Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or MHA

Rating: T

Warnings: Some self-hating thinking on Shōta's part, brief mention of past abuse, mentions of animal abandonment and neglect

Words: 9,556

Notes: Welcome back! Are you guys ready for the fun time of Hospital Anxiety with our favorite Pro Heroes?

Chapter: 3) Anxiety Ants in the Hospital

Wednesday, April 22, 2X75

Shōta woke up to confusion.

Then to pain.

Where was he? What was going on? He tried to get up, but the pain made his body plead and beg to be still.

"Shō!"

Wait, he knew that voice. With more effort than it should have required, he turned his head and peered at Hizashi who had hands hovering over him like he was ready to keep him in bed. He had his long, blond hair tied back in a bun and was out of his Hero gear. Above Hizashi were bright fluorescent lights that were already giving him a headache despite just waking up. (In a whole separate train of thought, he thought the lights behind Hizashi made his hair glow. Made him look like an angel.)

The smell of antiseptic, blood, and bandages. The sounds of beeping machines.

Ah, the hospital.

Then, Wait, my students!

His husband must have been a mind reader—or more than likely, could just read him all too well—because he placed a hand on one of Shōta's bandaged arms to settle him. He held in the flinch from the pain the touch caused. "Hey, hey," he said gently, lowering his voice "The students are all okay. It's okay, just breathe for me."

Breathe?

Oh.

He hadn't realized his breathing had picked up until his chest started to hurt. He took a shaky breath in and mimicked Hizashi who was taking deep breaths to guide Shōta. In slow, hold, out slow. They repeated this until his breathing didn't shake when he inhaled or exhaled.

His throat was sore when he swallowed. "Wha—" he winced at the sound of his own creaky voice.

Hizashi pushed himself on a wheely stool—of course he had found himself a wheely stool to sit on—to the tray that was sitting on the table that was opposite from the hospital bed. He grabbed a white paper cup and pushed himself back to Shōta. Shōta tried to reach out a hand to grasp the cup, but he was beyond tired. The motion, though, made him aware of all the bandages that covered his body.

He did a mental check of his body and could confirm by pressure and feeling that they were indeed all over him.

I feel like a mummy.

Hizashi popped an ice chip in his mouth for him. His throat burned. "Try not talking too much until we get these ice chips finished off. They had to stick a tube down your throat while you were in surgery."

Surgery…Flashes of Shigaraki's decay spreading through one arm and the Nomu easily breaking his other arm made him suck in a harsh breath. Just thinking about it made his arms throb. Feeling them ache and throb made his chest hurt, and he could feel the thing hovering above him, massive hands crushing his bones like pretzels and slamming his face in, and the pain, the pain, the pain, he was going to die and his students were going to get killed—

Pressure?

He snapped open his—when had he closed them? —and saw golden hair engulfing his vision, preventing him from seeing anything else. Although his arms ached, they weren't being crushed? He felt pressure, which did not make any sense to him. He felt the pressure tighten around him slightly before relaxing. His body was sore and the pressure kind of made it worse, but he didn't want it to go away. The smell of citrus chased away the metallic smell of blood. Shampoo and conditioner. A familiar song hummed in his ears—Shōta felt the vibrations against his bandaged cheeks as they were pressed against a warm neck.

Hizashi.

His husband.

Hizashi.

"Hi-i-iz—" A creaky, stifled sob escaped his lips. Everything was just too much. He didn't want to be here, he didn't want to feel like shit, he didn't want to be away from his students where he was not able to check on their wellbeing. He distantly felt Hizashi petting his hair as gently as he could, careful of the bandages covering his body, The IV was still in his arm, but Hizashi made sure it did not pinch Shōta's skin.

"I'm here, Shō. I'm here," Hizashi's voice was low and quiet in the hospital room. The beeping of the machines around them was louder than him in a rare occurrence. Shōta listened to the fast beeping slowly begin to calm to a regular rhythm. "No one's going to hurt you in here. Not on my watch."

I'll keep you safe, was what he heard.

I love you, was what he also heard.

Shōta clutched to the fabric of Hizashi's long-sleeved shirt, the cotton of it grounding him further, He could feel the chunky stitch of a repair job Hizashi did at the bottom back part of the shirt. It was lumpy and uneven, but Hizashi always joked that it gave it more character. As if the dark pink of it did not give it enough character.

He wanted to go home.

"Are you back with me?" Hizashi pulled away gently just in case Shōta didn't want to let go.

Shōta gave him enough room to pull back and see his face but did not release his hold on his shirt. "I'm here." Mentally, he felt like he was in about ten other places. God, what drugs were they giving him?

"Hurts, though. Tired…" He groaned.

Hizashi hummed before beginning to maneuver himself and Shōta in the hospital bed that was clearly meant for one person. It was tricky, what with all the wires and tubes attached to Shōta, but it was manageable. They were used to practically lying atop one another to share space. Thankfully, Hizashi didn't have to get that drastic as there was just enough room for him to work against Shōta's side. Shōta was grateful that his husband wasn't decked out in his Hero costume leathers as those would have made the situation leagues more uncomfortable. The smell of citrus infiltrated his nose around the nasal cannula, blocking out the sharp scent of antiseptic. Worn, soft cotton felt better against his fingers rather than the itchier hospital samue he had been placed in over all the bandages.

In a mirror of earlier, it was Hizashi who buried his face into Shōta's neck. He felt a kiss of soft lips against his throat. It made his eyes sting with something that wasn't physical pain. Through his tiredness, he angled his head enough to kiss Hizashi's forehead. The desire to lay in his own bed he shared with his husband in their home only grew stronger with every second they were like this.

The warmth of Hizashi and the drugs in his IV coupled with his own exhaustion were quickly making him drift off.

The quiet of the room was broken when he felt Hizashi groan next to him.

"Oh shit, the nurse is going to kill me."

"Dare I ask?"

"…I forgot to push the call button when you woke up?"

Memories of Recovery Girl and her needle cane being whipped out when they didn't follow orders made him shudder. He could only imagine that the nurses here were on par, if not worse, with that strictness.

He snorted, though regretted it as it sent sharp stinging through his nasal cavities. Oh jeeze, he thought he just snorted blood into his mouth, ugh. Through tired lips, he said, "Well…guess it doesn't matter since I was never awake."

A pause.

A careful arm curled around his waist as a head was moved directly over his heart. Shōta rested his own hand over Hizashi's ribs. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

Shōta felt a smile tweak his lips before sleep began to claim him once again.

"Love you too, 'Zashi…"

.

.

.

.

As it turned out, the nurses' station had a close eye on Shōta's vitals and knew he had woken up. They had not interrupted the couple as they could see they were having a moment.

That did not save his husband from being 'kindly' reprimanded by a tall nurse with ocean-blue hair.

.

.

.

.

Thursday, April 23, 2X75

The next day, Shōta did not wake up until the late afternoon.

Apparently, the nurses stopped by to take his vitals, flush his IV, and then give him more of the medication they had been giving him through his IV. All the meanwhile he had been asleep. Missed breakfast, too. Considering he was a light sleeper, this annoyed and bothered him. He did not want to be in this hospital. He did not want to be away from his husband and his students. He did not want to deal with his whole body feeling like it had been squashed like a big by a giant monster.

Oh wait.

It had.

He groaned as the headache he had behind his eyes pulsed hard. He knew he was a bad patient to have. Anxiety and stress always made him antsy, literally itching to get back to work and back on patrol. He wasn't a difficult patient per se; he always followed any directions the doctors and nurses (and Recovery Girl) gave him to the T, always took whatever necessary medication that was required, and was always polite to any staff—be it a doctor or orderly or desk worker—who helped him.

He was a bad patient to have because he kept wanting to escape as soon as possible.

The restlessness and anxiety, the pure need to not be stuck in one place, made him move. Keep moving. Change routes often. Always study your surroundings. Shōta had been living and breathing this since he was training to be a Hero during his time at UA. It became rote by the time he went Underground.

That was why he was…'scouting' in one of the unisex bathrooms on the floor his room was on.

He had made sure to bring his IV, shuffle around like he was doing physio—his shuffling was more so because of the pain and tiredness in his limbs, so he wasn't really faking it—and made sure to nod to every nurse who he met on the way. They had paid him no mind, especially after saying he was doing physio. They wouldn't have believed him if he said he was going to the restroom considering he had a bathroom within his hospital room. The slow speed had allowed him to begin to recognize the patterns of the floor. He had taken a break midway through. Leaning on his IV stand, he had watched with (aching) hawk-like eyes of the flow and traffic of the floor: when the nurses checked the rooms, when the orderlies came around to change any linens, when the security guards needed a smoke break or needed a drink, and when other patients shuffled about the halls doing their real physical therapy. This 'break' had allowed him a good chunk of thirty minutes to observe.

And when he had gotten back up and began his 'physio,' he had seen the nurse that was assigned specifically to him turning the corner of the hall he was in, which made him panic for a split second.

Hence why he was in the bathroom.

The panicky feeling hadn't quite left him. The heck was he supposed to tell his nurse? Oh sorry, I had too much anxiety being stuck in my room because I thought something was going to get me and needed to scout the hospital halls in order to know the ins and outs of this floor? Yeah, no, that sounded ridiculous. Stupid, stupid. Number one rule of Underground work, Shōta, never start something unless you have an exit. Idiot.

Once again, he blamed the drugs for making him so sloppy.

Now he was stuck, and he had a feeling his nurse was about to soon discover that her patient had decided to disappear from her.

Shit.

A knock rapped against the door.

Double shit.

"Occupied," he called out. Hopefully the person would just walk away and find another restroom. Sadly, when the shadows of feet did not move from the gap under the door, he frowned. "Occupied," he said louder, but coughing followed as he spoke too loudly. His throat still hurt from the tube.

"Shō? That you?"

Oh, thank god.

"'Zashi?"

He saw Hizashi's feet shift side to side. "What are you doing in here? I came early because your students finished all their work for the day that was in your lesson plan. When I got to your room, I couldn't find you. You know you have a whole bathroom to yourself, right?"

The pride in his students, who knew what was expected of them when he wasn't there, was quickly pushed aside by the embarrassment of being caught in this situation.

His silence must have begun to worry him. "Shōta, can I come in, please?"

At least he didn't sound angry.

It took him far longer than was comfortable to get up from the crouch he had found himself in, every muscle in his body protesting the movement. He stopped short of opening the door. His hand hovered just over the doorknob. Why was he hesitating? What was he even doing? He swallowed hard.

"Shō, baby, let me in. You're worrying me, you've been real quiet in there." He heard a breath of laughter that was more fret than amusement. "I know being quiet is your thing, but I don't think that really counts when you're holed up in here. Even though it's a hospital, public bathrooms aren't that cool to hang out in."

Any hesitation that stilled his hand bled away, allowing him to finally open the door. He was met with his husband standing in front of him in a pink PYHUR t-shirt under his casual leather jacket. (1) His hair was still up in his Present Mic style, and he was still wearing the pants to his hero costume. It was such a mix, visually, of Hizashi and Present Mic that it made Shōta breath out an amused huff.

"Hey," Hizashi took a step forward and wrapped his arm around his waist. He used a gloved hand to brush back messy hair away from his face to tuck behind his ear. The bandages got in the way, so the lock of hair slipped back to his face, but the thought of it was appreciated. "There you are."

"Hi," he rasped. He stepped into Hizashi's space to learn against him. He clutched a handful of pink fabric in his hand. He could feel the studs of his belt underneath the fabric.

"Let's get you back to your room. Maybe Yumi-san didn't make it to your room yet."

He allowed Hizashi to guide him back to his room. Loud enough for the people in the hall to hear, he managed a steady praise of his 'physio,' saying how great of a job he did, how he did well walking so far on his second day, etc., etc. His Present Mic persona was in full swing. Let it not be said that Hizashi lacked the ability to attract attention to himself to distract and manipulate the situation how he wanted it to be.

Once they got back to the room, he allowed Hizashi to maneuver him back into his hospital bed. If he noticed how Shōta almost collapsed into the two basic pillows the hospital supplied him with, Hizashi didn't comment. Shōta let out a long breath. Looking out the window, he watched a few birds perch just outside the windowsill and preen themselves. Despite how he managed his hair and kept stubble on his face, he did, in fact, care about his appearance in terms of hygiene. He felt gross and itchy and sticky in weird places, and he wished he could groom himself like the birds outside.

His anxiety was not going away. It may have dimmed with his husband being near him, but that restlessness and need to be moving remained, Maybe if he pretended to sleep, Hizashi wouldn't ask him about anything.

Then he thought about it again.

Who was he kidding, this was 'Zashi he was thinking about.

He decided to beat him to the punch. "You're not going to ignore why I was in there, are you?"

Hizashi gave him a small, patient smile. "Was waiting to see if you were going to say something first. No can do. I don't think the headline of 'Mummy Man Hero Stuck in Bathroom' would look good, if you think about it."

Shōta let out a fake gasp of horror. "You would rat out your own husband to the press?"

"You would sell me out for one pocky stick to be able to spend all day home with the cats."

"Only because the cats need me."

"Oh, of course, of course."

Shōta snorted, though once again grimacing as a clot of blood drained into his mouth. The familiarity of their banter eased his nerves somewhat. He had felt embarrassed for Hizashi to find him like he did, and even more so ashamed that he had a mild freak out because he needed to scout and patrol like some kind of control freak. He still feels that burning embarrassment as scratched at the blanket near his thigh. He hated feeling weak, hated feeling like something was wrong with him.

He cleared the scratchiness from his throat (to no avail). "I…I didn't…I didn't want to be in here."

"I kind of got that," Hizashi said nonjudgmentally as he reached out to slot his long fingers around Shōta own. "Take your time."

"Anxiety."

"Yeah?" Hizashi started stroking Shōta's knuckles with his thumb, and Shōta wasn't afraid to say that he was a weak, weak man for his husband's touch in any form he could get.

He nodded. "Can't stay in one place. Didn't want any surprises."

There was a quietness in the room as Hizashi took in his words. "You didn't want any surprises…as in, you didn't want anything to sneak up on you?"

He nodded again.

Hizashi continued, "Mm, okay. You didn't want anything to sneak up on you, so you were trying to get the logical upper hand by preparing yourself. And knowing you, that meant recon, yeah?"

Shōta gave a tired nod, turning his face away. Hizashi really did know him too well.

"Hey, hey, c'mere," Hizashi whispered as he used the hand not holding Shōta's to gently grab his chin. He turned Shōta's face towards him, careful of his movements so as not to cause him any more harm, and pressed his lips against his in a kiss. Shōta felt his eyes close on reflex. He felt a hand caress the back of his head where his hair was peeking through his bandages, and he sighed into the kiss. Head tilting, he parted his lips slightly to deepen the kiss from a simple, chaste pressing of lips. His own lips were chapped while Hizashi's were warm and tasted like his usual strawberry lip balm. Shōta liked the taste. It was comforting and familiar and all Hizashi-sweetness. When Hizashi pulled back, Shōta still had his eyes closed and lips parted, chasing the feeling. But he didn't have to worry about him going far as he felt Hizashi rest his forwards against his own.

When he opened his eyes, beautiful bright green met him like a welcome home. "'Zashi," his voice cracked.

"I love you." There was nothing but honesty in his voice. "You never have to be ashamed around me, love."

Shōta closed his eyes again, nuzzling his forehead closer to his husband. He squeezed his hand so tight within his. They shared a quietness between them that they had fostered throughout their years as friends, as boyfriends, and then as husbands. A vulnerability that was safe between just the two of them. For a moment, the hospital faded away. He took a fortifying breath, "…I couldn't stay still. I…keep feeling as if the Nomu or Shigaraki are going to come in here and kill me and everyone in here. I keep thinking of my students and how close they were to being killed. I," he swallowed so hard that his throat clicked, "I-I can't stay in here, 'Zashi! Even though I was in so much pain trying to get out of here, I needed to know what people were doing. I-I needed to watch and watch and watch because if I didn't watch, I felt like I was going to die. Feel like I got these, these, these ants crawling under my skin."

He heard Hizashi inhale sharply as he opened his eyes again. "Shō," was all he said for a long time. Hizashi peppered kisses as gently as he could around his eyes and cheeks—even over the spots still covered by the bandages. "That's nothing to be ashamed of. That's—that's normal, for what happened. I absolutely hate that they did that to you and that they went after the students, but being…anxious and having a trauma response from it isn't something I would ever judge you on. Would you judge me if I was in your position?"

Shōta had never spit out, "Never," faster in his entire life.

"Exactly. Now, lie down. If you get anymore stressed, the nurses will kick me out for good."

And as soon as Shōta got settled back properly in his bed did his small, vulnerable moment with Hizashi end.

"Aizawa Shōta-san," oh god, she even full named him like Recovery Girl did, "what were you doing out of your bed? Especially without letting anyone know?"

Ah…There in the doorway was Yumi-san, the tall nurse with ocean-blue hair who was his main nurse in charge of him.

Dammit, he was hoping they got back before she did.

"Yeah sorry, ma'am, I was helping him stretch around. He has restless legs and wanted to get a head start on the good ol' PT stuff. He's been hurt before, so I already had some in mind for him." Hizashi's voice was sweet, and that combined with his kind, well-to-do manner could melt butter. "My bad! Promise it won't happen again."

The nurse, arms still crossed, stared at him. She was silent for a long moment before she let out a frustrated sigh. "Just make sure it doesn't happen again, Yamada-san. It is far too early for Aizawa-san to be moving around like this. His physical therapist must clear him for that sort of thing."

He gave her a mock salute with a bright smile on his lips. "Will do! Sorry, again."

She hummed and gave the two of them a look before she sighed. "I'm giving you two ten minutes before I come back. I want to discuss everything that has been done to you, Aizawa-san, since Yamada-san," she sent Hizashi a very pointed look to which he sheepishly waved, "did not alert us when you woke up. There's much to talk about."

He waited ten seconds after Yumi-san left and closed the door behind her to turn to Hizashi.

"…Have I told you how much I love you?"

A large grin split Hizashi face as he broke out laughing. Wiping a tear from his eye behind his glasses, he shook his head. "You, haha, you could stand to say it more often." The teasing quality of his words was easy to hear after knowing him for so long.

Shōta felt lighter. Still felt the anxiety ants jittering just under his skin, but he was relaxed enough to divert his attention from them.

"How quick do you think you can debrief me in ten minutes?" he asked.

Hizashi just looked at him. "…You know, I would ask if that was a challenge, but we both know we've done quicker."

"Time's ticking. If I'm going to be stuck in here, I want to know everything that happened after—" he cleared his throat, swallowing his hesitation, "after I passed out."

"Of course you do," Hizashi sighed, far used to how he was. He kissed his forehead again before starting. "Asui-chan (2)," Shōta twitched hard hearing her name as the last thing he remembered seeing before he was slammed into the ground for the last time was Shigaraki about to decay her face, "gave us a lot of information about Kurosaki."

Kurosaki…Kurosaki… The only person whose name and appearance he did not know was Kurosaki's—he knew his students and who the Villains were—so the orange-haired man kicking Shigaraki away from Tsuyu must have been Kurosaki. "He protected her?"

Hizashi nodded, "Yeah, he did. According to her and Mineta, Kurosaki appeared out of one of Kurogiri's warp gates, but Kurogiri did not seem like he did this on purpose. It seemed to cause him pain, actually. Ya dig?"

Shōta hummed pensively. "That is very strange. From what I saw, Kurogiri had precise control over his Quirk. So for it to cause him pain…I think Kurosaki might be a factor of his Quirk hurting him. I don't know how, but…"

"Agreed. And listen to this, he actually thought All Might was going to attack you, asking the students if he was an ally or not. Who doesn't know All Might?!"

"How—Even foreigners know who All Might is."

"That's what I said!"

A mysterious man who didn't know who All Might was, didn't know if he was friend or foe, yet immediately went to protecting Tsuyu and the other students? "Keep going." He took a sip of water, easing the ache in his throat.

"The kids saw them exchange words at one point, and they said that he fought alongside All Might. On par with him, Shō. Had multiple quirks, too."

That made him stop sipping on his water. "Come again?"

"I spoke with Yagi-san after he and Midoriya went to the infirmary and—"

"Wait, what happened to Midoriya?" Knowing how his Problem Child student was, Shōta immediately felt his heart rate spike. Shigaraki almost killed Tsuyu and she had done her best to not get in the way, so Midoriya, whose favorite past time seemed to be launching his body before his brain thinks, being in the infirmary was making his brain think of every possible thing that could have gone wrong. "Where is he now?"

He swore to everything holy and unholy that if the Shigaraki and his Villains got to Midoriya or any single one of his students and Hizashi was holding back from telling him—

Hizashi held up placating hands before Shōta could work himself into an early heart attack. "Easy, easy, he's okay! Broke his bones—please don't choke on the water—broke his bones, but Recovery Girl was able to heal him. She's not happy he keeps breaking himself, but she wasn't as salty about it considering the situation. Asui-chan is perfectly okay, just some scratches. Mineta had some scrapes, and all the other students are right as rain. Physically. Īda got to us fast enough that we were able to prevent anything worse from happening."

Shōta made a mental note to give Īda extra points on the next quiz (since he knew the kid wouldn't take being exempted from one.)

He let out a shaky breath. "Good," he inhaled deeply, held it, then exhaled again, "good."

Hizashi reached back for his hand, and he gladly let him take it in his. He squeezed it hard, trying to convey everything that he was feeling, and wanted to melt when Hizashi squeezed back with equal pressure. Shōta craved pressure whenever he was anxious, stressed, mad, or pretty much any negative emotion he could think of. A tight, death grip of a hug would probably prolong his hospital stay, so he had to settle with handholding. Being held tight let him know that he was safe.

God, he wanted to go home.

Hizashi lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. "They're all okay."

"Thank you for protecting them."

He rolled his eyes behind his glasses. "You never have to thank me for that. We're educators and those are our students. They always come first."

The students always came first. That was one of the reasons Shōta wanted to become an educator—to put student first always. Although UA preached this, putting it in practice hadn't always been done well. Memories of wispy, light blue hair dissipating into the air like clouds and a brilliantly bright grin came to his mind. A voice always positive and lighting the mood. A nose that scrunched when laughing. Then the following memory of those beautiful traits being snuffed out under a mound of building rock.

He became a teacher to make sure his students were the best prepared so that they didn't end up like—didn't die because of preventable reasons. So that they had someone who would care enough to push them. So that they had someone who would care enough to understand what death in Heroics meant and do his damnest not to let it happen to them. No more students crushed underneath the physical and mental weights of the course. No more students bleeding out on the ground. No more students meeting early fates only to have the adults meant to guide them brush it off and continue to repeat the same mistakes.

No more.

With the knowledge that his students were safe, he remembered what else Hizashi said. "Now back to the thing before Midoriya. What did you say about multiple Quirks?" The only person in history known to have multiple Quirks was All for One.

A more serious expression passed over his husband's face. "Kurosaki demonstrated the use of multiple Quirks while fighting. I didn't believe it first, but Yagi-san and the students were both eyewitnesses. On top of that, footage that was recovered from USJ confirmed it. He was too fast for the cameras to catch everything, but we did get something. I know how crazy it sounds since, you know, it's not possible to have more than one Quirk, but it's true."

"I remember him teleporting to Tsuyu before I passed out. What else did he have?"

Hizashi brought his phone near Shōta's face—with the brightness turned as low as it could, thank you 'Zashi—and Shōta stared at it despite his throbbing head and aching eyes.

On screen, he could see a few stills of security footage that Hizashi must have downloaded before coming here. One image of Kurosaki standing in midair as if he were standing atop a platform. The other still was a slightly blurry smidge of Kurosaki attacking the Nomu with some kind of energy around—

"Are those swords?" Shota asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Hizashi swiped his phone screen to pull up several high-quality images of the supposed swords Kurosaki had been using. "Kurosaki apparently attacked Shigaraki and the Nomu with these swords of his. Never seen anything like these before."

Even through his tired eyes, he had to agree with Hizashi. Those swords were like nothing Shōta had ever seen. Shōta knew weapons. He knew blades. His own tanto was one he had been carrying for years, the blade well cared for and still immaculate. Glossy and deadly-sharp, just the way Shōta needed. He also had various throwing daggers that were equally cared for.

Those swords, however…

Both large and small swords were black from the little metal he could see. The shorter was looked to be the length and width of an average man's forearm. It was not in the shape of a traditional tanto or wakizashi, instead in that of a Khyber knife. There was a grip at the base of it and a cloth-wrapped handle extending back into the main form of the sword. The rest of the blade was wrapped tightly in the same white cloth.

The larger sword, like the smaller one, was wrapped in a white cloth that protected its long handle. If Shōta had to estimate, he would guess that it was about length from a man's shoulders to the bottom of his pelvis, if not a fraction longer. The entirety of the blade was wrapped in the same white cloth that was around the handle save for a small sliver peeking out near the hilt. There was a dip in the center of the bottom two-thirds of the sword, to which Shōta guessed that there was some sort of groove or large divot. But a groove or divot of that size would compromise the stability of the blade, so how could Kurosaki use it and not break it?

"And listen to this," Hizashi leaned in like he was telling a secret. "Those cloth coverings? They magically wrapped themselves around the swords when Kurosaki collapsed. I've never seen gear do that before! Even your capture scarf has to be manipulated by you and a little by your Quirk. (3) These seemed to move all on their own. When we tried to retrieve them, Ecto couldn't do it by himself. He had to get a bunch of clones to lift 'em. Even the smaller one!"

If it didn't hurt to raise his eyebrow, he would have.

"So let me get this straight," he began like he had been told the most absurd rumor on the planet. "He demonstrated teleportation to get to Tsuyu, an air-walking ability, some sort of energy manipulation when he was attacking, and super strength to lug those things around?"

"Crazy, huh?"

What the fuck? As in, what the actual fuck.

Before they could continue the conversation, Yumi-san returned with a no-nonsense look on her face. "Alighty, ten minutes are up, I'm afraid. We have a lot to discuss, Aizawa-san. Will Yamada-san be staying, or will he be stepping out of the room?"

'Wherever you go, I go, Shōta. No matter what.' Hizashi had told him long ago.

"Whatever pertains to me pertains to him."

"Okay, good! Let's get started."

Hizashi made sure he kissed Shōta before he left for the day.

His husband had been half asleep by the time Yumi-san and the surgeon who had walked in a minute behind her were finished discussing everything that had happened to Shōta. And god, there had been so much.

- Dermal, subdermal, and nerve damage in one arm due to Decay,

- Multiple fractures and full breaks in the other arm with cracking throughout his humerus, ulna, and radius,

- Strained muscles and nerves in his shoulders and back from the Nomu stretching his arms as it broke them,

- Concussion and several contusions from being slammed into the ground,

- Fractured frontal, nasal, zygomatic, and maxilla facial bones for the above reason,

- Minor whiplash from his head being jerked around,

- Broken orbital socket and eye bruising,

- And several minor lacerations.

Recovery Girl hadn't been able to treat him using her Quirk yet because he had been in such a bad state. He hadn't had the energy nor stamina for it. Even today, Shōta had struggled to stay awake when Yumi-san and the surgeon had been talking to him. He had stayed away enough to mumble a bye when they left, but Hizashi knew he hadn't absorbed everything and that he would have to repeat back what they had told them to Shōta.

He had told Shōta he loved him and would be back tomorrow, but he had already drifted off fully by then. Hizashi was glad that he was getting the rest he needed, but just looking at him over made his chest hurt. He wished he could take all the pain away from him.

Now, Hizashi was walking towards the nurses' station to check about another patient. He checked his phone. 5:15 PM. He would need to leave soon if he wanted to beat traffic. But, one last thing to take care of.

"Ah! Present Mic-san! How are you?" a male nurse with dark skin and dark green braids greeted him. His Quirk allowed him to move his hair like extra extensions of himself, grabbing files here and pens there. At the moment, he was stapling a packet of papers with two braids while he loaded the printer with paper with two others. Versatile.

"Yo, Fujita-san! I'm hanging in there, thanks," he said as he leaned a little on the high portion of the station. "What about yourself? They're not running you too ragged are they?"

Fujita snorted. "You know how it is. Never a boring day around here—especially whenever we work with you Pros. And speaking of," he glanced further down the hall in the opposite way that Shōta's was, "I'm assuming you're here to check in on your mystery patient?"

And boy, is he a mystery indeed.

"Hit the nail on the head, man."

Fujita took a second to pull up Kurosaki's file. He read off the computer screen, "Still unconscious since you checked yesterday. His vitals still read stable from our monitors, so no change there. When you guys brought him in, his Quirk gave us some trouble, but thankfully we have some heavy-duty needles for our IV's for patients like him. The saline, blood, and medication we have been giving him have all been tolerated well. He has shown signs of more brain activity, so that could possibly lead to him waking up soon." He sounded hopeful, so Hizashi decided to take his word for it.

"Thanks again! I appreciate you, man," he said as he pushed off the station and began to walk away.

"Have a good day, Present Mic-san.

He shot him a finger gun, "Same to you!"

It did not take him long to get to Kurosaki's room. It was at the very end of the hall on the opposite end that Shōta was on. Despite the stress and anxiety that made Shōta compelled to scout the floor, this floor was one of the more secure ones in the entire hospital. This floor was used specifically for Pro Heroes and other high-clearance cases. From Heroes, to Villains, to anyone that needed special protection or guarding, this floor was not available to the general public. Even visitors were highly monitored before they were allowed clearance to visit the floor. Hizashi had been on this floor several times both as a patient and as a visitor.

Shredding his throat about five years ago hadn't been pleasant in the slightest. He had needed surgery to repair his vocal cords. Shōta had given him an earful about pushing himself well beyond his limits and putting himself in critical danger and so on and so forth. Hizashi had managed to stop the Villain, but the blood pouring from between his teeth had freaked both he and Shōta the heck out. To be fair, he hadn't meant to go past his own safety point. It just, you know, happened.

Plus, Shōta had no business talking since he himself had ended up on the same floor two weeks later with some broken ribs after falling from a fire escape while in pursuit of Villain. A whole-ass belly flop onto a metal dumpster.

Shōta had been pissed.

(Needless to say, the Villain had thanked them for catching him first before Shōta when Shōta was healed and back to patrolling.)

When he got to Kurosaki's room, he nodded at the guard at the door and stepped inside. The steady beeping of monitors welcomed him. The window let in the orange and pink light of the evening sky. It would have been beautiful if the occupant had been awake to enjoy it.

He grabbed a chair and brought it close to Kurosaki's bed, straddling it backwards so he could rest his arms on the back. He let out a sigh. Under the fluorescents of the room, Hizashi looked over the man in the bed. When they had brought Kurosaki in, he had originally appeared to have a case of severe Quirk exhaustion. But, first appearances weren't always accurate. From what Hizashi was told after Kurosaki had been admitted and looked over, the guy had a lot more wrong with him than they had thought. For one thing, he was quite underweight. When they had lifted him up to transfer him, the nurses and doctors were alarmed by how light he felt in comparison to his height. Malnourishment and dehydration.

Nezu, being the principal where the incident took place, and Hizashi, who had helped paramedics get him in an ambulance, were privy to part of Kurosaki's medical details.

Secondly, Kurosaki's skin was dense like he had some kind of protection Quirk. Hizashi hadn't known this until Fujita explained it earlier with the specialty needles and equipment. Normally, reinforced skin would not be anything to blink at what with the world of diverse Quirks they lived in. There were preparations for that. What wasn't normal was that this what yet another Quirk to add to the list that Kurosaki appeared to have thus far. It was stress-inducing to think about. The thought of any sort of tie-in to the defeated All for One made one nauseous thinking about it.

Lastly and most concerning of all, there were signs that Kurosaki had been tortured.

Frequently and for a long time.

Hizashi had been informed that Kurosaki possessed many scars, new and old, that were characteristic of repeated torture. Whip marks, repeated broken bones, scars around his wrists and ankles, and more. The scarring around the wrists and ankles were clear signs of struggling against restraints, marring the black double-X tattoos. And speaking of restraints, there were some kind of cuffs or bands or something around Kurosaki's wrists that they had not been able to remove no matter how hard they tried. Bolt cutters didn't even do the trick. Even melting using a Quirk in a concentrated area did not work. The malnutrition and dehydration, one of the doctors explained, had signs of occurring for several years on end. Something about bone density and some other stuff that Hizashi had not absorbed. It made Hizashi sick to think of anyone doing that to a person. Even though he had been a hero for multiple years, knowing what people were capable of doing to others sometimes horrified him in ways that he just could not understand.

The faded, pale scars—disguised by partially unnecessary foundation—across the bridge of his nose and around jaw itched.

He took a deep breath. Propped in the chair, he took a long look at Kurosaki. Longish orange hair had seen better days as it laid in unkempt strands around his head. There was a sharp streak of white at one of his temples, but he didn't seem the type to go gray early. (Maybe it was genetic coloration like Kaminari's black bolt in his blonde hair.) Dark circles were prominent under his eyes. The only person that would have him beat in that department was Shōta. He could see some scars peeking out from the sleeves of the hospital samue, but he had a strong feeling that there were more if the medical reports were anything to go by.

"God, what did they do to you?" he whispered, resting his chin on his arms and hiding his mouth behind his sleeve.

He set a heavy gaze on the metal bands around Kurosaki's wrists along with the scars underneath them. How much had he struggled? What did his captors do to him? Did he have family that was looking for him now? Or friends? Were his captors still out there while he was here?

Nezu, being the principal where the incident took place, and Hizashi, who had already been present in the hospital because of his husband, were privy to part of Kurosaki's medical details. And with the current information of possible torture and abuse that Kurosaki had suffered, coupled with the bands around his wrists, the rest of the faculty might need to be informed as well.

They were all waiting for Shōta to wake up and be able to move around before holding a joint meeting with UA and the police in order to figure out everything.

Hizashi knew nothing about Kurosaki, but the young, muzzled boy of his childhood-self hoped that Kurosaki was safe from his captors-abusers-torturers for good. He knew he had a hard time keeping his personal feelings from his Hero work—it was why he had such stark divisions between Present Mic the Hero, Mic-sensei the UA teacher, and Yamada Hizashi. Sometimes in cases with abuse victims, Hizashi bled into Present Mic, and if they were bad enough, a young little Hizashi looked through the eyes of Present Mic. He had been doing Hero work for a long time now, and there were some cases that just got to him no matter what.

Pro Heroes did their best to keep such things from happening, but he and the rest were only human.

This was the body of a victim. A victim who risked his life to save his husband, almost throw down against All Might, and protect their students. He and the others at UA and the police department knew nothing about this man, but Hizashi would be damned if he was going to stand aside and let Kurosaki be harmed anymore.

He did not feel like Kurosaki was a Villain. A Villain wouldn't have acted the way he had.

Hizashi was a Hero, and he knew what that entailed. And who was a Hero, if not someone who helped those in need?

.

.

.

.

It was about 7:30 in the evening by the time he got home.

Opening the door, he was greeted by the familiar scent that was uniquely his and Shōta's place: a little bit of citrus from the dying plug-in they kept near their shoes, a strong aroma of coffee from a pot gone cold on the counter, that weird (but not unpleasant) wood smell from the coat closet right across from the shoe rack, and cat shampoo from their two freshly bathed cats.

And speaking of their little kitties…

Not three seconds into the apartment did he hear two soft meows from his feet. Hanging his jacket in the dinky coat closet, he looked down and smiled. "Hey there, furry listeners," his voice didn't go over a whisper, "I missed you guys."

He and Shōta owned two rescue cats that they've had for several years. The first one they had rescued was a scruff of a thing, a black cat they had found walking home from one of their date nights. They had found her pitifully meowing from a plastic bag she had managed to claw open enough to breathe. Shōta swore up, down, left, right, and center when he had seen her, knowing that someone had not only tried to throw her away, but also suffocate her. Hizashi had to refrain from dropping the loudest f-bomb that wanted to burst right from his chest. She had cuddled up to Shōta when he had picked her up. After going straight to a vet for an emergency visit, they had discovered she was severely underweight for her ten weeks and had to have an eye and part of her tail removed.

Hizashi had named her Susuwatari after the soot sprites from one of his favorite Ghibli movies, Spirited Away. Shōta had been taken by the name, as much as he hadn't wanted to admit it, but he had suggested a nick name since Susuwatari was a bit of a mouthful. Susu had been the solution that worked.

Even now, Susu was still tiny for her four years. Their little soot sprite.

Their second rescue was much larger than Susu. This one they had found in an animal shelter when they were looking for more cats to adopt. The shelter had been one that took in abused animals from all over the area, well known in the community for their care. They had walked throughout the shelter for a while as they looked at all of the animals, but it hadn't been until they got to the very end that one of the animals stood out to them. A large gray Maine Coon. Or rather, a large Main coon that was supposed to be all filled out but was skinny as all heck and depressed-looking. With this cat, they had learned that while abuse had taken place, it hadn't been purposeful. The owner had been incredibly elderly, in poor health, and had dementia so they had often forgotten they even owned the cat. Hence the cat's weight and health.

Even though the Maine Coon had been shy at first, it quickly warmed up once they sat in its holding area and it realized they weren't going to hurt it. When it had climbed into Hizashi's lap and he had begun petting it, he had felt its ribs and many of its other bones through its skin. It had made him want to cry—both for the owner, who clearly lost their friendly companion, and the cat who lost their elderly companion to health and dementia. With the packet they filed out, they had learned that cat was a boy. A loveable boy who needed a new family.

It had taken them a long time to figure out what to name him when they had gotten home. (To be fair, they had been distracted by the cuteness of him and Susu meeting for the first time. All recorded on both of their phones with triple copies made for posterity.) It had been during their shared grading session over lunch at their kitchen table that Shōta came up with a name. "Kioku," Shōta had said quietly.

"Kioku?" Hizashi had parroted, not expecting that.

"Mm, Kioku. Memory." Shōta had looked from his grading down at the Maine Coon currently hiding behind his foot, "He lost his long-time companion from a disease of memory and old age. Kioku seems fitting."

Kioku, memory. Hizashi had thought it was an excellent name, and so that was how Kioku the Maine Coon became part of their family. (4)

Now Susu and Kioku were all over him. Susu let out her little squeak as she tried to climb up Hizashi's leg while Kioku was looking past Hizashi's legs at the door. Kioku meowed and pawed at Hizashi's leg before going to the door and pawing at that. Meanwhile, Susu had climbed onto his shoulder and was staring behind him. Hizashi felt a pang in his chest. They knew someone was missing.

"Yeah, no Shōta tonight," he apologized. He took Susu off his shoulder in one hand and cuddled her next to his chest as he reached down to pet Kioku. Even though all grown, she was practically the size of a large kitten. "It's just us till he gets better."

He went through their nightly routine by himself. Thankfully Susu—who Hizashi had to pry off his shoulder—and Kioku were always patient cats, so they did not mind just watching him get their food for a bit before placing it in front of them. He refilled their water bowls while he was at it. As they ate, Hizashi puttered around the kitchen to make his own dinner. With everything going on, he hadn't really been in a mood to cook, so he had been running on easy stuff: rice, salads, some soup, nothing really that required too much effort. Tonight was no different, just some rice and miso soup.

Sitting down at the kitchen table eating his plain dinner, he hated that he was the only one sitting there. Yes, Susu and Kioku were keeping him company just a few feet away, but they were all missing a vital part of their everyday lives. Whenever Hizashi wasn't at the station and Shōta didn't have to patrol, they always made sure that they ate dinner together no matter what. The empty seat in front of him was a loud quietness that set him on edge. His black-clad, handsome husband wasn't there. Even as he absentmindedly chewed his rice and sipped on his soup, his thoughts kept going to Shōta at USJ, Shōta being rushed to surgery, Shōta having a panic attack and a half in the hospital.

Elbows on the table, he leaned his head against his hands, chopsticks still in one hand. The breath shook in his chest and his eyes grew hot. The astronomical relief he had felt when Shōta had woken up and spoke to him…

Mrrp.

If Kurosaki was truly someone that could end up being their ally, Hizashi wanted to thank him for saving his Shōta.

Mrrrrp!

Hizashi looked down to see Kioku looking up at him with his big yellow eyes. His big boy pushed himself against Hizashi's leg like he was trying to bowl him over. When Hizashi didn't move, Kioku doubled his efforts and just decided to jump into his lap.

"Hoh god," he wheezed as the breath was partially knocked out of him, having set down his chopsticks before he accidentally flung them across the room. How did Kioku weigh this much? Rumbling passed through abdomen and thighs as he soon had a lapful furry, muscular minicar. I swear this cat should not be this big.

Right after he heard Susu's signature squeak-meow before she climbed his leg and smooshed her way right next to Kioku. Her handful of black fur was almost lost within Kioku's long gray fur. If he wasn't attuned to her sounds, he would have missed her little squeak. Soon, he felt her vibrations as he purred against his stomach.

The distress began to flow out of him as the cats purred and rumbled against him like it was their job to shake it all away. Long fingers tangled further into Kioku's fur. The other hand was occupied brushing Susu's short black fur. "Thank you, little babies," he cooed as he curled himself over them. He wasn't sure if all cats were like this, or if his and Shōta's were just incredibly perceptive, but Susu and Kioku seemed to always know whenever he or his husband were not doing well. Hizashi being jerked awake from a nightmare about his past in the middle of the night? Kioku made sure to plant himself square on Hizashi's chest and purr like the little car that he was. Shōta having a bad insomnia night and shaking from pure stress? Susu would climb her fuzziness up his clothes and nestle against his neck.

A giant long-haired automobile and a tiny, fuzzy nugget.

He loved them so much.

"Alright," he heaved as he got up, dislodging Kioku from his lap. In the crook of his arm, Susu was barely a weight. "C'mon, you two. Let's start getting ready for bed. One night over and it'll be another day closer for our Shō to come home."

Even though the cats made him feel better, his mind was still heavy with so many thoughts. Autopilot guided him through his nightly routine of cleaning the dinner dishes, refilling the cats' water bowls (again), removing his makeup and washing his face, brushing his teeth, and finally putting on his pajamas and settling into bed.

The room was quiet as tucked himself under the blankets. Their bed was a large western style king, roomy enough for two people to share plus some. That usually meant that the cats had enough room to move around at night when they wanted to sleep with them, or if either he or Shōta had to get up to use the bathroom without waking the other up. Now, though, that extra room seemed like a great expanse. The few cold empty pillows across from him. The plush, weighted gray blanket folded at the end of the bed that Shōta used sometimes when he needed the pressure. It was all empty and lifeless without Shōta there.

Kioku wedged himself under Shōta's pillows while Susu tried to squish into one of the folds of the weighted blanket. Before she could get lost in it, Hizashi gently pulled her and the blanket close to him and Kioku. He rearranged the blanket so it had more of a cocoon in one of its folds than a heavy crease that could get her stuck. She burrowed into it, then licked his finger. Kioku was able to poke his head out from the pillows, lick her head, then settle back into the pillow sandwich he had made. It was comforting to have the pillows, blanket, and cats so close to him like this. It gave him something to hold for the night. It wasn't Shōta's weight and warmth, but he could manage.

Besides, his body already seemed to be going through the process of beginning to drift off. Heavy eyelids made it difficult to keep looking at the cats while a deep yawn cracked his jaw. There was a lot to do tomorrow, but he didn't want to think of it right now. No, not when he was bone-tired like this. Shut up, brain…

Nemuri was covering Shōta's homeroom tomorrow and all his English classes were prepping for their first quiz, so they would be busy studying. Although he would have to ask, he knew Nezu would not have a problem with leaving a bit early to go see Shōta.

After a short while, under the blankets of their bed and Shōta's scent of lavender and sandalwood, sleep claimed Hizashi.

See you tomorrow, Shō. I love you.

Published: 4/13/2023, (Published on FF: 12/4/23)

(1) Put Your Hands Up Radio, Hizashi's station.

(2) I'm not sure how Hizashi addresses his students other than "listeners" or "little listeners," but I know Asui asks people close to her to call her Tsuyu-chan or Tsu-chan. So I think she would be okay with Hizashi calling her Asui-chan.

(3) Like any MHA fan, we've all seen Aizawa's capture weapon float seemingly on its own. I have a headcanon that his Quirk has a minor psychokinesis element going on when he uses it. His hair floating around him when he uses Erasure also makes me think this.

(4) According to this website, Kioku is the Japanese word for 'memory.' : / / japaneseparticlesmaster . xyz / memory-in-japanese /

A/N: Thanks to The Blankened King and Default Goddess for leaving a review in the last chapter! 3