When they get back to the apartment this time, Oboro carries Shouta in through the open door before they can be shut out.

Shouta's face was still buried in Oboro's shoulder, just like it had been the entire walk home, and he only manages to convince himself to look up once he's heard the front door click shut.

Everything looks exactly the same as it had when he left Wednesday morning.

Of course it does, there's no reason it wouldn't, but Shouta can't quite shake the feeling that he—or more specifically, Shouta as he is now—doesn't belong here.

It's... disconcerting.

There's the paperwork he hasn't finished yet laid out on the coffee table, and his empty coffee mug which was now stained from being left out. His favorite pair of sweatpants—the bright pink ones—are hanging over the back of the couch. Just as he left them. And nearby is Hizashi, shrugging off his jacket and directional speaker.

Just like always.

Yet Shouta's capture weapon isn't hung up next to Hizashi's jacket, and there's a glaringly empty spot on the table where his toolbelt would go, right next to the directional speaker.

Almost like he doesn't exist.

But Shouta is still here, isn't he? He still exists.

He's not dead yet.

Not yet.

Mochi hisses at them from across the room, fur all puffed up before she scrambles under the recliner to hide instead of happily greeting Hizashi.

"Ohh, Mochi, baby..." Hizashi frowns, somehow managing to still have enough energy to worry over their cat. He kneels down next to the recliner and bends down to look underneath, crooning, "I'm sorry, sweetheart, did I startle you again? C'mere, sweet baby..."

It takes a minute before Mochi actually listens, their poor cat stalking out from under the recliner so Hizashi can scoop her up into his arms.

Shouta watches in silence as his husband cradles their cat.

All because Shouta scared her.

His hands clench in Oboro's jacket, both of their outfits having switched back to their hero costumes at some point during the walk home.

He doesn't have it in him to question the logic of what's happening to him anymore.

All he can do is watch listlessly as Hizashi sits down on the couch with Mochi, cooing to her in his softest voice and running his fingers through her fur. Gradually, she begins to calm down.

A sharp knock at the door startles all four of them, Mochi included.

She bolts off of Hizashi's lap, claws scrambling at the floor as she races towards their bedroom to disappear under the bed.

"Hellooo~" someone calls, their—her voice muffled through the front door.

Hizashi, now cat-less, stands so he can walk over to unlock the door, revealing—

"Nemuri...?" he says, opening the door fully to see her. "What are you doing here? I'm not—" His voice cracks, and Hizashi looks away from her with a grimace. "Not... really feeling up to socializing right now."

"I figured," Nemuri says. She looks just as stressed as Hizashi, leaning heavily against the door jamb with her hair only hastily brushed and makeup a bit of a mess. But she still flashes a tired grin when she holds up the two bags in her hand. "That's why I brought this~"

The smell of fried food wafts through the air.

Just then, the sound of Hizashi's stomach growling startles both him and Nemuri. He blushes in embarrassment.

"Sounds like someone's hungry," Nemuri chuckles, and shakes her head. "Lemme in so we can eat this shit before it gets cold?"

Hizashi does step out of the way, and Nemuri ignores the dubious look he's aiming at her as she flounces inside.

Oboro and Shouta get out of the way too, the former having to put Shouta down so he can summon a cloud and float them up out of range from being walked through.

Below them, Nemuri plops the bags down on the coffee table.

Hizashi blinks in surprise when she presses a bottle into his hand. "Is this..." he says, before his expression turns vaguely horrified. "Nem, why the hell did you bring alcohol?!"

"Because you are way too stressed out and need to relax, that's why!" Nemuri shoots back, putting her hands on her hips. Like she's scolding a child.

"We have school tomorrow!"

"And? Not like it's the first time either of us has taught while hungover."

"Thats...!" Hizashi leans back, eyes wide, before they narrow with a pout. "...not the point."

"Does there have to be a point?" Nemuri counters, popping open a second bottle so she can take a sip. Then, she pulls Hizashi to sit down on the couch with her, and says, "Seriously. I know you're stressing out, you know you're stressing out. Just let yourself take a minute to breathe, Hizashi."

Grumbling under his breath, Hizashi gives in and accepts the bottle opener Nemuri is waving at him. He tips his bottle back for a worryingly long drink.

He's barely finished lowering the bottle before Nemuri's pushing a container of food into his lap.

"Fuck, Nemuri!" he squawks in surprise.

"You can't drink on an empty stomach!" she chides playfully, making sure Hizashi's food doesn't fall before she grabs her own.

"You're the one making me drink!"

The two adults devolve into light shoves and bickering then, so familiar that Shouta doesn't even realize at first he's smiling. It slips away when he does.

"Those two never change, do they?" he hears Oboro say, voice soft.

Shouta hums in response, shifting about on the cloud so he can lay on his stomach and watch the room with half-lidded eyes.

Is it creepy; watching his husband and friend eat dinner without them knowing?

It sure feels creepy.

He says as much to Oboro, who snorts in amusement.

"Trust me, Shou," he says, sitting cross-legged instead of laying down like Shouta. His smile seems a little sad, and a lot tired. "You get used to it."

"I don't want to get used to it..." Shouta grouses, even if it makes him feel somewhat childish.

And he really doesn't want to 'get used to' it. Doesn't want to think about Oboro having to do the same, or how long it took—will take—for that to happen. He doesn't want to imagine what his friend must have gone through.

Shouta has never been good at not thinking about things.

It feels easier to turn his head to the side instead of watching Hizashi and Nemuri and not being able to reach them. It's easier to just let the sound of his friend's conversation wash over him without putting meaning to the words. Easier than the alternative.

The cumulus cloud moves easily underneath him to conform to his body, letting him hug a portion of it like a pillow and squish his cheek into it.

Oboro's eyes are both fond and sad when Shouta glances up at him.

"Mmm... Whatever they're eating smells good," he says, smelling the air.

Shouta peers over the edge of the cloud to the open containers. "...Looks like fried chicken," he says.

It tells him just how worried Nemuri must be, to buy Hizashi's favorite. A lot of it. He can see even more containers in the bag, meant to be leftovers, he assumes.

But Hizashi isn't eating.

He's pushing his food around with tense shoulders, glaring down at the chicken like it owes him money. Nemuri notices, too.

"Come on, Hizashi," she says, nudging him with her elbow. "I know you gotta be hungry."

"Well, I'm not," Hizashi mutters in response. Shouta can see the hurt in Nemuri's expression when Hizashi leans away from her. Based on the way he winces, Hizashi sees it too. "...Look, I'm thankful you got me dinner and all, but I'm..."

He heaves a sigh instead of finishing what he was going to say, and runs a hand through the tangled mess of his hair.

"...I get it," Nemuri says softly after a moment.

"Do you?"

Nemuri flicks him right between the eyes as soon as the words have left his lips, and Hizashi yelps. "Don't be a dick, hun," she says, "It doesn't suit you."

"Yeah, yeah... Sorry," Hizashi deflates, before putting his untouched food down on the coffee table.

Then he bends forward with his head in his hands.

"I just... This is all so fucked up," he hisses into his palms. "Seriously? An attack like that on the USJ? With that many villains showin' up!?"

"There's definitely something bigger going on," Nemuri agrees, lips set in a hard line. She places her own food to the side next to Hizashi's. Then, "We'll figure it out, together. Recovery Girl said Shouta's healing well."

"I know, just... I wish he'd wake up already..." Hizashi mumbles, barely audible.

"Me too. He sure likes his beauty sleep," Nemuri says, voice soft like a sigh. She places a hand on Hizashi's shoulder. "He's strong, though. He'll pull through before we know it."

Shouta's gut twists with discomfort and guilt.

He would wake up right now if he were able to, he promises he would. Anything to spare them of this heartbreak.

"I want him to wake up now—" Hizashi says, echoing Shouta's thoughts. "—to have never been hurt so badly in the first place!" Oh, and there's that growl. The side of Hizashi he never showed the public, bared teeth and all. His eyes are vindictive when he says, "I swear, as soon as I find out whose fault this is... it ain't gonna be pretty."

"And I'll be right there with you," Nemuri huffs, not at all intimidated by the rumbling of Hizashi's voice. If anything, she seems darkly amused. She squeezes Hizashi's shoulder.

"No one gets away with hurting our Shou, or our students."

Shouta is abruptly reminded of how vicious his two friends can be when the situation called for it, and Kami save whoever pissed them off.

Beside him, Oboro looses an impressed whistle.

Okay, now he needs to wake up before Hizashi and Nemuri go on a warpath and get themselves—and many other people—killed.

"But first, you need to eat. 'Can't kick butt on an empty stomach', isn't that what you're always saying?" Nemuri goes on to say, picking their food containers back up and handing Hizashi's to him.

While Hizashi still looks upset, he allows Nemuri to cajole him into eating a bit more.

There's a light flush on both of their cheeks now, with Hizashi finishing his second drink of the night while Nemuri's already on her third. Certainly not enough to get either of them drunk, but enough that Nemuri's voice is growing louder by the minute and the tension in Hizashi's shoulders has begun to loosen.

And then Hizashi's voice cracks and it all comes crashing back down.

Nemuri—caring, observant Nemuri—notices in a heartbeat.

"Hizashi..." she frowns.

This time, when she reaches out to touch his shoulder, she falls short.

There's a wavering in her eyes, a flicker, and for the barest moment Shouta can see right through Nemuri's carefully constructed façade.

He sees the extra concealer she must have applied to hide the bags under her eyes from lack of sleep. Sees the tension in her posture; every step taken as though the floor might fall out from under her at any moment. Like the foundation that keeps Kayama Nemuri afloat was crumbling, and it's all she can do to just hold on to anything she can. Just like after Shirakumo died.

Shouta can see it now, in her eyes.

She's already grieving.

It's gone in the next moment, her façade is back in place.

Nemuri takes a slow breath in.

"You should rest," she says, finally closing the distance to lay a gentle hand on Hizashi's arm. He tenses up at the touch. "You've got an early morning broadcast before school tomorrow, don't you?"

"Y-yeah, but..."

"No 'but's," Nemuri chides, only to continue in a softer tone; "You know Shouta wouldn't want you killing yourself over him... Maybe you should call the station and take a day off?"

Hizashi shakes his head, and runs a hand through his hair. He looks so tired. "No, no... the other host's off sick right now n' I'm filling in for her. I should get some sleep though, or at least try to..." he trails off.

Nemuri makes an understanding noise.

"How's this, then; I can make sure you get some actual sleep, and then I'll wake you up when it's time to get going?"

Hizashi straightens up, blinking at Nemuri in surprise. "Huh? But where'll you sleep?"

"On the couch," Nemuri says. "Duh."

"But won't Em' be expecting you home soon?"

"I'll call to let her know I'm spending the night. Really, Zashi. It's fine."

Hizashi doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't protest when Nemuri ushers him off the couch and towards the bedroom.

The last thing Shouta hears before their voices are too soft to make out, is Hizashi asking, "...Will you visit Shou with me after school tomorrow?"

Exhaling shakily, Shouta buries his face in his arms and mutters one word. "Fuck."

"Yeah," he hears Oboro agree with a sigh.

When Nemuri reemerges from the bedroom and settles down on the couch to call her wife—after she's taken care of the leftovers—Shouta finds himself hopping down from Oboro's cloud so he can slink into the kitchen himself.

"Shou? Where ya' going?" Oboro calls, following after him atop the cloud.

"Kitchen," grunts Shouta.

He lowers himself down to the floor once he's in there, laying face-down on the cool tiles.

Oboro laughs somewhere above him. "Ohh, is it floor time?"

"Hmph."

If Shouta can't sleep, at least he can still lay on the floor and pretend to be dead... huh. That joke is a lot less funny all of a sudden. Either way, he doesn't feel like being a creep and watching either Hizashi or Nemuri sleep while he's unable to join them.

Even though he's not looking, he can hear when Oboro steps down from his cloud, followed by the sound of his jacket brushing against something.

"I kinda feel like that kid whose friend's parents are fighting during the sleep over..." he says, and when Shouta looks he sees Oboro with his elbow on his knee and his cheek squished against one palm. He's sat down on the floor nearby, wedged into the corner the cabinets made.

Shouta frowns. "They didn't fight, though...?"

"Oh, yeah, I know that—" Oboro sits up a little straighter, grinning sheepishly. "I guess I more mean, like... that shitty tense feeling when something bad happened, and there's nothing you can do about it other than just... wait it out. Y'know?"

Yeah, Shouta knows.

He feels exactly the same.

The apartment is deathly quiet now that everyone's gone to bed.

With his head angled to the side like this, Shouta realizes he can see underneath the fridge. That's a lot of dust, and... was that a cat toy? He was wondering where that one had gone.

When the hell was the last time they cleaned under there?

...Oh, right. Never.

Shouta turns his head the other way and pretends he doesn't see it.

"I'm so tired," he says.

Oboro hums. "You get used to that, too."

"I..." 'I don't want to get used to it.' The words get stuck in Shouta's throat. His fingers curl against the linoleum, unable to calm the storm of emotions raging in his chest. "I don't know what to do."

Oboro doesn't say anything at first, but when he does...

"You can always stay here with me, if you want."

The words cause a pang of guilt to shoot through Shouta's heart.

Because it's true, he could stay as he currently is; forever young and relatively free of pain, unable to be harmed. No need for food or sleep.

Reunited with his best friend for eternity.

But that would mean leaving Hizashi and Nemuri and everyone else behind. Hizashi, his husband, a widower at only thirty.

The last of their trio.

He couldn't—no, wouldn't do that to the man he loves.

Shouta remembers, hazy beyond the cloud of his own grief of the time, how broken up Hizashi had been about Oboro's death. Even if he never showed it.

He hates that damned silence.

Besides, there's still so many things he wants to do.

Who else was going to make sure his current batch of students didn't kill themselves without a proper teacher? He wants to figure out why Midoriya—and All Might—were covered in ghosts. And he needs to talk with Hizashi again, even if it's just one more time, to tell him how much he loves him.

But... Shouta was being selfish either way, wasn't he?

Going back to his old life means he has to leave Oboro all alone—again. Means he would only be able to watch as his friends went on without him.

Shouta feels a pit form in his stomach as the realization sinks in, and his breath hitches.

How is he supposed to choose between his best friend and his husband...?