𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒂𝒚.

yellow = kiss on the hand

     It is a hero function of the kind Shouta despises, Hizashi knows. He’s sure Shouta would have happily feigned illness or emergency to skip it, but given the recent uproars surrounding U.A., it’s even more important than usual for those involved, the teachers and heroes, to put forth a positive face both for other heroes and the press that always surrounds galas such as these. Hizashi still suspects Shouta would’ve skived off if he could, but Hizashi’s been keeping a close eye on him to prevent just that.

     He’s not doing it because he so rarely gets to see Shouta in a suit. It’s just an added bonus.

     Hizashi himself would be lying if he said he didn’t love things like this as much as Shouta hates them, and usually he’d be all over the place, chatting up whatever friendly faces he sees and doing his best to bully his way into control over the music. Tonight, though, he stays near Shouta. Partially so Shouta can’t escape out a window or something, partially because Shouta might hate the whole affair less if Hizashi acts as a buffer between him and unwanted small talk, and partially because – well. Hizashi still gets sort of anxious if he can’t find Shouta in a crowd, these days.

     So he never gets too far from Shouta, and he restricts himself to complaining about the music only at particularly cliched and outdated tracks, and he doesn’t suffer socially because he is very easy to pick out in a crowd and between the hair, the glitter, and the voice anyone who wants to talk to him definitely knows where to find him. But he does manage to very skillfully, if he does say so himself, rescue Shouta from a few situations where he might be forced to talk to someone he has absolutely nothing to say to; the nice ones he engages in pleasant conversation with, turning their attention towards him, the assholes he makes a point of sliding into the conversation with as annoyingly and intrusively as possible without actually saying anything rude enough for them to complain about. It’s a fun game, and he whispers the cutting remarks he refrained from saying out loud into Shouta’s ear after the offending personage has excused themselves, and all in all Hizashi thinks things are going pretty well.

     Then a particular song plays, and Hizashi has an idea. It is not part of the Save Shouta From Accruing Any Unwanted Attention plan. It is in fact a purely selfish idea, but here is the thing – Shouta is in a suit, one that actually fits him well (thanks to Hizashi’s efforts, obviously), and Hizashi has had to physically stop himself from just staring at Shouta most of the evening whenever he’s not actively talking to someone else and sometimes when he is. And the music is an old song, one he remembers from their high school days, and it’s possible Hizashi has some associations. Some romantic associations. Some sixteen-year-old-pining-hopelessly-over-his-best-friend associations. And he is at heart an incurable romantic, and Shouta knows this and sometimes even puts up with it.

black = neck kiss

     Sometimes, he needs the world to just stop for a little bit.

     It’s not exactly a part of his character – Present Mic, loud and proud and ready to take on the world. He in himself is a whirlwind of sensory hell, and usually he can handle it. Usually he has no problem with the loud, the bright, the quick.

      Sometimes, though. Sometimes it’s nice to take his hearing aids out, bury his face in a pillow, and enjoy a dark and muffled world. Sometimes everything’s a little too close, and his own racing thoughts overwhelm him, and all he needs is a chance to be still.

     It’s that kind of evening. Nothing had been wrong at work – just the usual hustle and bustle of teaching a bunch of rowdy super-powered children. It’s the kind of work that usually energizes him, but the term’s drawing ever closer to an end and Hizashi can feel the dragging feeling beginning to build in him, that slow-building strain that tells him he needs a break, needs a rest, before his usual cheerful extroversion gets worn down to a frayed mess of overstimulation.

     So it’s a relief to come home and strip out of his leather, rinse the product out of his hair, and collapse onto the couch in soft sweatpants. Sometimes in these moments he’ll put on music and let himself dissolve into the ebb and flow of the melody, but today headphones feel like too much, so he lets himself exist in the soft, padded silence his ears afford him instead.

     He’s not sure how long he lies there – he’s not dozing, not really, just letting his mind drift. Long enough for Shouta to get home, though; Hizashi doesn’t hear him come in, of course, but he knows, can feel the slight weight of Shouta’s footsteps and the way he pushes the door closed behind him. Hizashi doesn’t bother looking up, though his mouth curves into a slight smile against the pillow, until he feels Shouta’s weight settle next to him on the couch. Hizashi extracts an arm, signs a lazy one-handed hello. The fact of his face still being smushed against a pillow precludes the possibility of him seeing Shouta’s response, but he’s not worried. Shouta’s familiar with this sight by now, and Hizashi feels him lean back against the couch, and, a minute later, the sudden weight of Hime jumping up onto his lap.

     It’s a good sign, that the brush of Hime’s fur against his hip as she gets comfortable on Shouta’s leg doesn’t send an uncomfortable jolt through him, and in another few minutes Hizashi feels settled enough in his body to turn himself over, fumbling for his glasses on the coffee table and blinking his eyes open for the first time in a couple hours.

      He has to admit, Shouta in profile, examining some paperwork while a cat purrs on his lap, is a pretty nice thing to open his eyes to. 

guide take them by the hand, arm, or shoulder to guide them.

shelter protect them.

shove push them.

loop drape an arm around their shoulders.

touch a gentle touch like rubbing their back, hugging them, holding their hand. 

kiss a kiss on the cheek, knuckles, forehead, in their hair.

palm smack them upside the head.

bed rest gently push them back down when they try getting out of bed.

aid help them with a task.

note pass a note to them.

cry wipe away their tears.

wash wipe something off their forehead, cheek, so on.

bandage patch them up when they get hurt.

heal take care of them when they get sick.

book silently read a story with them. 

carry pick them up. 

scrap punch them.

cherry find blood on them.

sit help them sit down.  

medical wake up in the hospital and find them holding their hand.

steer place a hand under their chin to make them look up. 

beat dance with them.

stare stare them down. 

off track get lost with them.

no shaking their head in disagreement. 

yes nodding their head in agreement.

rush tackle them to the ground.

Past experiences help shape who we are currently, how we see the world. Send in a symbol and I’ll write a drabble of one of my muse’s memories. 

–

❥ - a childhood memory

♣ - a fading memory

✂ - a vivid memory

✖ - a repressed memory

✈ - an eye-opening memory

✤ - a memory that involves romance/love

☤ - a memory of death/loss

✍ - a memory of their mother

☽ - a memory of their father

♘ - a memory of their sibling(s)

✌ - a memory of a relative

↕ - a memory that may or may not have happened

♚ - a memory of something paranormal

✓ - a sexual memory

i  will  go  anywhere  just  to  see  it ,   and  i  will  love  anyone  just  to  feel  it    ;    i’ll  just  go  and  i’ll  just  love ,   ‘cuz  everything’s  fine ,   fine ,   fine .

independent   & .   selective  𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈 𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐊𝐈 ,   penned  by  marina .    

I AM THE WILD ONE,  LIGHTNING IN MY VEINS,  SAME AGAIN,  LAZY DAY,  ONE MAN HIT PARADE.  You’ve got one foot in the grave and the other in a bear trap, bloody, bleeding, bent, you’re a mile from home and a millennia from sleep. This city doesn’t know it yet, but it’s streets run red with you.