. Were they closed? A hug? When's the last time he had gotten a hug? Probably not that long ago, considering his friends. So his face gets nudged further into Hizashi's warm chest and, sure. Why not. Hugs are cool sometimes. Shota would never admit it aloud but he considers most of them fairly decent. And what the hell. He'll hug back. Just because he's feeling risky.
So he does, and it's only then that he realizes that he's being hoisted up by Hizashi's two arms. Because he only has two arms. And as his two arms wrap around the taller man, he can feel the blond's breath stutter. And he smirks even wider, if that's possible, placing his chin on Hizashi's shoulder. "Alright, time for you. To. Go to. Bed." He huffs between tugging him up and because Shota is just a great friend he goes out of his way to wrap his legs around his back too. So it'll be easier to carry him to the final destination… nap time. Even though Shota might still wake up and sneak off to do his job. He might. But he won't tell anyone. Hizashi frowns as he wobbles to probably drop the man onto his bed, "You're not doing your job while drunk, Shota." For fuck's sake.
He scowls, nudging away and unraveling his hands from his best friend so he can cross them over his chest. An action that almost gets him dropped and the blond yelps.
As they turn a corner, Shota gets a glance of the living room's table and his two other friends staring at them quietly in intense interest. He kind of forgot they were there. As Hizashi mutters some more background poetry and reminding him that he's also there, hugging him, Shota smirks at the other two losers that get to solve a jigsaw puzzle while drunk and not get hugged by Yamada goddamn Hizashi. Heh, that's what you get for knowing about the alley cats. He smirks at them. They raise their eyebrows. They smirk back.
The blond huffs as he, like Shota's sweet deduction skills predicted, drops him onto the bed like a sack of potatoes onto a pile of sacks of potatoes. Except potatoes don't bounce on other sacks of potatoes, he thinks. He drops him off like a drunk friend drops their drunk friend onto a bed, yeah. "We did it, Shota! You can now sleep in peace." He clears his throat with a grin, "And if you even think of running away I'll scream for you to get back until someone calls to make a noise complaint."
"Wow. Threatening." His smirk is smug, still, like his best frined's. He wonders what Hizashi's pleased, annoyingly beautiful smile tastes like.
"I know! And I know you wouldn't let that happen to me, and." he coos before bending over the bed like the lanky man he is, hands on his hips as his golden hair hovers around his face like an angel, smirk sharp and cheeks all pink and pretty, "I probably taste like alcohol."
Shota squints up at him, blinking blearily and grimacing, "What?"
Hizashi does the same thing, mirroring the laying man and scrunching his face all cute-like, "You… what?"
"Of course you would taste like alcohol. What does have to do with anything?"
"Never mind." the blond chuckles with the shake of his head, "Goodnight, Sho."
"Where are you going?"
"I'm gonna go finish the puzzle, obviously." He raises an eyebrow, speaking as if it's the most… obvious thing. Yeah okay.
"You should go to bed."
Hizashi pouts, leaning on the doorframe, "But I wanna see what the puzzle's gonna be! I need to finish it. I have to!"
"Fine," Shota huffs, tucking himself into the bed and fluffy blanket, "Go, then."
"Don't be like that…" he says with small smile.
He stares at Hizashi, yellow blanket tucked to his chin, the only right way to cover yourself. "Fine. Leave or stay, do what makes you happy."
"Thank you! The other two goons are probably passed out by now anyways, I'll be back!" he says cheerily before turning off the lights and leaving, closing the door behind him.
It didn't take long for Shota to turn off similarly to the room's light switch and into the world of the unconscious, escape plan that totally would have worked forgotten as he imagined the pillow his head rested on to be his best frined's safe and warm chest. The familiar, nonalcoholic scent of Hizashi's shampoo on the pillow's cover helped. And later on, he would imagine the new weight of a person climbing onto the bed to be the blond, too, and the hands wrapped around his torso and the warm embrace pressed to his back and the breaths ghosting his nape to be his as well.
In the end, they didn't end up finishing the puzzle. Not even close. Mostly because Nemuri was sprawled passed out over half the table by the time Hizashi went back to the living room and they haven't really made any progress. The only reason Shota knows the end result was supposed to turn out to be a whale is because of his awesome deduction skills. And because it's on the box.
There's a gasp, and Shota turns around in the kitchen to look at the person who'd just entered Hizashi's apartment, though he already knows who it is.
The blond himself, standing at the front door. Hair still styled and hero outfit dirty as he gawks openly at his friend making… food. "E-E-Eraserhead!?" he fakes shock and stutter and Shota can already feel himself rolling his eyes, "Oh my god! What is underground pro hero Eraserhead doing in my apartment?!" he yaps, "Why, I'm your biggest fan, sir!"
The dark haired man scoffs, feeling that familiar heat burn in his cheeks and he turns away back to the stove before Hizashi realizes he's flushing. There's a low chuckle, and then a few seconds later hands wrap around his waist. Shota's breath hitches as warmth, scorching and burning and soothing, presses against his back and he feels like his brain if frying in his head quite literally. The loud pro hero places his chin on Shota's shoulder, glasses nudging against his own chin as he looks at the pot the other is fiddling with.
"I didn't know you could cook."
The shorter one frowns because. No, he doesn't know how to cook, not really. And he's using a random recipe from the internet and Hizashi probably spots the phone open on the instruction because he snorts, hands shuffling to Shota's chest to hug tighter and he wonders if his heart is just going to rattle and vibrate out his chest. Even though he knows that's not possible. But it sure feels like it. Lord everything's so warm.
"You know you can, like, make food at your own apartment, right?" the apartment owner himself puffs, teasing. He tilts his head a little as he says that so Shota has the pleasure of feeling Hizashi's cheek nudge against his and he opens his mouth to respond before he does something he'd regret, using a working stove, but realizes that he kind of needs air to speak and it seems he forgot how to breathe. So he's just gaping there like some idiot and he curses himself for not bringing his trusty capture weapon so he can just. He doesn't know. Hide his idiotic idiocy, he guesses. Or eat it and suffocate so he wouldn't have to live through this. It's an option.
Hizashi nuzzles against him a little more and before Shota can just burst right then and there, his glasses fall off with a squawk from the blond. Finally, the taller man backs off to crouch and pick them up and Shota uses this moment to suck in a breath and glare at his best friend, feeling the cloudiness in his head start to fade. "Ran out of groceries," he grunts, "Go take a shower. You smell god awful." Hizashi snorts,
"Fine, fine. You got it, boss."
When he finishes his said shower, the loud singing not getting toned down from the running water whatsoever, Hizashi comes back strolling into the main living space, whistling some tune. Now he's wearing some more comfortable clothes, his hair down of course, and he pauses at where the hallway meets the open space, gaping. Though it seems more genuine than before.
Shota chews on his meal. Is this what this is about? Because he didn't wait for him to start eating? Hizashi takes an impossibly long time in the shower and the underground pro hero Eraserhead kind of has things to do after this. Like taking down crime. For example. Wasting time now would just be impractical. "This is…" The blond doesn't finish his sentence as he walks to the table and plops himself on the chair opposite to Shota stiffly, staring down at his plate.
The dark haired man squints at the other, still. What's his problem. Shota didn't bother turning all the lights on when he got there, except for the kitchen while he was cooking because he isn't feral. And apparently Hizashi didn't bother either when he got back home. So, it comes into his mind that the flush on the blond's cheeks in the slightly dim light might be an illusion. "What's up with you?" he asks gruffly.
The taller man jolts a little, being caught off while staring hazily at his meal and he whips his gaze to Shota, a tiny, nervous grin attached to his features. Is it the food not to his liking? He hasn't even tasted it. But he tried making the food he knows Hizashi likes because he is using his ingredients, after all. "Is this… like…?" He trails off again.
"I tried making the food you like."
"I know!" Hizashi chuckles sheepishly, hand rising to rub at his neck, "Is this, like… you know, though. A, uh." He gestures. At his food. At the table, at the particular lights that are off and at Shota. "A… a… uh, yeah." The shorter man furrows his eyebrows.
"You're going to have to be more specific."
Hizashi shakes his head with a nervous laugh, "Never mind, Sho. Forget about it."
Shota scowls. No way is he forgetting about it, no thanks. If something is bothering his friend he better know about it. So he places his chopsticks down, tilting his head and watching as the blond fiddle with his own utensils. He sighs, brows knit, before he places his hand on Hizashi's in what he hopes is a soothing gesture. Hizashi's gaze snaps back to him again, and then at their hands resting on the table and back up again, eyebrows raised and smile stuck. "You can tell me anything, you know." Shota mumbles lamely, not sure if he's being soft enough to talk about problems, or whatever you'd like to call it.
After blinking for another moment, Hizashi purses his lips as Shota patiently waits to let him think of what to say, taking a bite out of his meal in the meantime, "I mean. Is this a date." Shota chokes. Coughing, he drops his chopsticks to take a gulp of water and lets it wash down. When he looks back again, the other is smiling goofily, holding his hand back. "Alright, not a date."
"Why would you think this is a date?" Shota rasps, trying not to think about the weird heart squeezes going on in his chest. He'll go to the hospital later, if he needs to.
"Well, you know," Hizashi raises an eyebrow, "We're alone in privet, kind felt like you set a mood, you're holding my hand… You made me the food I like. You made me food." He pauses. "You made food."
"Is it good?" the cook asks.
"Oh you're right. Haven't tasted it." the blond says casually, using his non dominant hand to pick up his own pair of chopsticks and clumsily taking a bite. His right hand still clasping Shota's. It's fine. Shota isn't hyper-aware of it or anything ridiculous like that. He does know however that his life had begun to fill with distractions since Hizashi appeared in it, though, which is somewhat irritating. "S'not bad," he comments, pouting.
Shota frowns.
"Okay, yeah, I feel like this needs more salt."
"I don't see why you would think this is a date."
"Geez, man. I get it. We're just two bros eating dinner made from one to the other in the low lights, holding hands." Hizashi says with a lazy grin.
Shota grumbles, taking another bite. Huh. This does need more salt. "That's not what I meant," he murmurs, low, "Wouldn't dating just get in the way? You know that I know that. If people find out, it might be trouble. And we have our jobs to do… and an already decent bond."
Hizashi listens quietly before mutely sliding his piercing gaze to their hands again, sliding his fingers in between Shota's and the other, shorter man instinctively squeezes their linked grip, holding slightly tighter in sync with the beat his useless heart skips. Is it really trying to kill him? The blond looks back up, eyes soft as his gaze lends on Shota, which. God. "Is that why we're not dating?" he whispers.
Shota bites his lips, remembering to think. "I don't know. I never really thought about it…"
Hizashi grins, then, goofily yet still warm, "So you wanna try? We don't have to tell anyone."
The underground hero fixes a stare at his unsalted meal, pursing his lips and trying to think but not really, entirely succeeding. Does he want to date Hizashi? It takes a minute, and then his sluggish mind is screaming 'Of course you want to. The signs are all there, you idiotic, tired fool.' and oh. Everything kind of goes bright and he blinks. And it's gone again. Is he actually dying? And he pauses a little longer to let everything sink in to his gooey, mushy mind. There's some things that he'll only allow himself to do with Hizashi. Maybe this is one of them? "What would even change?"
There's a breathy laugh, and when he looks up, Hizashi is smiling brightly and kindly, gaze still soft like his old, well-used yellow fluffy blanket Shota wakes up in when he crashes at Hizashi's. And it's more than a little troublesome how cute the blond is, "Why don't we try it out and see together?"
"That has to be the tastiest looking leaf I've ever seen." Hizashi murmurs, looking at the television with interest. Shota glances away from the man to stare at the screen, some sort of cooking competition show filled with pointless drama airing across from them. One of the contestants made some sort of leaf for the judges and while it does look more appetizing than most, it is still a leaf one way or another. This person had however much time they were given to come up with something and cook it and they chose a leaf with some sauce poured over it for all the judges to share.
Shota scoffs, nestling the side of his face more into Hizashi's chest until he can feel his heartbeat loud and clear like the man himself, practically using him as a mattress when they're already on the sofa. "There's no way that's going in any menu."
The blond shrugs, pouting at the show with his head rested on the armrest, "Still looks good." He keeps blabbering more about the show and its strange relationship dynamics between the contestants as the dark haired man continues to lay limp on the other's hip, fiddling with the hem of Hizashi's light grey band T-shirt and listening to the soft thumps of his heart. Maybe this is the beat that was missing to his ongoing poetry? "-I mean, if only she didn't have that sad backstory, she would have gotten out by the second episode!"
Shota lifts a hand to scratch at his stubble, uninterested in the subplots of this tastelessly complicated show. He came here for snuggles, dang it. But all the babbling pro hero is giving him are the few back rubs every now and then. It's whatever. Hizashi can do whatever he wants. And Shota can too. So he grips at the couch cushions and crawls his way closer to Hizashi's so he can tuck his head between the taller's neck and the backrest, so he wouldn't have to watch that godawful show and can instead take a nap peacefully before he needs to grade some of the students from U.A.'s tests. The shifting weight on the blond's side makes him falter, and Hizashi plops onto his back fully, staring endearingly at Shota who's still lying slack on him, unbothered.
"I can't watch the show like this?" he smirks.
"Don't care." Shota mumbles into golden hair, eyes droopy with sleep.
Hizashi laughs. Bright and earnest like the dark haired man is one of the funniest out there. "You do know what this means, right?" he says after a moment, with a teasing smile as he encircles his hands around Shota in a tight hug and the underground hero hums as he sinks a little more into his boyfriend, melting. "It means you get my full attention, fool!" Hizashi snorts before wiggling Shota with his whole body in a crushing embrace, tilting his head to pepper kisses all over the sleepy man.
Shota purses his lips with a displeasured hiss, shutting his eyes and groaning onto the crook of the blond's neck, taking cover from the attack.
"Okay, okay." Hizashi chuckles, soft. And weaves fingers through dark hair, "I'll let you sleep, you tired, tiny man."
Shota heaves a sigh, letting himself melt further into the bright warmth. Thank god it's all ove-
"Are you ready?"
"What."
The grip on Shota tightens, and then he's rolling to the side, Hizashi laughing like a maniac until their sides hit the cushions of the sofa and the blond has his chin propped on the top of the shorter's head, cheek resting on one of the couch's pillows. "See? Now I can watch my show!" Shota scoffs, but nudges into Hizashi more anyways, otherwise lying limp like a blanky. Letting the taller rub soothing circles on his back and comb fingers through unruly black hair.
Hizashi starts talking, then, again about that damned show. And Shota lets it travel from one ear to the other but still allows the feeling of a heartbeat that isn't his register, in sync with his own as their chests press against each other, the rattling feeling traveling through him completely until it fades away as the beat that comes next introduces themselves all over again. He lets his eyes flutter shut as Hizashi comments on one of the meals. Something about. Not enough leaves… and then Shota's dragged to the world of comfortable sleep. Everything around him turning into nothing but low murmurs and dark, calming colors. Feeling more than okay. Content. And safe.
