Chapter 3
Sighing, Present Mic walked back into his agency/radio station, adjusting his glasses and pulling the notebook from his jacket. It was around 6:30 pm and just the end of his patrol. Synthia, an American who moved to Japan a few years ago, sits at the reception desk for the radio station part of the building. “Heya Mic! How was patrol?” She asks, her Japanese laced with an American accent.
“Good! No villains to be seen! A few run-ins with some little listeners!”
“Oh!~ Anything interesting?”
“Actually, just before my patrol I ran into three little listeners! Three young boys and they were bringing something to the station.” Mic pulled the notebook from his jacket, handing it to Synthia. She proceeded to flip through a few pages, her eyes growing wide each flip. “This is apparently a hobby one of the boys has, short with curly green hair.”
“How old are they?”
“I didn’t get the chance to ask. They handed me the book, one mentioned something about getting food before a store closes. They looked about seven or eight. I was gonna pull up the security camera footage from the front.” This caused Synthia to look back up.
“The security footage? Why, was something wrong?”
“Somewhat. Pull it up and you’ll see why.” With a confused expression and a small nod, Synthia started typing at her computer, pulling the live security feeds. A few clicks and key words later, camera feeds from each hour are bookmarked in a panel. “I left for patrol a little after four o’clock… try that feed.” A hum and a click later, the feed from four o’clock started. With a hit of an arrow key, it speeds up slightly, the hustle and bustle of people walking hurries. Another hit and the feed speeds up again.
“What are we-”
“There! Go back a bit.” Mic asks, pointing at a little boy with a bush of green hair runs into past Mic. Synthia goes back a bit and puts the feed at regular speed. “Zoom in on us and look at the boys.” Synthia nods and does as asked, her zoom in primarily on the three boys, but you can just see Mic on the left side of the screen. Synthia nibbles her thumb and looks over each of the boys, taking in their tattered clothes, the scarred and bruised bodies. The dirty hair and small statures.
“Oh my… I can see why you found them interesting…”
“Yeah… the way they look just screams abuse. They ran off before I could ask anything.”
“Well, I have one of your side kicks send a notice to other agencies to be on the lookout for them, maybe we can help them. Did you catch any names?” Synthia asks, looking up to Present Mic.
“The green haired boy called the blonde kid ‘Kacchan and the redhead ‘Eichan’. They must know each other rather well.” Mic recalled, still looking at the feed, watching the boys run off, him calling out a little too late.
“Trauma bond? They all look like they're abused, maybe one caught another being hit and bonded over the experience?”
“It very well could be trauma bonding… but when they talked about getting food, it sounded like they had to fend for themselves a lot of the time… maybe orphans?”
“That could be likely. Runaways?”
“Doubtful… they weren’t acting like most runaway children, they tend to be more skittish, shyer. Yes, the green boy had a stutter, but that could be explained by meeting me, or a speech impediment.”
“Okay, well, I’ve got some work to finish, and I’ll ask a sidekick about the agency notice.”
“Alright. Well, I am going to shower and head home. Thanks for the input.”
“Okay! Have a good night. I’ll leave a note for the night crew in case they see them tonight.” Mic nods and stretches upward, walking to the elevator and key carding in, going up to the third floor, the locker rooms. Going to his locker, he grabs normal, comfy clothes, his hair products, and his hearing aids. Heading to the shower, he undresses, and turns on the water, feeling the water slowly warm under his hand. Once hot enough he steps in, the water directly over his scalp. With a soft, he reaches for his shampoo, designed specifically to melt away the gel and hairspray in his hair. He lathers the cleaner in his hair and turns the faucet away, grabbing his body wash to clean his body while the shampoo does its job.
Looking down at himself to clean was always something he enjoyed. He keeps himself clean and prided in that. His tattoos are on full display while they are generally covered by clothes. He has the tattoo over his heart in about his and Shouta wedding, a solid black speaker symbol just behind his ears with a red cross through it which gets hidden by his headphones that work in place of his aids, on his shin is a gothic looking skull surrounded by a plethora of colorful flowers with a bright yellow spotted gecko resting on top the skull, on his left hand on his ring finger is a solid black band of ink; since he and Shouta wear their rings on chains around their necks. His last tattoo is on his right side, a fluffy cloud that slowly fades into silhouette birds flying off into a distance. An angel halo over the top and a band aid type stripe in the middle of it. A tribute to his and Shouta’s lost friend, Shirakumo Oboro; died in their second year during a work study.
Shaking from his thoughts, Present Mic slowly melts into Yamada Hizashi, a doting husband and everyday citizen. Rinsing his body then his shampoo lather hair, it dangled down his lower back, just before his butt. The reminisce of a dare from early UA with Oboro and Shouta who later joined, how long could they get their hair. Hizashi, who always had naturally long hair, grew the fastest. Oboro was a close second, until Shouta joined at the beginning of their second year. This dare continued til Oboro passed, now both Shouta and Hizashi refused to cut it any shorter than where their hair currently sits, a remeberence to their lost friend.
Lathering the conditioner from ends to scalp, Hizashi turns the water just a bit hotter, watching the steam rise and his skin slowly turn red from the heat, not like he minded. He loved his hot shower, only to jump to freezing cold at the end. Finishing his shower, Hizashi steps out, the steam has filled the shower room as he towel dries his body, wrapping his hair in a towel as he changes. The world is an eerie silence without his headphones or hearing aids.
Now fully dried and clothed, he slips his hearing aids in, the world slowly blooming with sound, the mixed voices of others in the locker room, footsteps out in the hall, the never ending loop of soft music throughout the entire building, except in the bunks. A soft smile on his face, he waves to the people in the locker room and heads back to the lobby. With one last wave to Synthia, he heads home with the sounds of the city around him.
------
“Hey Shitty hair?” Katsuki called, a ¥100 shopping back filled with snacks at his side. His gaze at the back of Eijirou’s head.
“My hair isn't that different from you… what's up?” he asks, spinning around and walking backwards with practiced ease, looking at Katsuki in his eyes, a soft smile on his face.
“When’s your birthday again?”
“October 16th, why? Haven’t I told you guys that?” Izuku grabs Eijirou's arm, pulling him away from an incoming pole, rolling his eyes fondly.
“No, but you told us you were 7 when we first met. That was before October 16th.”
“Yup! What’s this have to do with anything?” Katsuki and Izuku share a look, both with soft smiles on their faces.
“Guess what day it is today.” Izuku says, grabbing Eijirou’s hand and tugs him forward. Eijirou’s face contorts in confusion, eyebrows creased together and up slightly.
“I have no idea. What are you two getting at? It’s about to get dark, we need to get ready.”
“Actually, we aren’t patrolling tonight. Because a) Eraserhead saw you and it’s fun teasing the ever loving shit out of his and Detective Detector; we'll explain him later.” Katsuki butted in.
“And b) because it is October 16th, you are nine now, like us!” Izuku cheered, still pulling Eijirou forward by his arm, getting closer and closer to their home, the trash mounds slowly becoming bigger in the distance.
“I’m still confused. What’s so special about my birthday? Yeah I’m nine, so what?” Katsuki and Izuku stuttered to a stop, both looking at Eijirou head on.
“Have you never celebrated your birthday?” Katsuki asks, sharing a look with Izuku next to him.
“Not since my quirk came in, no. And that was years ago, not many fond memories after that…'' Eijirou mumbles the last sentence, his right hand coming up and lingering over the scar just above his eye.
“That’s it! Come on fucker!” Katsuki shouted, grabbing Eijirou's hand and pulling him towards home, his pace almost running, Izuku following behind. They get to the beach in a few minutes, all three panting softly from the drag. The walk down the staircase onto the sand and weave their way through the trash piles, following their twisted maze of traps and dead ends. Arriving at the center, their blue tarp on top the sand for training folded somewhat neatly near the container doors. Izuku rushes past the two, taking the ¥100 bag from Katsuki’s hand and goes inside.
Eijirou goes to follow but is stopped by Katsuki, who tightens his grip on his hand. “He’ll be back, grabbing something” Eijirou just raises an eyebrow and nods, looking towards the container. Izuku comes back out a minute later, something hiding behind his back. Katsuki drops his hand and stands next to Izuku, who has a beaming smile.
“Kacchan went out really early this morning and got this for your birthday present!” He beamed, his hand fumbling with whatever was behind his back. Katsuki’s cheeks flamed slightly, he scowled a bit, a glare pointed at Izuku.
“Fuck off Zuku!” He goes to swat at the back of Izuku’s head, but he ducks last second, giggling a storm. Eijirou watches on with a fond smile, eyes full of glee.
“Okay, okay! Sorry, but anyways-” Izuku thrust a brown paper back into Eijirou’s hands, “Here!” Eijirou’s eyebrows shoot skyward, almost dropping the bag.
“W-What?” He asks, thoroughly confused, the bag held carefully in his hands, the top folded down and closed.
“Open it Shitty Hair, it’s your birthday present.” Katsuki said, his hands shoved into his jean pockets, shifting from foot to foot. With one last glance at the duo, Eijirou carefully opens the bag and gingerly reaches inside feeling hard plastic and fabric.
Wrapping his hand around the plastic item, he pulls it out. It’s a limited edition Crimson Riot full bodied Action figure, in his signature pose. His arms crossed over his chest with his cloak flared back. His hair gelled up and spiked. He stands on a solid red platform with the name ‘Crimson Riot’ in a darker, deeper red. Eijirou’s eyes gloss over wet, filling with unspilled tears, his mouth open in silent shock. “There’s more…” Katsuki mutters, his scowl has lessened and his eyes hold a fond light watching Eijirou study the figure.
“M-More…?” His voice stutters, slowly going hoarse from holding back tears. Clutching the statue in his hand, he sets the bag to the ground and reaches inside with his other hand, grasping fabric. He swallows and grips the fabric, pulling it out. It's another limited edition item, a blanket this time. It's soft plush with Crimson Riot front and center on the front. ‘The Chivalrous Hero’ at the top and ‘Crimson Riot’ on the bottom. The back of the Blanket it a solid crimson red in soft fur. Sewed on the bottom right on the back in black thread is Crimson’s signature.
If he wasn’t crying before, he is now.
“Y-you guys…” He hiccups, clutching the figurine and blanket to his chest and tears roll down his cheeks, his voice hoarse and wet. Katsuki and Izuku both rush forward, pulling their friend into their arms as he cries. His head was buried into Katsuki’s shoulder, wetting the shirt. He hiccups and sputters, trying to form a sentence but is too overcome with emotions. “H-How-- W-hat..”
“Happy Birthday Ei.”
“Happy Birthday Eichan.” Eijirou cries harder, all three boys slowly go to the ground, keeping mindful of the blanket on the sand and hold each other tight. Tears slowly come to a stop and Eijirou slowly calms.
“H-How did you guys get these…?” He asks, voice wet and croaky.
“We’ve been savin' for a while… saw those and had to get’em for you.” Katsuki says, a hand on Eijirou’s back, rubbing small circles and the other takes sleeve in hand to wipe the tears from his face.
“We wanted the first birthday you have with us the best one yet.” Izuku clarifies, leaning on his shoulder.
“B-But what about you guy’s birthdays? We didn’t do anything for them this year.”
“Because yours starts the tradition. Starting now we celebrate them. Kacchan is next in April, mine in July.” With a wet chuckle, Eijirou hugs them both tight one last time.
“I love you guys…”
“We love you too.” Izuku and Katsuki say together, all three huddled together as the sun dips below the horizon, the sky a painting of blues and black and a splatter of stars.
------
The jingle of keys and the soft click of a lock makes Shouta look up from his phone to the door, Espresso in his lap and Bean atop his feet. “I’m Home!” Hizashi says, his hair flowing against his back, still a bit damp. He’s undoing his shoes in the genkan and putting his house slippers on before he looks up and sees Shouta sprawled across the couch under a small pile of cats. The sound of the radio playing softly from the kitchen.
“Hi hon. How was patrol?” He asks, Bean lifts his head and looks to Hizashi before laying back down, licking his paws.
“Interesting, nothing major, but met a few characters that sparks interest.”
“Good or bad?” Pulling his feet away and moving Espresso off his lap to stand, much to Beans and Espresso distaste. Shouta stretches, his shoulder and back pop, making him groan softly. “God.. my body sounds 50 but I’m 21… Christ…” he mumbles before looking to Hizashi.
“This interesting thing was bad I think… a few red flags rose.” He says, ignoring the last comment, rolling his eyes his only retort.
“Why red flags?” Shouta asks, eyebrow raised, tugging his hair back and securing it in a low bun.
“I ran into three little listeners, wearing tattered and ripped clothes, covered in a thin layer of dirt and sand. Worst part is they had scars. From what I could see beneath their clothes, they were covered head to toe in scars and bruises. Some look so fresh, like last night fresh! They were so young, couldn’t have been older than seven. Too many scars and marks for someone so young…” He pouts, his eyes downcast, running a hand through his hair, gripping it close to the skull.
Shouta walks over and hugs his husband around his chest, resting his head on his shoulder. Hizashi melts a bit, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight, nosing his hair with a sigh. “Anything good come from patrol?”
“Kinda… one of the boys' hobbies in quirk analysis. He and the other two were heading to the station to drop off a notebook, filled with questions, suggestions, and breakdowns of the quirks in heros. I was in there, so was a few of my sidekicks, but also Rock Lock.. And funny enough; or concerningly.. You…” This causes Shouta to startle back slightly.
“Me? How?”
“I have no idea… here.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out the notebook and hands it to Shouta. It’s decent sized but clearly handmade, held together with string and tape. It’s clearly seen better days too. Fingering through it, Shouta’s eyes widen as he passes through each entry, each one dogeared. He stops at the one of himself and reads, thoroughly shocked.
For each entry in a detailed sketch of the hero in full costume, clothing items and support gear correctly labeled. A list of strengths and weaknesses for everyone, as well as suggestions on how to counter said weaknesses. It’s clearly in the means of helping, but with the amount of correct information unprotected was worrisome. “You said the boys were around seven? And this is from one of them?”
“Yeah…” Hizashi sighs, his lips pursed, thinking.
“I’ll bring this up to Detective Tsukauchi tomorrow, or tonight if I see him. I made dinner, so let’s eat and relax before I leave.”
“Okay, can you braid my hair when we’re done?”
“Yea, just sit. I’ve already set the table. Just need to bring it over.” With a nod, Hizashi walks over to the table, Espresso chirping up at him as she weaves through his legs. With a fond chuckle, he sits at the table, just as Shouta walks in carrying two plates of tonkatsu.
“Itadakimasu…” The both start eating, relaxing in the small tune that plays on the radio and the crinkle of cat toys from the living room. “When is your patrol?”
“Nine thirty. I’ll be back around 5’oclock. Do you go to the station tomorrow?”
“Yes but no patrol. Just maining Hands Up and doing some interviews. Some are actually from our graduating class.”
“Really? Who? Please don’t say Nemuri.”
“It’s Tensei, more notable, and a few others from B that we never really go to know. What would be wrong with Nem? She’s a doll!” Hizashi laughs
“Okay, Tensei’s not bad… Nemuri would make too many sexual jokes and then during break pester you about us and when can she visit.”
“C’mon Moon! All four of us haven’t been together since graduation! It’d be fun to catch up! Maybe we would get to see Tenya! He turned nine in August.”
“Maybe when I’ve had more than 4 hours a sleep.” Shouta challenges, his eyes hold a mischievous glint.
“Uh huh, like that’ll happen. We are planning something and you will be there, I will drag you there myself!” Hizashi pouts, pointing his chopsticks at his husband. There is a drag of silence and stillness as neither do anything, just looking at each other before they burst into laughs and chuckles, Hizashi more loud and open, Shouta more reserved.
“We’ll see.” Shouta chuckles, going back to eating. Hizashi smiles and reaches across the table, grasping Hizashi’s hand and brushing his thumb over his knuckles.
“I love you Moon.” Hizashi squeezes his hand softly.
“I love you too Sun.” Shouta squeezes back, a little more strength behind it.
Soon, both men are done. “I’ll get dishes, get a comb and hair tie ready in the living room. You pick what we watch.” Shouta says, standing and collecting their dishes before going to the sink. Hizashi stops him just before he walks away, a kiss makes home where his neck meets shoulder, just brushing the black chain that holds his ring, before walking to the bathroom to get a comb and ponytail.
Shouta does the dishes, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his one and only tattoo on his forearm displayed. It’s lineart of Oboro’s hat from his costume with the copper lining of his goggles over front, with a soft pastel blue watercolor splash just behind it. Their friend group (Nemuri, Tensei, Hizashi and him) all have something to remember Oboro by. While Nemuri and Tensei might not have been as close to Oboro as Shouta or Hizashi was, he was still their friend and they all watched him pass.
Shaking from his thoughts, Shouta does the last dish and dries his hands before walking to the living room, seeing his husband sitting in front of the couch, the TV turned onto some comedy show he likes with Bean and Espresso chasing a mouse on a string toy that said husband is controlling. With a soft chuckle, Shouta walks to the couch and sits behind Hizashi, a brush and hair tie to his left. He runs his hands through his hair, soft and fully dry. Grabbing the comb, he slowly comb through it, working what knots he finds; which are very little. Slowly dividing the hair from the top of his skull, he begins on a french fishtail braid.
This is how Shouta wants to spend the rest of his life. Sitting with his husband watching movies, their cats being the little shits that they are and braiding his hair. Who knows, maybe a kid in the future if their schedules allow it.
Neither Shouta or Hizashi could ask for anything better.