Take care of yourself.

Mini Crash Course on Plants + Pollen

What's the deal with plants? Like, where do I start if I know...nothing? You can start right here!! Okay, so there are a lot (and I do mean a lot) of different ways we classify plants. For the purposes of this post, I'm going to to break down a few of the key ones in a way that (hopefully) isn't too overwhelming.

The Linnaean Classification system: This is the standard method of classifying all living organisms, using taxonomic binomial nomenclature (a formal, 2-part naming system in Latinized forms).

🌱 FUN FACT: Common names of plants often vary from region to region, culture to culture, and era to era. You can learn a lot from a plant's common name, and often a lot more from its binomial nomenclature. For example, the plant known as Common Sneezewort (Achillea ptarmica) derives its binomial species name (ptarmica) from the Greek word ptairo ("sneeze") which means "causes sneezing!" -- Thus, the plant's full scientific name translates to "Yarrow that causes sneezing." Pretty on[in?]-the-nose if you ask me.

Do all plants produce pollen? Nope! Not all plants produce pollen. I've put together the following chart which helps break down how we further classify plants --specifically in the context of what plants produce pollen and how they are pollinated, which all leads us to understanding what makes them more/less allergenic and why...we'll get into shortly.

Why do plants produce pollen, and what exactly is pollination? It's how plants get it on, bay-bee! 🐝 Pollination is how the male parts of a plant transfer genetic material to the female parts of the plant, allowing plants to produce seed and fruit, and ensure the genetic diversity of its species is maintained. Let's talk about it!

Reproductive Categories: Both Angiosperms (flowering) and Gymnosperms (non-flowering) have male structures which produce pollen and female structures which develop seeds and fruit.

In Angiosperms, the part of a flower containing the male reproductive organs is called the stamen. At the tip of the stamen is the anther, which is where pollen is produced! The part of a flower containing the female reproductive organ is called the pistil, which contains the ovary. Once fertilized by pollen, this part develops into the mature fruit/seed.

Flowers (and cones) can be male, female, or bisexual -- and there are even more categories I'm not going to get into but...Nature is queer, y'all! And it's awesome.

Monoecious plants have both male and female unisexual flowers on the same plant, which means they are self-pollinating. Examples include: Birch, Oak, Spruce, and Pine trees; and vegetables like pumpkins, cucumbers, corn and tomatoes. Dioecious plants have unisexual male and female parts on separate plants, and need to be cross pollinated in order to produce seed. Examples include: Juniper, Poplar, Maple, and Willow trees; and vegetables like asparagus and spinach.

🌱 FUN FACT: On monoecious conifer trees, female cones grow on the upper branches of the tree, where they can be fertilized by the pollen of male cones blown upwards from the wind.

Okay, so exactly how are plants pollinated? Biotic Pollination (by animals - primarily insects, but also birds and small mammals). In exchange for pollination services, these plants provide animals with food (pollen is very high in protein and nutrients).

Abiotic Pollination (by natural phenomenons - like wind, rain, or water). These are strong, independent self-pollinating plants who don’t need no bugs.

What makes some plants more allergenic than others? It all has to do with how they're pollinated!

Insect-pollinated plants generally tend to be the least allergenic, as the pollen grains are generally larger and stickier, allowing them to easily stick to insect bodies. I mean, just look at these guys. They’re absolutely lost in the sauce:

Wind-pollinated plants, on the other hand, tend to be the most allergenic as their pollen grains are smaller and lighter. They also tend to produce a lot more of it in quantity, since their distribution method is a lot less targeted (they rely on the variable forces of wind and water vs relying on, say, a bee that is reliably going to fly from flower to flower).

Depending on the anatomical structure of a species’ flowers, it may be both animal and wind-pollinated. Privet, for example, is primarily insect-pollinated, but because it has anthers that protrude considerably from its flower (hubba hubba), its pollen can be distributed by the wind, as this article explains.

🌱 FUN FACT: Some bees have special structures known as pollen baskets (or corbiculae) to help them efficiently store and carry pollen!

How is allergy season defined? The peak flowering/pollen times for plants varies by region, even if the same plant species grows across a wide geographical range. This is influenced largely by climate, and may vary slightly year-by-year. Ragweed, for example is abundant throughout all of central-eastern continental US, but pollen levels may peak at different times, depending on what state you're in (the state of allergic misery perhaps). For example, someone who usually prepares accordingly for ragweed season to hit them in mid-September where they live might be in for a bit of a surprise if they travel to another part of the country in mid-late August...!

What is hay fever, exactly? Is it the same as seasonal allergies? Essentially, yes. Hay fever is actually bit of a misnomer, as it was originally believed that the scent of freshly-cut grass (later dried to be used as hay*) was triggering allergic symptoms. Grass pollen of course can be a major trigger for allergies, nowadays the term is used almost interchangeably with the more-accurately described allergic rhinitis. *Consider also, if you really want to put your character in a Situation, the fact that dried hay often contains not only pollen, but mold spores and dust/dried plant particles...

Why does pollen make people sneeze? In simple terms: pollen allergies are an immunological response to the proteins found in different types of pollen. This article, titled 'Allergies: The Radical Theory of Sneezing' goes into much further detail. Also, um, hello?!!? That name???

🌱 FUN FACT: This paper is the first recorded medical description of 'hay fever.' In case you want to read it. For science, obviously.

A Selected List of the Sneeziest Plants

🌻 wildflowers + weeds

Asters, Daisies, Sunflowers (Members of the Asteraceae family) in general  Ragweed (members of the Ambrosia genus): specifically Common Ragweed (Ambrosia artemisiifolia) and Great Ragweed (Ambrosia trifida) Mugworts (members of the Artemisia genus) - particularly Common Mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris) Pigweed (members of the Amaranthus genus) Goosefoot (Chenopodium album)

💐 cultivated or cut flowers

Baby’s breath (Gypsophila paniculata) and its relatives in the same genus Chrysanthemums or 'Mums' (members of the Chrysanthemum genus) Asters, Daisies, Sunflowers (Members of the Asteraceae family), including: Dahlias (members of the Dahlia genus) Gerberas (members of the Gerbera genus) 

🌾 grasses

Timothy grasses (members of the Phleum genus) Sweet vernal grass (Anthoxanthum odoratum) Bermuda grass (Cynodon dactylon) Kentucky bluegrass (Poa pratensis) Ryegrass (members of the Lolium genus) Orchard grass (Dactylis glomerata) Bahia grass (Paspalum notatum)

🌳 shrubs/small trees

Common Sagebrush (Artemisia tridentata) Hazels (members of the Corylus genus) Juniper (members of the Juniperus genus) Cypress (members of the Cupressaceae family) Privet (members of the Ligustrum genus)

🌲 trees

Alder (members of the Alnus genus) Ash (members of the Fraxinus genus) Beech (members of the Fagus genus) Birch (members of the Betula genus) Cedar (members of the Cedrus genus) Elm (members of the Ulmus genus) Hickory (members of the Carya genus) Maple (members of the Acer genus) Mulberry (members of the Morus genus) Oak (members of the Quercus genus) Olive (members of the Olea genus) Sycamore (members of the Platanus genus) Poplar (members of the Populus genus)

🌱 FUN FACT: People who are allergic to the pollen of one plant species are more likely to also be allergic to species in the same plant family. For example, those who are Ash tree pollen may also be allergic to the pollen of Olives and Lilacs, as all three are members of the Oleaceae family.

🏅special mentions (plants that may or may not necessarily be allergenic but still deserve to be mentioned)

Highly fragrant plants (known to or most likely to trigger scent reactions) Lilies – particularly Asiatic hybrids such as Lilium orientalis (aka the Stargazer lily) Hyacinths (members of the Hyacinthus genus) Lilacs (members of the Syringa genus) Wisteria (members of the Wisteria genus) Lavender (members of the Lavandula genus) Jasmine (members of the Jasminum genus) Freesias (specifically the highly fragrant Antique White Freesia aka Freesia alba) Viburnums (Specifically the Burkwood Viburnum aka Viburnum × burkwoodii) Roses (members of the Rosa genus)* *There are certain types of hybrid Roses that have been bred specifically for traits like fragrance (eg. the variety known as “Mme Isaac Pereire”) but honestly...most of my knowledge pertains to wild rose species and I'm not researching this topic any further because people who grow cultivated/hybrid roses can be Extremely Serious about it and I’m genuinely a little scared of them. Small, fluffy seed heads (wind-distributed seeds that are very tiny and light and easy to breathe in...Do you see where i'm going with this? You see the vision?!) Dandelions (Taraxacum officinale): Willowherbs (members of the Epilobium genus) Cottongrasses (members of the Eriophorum genus) Asters (members of the Aster genus) Goldenrods (members of the Solidago genus) Pearly Everlasting (Anaphalis margaritacea) Hypoallergenic plants (these species tend to have thick/sticky pollen that does not become airborne, or needs to be intentionally disturbed by specialist polinators in order to disperse). A pollen allergy to any of the following plants would extremely unlikely, but an objectively hilarious affliction to give to a character. Orchids (members of the Orchidaceae family) Cactus (members of the Cactaceae family) Irises, Crocuses, and Freesias (members of the Iridaceae family) Columbines (members of the Aquilegia family)

🌱 FUN FACT: Many flowers have been cultivated (intentionally bred or hybridized to for specific traits) to produce less pollen. We call these varieties "cultivars." For allergy sufferers, hypoallergenic cultivars are great to grow in their garden (or to purchase at a florist). For pollinators who expend energy to search for a food source, it's not so great. It's even less great if these cultivars are native species which are subsequently planted or introduced into the wild, as it can compromise the genetic integrity of that species' wild populations, and negatively impact native pollinators.

💥 Sternutatory or Errhine plants Sternutatory (adjective): Also sternutative. causing or tending to cause sneezing Errhine (noun): a medicine to be snuffed up the nostrils to promote sneezing and increased discharges.

Important Disclaimer ⚠️ DO NOT TRY THESE AT HOME ( I cannot stress this enough). This is for information purposes only and should not be used as a how-to guide. Many plants, including some on this list and the resources at the end of this guide can be extremely toxic, dangerous – or even deadly – if used, consumed, or prepared incorrectly. Misidentification of plant species can also be deadly. Seriously, do not be silly in your pursuit of snz. Stick with chhinkni, folks.

Wait, so…plants can make you sneeze even without pollen? Heck yeah, friends! We've all heard about pepper as a snz trigger, of course...Well, Black Pepper is just the common name for the plant also known as Piper nigrum. Peppercorns are its dried fruit, and it's what we grind up to get black pepper seasoning! And chhinkni? It's all plant parts! We'll get into that later, too.

Indigenous peoples around the world have been using plants medicinally for millennia. Traditionally, sternutatory (yes, that is the fancy scientific word for ‘sneeze-inducing’) plants were used to treat or cure the common cold, headaches, or in some cases as a stimulant. Are you writing a fic with a character who is an herbalist, traditional medicine practitioner, healer, witch/wizard, etc? Perhaps they would be familiar with some of the following plants:

Sneezeweed (Helenium autumnale) - [crushed dried leaves and flower heads] Sneezewort (Achillea ptarmica)  - [dried powdered roots; possibly leaves?] Sneezewood (Ptaeroxylon obliquum) - [powder from wood, bark] Spreading Sneezeweed (Centipeda minima) - [squeezed flower heads] Kentucky coffeetree (Gymnocladus dioicus) - [dried crushed roots; dried crushed pods] Spanish chamomile (Anacyclus pyrethrum) - [powdered roots] Leopard’s Bane (Arnica montana) - [freshly crushed flowers; whole plant; dried/powdered] Scarlet Creeper (Ipomoea hederifolia) - [roots] Redberry (Deeringia amaranthoides) [powdered roots] Cypress vine (Quamoclit pennata) - [powdered roots] Ipecacuanha (Cephaelis ipecacuanh) - [dried roots and rhizomes] Southern Wax Myrtle (Myrica cerifera) - [powdered root bark] and its relatives Box Myrtle (Myrica Esculenta) and Swamp Bayberry (Myrica caroliniensis) Yopo (Anadenanthera peregrina) - [dried pulverized seeds] Mouse-ear hawkweed (Pilosella officinarum) - [leaves] Lemon balm (Melissa officinalis) - [powdered] Betony (Betonica officinalis) - [powdered herb/dried leaves] Rosemary (Rosmarinus officinalis) - [dried powdered leaves often added to snuff powders] Bee Balm aka Wild Bergamont (Monarda fistulosa) - [dried tops of the plants] Pasque Flower (Pulsatilla vulgaris) [dried roots] Horse Chestnut (Aesculus hippocastanum) - [powder of the dried nuts] Sage, Marjoram, and Tobacco [referenced here as a “gentle” sternutative]

🌱 FUN FACT: Mugwort is considered one of the most important herbs ("the mother of herbs") in traditional medicine (and witchcraft, allegedly). It is both a sternutatory plant and a highly-allergenic plant. It sure would be a shame if your herbalist/healer/witchy character had to both grow/harvest it and prepare/pulverize it...

Okay, but how and why exactly do these plants make us sneeze? Excellent question, so let's get into it! Come on over to...

The Chhinkni Corner

Ever wondered why Chhinkni works? Why it's so effective? What the ingredients are? Exactly how/why these ingredients make us sneeze? Let's dive into some plant + snz science (Snience)!

First, let's break down the ingredients of Chhinkni:

Skimmia laureola [leaf, powdered] Box Myrtle (Myrica Esculenta) [bark, powdered] Indian sandalwood (Santalum album) [wood, powdered] Camphor tree (Cinnamomum camphor) [extract] Peppermint (Mentha piperita) [extract] Southern Blue Gum (Eucalyptus globulus) [oil]

Well, we know from the list of (some of the known) sternutatory plants above that the root bark of Myrica species is sternutatory, so that makes sense! But what about the others on this list? Let's get back to that important question:

What about these specific plants/plant parts make us sneeze? It all has to do with Transient receptor potential channels (TRP channels). TRP channels are primarily located on the plasma membrane of our cells. They detect environmental stimuli and translate this exposure into sensations of chemesthesis (irritation, burning, cooling, tingling) pressure, taste, and smell. There are six main categories of specialized TRP channels, which play different roles throughout our body. Here's a chart that helps visualize each category:

Woah, this is getting a little overwhelming. What the heck does this have to do with snz? Or plants?! Everything, my friend! Everything! Many TRP channels are heavily expressed in the epithelial cells of nasal mucosa. Each TRP channel is activated by different things (with some overlaps) including different chemicals found in specific plant families. Let's look at some of these TRP channels (and what activates them) and things will start to make a lot more sense:

TRPV is activated by: --- Capsaicin (found in Chili Pepper), Piperine (found in Black Pepper), Carvacrol (found in Bee Balm), Camphor (primarily found the Camphor tree, but also found in plants like Rosemary), Menthol, Cannabis, Incense, Ginger, Menthol (mint). TRPA is activated by: --- Mustards (mustard, radish, horseradish, wasabi), Cinnamaldehyde (cinnamon), Tobacco, Cannabis, Wintergreen oil (aka what gives mint candies/gum its flavor), Shogaols (found in Ginger and Sichuan peppers) TRPM is activated by: --- Eucalyptol (oils from Eucalyptus plants), Menthol (mints),  --- Cold temperatures

Hmm...does anything on this list sound familiar in a snz context??!?!?!?!

Wait, is this why things like pepper, cold temperatures, mint, spices, and strong smells make people sneeze? It sure is! When certain TRP channels are activated, they send signals to your body that trigger protective reflexes (eg. sneezing and coughing) to get rid of the irritant. Everyone's cellular make-up is as unique as they are, and we all react and respond to external stimuli in different ways. Some people might only get a runny nose when exposed to cold temperatures, while for others it might trigger sneezing.

🌱 FUN FACT: There have been studies examining TRP channels in the nasal cavity and the role they might play in allergic rhinitis. There have also been studies on specific TRP receptors in the nasal mucosa comparing patients with and without allergenic rhinitis. There is even this study on the nasal effects of camphor, eucalyptus, and menthol!

Learning Tools and More Resources

See where plants grow on a map: Want to know where specific plants grow? Input the plant species (or the genus or family -- now that you know what that is!) into the search bar, and it will show you its global distribution range based on user-submitted data. You can also narrow results down to a specific area. Note: This data is compiled through user-submitted data and may be erroneous. For best results, filter search results using the “Research Grade Observation” option. While the results don’t provide insight on historical range, native vs. introduced species, it’s a great tool to get you started! Pollen Allergen Tool: An interactive chart that shows common allergenic proteins and which plants produce pollens containing them. Repeated Disclaimer ⚠️ The following resources are shared for information purposes only. Many plants, including some on these lists are extremely toxic, dangerous – or even deadly – if used, consumed, or prepared incorrectly. Sternutatory Plants: A list of sternutatory plant species compiled by the USDA Sternutatory Plants: A second list, compiled using various data sources. This paper published in 2021 on the use of sternutatory plants in herbal medicine, TRP activity. and this banger of a quote: "Sneezing had great significance and value throughout history; it exerted a strange fascination on humans" I protest the use of past-tense, but alas. Folks, this paper is Snience (Snz Science) in action. If the following excerpt is any indication:

The End!!

THANK YOU for reading if you got this far, and congrats on making it to the end of this post! I hoped you learned as much as you horned (if not more) and I hope this little guide can come in handy one way or another.

As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, if you ever have any questions on any of these topics, please feel free to reply to this post (or send me an ask if you prefer to be anonymous) and I'll do my best to answer! 💚🌿

He grumbles something with a hoarse and heavily-accented voice dripping with sickness, and just barely cracks open his glazed eyes to look up at Jayce.

Jayce shifts closer to him, still sitting as his partner lies on his side. Viktor does not reach for him, just watches.

He doesn’t ask Viktor if he needs anything or how he’s feeling — V never answers those questions, Jayce just figures it out.

Like when Viktor’s brow twitches, eyes squinting, Jayce knows to offer a handkerchief as his expression turns soft and his breath hitches gently.

Viktor’s clammy fingers brush again Jayce’s as he takes the handkerchief, ducking his head into his chest as he clamps it to his face. “h-hH…!”

Jayce strokes his hair as he muffles a sharp sneeze, then another into the fabric. “Bless you.”

A muffled groan as he swipes at his nose, sniffling. “I will never attend another party,” he mumbles, tone solemn. “snf! I mean that, Jayce…”

“Sorry.” He leans down and places a kiss of his partner’s hot forehead. Viktor touches his jaw, looking up with a clouded gaze.

“You’re beautiful.”

It’s so soft and so quiet that Jayce almost misses it. Viktor doesn’t say any more, just watching him.

Jayce lets out a gentle sigh, then lays himself down next to Viktor, pulling him close to plant another kiss on his salty skin. “So are you, V.”

A discontented hum. Viktor leans into him nonetheless, touching his chest. “You’re so…h-h…” He twists, turning his back to his partner as his breath snags. “h’EKSChhh!—uh… hh… uh’KTSCHh!—yh…” he shivers, shaking his head as he sniffles.

Jayce rubs his shoulder, pulling his navy blanket back over Viktor’s chest. “Bless you.”

“Snf! The medicine seems to be working, at least,” he says, turning back to place his forehead against Jayce’s chest. “The congestion is shifting.”

“Well, that’s better than nothing.” He pulls Viktor into a careful embrace.

“I suppose…” He sniffs again, clearing his throat only to trigger a coughing fit. He tries to pull away, though Jayce gently holds him still.

“Stay here; I don’t mind.”

Viktor tries to argue through wet, shaking coughs to no avail, resorting to pulling up his shirt collar over his face. Jayce rubs his back.

Viktor mumbles something as he recovers, voice far too hoarse and thick to recognize.

His partner doesn’t question it, just runs a hand through his damp hair.

“I don’t want you to catch this,” Viktor whispers, relaxing into Jayce’s touch again.

“I don’t get sick,” Jayce insists.

“And I’m head of the academy,” he snarks.

“One day, I bet,” he smirks.

Viktor swats at him, muttering something about that not being the point and Jayce’s wellbeing mattering.

They both fall into a peaceful quiet, though, the afternoon sun filtered through the curtains. Viktor’s breathing slows, his body relaxed, and Jayce holds him, beginning to doze off.

Until Viktor stirs, vaguely pushing Jayce away. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes, glancing at the older man. “V, what’s…?”

Viktor’s breath shudders, “Need…need t-t’h…hH…!” He stammers through hitching breaths.

Jayce gently nudges him closer. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

A reluctant noise through increasingly desperate breaths.

He kisses Viktor’s forehead once more, just between his twitching brows.

With a final quivering breath, Viktor gives in. “—KTsChmF!” A hot burst of breath into Jayce’s shirt. “huh’EZSHhFf!”

“Bless you,” Jayce murmurs, stroking his hair.

Viktor coughs wetly again, then muffles another sharp sneeze against his partner, sniffling pathetically and groaning in frustration.

What makes it worse is that it’s Gang Orca who wakes him, though thankfully, the man doesn’t look upset. He rarely does, especially when it comes to fresh graduates and new pro heroes. Orca’s always been the patient sort, a kind of man who takes on five UA interns a year, steady and fatherly, much like Aizawa’s own homeroom teacher had been.

He’s only in his early twenties. Not a full-fledged pro hero, not really. More of a glorified coffee runner, a copy machine operator, and the occasional go-fer when the pros needed errands handled. Things like real fieldwork took time, and no amount of UA training could fix the fact that his youth made him more of a liability than anything else.

It wasn’t all bad, though. He’d managed to snag the graveyard shift for patrols, the shift nobody else wanted. But most days were spent behind a desk, filing reports for older, more experienced heroes. They made him wear a tie. That part sucked, but honestly? It could’ve been worse.

“Son,” Gang Orca starts, his heavy hand settling on Aizawa’s shoulder. Even through his button-down, Aizawa can feel the coolness of his palm. “It’s nearly one in the morning. What are you still doing here?”

Aizawa wets his dry lips, testing his voice. “Uh…” It comes out rough, and he coughs once to clear the cobwebs from his throat. “I had to finish a report from this afternoon.”

“It’s the middle of the night. Whatever’s left can wait until morning.”

“But I— I... nNGx!”

He barely manages to twist into the crook of his arm, muffling the sneeze against his sleeve.

Gang Orca’s tone softens. “Sounds like you need to be at home, resting. I appreciate your diligence, son, but you’re no use in the field if you kill yourself in the office. How’d you get here today?”

“Took the train.”

The office is dim, save for the faint glow of the hallway lights leading to the locker rooms and the pale blue light from his computer screen. The monitor casts sharp shadows across his face, highlighting sunken cheekbones and the dark hollows beneath his eyes.

“I’ll take him.”

From the hallway, Enji Todoroki appears, toweling off his freshly washed hair. His hero costume hangs from one hand, still damp from the wash.

“Let me hang this up, and I’ll be ready to go.”

Enji had been a third-year when Hizashi and Shouta were only first-years. He and All Might had landed agency placements straight out of UA, bypassing the awkward, humbling phase of filing reports and ironing pro hero costumes. They were fast-tracked — treated like real heroes from the start.

Aizawa hadn’t known Enji well. Still doesn’t. But he was familiar enough, and Aizawa was too tired to protest.

“Take the day to rest, Eraser. Being a hero’s all about finding balance.”

“Yessir.”

“Feel better, son.”

Quietly, he followed Enji out to his car. The walk was mostly silent, broken only by the soft sound of his own sniffles. He scratched at his nose with the stiff cuff of his work shirt, pressing harder when the itch blossomed into another stubborn sneeze.

“nG’CHht!”

Once the engine turned over, Enji spoke, his voice low but even. “Can I offer you a word of advice?”

Aizawa sniffled but didn’t answer, turning slightly in the passenger seat to show he was listening.

“The Hero Commission is a corporation. At the end of the day, you’re disposable to them. Don’t let them treat you like you are. Rest when your body needs it.  You’ll be a better hero for it.”

Aizawa blinked, surprised. Endeavor had always seemed like the type to eat out of the Commission’s hand — all ambition, all drive — yet here he was, offering the kind of advice that sounded almost... personal.

“Snf! Mkay.”

Enji shifted the car into gear. “Let’s get you home.”

↳ 2 

Patrolling during the day wasn’t something Aizawa did often, and it sure as hell wasn’t something he enjoyed.

Too many people. Too many gawkers crowding the sidewalks, offering praise like it meant something — like he’d done anything special. Stopping villains was his job. That was the bare minimum. The way the news crews swarmed him, shoving microphones in his face, hungry for some neatly packaged inspirational quote after he slapped a pair of cuffs on a two-bit criminal... it made his skin crawl.

No one congratulated a Taco Bell line cook after they folded a burrito. It wasn’t heroic. It was expected. To Aizawa, it was the same damn thing.

All Might, though — he soaked it up. The man had been at this longer, older and wiser, and annoyingly perfect at playing the part. The spotlight loved him, and he loved it right back. Aizawa would watch him work a crowd the same way he worked a battlefield: smooth, efficient, always hitting his mark. His words left people breathless, like he’d handed them hope in a giftwrapped box.

That was fine. All Might could have the adoration. Aizawa had no interest in it. He worked better alone, at night, when the streets were empty and quiet, and nobody expected him to smile.

But sometimes, duty didn’t wait for preferences. Sometimes, you rolled out of bed hungover, still wearing yesterday’s capture scarf, and showed up anyway.

The first real spring heat hung heavy in the air, sticky and restless, the wind off the river offering little relief. His sleeves were too warm, his eyes stung, either from hayfever or using his quirk, and the longer the cameras loitered, the shorter his fuse got. 

A cameraman swung his lens toward him, grinning like this was the juiciest scoop of the day.

“This was a successful capture for a rookie like yourself. Do you have any words for the villains out there to let them know a new hero’s in town?”

Aizawa scratched his knuckle along the side of his nose, already tired of the conversation.

“It’s my job to catch villains,” he mutters flatly. “I don’t do it for the fanfare. Snf.”

Before the reporter could press him, All Might clapped a hand down on his shoulder — hard enough to make Aizawa’s ribs ache.

“You should work on your charm, kid,” All Might whispered, flashing a grin for the cameras. “If the people like you, you’ll climb the hero rankings faster. More sponsors, more reach.”

Aizawa shook off his hand like it burned. “I’m not interested in selling myself like a cheap gimmick. I save lives. That should be enough for anyone.”

All Might didn’t miss a beat, turning back to the camera with an easy laugh. “Eraserhead’s all business, but that’s what makes him reliable! No villain’s slipping past on his watch.”

Aizawa barely had time to retort before the tickle crept back into his throat and up his nose, sharp and insistent.

“hh’GXTsh!”

All Might chuckled, unfazed. “Fearsome, isn’t he?”

“hCHst!”

“Focused. Determined.”

“HMFshh!”

“And dedicated to the—”

“—Literally just doing my job.” Aizawa wiped his nose against his sleeve, voice sharp with finality. “Can I go home now? Or are we planning to milk this for another hour?”

He didn’t wait for approval. He’d already started walking, hands stuffed into his pockets, scrubbing absently at his nose as he went.

All Might watched him go, shaking his head with a smile that didn’t quite fade.

Nemuri strolled up beside him, arms folded across the white straps of her corset.

“Is he always that charming?” He asked dryly.

Nemuri hummed, watching as Aizawa flinched down into his elbow again.

“Only in the spring.”

↳ 3

Hands clamp over his eyes, plunging him into darkness.

“Guess who?” a voice whispers close to his ear, light and teasing.

Shota snorts. “Hi, Hizashi.”

There’s a disappointed groan as the hands fall away, and Hizashi slumps into the open seat beside him.

“How’d you know?”

Aizawa shrugs, unwilling to admit it was the cologne, sharp and sweet, unmistakably Hizashi. “Lucky guess.”

Oboro approaches, dropping a sheet of paper onto Aizawa’s desk. “Patrol already wrapped?”

Aizawa staples the last page of his report together with a tired click. “Yeah. It was quiet, so they cut me loose.”

“No way, me too.” Hizashi grins. “Wanna come back to mine? That new horror movie’s out — the one where the campers end up eating each other.”

The thought of sinking into a couch and zoning out for a few hours is tempting. Aizawa hasn’t felt right all day, run down and achy, but the idea of calling out sick is even more unbearable. UA had trained that instinct out of him — pushed them all to the brink under the banner of “dedication” until exhaustion felt like just another part of the job. He wasn’t immune.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I’m down.”

Oboro stands, gathering his half-finished reports. “Wish I could, but I’m behind. I’m staying in to finish these so I don’t hate myself tomorrow.”

As he moves past, Oboro catches Aizawa’s eye and smirks, too knowing for comfort.

Heat rushes to Aizawa’s face. He yanks his capture scarf higher around his mouth, hiding the flush. “Whatever.”

The opening title screen rolls, flickering across Hizashi’s dark living room.

“I’m calling it now — the blonde girl’s gonna eat her best friend first,” Hizashi declares, stretched out like a cat across the length of the couch. His feet, clad in mismatched socks — one blue with tiny ducks, the other yellow with weed leaves — are propped comfortably in Aizawa’s lap.

Aizawa glances at the socks, wondering if Hizashi actually wore them under his hero costume. Odds are, he did. Hizashi’s entire hero look is chaotic enough to make the socks feel downright tame: leather bell bottoms spiked up the sides, a vest with built-in speakers, and those ridiculous purple star-shaped glasses. The weed socks really tie together his brand. 

“Blonde girl dies first,” Aizawa mutters, voice rough and scratchy. “That’s horror movie 101.”

Hizashi gasps, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. “So if we were at a haunted summer camp, you’d eat me first?”

Aizawa opens his mouth to fire back, but the tickle that’s been riding his sinuses all afternoon surges forward. He turns sharply away, barely getting his elbow up in time.

“hGXT — guh!”

“Aw, bless you. You okay?” Hizashi tilts his head, brows knitting. “You’ve been doing that all afternoon.”

Aizawa stiffens. He hates attention drawn to it — hates even more how easily Hizashi notices. The awareness leaves his skin too warm and his chest tight. He wipes his knuckle under his nose, trying to chase the sensation away.

“Just cold,” he mumbles.

Hizashi lights up, cooing like it’s the cutest thing he’s ever heard. He throws his arms wide. “Why didn’t you say so? C’mere.”

Aizawa freezes, caught off guard. He wishes Oboro were here, someone who could decode this moment for him.

Hizashi is touchy, always has been. Hugs people when he meets them, claps hands on shoulders when he laughs. But this feels different. This isn’t a high-five or an arm slung over his back. This is an invitation to cuddle. Do they do that? Is that normal?

Aizawa’s never really done the whole ‘casual’ thing before. High school had been a dry spell for crushes and relationships, and even now, he wasn’t exactly overflowing with human connection — unless you counted Oboro and Hizashi’s relentless desire to ‘extrovert’ all over him. 

Hizashi’s eyes soften, his head tilting slightly toward his own chest, the invitation clear and easy. The moment teeters on the edge of casual — the kind of casual that could blow up in his face.

Aizawa shifts closer, slow and cautious, settling against Hizashi’s side, sandwiched between his body and the back of the couch, head resting lightly on his chest so he can still see the TV.

“There we go,” Hizashi murmurs, voice softer now, like he’s taming a wild animal. His hand rests, light and easy, on Aizawa’s back. “Better?”

“Better.” Aizawa sniffles, barely above a whisper.

Hizashi reaches for the remote, turning up the volume, and the movie plays on.

When Aizawa wakes, the TV’s no longer playing horror — just a quiet cheerful game show, a family clapping and laughing under bright studio lights.

Hizashi’s chest rises and falls steadily beneath him. Aizawa freezes, tensing the moment he realizes the position he’s still in. Hizashi’s hand, which had been rubbing the length of his back, stills.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Hizashi’s voice is low, right by his ear, teasing but gentle. He must’ve noticed the shift in his breathing, sharp and startled. “I ordered takeout from that noodle place you like. Hope that’s cool.”

The tension drains from Aizawa’s limbs, and he sinks back into his spot, nose stuffy and throat raw. “Mmb. Ndoodles?” he croaks, sniffling thickly.

“Yeah.” Hizashi’s hand lifts to brush Aizawa’s bangs off his forehead, soft and easy. “I’m an awesome friend.”

Aizawa huffs a weak laugh, his head too heavy to do much else.

“Would it be presumptuous,” Hizashi continues, “if I poured you a capful of NyQuil?”

Aizawa sniffs, then clears his throat, though the congestion makes his voice thick and tired. “Ndo.”

Hizashi grins, already reaching for the bottle on the coffee table. “Good, cuz I already did.”

↳ 4

It had been a month since Oboro’s funeral, and no one had seen or heard from Aizawa. No one seemed all that concerned (Shota was never much of a people person) and Gang Orca had granted both him and Hizashi an extended leave of absence from work. Everyone assumed he was grieving in his own way.

But Hizashi knew better.

Shota not answering his calls, not even a single text — that wasn’t like him. Silence wasn’t how Aizawa handled his people. Not really. Not when it came to Hizashi.

So he waited. He sat by the phone, wringing his hands, trying to keep himself busy with anything else. But worry crept in like water through cracked glass, slow, steady and patient until it drowned him.

By Friday night, the dam burst.

Nemuri and Hakamada both had plans. The apartment was too quiet, the kind of quiet that presses heavy on your chest, and Hizashi found himself pacing from room to room, wondering where the hell it had all gone wrong. Just a few months ago, it had felt like he and Shota were finally getting somewhere.

They’d started spending more time together — just the two of them. On rare, treasured mornings, Hizashi would wake up and Shota would still be there, half-buried under the covers, hair tangled and face soft from sleep. Those mornings had felt like secrets, fragile and precious. They felt so far away now, like a distant memory. 

Oboro had always encouraged them, nudging them both toward each other with that easy grin of his, making jokes and planting ideas like seeds. Telling them to stop wasting time, to give themselves permission to want more.

And the more Hizashi got to know Shota, the harder he fell. He’d always liked him, even back at U.A., drawn to his sharp edges, his catlike skittishness, the way he kept people at arm’s length but never quite pushed Hizashi away. Over time, his patience and relentless kindness had chipped away at those walls, and somehow, Shota had let him in.

But now, that sudden retreat, the complete radio silence, it wasn’t hard to figure out what was happening. Shota was hiding. Wounded. Licking his grief like an injured stray.

And Hizashi wasn’t going to let him do it alone.

He’d given him space. Enough time. Now it was time to remind him that he didn’t have to shoulder it all himself.

At 7 p.m. sharp, Hizashi found himself standing on Aizawa’s stoop, the early spring sunset washing the world in soft orange and purple hues. The air was warm, with just enough of a cool breeze to tug at his sleeves. The smell of budding flowers hung faintly in the air, bittersweet. Spring was coming, even if it felt wrong to let it.

He knocked —loud and sharp— and waited. No answer.

He knocked again. Still nothing. Then rang the doorbell, holding his breath.

Silence.

For a second, he wondered if maybe Shota wasn’t home at all. But the thought didn’t sit right. Where else would he be, if not here? Shots hates outside. 

Pulling out his phone, Hizashi dialed Shota’s number, pressing it to his ear. From inside the house, barely audible, he heard the soft ring of a cell phone through the walls.

He was home.

The call rang and rang until, finally, Hizashi heard a faint, muffled groan from inside followed by t the soft click of the call being sent to voicemail.

Hizashi let out a quiet breath, tugging open the mouth of the mailbox. His fingers felt along the top edge until they brushed against the familiar strip of tape, peeling out the spare key hidden there. He plucked it free, fitting it into the lock and letting himself inside.

The air was heavy and warm, stale in the way only a house left closed for days could be. The curtains were still drawn, casting the living room in a soft, dim glow. Right there on the couch, under a mountain of tangled blankets, was a suspiciously Aizawa-shaped lump, the rise and fall of his chest in sync with soft, stuffy snores.

The mess told the rest of the story. Takeout containers were stacked haphazardly on the coffee table, a pizza box teetered on the edge of the TV stand. Used tissues littered the floor like wilted flowers, and somewhere in the middle of it all, an empty Nyquil bottle laid sideways, among empty mugs and water glasses like a drunken king’s royal chalice.

Sick, then. 

Hizashi stepped closer, his heart softening the moment he caught sight of the crown of Aizawa’s head, dark curls spilling across the pillow. His hair had gotten so long, when it wasn’t tied back.

On the arm of the couch sat Aizawa’s phone. Hizashi picked it up, flipping it over to check the screen. Battery at 19%. Twenty-three unread texts. Seventeen missed calls. Hizashi knew at least seven of those were from him. An alarm was set to go off in half an hour.

He frowned, thumb brushing instinctively at the screen, but the lock screen held him out. Of course he didn’t know Shota’s passcode.

Quietly, he crossed the room, plugged the phone into the wall charger before the battery could die, and glanced back at the couch. If Aizawa had been truly asleep, truly unaware, Hizashi would’ve been tangled up in a capture scarf by now, pinned to the floor and scolded half to death. But nothing happened.

Some part of Aizawa knew he was there. He had to.

Sometimes being a good friend… or whatever they were… meant breaking and entering in the name of love.

Hizashi rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

He cleared the table first, stacking the leaning towers of takeout and the sagging pizza box into his arms and ushering them to the kitchen trash. The kitchen was no better, full of empty cans, plates left where they’d been abandoned, more tissues crammed into mugs and glasses half-full of flat soda.

Silently, he began rinsing and loading the dishwasher, moving through the room like a ghost. When the dishes were done, he swept through the rest of the apartment, picking up clothes that had wandered too far from the laundry basket: a band tee draped over the fridge handle, sweats kicked under the island stool, socks scattered across the floor.   He bundled them all into a trash bag to wash later.

Just as he was tying the bag, the soft chime of the alarm echoed from the living room.

Hizashi moved quickly, hoping to silence it before Aizawa stirred, but by the time he stepped back into the room, it was too late.

The blanket shifted and Shota groaned, pushing it back with a sluggish, heavy hand.

Hizashi had known he’d looked bad but he hadn’t expected this.

Shota looked pale, almost gray beneath the fever-flush blooming across his cheeks. His hair was a wild, tangled nest, sticking out in every direction, and his lips were dry and cracked. His eyes, half-lidded and unfocused, barely registered Hizashi’s presence.

Hizashi smiled softly, trying not to show the twist in his chest. “Guess who?” he murmured, gently unplugging the phone and setting it in Shota’s lap.

Shota rubbed at his eyes like a child, slow and disoriented, as if his brain was still trying to catch up to the world around him. But there was no confusion in his voice when he finally spoke — only quiet, regretful exhaustion.

“Hi, Hizashi.”

His tone was soft, sad in that way Hizashi recognized too well. The kind of sadness that said he knew he’d pushed too far, let himself fall too deep, and regretted the distance he’d put between them.

But Hizashi just sat on the edge of the couch, close enough for the warmth of his shoulder to reach. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“I tried to turn off your phone, but I didn’t know the password.”

Aizawa fumbles for the device, blinking against the lingering haze of sleep as he unlocks it with shaky fingers and silenced the soft chime. His hand drifted toward the coffee table, expecting the familiar clutter of takeout containers, but when his knuckles brushed nothing but empty air, his brows knit faintly.

Instead, his fingers closed around the NyQuil bottle. He gave it a little shake, heard the hollow rattle of nothing left inside, and let out a quiet, miserable groan before tossing it weakly back onto the table. Then he sank into the couch cushions again, retreating underneath the blankets.

“It’s your birthday,” he mumbled, voice rough and hoarse.

Hizashi blinked, frowning. It wasn’t his birthday, his real one had already passed months ago.

“My password,” Aizawa clarified, coughing into the duvet. “It’s your birthday.”

And just like that, Hizashi felt the last of his frustration dissolve, melting into something warm and aching. Without thinking, he moved closer, kneeling at Aizawa’s side, close enough to make out his own reflection in Aizawa’s eyes. 

“How long have you been like this?” he asked softly.

Aizawa’s eyes fluttered halfway open. “Don’t know,” he murmured. “What day is it? I woke up with a fever on Wednesday.”

Hizashi grimaces. It was Friday.

“I’m going to grab some medicine,” he said, keeping his tone light, “and maybe some ingredients for soup. I’ll toss your laundry downstairs on my way out, too. Want to put on something clean so I can wash—”

“—No.” Aizawa’s voice was firmer than before, though still muffled by the duvet. “No, you can’t do this. I can’t let you.”

Hizashi blinked, surprised by the sharp edge in his tone. “What? Why?”

“I’ve got it,” Aizawa muttered, pulling the covers tighter around himself. “I don’t need you to—”

But whatever stubborn excuse he was about to offer was cut short as he turned his face into the blanket, breath hitching sharply.

“nGSHt!”

Hizashi raised an eyebrow. “Gesundheit. Seems like the only thing you’ve got is a cold, Eraser.”

Aizawa grumbled something unintelligible, retreating deeper beneath the covers like a petulant cat.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Hizashi teased, shifting to perch on the edge of the couch. “You’ve napped long enough, Sho.”

Aizawa answered with a low, whiny groan — one of genuine protest, the kind that pressed at the edges of Hizashi’s heart.

“Oh, I know. I’m heartless. Cruel, even. What a monster I am.” Hizashi leaned in, resting his chin briefly on the blanket-shrouded mound that was Shota. “You poor thing.”

The only answer was another muffled, half-hearted grumble and then the blanket shuddered as Aizawa’s breath hitched again. Twice, his whole body tensed with forceful stifled sneezes that barely escaped the cocoon of fabric.

The next few weren’t so quiet.

“HMPZFSH!! iHDYTSHh - yhh! snf…ow.”

Hizashi winced in sympathy. “My goodness. Quadruple bless you. Bet it wouldn’t hurt if you didn’t hold them in.”

Aizawa’s voice emerged faintly from under the duvet. “Don’t want to be gross.”

“You’re being pedantic,” Hizashi murmured with a fond smile. “It’s me. I like you. Even when you’re gross.”

There was a beat of silence before the covers lowered, just enough for two tired brown eyes to peek out at him. There, in the dim light, Hizashi saw the younger version of Shota flicker behind the exhaustion, soft, wide-eyed, more vulnerable than he usually let himself be.

“How’d you know I was sick?” Aizawa asked quietly.

“I didn’t,” Hizashi replied, brushing a stray curl off Shota’s temple. “I just had a feeling I should come check on you. Think I’ve got a sixth sense when it comes to you.”

Aizawa huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh. “You’re a freak.”

“I’m your freak.” Hizashi’s voice softened as he let his fingers linger at the curve of Aizawa’s jaw. His stubble, still patchy and new, scratched lightly against his palm. It suited him — the years, the rough edges. Somehow it only made him look more handsome.

“Alright, up and at ‘em. Shower, and then we’ll hit the store for soup ingredients. The fresh air will do you good.”

Aizawa flopped back, nose wrinkling. “Ndo. I’bm not going outside.”

Mimicking his tone, Hizashi replied with a mock pout: “‘Ndo, I’bm ndot going outside.’ C’mon, gorgeous. The faster we go, the faster we come back. There’s a new horror movie I want to watch — some axe murderer at a winter cabin. You’ll love it.”

Aizawa barely had time to reply before his breath hitched again.

“hzDjSCHH! hh—! NGxt! H-H…Hh…rzschh! Snf! Ugh.”

“Bless you, times three.” Hizashi grinned, rubbing his back gently. “Let’s go, Sniffles. Up, up, up.”

“I’m up.”

“You’re laying down.”

“I’m up,” Aizawa repeated, sinking further into the couch like a man determined to win this argument by sheer stubbornness alone.

Hizashi shook his head, heart swelling with quiet affection. “Yeah, sure you are.”

It takes a little more coaxing, but eventually, Shota drags himself out of his blanket nest and shuffles toward the shower while Hizashi gathers up his duvet and the rest of the scattered laundry, loading both into the washer.

By the time Shota emerges, damp curls sticking to his forehead, he’s already looking a little more human. Hizashi doesn’t say anything — just reaches for a brush, gently working through the knots before pulling his hair back into a loose ponytail while Shota zips up his jacket for their quick trip to the store.

As Hizashi secures the tie, he feels Shota shift, voice quiet and a little shy.

“Zashi?”

“What’s up, handsome?” Hizashi replies, light and easy.

Shota hesitates, fiddling with the zipper before finally glancing up. “Thanks for coming to check on me. I... I feel better. Now that you’re here.”

Hizashi feels his chest ache in the best way. Without thinking, he loops his arms around Shota and pulls him into a tight hug.

“Oh, Sho,” he murmurs, squeezing him close. “Of course.”

Shota gives an exaggerated grunt. “Let me go.”

But Hizashi only nuzzles into his still-damp hair, breathing in the warm, smoky scent of fresh shampoo. “Never.”

A pause. Then a soft sniffle against his shoulder.

“I’bm gonna sdneeze.”

“Oh—bless you!” Hizashi says, just a beat too soon. The sneeze catches in Shota’s throat and vanishes, leaving him glaring half-heartedly.

“You scared it off,” he grumbles, rubbing his nose. “I take it back. I hate you.”

Hizashi chuckles, pressing a light kiss to his temple. “No, you don’t.”