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burntretinas · 7 years ago

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like constellations, we’re joined (5/?)

They say that a red string binds us all, connects everyone to someone. It is around our little finger, tying us to our destined lover(s), regardless of time and place. As our lives go on, that string will stretch or become tangled, but will never tear nor break. Yagi Toshinori has led a life where his lover(s) cannot be known to the public lest they are placed in great danger, forcing the man to abandon any hope of love. His red string is stretched taut.

Maybe a man called Aizawa Shouta can change that.

link to chapter 4: https://burntretinas.tumblr.com/post/170495229332/like-constellations-were-joined-4

It’s been two weeks since the two fell into an easy rhythm of Toshinori picking up Aizawa on Fridays whenever Hizashi has his radio show. Or whenever Hizashi forgot he was going to pick up Aizawa.

Toshinori whistles as he pulls out a sheet of nori, paddling some rice into the corner, places cucumber and tuna on the rice and slowly folds it into a roll of sushi. He carefully chops the roll, placing them in a bento box. He suddenly turns, a violent cough roaring through him as blood lands on his kitchen floor. He splutters, sinking down to the ground, unable to stop the violent assault, blooding rolling down his chest. He sags into himself, body weak and mind silent, small breaths puffing from his lungs the coughs slow to a halt.

He drags himself up and mutters a curse under his breath. He turns to the sink, washing his hand and splashing his face. The water turns dreary red, red streaks staining the sink, red streaks running down his face, red streaks dripping down his chest. He can only see red. Toshinori staggers to the bathroom, ripping a towel off the rack, rubbing his face with it. The towel is red. He drops it over the blood splatters in the kitchen, mentally noting to deal with it later. Out of sight and out of mind, he returns to making the bentos. He deftly rolls rice balls between his hands, plopping them in the box. He carefully places thin slivers of nori on them in the shape of a cat. Proud of his work, Toshinori wraps the boxes with furoshiki, a yellow one for himself and a dark blue one for Aizawa. He puts them in this work bag and sets it down next to the front door.

He walks into the bedroom and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. A ragged, bony old man topped with unkempt hair, a scarecrow with bloody clothes that don’t fit, deep-set eyes entrenched by tired lines, a shadow of his former self and the form. A man unfit to be subtly flirting with a younger man, who might have a boyfriend. He strips, tossing the bloody clothes on the ground and pulls out his yellow suit. It’s bright, loud, oversized form calling more attention to his unusual body. He tightens his tie and swallows. Arms flop at his side and this is the best he can do. Even his best does not appear deserving of subtle glances and light touches and close bodies.

He stalks out and grabs the bag, pushing the thoughts from his mind. He glances towards the kitchen, staring at the towel, hiding the blood beneath it. Merely a cover for the mess beneath it, he lets it go and leaves for work. The blood sinks into the floor, unable to remove with just cold water, needing bleach and a good scrub. Being momentarily forgotten cannot hide the imperfections that lay beneath and Toshinori is constantly aware that no matter his actions, no matter his appearance, he cannot hide his pain beneath a costume for much longer.

The bell for lunch rings and Toshinori feels where his stomach used to be tightens. He musters up the courage to hover above Aizawa’s desk as he flips through a folder.

“Aizawa-san, what are you doing now?”

Aizawa looks up at Toshinori standing over his desk with a soft smile with his hands behind his back with curiosity. He puts down the folder.

“Nothing.”

“Ah, so would you like to join me for lunch?” Toshinori exclaims, presenting Aizawa with his bento.

Aizawa pulls back in surprise, looking at the older man, studying his grinning face, trying to find any reason behind the sudden request. He was aware they had gotten closer after all the silent and not-so-silent car rides, but this seemed sudden.

“Sure,” the words slip from his mouth, betraying his first thought, unable to refuse the happy man and looking forward to spending more time with him. Aizawa banishes those thoughts, trying to find a semblance of sanity within him, trying to retain rationality and justify it as ‘just lunch’; nothing more. Toshinori has been trying to get close to all of the staff, presenting them with small gifts and remembering details from their conversations, perhaps this was just that. Aizawa hoped not, but dismisses the feeling.

“Sit outside?”

“Sure.”

They walk in silent tandem as neither look at one another towards the courtyard where most students did not linger. The two that were there immediately scampered upon seeing the teachers walk by.

They sit in silence on a bench, both unsure where to begin. Aizawa gently opens his box and gingerly pokes at the rice ball cat.

“It’s cute,” he comments.

“Thank you,” Toshinori replies.

They eat in silence, both yearning to fill the silence, but unable to find the appropriate words. Aizawa comments on the food some more and Toshinori replies with gratitude. This continues for too long.

“So,” Aizawa begins, “why the bento?”

“I felt like I can never truly apologise for the damage I caused you,” Toshinori gestures to Aizawa’s scar, “that is because of me.”

“I’m not someone to project your guilt onto,” Aizawa sighs, placing down his chopsticks, “I’m a person who grows and changes and forgives. And I’ve already forgiven.”

Toshinori swallows his ego and falters a little, before pointing in the distance.

“Oi, guys get over here,” Kirishima whispered loudly, “look.”

“Midoriya, you know All Might the best, what are they doing?” Ochaco questions.

“Class 1-A, we should not be spying on teachers!” Tenya yells.

“Hey, isn’t that the same bento All Might made you Midoriya? Are those two like dating or something?”

“Omg, that would be super cute!”

“I don’t know, I don’t know everything about him!” Midoriya replies.

“Ah fuck,” Bakugo begins, “you idiots were too loud, they’ve seen us.”

He gestures to All Might pointing at them and the class freezes.

“Run!” Kirishima yells, the first one to leg it, leaving the rest still in the bush. The others try to follow him, unable to move as quickly. Tenya, refuses to move out of pure guilt, feeling the burning shame on his cheeks.

The ones left behind hear a recognisable whoosh and find themselves looking up Aizawa.

“Get out,” Aizawa stands imposingly over his students currently hiding in the bush. Toshinori stands to the side and awkwardly waves.

“Sorry!” His students collectively yell as they clamber out of the bushes.

“They care about you,” Toshinori says to Aizawa, gently poking him in the ribs.

“Well, they can stay out of my business,” Aizawa replies.

“Perhaps it is our fault for choosing such an open space,” Toshinori ponders.

“Want to get drinks?” Aizawa quickly asks at catching Toshinori off guard.

“That would be nice.”

#erasermight #class 1-a #aizawa shouta #toshinori yagi #boku no hero academia #my fic #fanfic

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burntretinas · 7 years ago

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Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art

Hizashi volunteers his place for the annual Christmas party and lives to possibly regret his decision as he watches his colleagues stumble and fall over his furniture (maybe he shouldn't have spiked the punch bowl 4 times and actually quirk-proofed his place). Late nights grow later and feelings blossom and finally erupt. Fucking finally.

alternative title: apologies to john keats as this fic is just a crude application of his gorgeous poem - instead of aizawa realising he doesn't want to be like the star (toshi) bcos reasons, he wants to fuck the star.

The cold winter air drifts into the apartment and Hizashi goes to shut the window. He stations himself back near the drinks, pouring himself another cup of sparkling rosé. He sips at the bubbly drink, scanning the room for Aizawa. That man is no where to be seen and Hizashi’s eyebrow twitches involuntarily. He sighs as Nemuri saunters over to him, draping her arm around his neck.

Her alcohol-stained breath huffs in his ear, “I found Aizawa in the bathroom, making out with a porcelain bowl. He told me to get you.”

“What the fuck, it’s only 11!” Hizashi groans, pressing his fingers to his forehead, “Hey, don’t use your quirk on anyone!”

Hizashi covers his mouth and nose, trying not to breathe. She winks and pushes herself off him, shaking as she tries to regain her balance. Hizashi tries to help her to the sofa, but she shrugs him off, vehemently walking towards to Nedzu, eager to make a fool of herself in front of her boss. Hizashi downs the rest of his drink and heavily sets the glass down. He walks towards his bathroom, ducking in and out between the other teachers. His hand falls on the doorknob just as Ectoplasm grabs him by the shoulder, whirling him around.

“You and me. Karaoke. Now,” the other man’s slurred words punctuated by small pauses as he tries to glare at Hizashi through his glasses. “I’ll win this time.”

Hizashi smiles and brushes him off, “You won last time. Find me in an hour.”

Ectoplasm brings his hands up in a weak attempt at finger guns, unable to fully control his hands and wanders off to challenge someone else to karaoke.

Hizashi opens the door and sees Aizawa drooping over the toilet, breathing heavily with his eyes glazing over. His hands grip the toilet seat, knuckles turning white as leans over it again, coughing out stomach acid.

“You ok?”

Aizawa gurgles.

Hizashi winces at the unpleasant sound and rummages through the cupboard. He finds a hair tie and leans down to the vomit covered man. He pulls his hair into a bun and strokes the other man’s back.

“Yeah, I think I threw up all the alcohol in me. It’s just acid now. Gross,” Aizawa manages to weakly snort.

“Why did you drink so much?”

“All Might was pissing me off. Plus I didn’t want to talk to him. So I challenged Sekijro to a drinking contest. I won. I think he passed out on your bed. I don’t know, I’ve been here for a while. Ryo was looking after him when I left,” Aizawa says, his voice straining from his sore throat, “Also, every time I look in any mirror, I see my scar and it is really gross looking.”

“Do I need to call an ambulance for anyone?” Hizashi asks wryly, turning the tap on to fill a cup of water and passes it to Aizawa who nods his thanks, “Your scar is fine, you’re overreacting again, you vain old man.”

“Shut your damn mouth. Chiyo did turn up. Although I doubt she would interested in helping any of us, so maybe.” Aizawa sips at the water, reliving his burning throat.

“What did All Might do to piss you off?” Hizashi asks, knowing he is prodding at a sleeping lion, but rationalises by the fact he definitely deserves some fun since he did volunteer his apartment for the Christmas party. Especially after Higari accidentally tore a hole in his couch with his finger nails. Maybe he should have quirk proofed the place but it was definitely more fun to watch his colleagues collectively lose it.

“Existing,” Aizawa replies curtly, standing to wash his face and rub any traces of vomit from his body, “Plus he made this year harder, dealing with children, dealing with him, dealing with villains, hero work never ends, I don’t have enough time to hang out with my cat.”

Hizashi moves to flush the toilet, wrinkling his noise at the smell. He is definitely making Aizawa help clean the bathroom tomorrow when he inevitably falls asleep on the couch or under the table.

“You complain a shit ton about Toshinori, if I didn’t know better,” Hizashi grins wildly, pushing further, eager for his friend’s reaction, “I would say you’re obsessed with him, like someone has a crush on him.”

Aizawa does not respond in the way Hizashi thought he would. Aizawa does not glare at him or reprimand him. Rather, Aizawa sighs and hums.

“Holy shit, you do have a crush?” His quirk almost activating if it wasn’t for Aizawa slower-than-user reaction. Aizawa’s red eyes fade as he continues to look pointedly at Hizashi, daring the man to utter another sound.

Hizashi puts his hands up in a mock surrender, eager to share this tidbit of information with Nemuri when she was less inebriated, and just grins.

“No. You can’t tell Nemuri,” Aizawa firmly states, as firmly as a grown man who has thrown up 5 times in his friend’s bathroom can, and Hizashi droops a little.

“Boo. Fine.”

“Now get out.”

“Excuse me, this is my fucking bathroom, you get out.”

“You have a point.”

Hizashi rolls his eyes and opens the bathroom door, “We need to air this place out anyway.”

Aizawa stumbles out as Hizashi goes to open as many windows as he can, desperately trying to rid his apartment of the smell of booze and vomit, the sort of smell he had not missed from his youth.

Aizawa wanders over to the kitchen and pours himself another cup of water. He does not want to rejoin the party and starts looking for food that his weak stomach could currently handle.

“Aizawa!”

He feels his body slowly being crushed by Nemuri’s hug.

“Let me go, I’m dying,” he chokes out gruffly.

“Hizashi is going up against Ectoplasm in karaoke so you need to be there, in case, you know,” Nemuri trails off, eyes widening with a knowing smirk. Aizawa cringes as he remembers the last time Hizashi got competitive with karaoke, leaving everyone with trips to Chiyo about possible blasted eardrums. Aizawa sighs, weighing up the cons and benefits of staying and losing his hearing for the next day versus having to intently watch his best friend try to outdo an old man in fake singing.

“I’d rather lose my hearing and see Hizashi blow up his apartment.”

“What? Hizashi isn’t drunk, that won’t happen again. I’m talking about watching Ectoplasm lose his shit about losing, since he is plastered, and using his quirk, you need to stop that!” She feebly pulls on his arm, trying to move him from the kitchen.

Aizawa weighs up having to watch a bunch of pro heroes explain to the police how a giant clone ruined the apartment building or witness a bunch of sad looking clones infiltrate Hizashi’s apartment versus having to intently watch a drunk old man try to outdo his best friend at fake singing.

“I’d like to see Ectoplasm’s clones moping around,” he takes another sip from his water and refuses to budge. Nemuri’s face falls and she shrugs, believing she had given it her best shot and was no longer liable for whatever damage happens to Hizashi’s apartment. She plucks the glass from Aizawa’s hand and downs it.

“Staying hydrated is important especially since I’m older than you!” She responds to his outcries of theft.

“Whatever, old woman,” he says, sticking his tongue out in retaliation.

“Hey, I’m not that old!” she yells as she enthusiastically flounders to the living room, keen to watch Ectoplasm lose.

Aizawa taps his hands on the countertop, irate and feeling an early hangover kick in. He walks to the front door, leaving the cheering teachers watch Hizashi figuratively kick Ectoplasm’s butt. He takes the keys resting on the table near the door and leaves. He takes a moment to appreciate Ectoplasm threatening to clone himself for more karaoke, spittle flying from his mouth. Ken locks him in his arms, picking up the struggling hero and carrying him away to calm him down. Hizashi stands triumphantly, watching Aizawa leave his apartment. He shrugs, unconcerned, it’s not the first time Aizawa has left in the middle of a party.

Aizawa stands in the elevator, waiting for it to reach the ground floor. He leans against the wall, weak knees struggling to hold him up when he realises he hasn’t pressed any of the buttons. He groans as he slides down, his fist blinding hammering where he thought the ground button would possibly be.

It takes him a good ten minutes to exit the apartment building and that’s when he regrets his entire life. The cold wind laps at him, caressing his body with its icy touch. He forgot his jacket upstairs and there was no going back now. He hugs himself as he jogs to the nearest convenience store, tucking his hands under his armpits. Aizawa thanks his lucky stars that there is no snow since it’s fucking freezing and he is a massive idiot.

He hurtles past the sliding door, the loud electronic ring stirring the late night clerk from her slumber. Aizawa inhales the artificial delight that is indoor heating. He walks through the linoleum aisles, eyes scanning the shelves. He picks up a box of pocky and walks to the drinks. He stands in front of the backlit shelf, the white light blinding his eyes as he squints. He opts for the aloe vera. He walks to the clerk, dumping the items on the table. He picks up a lighter and puts it in the pile.

“Can I grab a pack of those?” He croaks, pointing to a packet of cigarettes on the wall.

“That’s ¥800, thank you,” She says, “would you like a bag?”

“No thanks.”

He shoves the cigarettes and lighter down the back pockets of his jeans, and holds the rest in his hands, preparing himself for the cold dash to the apartment. He runs in the cold, breath puffing into small rolls of mist, feet hitting the pavement in an uneven manner.

He pushes against the lobby door, only to be met with resistance as his face nearly touches the cold glass.

“Fuck,” he mutters, placing his food on the ground. He searches his pockets for keys, patting himself down until he finds them in the front pocket of his jeans. His teeth chatter, clattering against one another as he fumbles and nearly drops the keys.

“Fuck Hizashi, why the fuck do you need so many?” His shaking hand stabs it aimlessly against the keyhole, hitting everything but the damn hole. He kicks the door in frustration, anger burning up inside him, the only warmth he has as he finally opens the door. He kicks the box and bottle inside the lobby, slamming the door behind him, sniffling. He picks up the cold goods and ambles towards the elevator.

Outside Hizashi’s apartment, it dawns on Aizawa that he is probably 100% sick and needs to get warmer. He enters the apartment to see Nemuri passed out on the couch, with Hizashi pulling a blanket on top of her.

“Yo Aizawa,” Hizashi whispers loudly, “you missed seeing me smash everyone at karaoke.”

Aizawa ignores Hizashi’s puffed out chest, refusing to pander to the other man’s ego as he steps into the living room, searching for his jacket. He finds it under a drowsy Thirteen, trying to use his jacket as a pillow. He yanks it away from a distressed Thirteen who quickly finds respite in stealing someone else’s jacket in the small pile they are garnered for themselves.

It’s a fucking mess and Aizawa is not going to deal with it.

“Eh, Aizawa, don’t ignore me you pisspot, I saw you take my keys and leave, now you gotta help Snipe find his missing smoke bomb,” Hizashi moans.

“What the fuck, why did he bring that?”

“He saw a YouTube video about how smoke bombs can be funny pranks.”

“He is a grown man.”

“Same, but we’re not all wet blankets like you.”

Aizawa frowns and walks towards the balcony, shrugging his jacket on.

“Hey, you’ll get a cold,” Hizashi reprimands him, “also, share the fucking pocky!”

“No. Later.”

He closes the door behind him and breathes in the cold night air that has most definitely made him sick, therefore who cares if he stays out for a little bit longer.

He lights a cigarette as he hears the door open behind him. He tries to hide his coughs, waving the smoke away from around him, watching it dissipate.

“It’s ok Hizashi, just don’t breathe around me,” his words are punctuated with small coughs.

“I’m not Hizashi.”

Aizawa perks up in confusion, turning around to face Toshinori holding a red cup. His eyes glance down suspiciously.

“You can drink?”

“It’s a special occasion.”

“I think you and I have different definitions of ‘special occasion’, I’m not sure you could call seeing your colleagues get shitfaced with your boss is one,” Aizawa doesn’t ask any further questions, preferring to face the rest of the city.

Aizawa hears the heavy steps approach him, the hair on his body standing to attention as his body stiffens. He sees Toshinori lean over and rest his long gangly arms on the railing out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t dare turn. He takes an extra long drag.

“I saw you leave earlier, where'd you go?”

“I needed to buy some things,” Aizawa curtly replies, hoping that keeping things short would lead to Toshinori leaving him alone. The other man plays with his fingernails, plucking at the dirt beneath them. Aizawa tries not to stare, tries to not be so obvious about being fixated on everything happening next to him.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Toshinori observes, trying to start a conversation.

“I don’t normally, I was just feeling different,” he says, smoke puffing from his mouth, “that’s all.”

“Ah,” Toshinori responds, puffing out his cheeks, “bad night or too cold?”

“Both.”

Silence dwells between them as they watch the city lights slowly go off, one by one, the night sky growing darker with every moment, yet illuminating itself as a thousand stars flash across the midnight blue wastes of sky.

“Humour me, Aizawa, what have I done to upset you?” Toshinori breaches the silence, asking the question he has avoided for weeks.

Aizawa exhales and spits out a rapid response without his usual finesse or rationality, “I didn’t know gods cared about what other people thought about them.”

“Sometime a god needs fall down to the ground,” Toshonori replies, somewhat hurt and confused at Aizawa’s response. He edges closer, peering at Aizawa, almost nuzzling the other man’s shoulder.

Aizawa feels his body grinding to a halt, shutting down, unable to respond as his eyes widen and he loses his grip on the cigarette. It falls down, spiralling until it slowly hits the ground with an imperceptible thud. Aizawa feels his breathe quicken and hands move of their own accord as he shoves himself away from the other hero, landing on the floor with a thud. Toshinori is quick to apologise but Aizawa cannot hear it for the pounding in his ears. He stands up, ignoring the other man’s hand and walks inside to rejoin the party.

Toshinori stands in the cold, arm outstretched, unsure of how to proceed. He walks inside and closes the door, he steps over a mumbling Thirteen and sits on the part of the couch that Nemuri has not stretched herself over.

Aizawa suddenly appears, cheeks burning bright, and sits down on the coffee table facing Toshinori.

“Fuck it,” he says authoritatively. He lunges forward, hands grasping Toshinori’s cheeks whilst slamming his mouth against his. Toshinori falls back, hands clutching onto the couch, parting his mouth open partially in shock, partially with glee, allowing Aizawa’s tongue entrance. The two are locked in embrace until they hear Hizashi whooping in the background.

“Get a room you fuckers, my apartment is not a porno set!” Hizashi yells, waking the teachers in the room. Suddenly, all the teachers are facing the two and Aizawa is acutely aware of his body sitting on Toshinori’s lap. Toshinori is as red as Aizawa and the two fall into each other, foreheads pressing against each other as they begin to laugh.

“No seriously, everyone get the fuck out, its like 5am, so get out or clean up! Or go to sleep, it’s late or early, but you two don’t take sleep as in sex sleep, sleep as in sleep sleep!”

#erasermight #aizawa shouta #toshinori yagi #yamada hizashi #nemuri kayama #boku no hero academia #fanfic #my fic #slight angst #fluff #christmas party fic #all the teachers lol #snipe #ectoplasm #ken ishiyama #sekijirou kan #power loader #ceebs tagging any more teaCHERS you get the idea

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