記憶

if shiro is a clone, and satan possessed one of the same clones before yuri got pregnant, and now there’s another clone-

It’s quiet as Shouta sits on the couch, channel flipping through the late night/early morning info-mercials that don’t so much as irritate him as make him feel sad for whoever buys into this garbage. He feels his eyes drooping, the dark room around him and his full stomach from dinner doing him no favors, but he fights it, waiting for Hitoshi to be done with his shower so they can go to bed.

Of course, usually, he wouldn’t wait. His son is 16 now, it’s not like he needs a babysitter to make sure he’s tucked in at night...though maybe on the silent nights when Shouta can’t sleep he does indulge in those memories that remind him of when Hitoshi used to beg for such things. He falls asleep to a melancholy ache in his chest on those nights.

But no, Toshi isn’t small anymore, his first night patrol under his belt now as of today, having accepted Shouta’s internship offer and they having just gotten back an hour before. The boy did well, Shouta’s heart swelling with pride while they had eaten greasy takeout that only tastes that good at 2 a.m. Hitoshi was starving and Shouta didn’t think twice of handing over a couple pieces of his meat to top off Hitoshi’s quickly dwindling bowl. A small smile from the boy was a worthy reward.

Knocking Shouta out of his thoughts is the bathroom door creaking open, just another thing he needs to remember to fix with all the glorious free time he has available. He turns around on the couch at the sound of padding feet coming down the hall, Hitoshi in fresh pajamas and ringed in the backlight from the still open bathroom door, steam pouring out behind him and making him look almost ethereal. Shouta smiles.

“Better?”

Hitoshi nods, biting at his bottom lip. The boy had nearly sweat through his hero costume with how ragged Shouta had run him, leaping over roofs and up and down walls. But Shouta knew he loved it, expecting no less from his dad. Shouta never goes easy on his interns, after all; it’s just not logical.

Slowly Hitoshi draws near, towering over the back of the couch so that Shouta has to look up at him from where he sits. Now that he’s closer, Shouta sees the towel in one hand and—

And the brush in the other.

He feels a warmth in his lungs, like a small fire has been lit and tenderly cared for. It’s been a while since Hitoshi has asked this of him...perhaps years, if he remembers correctly. Hitoshi doesn’t use words, nothing but a sheepish darting if eyes and a tilt of his lips showing he has any request whatsoever. But Shouta speaks Hitoshi better than anyone, and so he grunts, turning away from his son, but only for a moment, as the teenager rounds the couch, plopping down on the floor between Shouta’s legs with his back facing his father.

With slow movements, Shouta takes the towel and drapes it over Hitoshi’s head, sopping locks worked over with slender fingers, working into his scalp like Hitoshi has always liked since he was a very little boy. Sometimes, Hitoshi used to fall asleep to this, it working better than any story or bedtime ritual ever could. Shouta’s smile widens.

It’s still quiet, the tv a low rumble and the light from the hall casting a warm glow that mixes with the blue of the television. Occasionally Hitoshi lets out an involuntary hum as Shouta finishes drying his hair, taking the brush into his right hand now instead.

As the first lock slides through the teeth of the comb, Shouta wonders why, why tonight. He remembers how this step of the process used to go, Shouta’s attempts at detangling often ending in a few tears on Hitoshi’s end...which now isn’t an issue given how his son has mastered the use of conditioner and each section combs out with ease.

If you had asked Shouta so many years ago if he would miss those tense moments, he would have told you ‘no’. But now that he is here…he was wrong.

When he sees how his son has grown so tall and so strong and so kind, part of Shouta wants to cry himself. Hitoshi’s shoulders are broad now and he can nearly see eye to eye with his father and yet all Shouta sees some days is his little boy, crying over a few knots in his hair.

The smile fades, but only a little.

Hitoshi’s hair lies flat, but both of them know as it dries it will rise in its gravity defying way, physics be damned. As Shouta finishes, he places a flat palm upon Hitoshi’s forehead, tilting his head back while he leans forward to lay his boy back into his chest. Their eyes meet.

“All done, kiddo.”

Hitoshi’s eyelids are half closed and Shouta not for the first time thanks the stars they have the week off for this so that Hitoshi can rest after his—their—patrols.

“Let’s go to bed, ‘kay?”

The only answer Hitoshi gives is the shutting of his eyes and yet Shouta finds he is not in the least surprised, planting a kiss between son’s eyes and shifting his boneless frame around to lift him from the floor.

Happy Birthday to the twins

αιzαωα ѕнσυтα ★ 相澤消太 ✳ (ησνємвєʀ 8) ♡

Bal asked for Eri and tiny Shouta interacting so naturally…. that resulted in a 9 page comic (it was 10 but I moved some things around)

One day after the new year, he changed. It was right after the students had returned to school. He was called away from the school and the person who returned to teach them at the end of the day homeroom was someone different, someone Momo didn’t immediately recognize. 

Aizawa never mentioned a word about where he went on that day, or why their English teacher was absent on that day, too. 

Her seat was in the back of the classroom, almost as far from the front as she could be. But even she could see the red in their teacher’s eyes, redness that was far different from the usual red of his dry eyes. Something about him was off, as if Aizawa had aged ten years in just a few hours. His voice was hesitant, faraway, as if Aizawa was actually somewhere deep in his own thoughts instead of standing at the front of the class teaching twenty kids. 

“I don’t know,” Jirou said when Momo asked her after school if she’d noticed. “He seemed normal to me. No different than he usually is.”

“Well, he didn’t give me detention when I interrupted him,” Mina added in with a frown from where she sat next to Jirou. “So maybe there was something weird about him. Maybe he’s just having a good day, though.”

The two girls broke into giggles, as if that was a thought in its own–Sensei having such a good day that he wouldn’t even punish them for talking during class. 

Momo knew that wasn’t it, though. She knew it was something else.