Chapter Text
Hitoshi wakes slowly as the morning sun streams through the cracks in the curtains. Never has he felt so warm and comfortable waking up.
Rolling onto his back to avoid the sun shining straight into his eyes, Hitoshi grabs his phone. He notices a bunch of texts from the group and a couple from his friends and Asui. Ignoring them for now, he lies his phone on his chest and stares at the ceiling. He has a little over a week left of this. He rubs over his jaw and stretches his mouth open, translating into a yawn.
It’s strange being able to yawn like that… he sometimes forgets what it’s like not to have his movement so restricted.
Shaking off the thoughts, he still has over a week left here. He will make the most of it and enjoy the time with his teachers while he can.
Tucking Minkie back under the bed, he leaves his room and leisurely makes his way down the stairs into the kitchen. “Morning,” he rubs his eyes to get the remaining sleep out.
“Hey, Kiddo, what’s hanging this morning?” Hizashi’s lose and calm, but there’s something behind those eyes. Hitoshi doesn’t think it’s bad, but it’s… those eyes see too much.
But even coming down to that doesn’t waver Hitoshi’s mood, “I’m ok. Breakfast smells good.”
Hizashi’s gaze returns to the stove and moves around whatever is on the stove, “Teriyaki salmon, it’s almost done as well if you want to grab some rice.” He flings the utensil to the left, where the rice cooker is open, with two bowls in front of it.
He scoops out a paddle of rice for himself and a couple for Hizashi, and he goes to grab the third bowl, only to now notice it’s not there. “Ummm,” he calls out, waiting for Hizashi to look at him. “Normally, we have a third for Aizawa.” Still hesitant to ask questions, especially without Aizawa in view. He tries to be obvious with what his asking.
“We do normally have three.” Hizashi has turned off the stove and has turned to face him with his back to the food. Blinking twice, Hitoshi waits. Hizashi is bright, and he knows what his asking. “Hitoshi,” he swings a chair out and sits down to be at eye height with the kid. “You’re allowed to ask questions all the time. In fact, I want you to ask them. Whether we’re at home, school, or training doesn't matter.”
Looking between the bowls and back one last time, he hopes Hizashi will take pity and answer his dam question when the man doesn’t. He takes a deep breath, “Why aren’t we making a bowl for Aizawa?”
He doesn’t freeze up or stumble over the words. However, Yamada would have to be blind not to notice how tense the kid is. “He’s not going to be home till dinner.” He smiles at him, and even though the tension is still present in the kid, he can tell it’s slowly dissipating as he remains seated. “Do you not remember last night?”
Hitoshi tries to remember if anything happened last night, tilting his head to the side. “No…”
A brief look of worry crossed Hizashi’s face, and he would have missed it if he had blinked. He stands and grabs the pan of food, “Well, he got called out to Hosu last night,” he slides a bit of fish onto each bowl and adds more rice to one before handing it to Hitoshi. “You seemed a little out of it.”
Hitoshi sits down and takes a bite of breakfast. He remembers being woken up but not much more. It was warm, and all his memories were fuzzy. It’s like the last time he… It’s like the last time he dropped. He swallows the food, and it hits his stomach like a lead rock.
Fuck, what did he do? “I was out of it.” His voice was monotoned, as always. No answer came as he pushed his food around the plate, not eating anymore. Dam it. He can’t ask… He’ll get in trouble. But that’s the only way he will get answers, “What…” his voice cut out. God, did Hizashi figure it out. Was he going to tell Aizawa? Hitoshi can’t lose this… It’s his last hope. The only thing his hanging on for…
A notepad entered his vision, “It’s ok if you can’t speak. Just write your question.”
Quickly snatching up the pen, he scribbles out, “What do you mean out of it?” Pushing the pad back to him, he waits with bated breath.
“You didn’t talk much and afterwards just went back to bed.” Hitoshi tried not to show his relief, “You seemed really tired, kid.” But there was no way to play off how fast his head shot up to look at the smiling older man.
He slumped back into his chair and scooped up another fork of food. “Oh.”
The rest of the meal passed with little fanfare, and even after the minor heart attack Hitoshi had just had, he could calm himself down with relative ease. He can’t remember a time he was this settled and well-rested. “What’s the plan for me today?”
“Well, you’ve been working hard all week, so you need a rest day.” Yamada tugs on a strand of hair as he thinks.
“Oh… You were meant to patrol today. I can stay here, or… I could head back home….” He trails off; he couldn’t think of anything worse than going back home right now. But he can’t be a burden to Mic. It’s only going to make him hate Hitoshi.
“NO!” The cabinets rattle a bit at Hizashi’s words. Sitting up straight, Hitoshi’s eyes widen. “Sorry, no need for that kid.” He seemed more rattled than Hitoshi, who just got an earful of Mic’s quirked voice; his just glad it wasn’t any louder. “I’ve already called in a favour to cover my shift anyway, kid. Honestly, if you want to nap or… relax today, I have no problem with us just having a bludge day.”
After being very active over the last four days, he should rest, but… That feels like a waste. Everyone else will be working through all the days with no rest, and sure, their internships aren’t as long as Hitoshi’s, but his quirk is more volatile, and he needs to do everything he can physically to make it as a hero.
“How about this kid,” Hizashi leans over the table; he must have seen the conflict that showed across his face. “We can go for a jog around the neighbourhood and do some stretches. After that, I can show you some vocal exercises. We can work on anything that you think might help you grab more people under your quirk. If you are comfortable, you can use it on me, but only if you want to.”
Hitoshi looks over his thoughtful face hoping to catch any hint of a trick before he’s pulled in too far… again. He opens his mouth a few times, thinking how he could say this without it being a question, ‘Your allowed to ask questions…’ Hitoshi looks directly into his eyes, “You want me to use my quirk on you?”
The smile that spreads across his face lights up the room, and for once, he thinks it may be worth the accelerated heart rate. “Of course.” He picks up his dish and loads it in the dishwasher. “People have little understanding of voice quirks; they can be extremely hard to control and easily linked to emotions.” He turns around and mutters to himself, just loud enough for Hitoshi to hear, “I would know.”
Hitoshi barely registers what is being said, still caught up in how much trust Hizashi has put in him, “Why?” he whispers, eyes never leaving the man.
“You’re a good kid. I trust you. I hope you can grow to trust me as well.” He knees next to his chair, putting himself lower. The tension eases a little now that he’s not looking up at him. He grabs his glasses and puts them on the table, “I get it, ok.” Hitoshi’s eyes wander to the scars he revealed after the USJ, “Maybe not exactly, but some of it. I couldn’t control my quirk and hurt many people when I was young. It got worse when I got older, however. People fail to realise something that adds an extra complication with voice quirks like ours.”
Hitoshi tilts his head, trying to think what he is talking about. “I don’t… what complication?”
“Well, think about it, kid. You’ve probably been going through it without realising for the last year or two.” He waits for a second, but nothing catches Hitoshi’s brain. “You’re growing up, settling into your dynamic and going through puberty. Your voice changes, cracks and, yes, quirks can evolve over time with effort and training, but with voice quirks, it doesn’t matter if you train them or not. They will always change, especially during your preteen and early teenhood.”
“I haven’t noticed…” he tries to think, but honestly, he can count on one hand the moments he used his quirk since he turned 11, and most of them have happened once starting UA.
“You’re not allowed to talk at home, correct? They keep you muzzled.”
Hitoshi freezes. He can’t deny or confirm what the teacher thinks he already knows. How can he say this without giving it all away? “They are uncomfortable with me talking, and I didn’t have the best control as a kid, so I… tend to keep quiet.”
Hizashi sighs and looks down but schools his face before he looks back up. “Ok, well, from what I've seen, you don’t talk much at school either. So, you most likely haven’t noticed if anything has changed.”
Hitoshi tried to think back, and there had been that weird moment during the USJ… and after where his voice felt… stronger.
“Was there ever a moment when your felt like you didn’t have control of your quirk? Maybe it lashed out when you didn’t want it to or reacted to something other than what was normal for you.” He asks, sliding his glasses off the table and back onto his face.
His breath catches for just a moment, and he remembers why he got put with the Takahashi’s, the Ikeda family.
* * *
Hitoshi just wanted Minkie back. Why did they take her? He had been good, he was good, the teacher said so. Ms Ikeda said so, too he was good. Why was he taking Minkie?
“Honey, please.” Ms Ikeda approaches her husband, wrapped hand trembling.
“Why did you get this stupid thing.” He slurred, holding up the stuffed white and pink cow in one greasy hand.
“He’s a little and didn’t have anything like that.” She trembles as his eyes focus on her. “It’s good… good for his development… Kids need….”
“Bullshit!” He growled, stepping up to crowd her. “You were just wasting money on useless shit! Again!” He holds Minkie up to her face shaking it.
“Hitoshi, sweet pea, go to your room.” She can barely be heard over the sound of the man sweeping his arm out and knocking the dishrack onto the floor with a crash. Hitoshi screams at the loud noise, scaring him in his little head space.
“You do this all the time. That brat isn’t ours. We don’t need to get shit like this for him, and you’re just wasting the money I make!” His steps shatter the porcelain plates further. Grabbing her hand, she winces as he forces her to step towards him. Cutting her feet in the process. Hitoshi’s sobbing gets louder as his comfort item is held captive alongside his current caregiver.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice is slightly less than a whisper, and she folds like a wet paper towel.
“I didn’t even want to foster this snot-nosed little brat.” His hold tightens, and she winces. “The paycheck we get isn’t worth it! Not now that his acting like a baby.”
“He… he doesn’t regress much… we have to,” her voice is cutting out, “Encourage him… it’s healthy for the… boy.”
He huffs and pushes her back, forcing her to walk over the broken porcelain again, “He’s a brat and doesn’t deserve my money being spent on it.”
He’s grabbing Minkie by her head and back legs. Why is he pulling her? Doesn’t he know she’ll break? The first stitch popping echoes through his head like a gunshot. “Stop!” His mind lashes out, cracking over the house’s interior and grabbing at anyone he can. He sniffles and holds out his hand, “Give me Minkie.” The blank-eyed Mr Ikeda steps over to him, holding the toy out for the boy. Hitoshi snatches him up and steps back, looking over the leg, half dangling off the poor cow.
He sniffles, hugging Minkie tightly, “Can you fix her?” His big innocent eyes look over to Ms Ikeda. With no response from the lady, Hitoshi walks around the mess away from the man and reaches his arm for her, and she walks towards him. “Fix her, please.” She robotically grabs the toy and walks into the living room. Hitoshi follows on her heels.
* * *
He doesn’t remember much from the night, only the confusion and fear left from his little state. He, however, could never forget the terror in Ms Ikeda’s eyes as the kindest foster mother he’d ever been placed with pushed him away and left him to the mercy of her husband. The next day, his caseworker came to the clinic to take him to the Takadashi’s.
He was 12.
He was scared, with a broken arm and no clue what was happening with his quirk.
“Good job Hitoshi. Can I get another deep breath?” The voice finally broke through his mind, and he followed the breathing of the chest his hand was placed on.
“Sorry.” He signed out once his breathing had levelled, and he could return his hand.
“No need to be sorry, little listener.” His voice was quieter than before. Gently rolling over him like a warm blanket, he hasn’t felt this safe around an adult in years.
They stay there, Hizashi sitting next to him on the floor, not reaching out or trying to talk, just sitting in quiet company while Hitoshi gets his thoughts together.
“Umm,” Hitoshi’s voice was weak but immediately drew the older man’s attention. “Could we go for that run now?”
“Sure thing,” Hizashi pats his knee and stands up, gabbing his empty plate, “Get into some running gear, and I’ll meet you in the living room.”
Hitoshi rushes up the stairs and gets changed into some workout gear, brushes his teeth and grabs the headband Aizawa gifted him earlier in the week when he noticed his fringe got in the way of training.
He pauses at the top of the stairs listening to Mic hum a tune in the living room.
This house… is so warm. There is not a cold or dark crevice to be found, and he doesn’t mean physically. There’s always something happening and someone around, and even though his only been here a few days … this place feels like a home. Well, what he thinks a home should feel like. The fear that’s followed him from house to house, the untrusting stares, the yelling and pain. It can’t get him here.
The… memories shook him, but the cold couldn’t reach him here. Like Aizawa is fighting it off, and Yamada is close to keep him warm, even when it does get through.
A small smile spreads across his face as he listens.
Hitoshi feels safe.
*
*
*
He doesn’t want to go back.