#fortevoce

the bitter truth is, he is now — as he has ever been — powerless. stronger, maybe. quicker, sure. but he’s powerless to change what’s happened, and powerless to shape fate in his or anyone else’s favor; he is what he is ( nothing ), and that’s how it’s always going to be, unless he makes himself better. dumb stupid luck won’t save him every time, nor will the phantom voice of someone who believes in him more than he ever could in himself.

if it’s at the cost of smooth, callous free hands and rested eyes, he has to be more; so be it. but, some things can’t be priced, even if they can still be lost. there was once a pair of eyes that he’d look for in searching glances, and they’re right there, looking at him now from beyond the curtain of hair that blocks his own view and centers his focus on the ground. then, on his bleeding hands, and he watches as hizashi’s hand grabs his wrist and tugs him upright before his focus can fade, steadying the soles of his shoes more firmly to the gym floor. 

and then his hand drops. it goes away, and he’s... just standing, and his shoulders relax once he’s let go. ( he wonders if they’d visibly tensed, once contact had been made. wonders if hizashi will think it’s his fault, or if he’ll know it’s because shouta had been somewhere else mentally until that touch. if he’ll know that he was just scared to come down.

he’s so scared, and it is... so pathetic. )

shouta isn’t blind to the rift between them, nor is he ignorant to what the force is that separates the rest of what is left of himself and the one thing, the one person, he has left to lose —  it’s him, he’s self-aware of that — of his own ox stubborn intuition to pull away, accept nothing, and what that might do to hizashi — and...  it changes nothing.

you’re not, hizashi starts, and he doesn’t have to finish for him to pick up on the plea in his voice, or for shouta to get a feeling as to where that might have been going. he takes it somewhere else, somewhere gentle and familiar and purely concerned; because as much as he wants to ignore what’s happening here, he knows hizashi well enough to credit him in being able to tell when something is wrong.  

when did you last sleep?  when did you last eat?  those are questions only someone who cares about you will ask, and if he cares about hizashi at all, he should tell him to invest in some better company — someone who won’t stand there like he is now, considering if it’s worth lying to his best friend about something he already knows — he points it out, too, in the form of food found left untouched — and staring at his own feet in some kind of pathetic show of half self-pity, half shame. he doesn’t bother answering his questions, because hizashi already knows. why would he tell him something he already knows? no sense in it.

you sure know how to pick ‘em, shouta thinks with a glare hard set on the floor — he doesn’t say it to hizashi, because there’s no point in being self-deprecating, or in being hurtful to someone already hurting himself. ( that must be the worst part, of all this; hizashi’s been there for him through everything, through oboro, through niisan — and yet. ) hizashi’s trying, and shouta still won’t even look at him, but he can feel that stupidly charming expression shining through and raining down on him; warm and inviting to someone without the decency to even face it.

if for no other reason than knowing that he owes something to him, shouta surrenders. 

glare hard set on the ground, two trembling, bandaged hands come up, fingers outstretched and palms out, signaling stop. just... alright. “ ...fine, ” he says after too long, voice strained and low, even now. he knows hizashi hears him. knows he sees him, too. 

he can make up for lost time tomorrow morning, maybe. and he isn’t stupid — he knows the importance of taking care of yourself, it just ceases to matter in the moment, doesn’t it? and you know how moments are. they just keep happening. ( he might really keel over if not for hizashi being there to remind him. and who reminds hizashi? ) get better friends, he thinks to hizashi, angrily. be better, he thinks to himself, angrier. 

kiss meme. not accepting !! @fortevoce

send 💕 for good night / morning kiss.

     there’s something cathartic about the way their schedules synchronize tonight –and it’s not to an exact science that this happens by any means, but through small strides that their steps eventually, gradually fall in line.

     when shouta retires to bedroom for the evening, at an generously hour early for himself, he’s almost shocked to find hizashi already in there, who is in the process of putting on a new shirt to sleep in. for them both to be ready and willing to go to sleep at the same time, at a normal time, for people, is practically unheard of. 

     then again, this week has been made entirely of the ‘unheard of’, hasn’t it? the unspoken feelings that they’ve both had for longer than ever known, the unfamiliar, the now previously unknown – all topics

     at the sound of the door opening, or perhaps just the feeling of shouta watching him, hizashi seems to have a deer in the headlights type of moment; frozen still with eyes wide, cheeks a little flushed, arms above his head, and head not quite through the hole of his shirt yet. not that he ever hasn’t been as completely transparent as thought possible about what he thought of hizashi, but the endearment he feels then spills out from somewhere, broken through in a crooked little grin and cocked brow. 

      … dumbass. 

     wordlessly, shouta’s gaze drops to the side, but his smile doesn’t cease as he pads forward and stops when the distance between them is closed. he reaches up to yank the shirt down the rest of the way, then doesn’t miss a beat between doing that and wrapping his arms around hizashi’s neck to pull him close. he kisses him, because that’s something they do now – in the morning, before work, after, just because, and this time —- to say goodnight.

     fingers cupping the bun at the back of his head and tangling in blonde locks, he keeps him there for some time; maybe a selfish amount of time, and maybe kissing him still little too eagerly, but the taste of him is something hard to let go of now that he knows. ( how long had he imagined what it might be like? how long had he dismissed it? ) judging by the way hizashi’s lips move back against his, shouta’s at least comforted by the fact that the enchantment of it all is very much mutual. 

     just as he is the one to initiate it, shouta is the one to break it, pulling back his chin but keeping his forehead pressed to hizashi’s. his hand gives hizashi’s shoulder a squeeze and then it wanders down his arm until it finds his hand, fingers locking with his as they separate – of course, just long enough to walk to the bed, tugging hizashi to follow. a couple of moments of sheet shuffling and position adjustments later, shouta finds himself curled around hizashi’s curved back, properly big spooning with his arms wrapped around his middle. a quick peck of a kiss is planted on the top of hizashi’s ear, to accompany the soft spoken, final note of the day. “ night, babe. ” 

     from sho’s very first day at u.a onward,  he’s been absolutely floored by the talent that surrounded him -- in his peers,  in the pros teaching them, and in all of the upperclassmen that came before he did.  everyone in his class has a unique quirk,  and he knows them all by name; everyone in class b, too, and most of the hero course students in their second and third years. to say the least,  he’s an admirer.  that is especially true for one individual ---- a third year,  and the loudest one around. and as far as sho was concerned?  the coolest one around.       yamada hizashi. 

      as he shadows the third year through the hallways,  ducking behind walls -- and, at times, people;  but he’s a small kid, so it works out alright enough -- and all but mimicking the exact step pattern he does (  he bounces, and then sho does too ),  he stares with stars in his eyes,  hands clutching the club sign up sheet that his senpai had handed out during his class yesterday.  it’s for the radio club that,  rumor has it,  yamada started himself!  after weeks of admiring him from afar,  the thought of joining a club led by him is too exciting to pass up;  and it’s something he can do, too!  he could talk all day!  that’s what they’re looking for, right?  

     and,  there is where he freezes;  comically stopped still in what can only be described as a freeze frame as his idol turns suddenly and faces him,  head on.      ah... geeze.  mouth open in shock and eyes wide,  sho holds his completed club activity form in his hands,  and the adoration in his eyes remains;  even if there is a coat of mortified horror in being caught red-handed following him. there’s also the fact that he’s worn his hair today in the exact style that yamada does -- you know, to make a good first impression. 

[ text: Shouta 😾] WHAT [ text: Shouta 😾] PLEASE DON’T YOUR PUNCHES CAN KILL [ text: Shouta 😾] what’d i even do!!! [ text: Shouta 😾] IS THIS ABOUT THE GLITTER BECAUSE I SWEAR THAT’LL COME OUT IN THE WASH

           before she can change her mind again, her feet take her to where she needs to be in a dash down the hall, partially fueled by adrenaline and another part by a force that she can’t quite identify within herself yet. she comes to a stop only at the open door of his office, idling in the doorway as she peers inside.

        ❝   uh,  mic - sensei... do you... um --  ❞ fingers digging absently into the wood of the door frame, jirou finds herself swallowing her words, eyes widened with fear and words caught frozen in her throat. for all of the times that they’ve been in the same room together -- fought in the same field, once -- and been just a few beats away, she’d never had the nerve to approach him of her own volition for a non - school related matter.  

❝   can i... talk to you about something? it’s alright if you’re busy... i just, i --   ❞ 

life’s about what you choose, listener.

light hearted suggestions ♡. accepting.

      it seemed odd, how carefree hizashi painted himself after an encounter like this one – where he’d stepped between shouta and one of their classmates, and wound up facing equally harsh treatment; called annoying, a loud mouth, and about a dozen other things – just for standing up for both shouta and himself. the two of them walked away from it more than a little worse for the wear, and significantly less liked by a handful of their classmates. 

      not being liked didn’t bother shouta. nothing they thought or said did – but as they walked home, he couldn’t help feeling guilty that what they thought of hizashi was at all brought up because he acted on his behalf. shouta looks over at him more than once with regret in his eyes, and somewhere near the halfway point of the journey home, asks hizashi why he isn’t more upset by what was said to them – to him.       ‘  i’m just trying to be happy and stop thinking about what other people think.  ’ 

      hizashi says that, and it strikes a chord that shouta doesn’t immediately recognize. whatever it is prompts him to come to a sudden halt on the sidewalk, eyes boring into the back of hizashi’s head until he notices that shouta isn’t beside him anymore and looks back at him. his expression is too blank to make out any distinct reaction, hands pocketed and head canted to the right. 

     “ know what i think? ” 

       now, if ‘what is on aizawa shouta’s mind’ wasn’t the question of the year, then what was? judging by the look of curious anticipation on hizashi’s face as he waits for him to follow up, he seems not to have any idea where he’s going with it. that makes it all the better when shouta walks towards him, stops by his side, and touches his shoulder with one hand while the other starts to sign something. 

they’re wrong about you anyway. you’re a better friend than any of them could hope to have. 

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