The whole point of 'visiting hours' is that they're meant to end at some point, and logically, Shouta knows this, but he still can't help the stab of annoyance at the unsuspecting nurse for waking up Hizashi just to send him home.
And his husband looks so distraught about it too, dragging his feet to avoid leaving for as long as humanly possible. Shouta and Oboro can hear him muttering something under his breath, but they don't dare risk getting any closer for fear of being walked through.
They dart out of the way when Hizashi paces closer to the bed for the seventh time in as many minutes.
"Okay, I'm heading home now, Shou," he says aloud, slipping a hand under Aizawa's casts in a semblance of a hold. "I'll be back before you know it, though, so don't worry!"
Shouta will never admit it out loud, but seeing someone he cares for so deeply talking to his unconscious body—like he was trying to comfort himself just as much as he was Shouta—it... hurts. But it hurts even worse not being able to do anything about it.
Before the nurse has a chance to physically haul the man out of the hospital for overstaying his welcome, Hizashi plants a gentle kiss to Aizawa's bandaged forehead.
"I love you," he whispers, clearly not expecting a reply and leaving the room with one final glance back.
The two teens are sure to keep pace with him and he exits the hospital. Shouta's hand drifts up to brush over his forehead, the phantom feeling of a kiss still lingering.
I love you too, he thinks.
The sky outside is dark now, night having fallen while the three sat in that quiet hospital room.
When Hizashi starts walking in the direction of their apartment, Shouta and Oboro only need share a look before they're following along without a word.
Present Mic was a formidable hero that no one in their right mind would want to face in a fight, but with how distracted he's acting it would be all too easy for some two-bit criminal to catch his unaware. Shouta scowls at the thought. Like hell was he about to allow any harm to come to his husband. He doesn't care if his physical body is currently in a coma, he would find a way to beat the shit out of anyone who so much as looks at Hizashi the wrong way.
It would seem that Oboro feels much the same was, as Shouta can see him similarly keeping an eye out with an unusually serious expression.
He wonders if ghosts can possess the living.
Luckily, he doesn't have to test that theory, as the streets are blessedly empty the entire way home.
As soon as the front door is unlocked one of their cats rushes to greet them with a chirp, but only a few feet away she grinds to a halt with wide, fearful eyes and a bushy tail.
"Mochi? What's wrong, baby?" Hizashi asks, raising an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic behavior.
But Mochi only hisses, back arching before she runs deeper into the house at full speed. Hizashi looks concerned about it, but seems to brush it off a moment later with a shrug. Shouta, however, feels downright awful.
Oboro had mentioned before how animals could see them, but he hadn't said that would happen. He can still feel that terrified gaze on him; there was no recognition in Mochi's familiar eyes. If that was the kind of reaction he could expect from the cats he loved and raised, then...
He doesn't want to stress them out more than he already has.
So when Oboro moves to follow Hizashi through the front door, Shouta stays frozen stiff where he stands, still staring wide-eyed at the spot Mochi had just been.
Their window of opportunity to get in before Hizashi shuts the door was rapidly closing.
Stifling a sigh, Oboro ducks back out into the hallway, the door shutting and locking behind him with a final sounding click. They're both locked out now, but Shouta can't really bring himself to care.
"They'll get used to your presence, eventually." Shouta turns to stare at Oboro with a flat look. "The cats, I mean."
Something occurs to Shouta at that very moment.
It sounds like he's speaking from experience.
"Shirakumo." The boy in question freezes, seemingly knowing he's just made a mistake of some sort. "Have you snuck into my home." It wasn't a question.
"Uh..." Oboro's grin is too wide, inconspicuously—or so he thinks—shuffling away. "No comment."
Flashing a grin of his own, the one with too many teeth that tends to make people uncomfortable, and he leans forward menacingly despite Oboro being so much taller. He can see his friend starting to sweat.
Shouta would be nice, he'll give his friend a head-start.
"POCKET CLOUD—" Without warning, Oboro's reached into his pocket and produced a small cloud, which he proceeds to throw right at Shouta's face.
Oh, fuck that.
"Run," is all Shouta says, activating Erasure.
Oboro wastes no time in heeding the—warning—advice, immediately taking off down the hall.
Blinking bits of cloud from his eyes, Shouta runs after the other at full speed. At the sound of his footsteps, Oboro screams, and runs faster.
Once outside, Oboro lifts himself to the rooftops atop a hastily created cloud.
Most likely thinking the height would keep him safe. Not that it was going to work, especially not after the stunt he just pulled. Or rather, threw.
Using his capture weapon with expect precision, Shouta launches himself up the sides of the buildings and resumes the chase. Thank fuck whatever made him look like a teenager had let him keep his hero gear, even if it was the old design.
He can see Oboro practically flying across the rooftops, only using his quirk when he absolutely had to. Smart, considering Shouta has no qualms about using his own at the moment.
There isn't any burning in his eyes at all.
Having none of his usual pain or fatigue, he can actually feel himself getting excited about the exercise.
His grin is bordering more on manic than annoyed now. A game of cat and mouse sounds like fun. Shouta pushes himself to catch up, shooting out a strand of his capture weapon to brush past Oboro's shoulder and eliciting a high pitched shriek from the taller boy. It would be no fun to catch his prey so soon.
Shouta keeps up the chase for as long as he can manage, intentionally letting himself just barely miss capturing Oboro. At some point the other teen had figured out the game, laughing brightly instead of screaming in fear at the near misses.
The game ends just as suddenly as it had begun.
At the sound of a scream from below they both jolt to a stop, locking eyes in mutual understanding.
Sharing a nod, the two make their way down to the alley the noise came from.
Unable to ignore years of training that demands he remain unseen and unheard, Shouta crouches in the shadows of a fire escape. Oboro similarly sticks to darkness, though he conjures a cloud to float on rather than any nearby structures.
From here, they can make out someone being held against the brick wall, hidden behind a dumpster and unable to be seen from the street.
Shouta is readying himself to jump in, but just as soon remember that he's unable to do anything right now, let alone intervene. He grits his teeth. There's nothing he can do, but the thought of seeing a crime in progress and doing nothing upsets him more than he can admit.
He's so focused on the altercation that he almost misses a new movement at the edge of his vision.
Almost.
Oboro is conjuring more clouds, but as they float away from him the clouds change in a way they never did in the time Shouta knew him. The alley fills with a chilling mist, obscuring their vison.
It catches the villain's attention, at the very least.
"Who's there?!" the guy shouts, one hand crackling with energy while the other keeps his victim from getting away. When he looks like he's about to do something stupid, Shouta activates Erasure on instinct.
To his surprise, the energy fizzles out—though Shouta can still see a few stray sparks here and there, causing him to frown.
It's enough to have the criminal panicking even more, looking around frantically until his gaze lands on Shouta.
Not through Shouta, but actually looking at him. His eyes, specifically.
"WHAT THE FU—"
Eyes blown wide in terror, the criminal lets go of the victim when he flinches away.
Shouta watches the victim flip away unnoticed with the distraction. Good. Now that they're out of the way—and maybe a little curious—he leaps down from the fire escape to land with a quiet thump just in front of the criminal.
The guy's eyes track the movement, face paling in abject horror and reeling further away—
Until he stumbles, falling backwards and cracking his head on the pavement. He's knocked out just like that.
How... anticlimactic.
Frowning, Shouta stares down at the now unconscious criminal in confusion. He can hear Oboro laughing uncontrollably. "What... just happened?" he can't help but ask.
Oboro, the bastard, just laughs harder.
With a huff, Shouta turns to climb back up the fire escape until he's eye-level with his unsuspecting friend. Oboro's laughter transforms into a scream when Shouta jumps onto the conjured cloud with him and makes himself comfortable. "Move over."
"A little warning woulda been nice, Shou!" Oboro whines, but obligingly scoots over to give him more room. Shouta stares back with a flat look.
"You should have been paying more attention."
"So mean to me~" Oboro pouts as he adds more clouds to their ride so they don't have to be pressed right up to each other. "Anyways, we just gonna leave this dude here, or...?"
Shouta pokes him in the shoulder. "Unless you have any other ideas," he shrugs. He's already thought about it, actually. They can't touch or move anything, and it's not like either of them had a phone. If that would even work, which was unlikely.
Hopefully the victim called the police once they got to safety.
Slowly, the cloud they're sat on floats up and out of the alley until they're high above the buildings below. Shouta peers over the edge with a raised eyebrow.
"What are you doing?"
"Just watch," Oboro replies with a secretive smile, and Shouta can only roll his eyes.
Once they've gotten high enough to surpass all the nearby skyscrapers—a dizzying height, but Shouta throws himself around with his scarf for a living so he's mostly unphased—Oboro lays back and folds his arms behind his head. Shouta stays sitting upright for now.
The sky was beautifully clear tonight, moon full and bright above their heads.
He feels like a teenager again.
"Figured it'd be nice to relax after all that action," he hears Oboro explain in a faraway voice.
An odd mix of melancholy, nostalgia, and regret swirls in his chest.
When was the last time he'd been able to do this? The three—sometimes four—of them sneaking out at night to watch the sky together, talking and laughing until the sun rose over the horizon and they were exhausted but alive.
He can't remember.
Shouta can feel something cold and wet on his face, and is more surprised than he probably should be when his shaking fingertips are met with tears.
How many times had he wished for this? For just one more chance with his best friend to say all the things he should have before it was too late. Now that it's real, he finds all the carefully forged apologies he's thought of over the years are just as out of reach as ever.
He can't quite stop the wet laugh—more of a sob, really—that slips past his crumbling defenses, hands coving his traitorous mouth just a second too late. He feels Oboro shift beside him, but can't work up the courage to look.
"...Shouta?"
Oboro's voice is quiet, hesitant. So unlike him. "Sorry, if it's too much we can go back down—"
Why is he apologizing?
It makes no sense. Shouta's the one who failed him, not the other way around. Oboro isn't the one at fault here.
Shouta is.
There are so many things he needs to say; how if he'd been just a little faster then he might've been able to save him. If he'd been stronger, if he'd been better.
You didn't deserve to die, his mind rages, old wounds that had never truly healed reopen once again.
It should have been me, a childish voice cries.
Instead, "I'm sorry," is all he manages to get out, voice a ragged whisper.
It's not enough. A simple 'sorry' would never be enough for letting his best friend die. So wrapped up in his own self-pity, Shouta doesn't expect the pair of arms that envelope him in a firm but gentle hug.
"You've got nothing to apologize for," Oboro whispers, pulling Shouta closer.
He tries to protest, but— "No." Oboro hugs him tighter. "What happened wasn't anyone's fault, but it especially wasn't your fault!"
Shouta suddenly finds himself being held by his shoulders, forced to look directly into determined blue eyes.
"You avenged me; you beat that villain!"
A blink.
"You saw that?" Shouta breathes, eyes widening at the implications.
"Of course I did!" Oboro beams, as if that revelation hasn't just shattered Shouta's entire world view. "I was screaming my head off that whole fight—you were amazing!"
The memory of a voice; urging him on when all hope seemed lost. The voice he'd thought he would never hear again—
Shouta's breath hitches. "I know, I heard—"
"Wait," Oboro interrupts again, now looking just as surprised as Shouta feels. "Did you actually hear me back then?"
With his new revelations, that did seem to be the most logical answer. After he had been told the horrifying truth—that Oboro was already dead before the fight even began—he had convinced himself that his grief addled been was grasping for straws; mimicking what it thought his friend would say in order to spur him into action. Just like Sensouji had said. A failsafe.
But he was wrong, it wasn't a figment of his imagination. His friend really had been looking out for him from beyond the grave.
Not trusting his voice, Shouta nods shakily.
He watches as Oboro's expression melts into a look of pure awe, quickly devolving into relieved, tearstained laughter.
Now they're both crying.
Shouta is pulled back into the hug after that, and this time he brings his arms up to hug his best friend back.
High above the city, sitting atop an impossible cloud and enveloped in warmth and tears, Aizawa Shouta smiles, and closes his eyes.