Chapter Two - Eucalyptus
On Fridays, Hizashi usually doesn’t get home until well after 3am. Typically by then everything but the kitchen light is off and his lovely, stubborn, workaholic husbands are in bed, or at least passed out on the couch.
But that’s typically, so he isn’t immediately worried when he pulls into the driveway at 2:58am and most of the lights are on and casting a shadowed golden glow through the curtains.
A little exasperated, yes, because it’s Friday, and they should be sleeping, but Shou had patrol today and maybe this means that there will be something warm to eat and he won’t have to worry about using the microwave and waking everyone up.
He stretches and yawns, glancing up and admiring the stars as he makes his way to the front door. It’s not as cluttered as it could be, they’re technically in a city after all, but it’s a wonderfully clear night and the stars that are bright enough to pierce through the haze of light pollution are clear and sparkling.
It takes him two tries to get the key in right, still grinning softly at how well the night has gone, and he opens the door to be immediately assaulted by the scent of baked goods.
“Oh fuck,”
Naomasa pokes his head around the corner, somehow managing to look both faintly amused and mildly concerned.
Hizashi winces and brings his hands up to sign.
“How loud did I say that?”
He signs back.
“Loud enough, Sho is stress baking,”
“What happened?”
“Jumper, used some kind of paralytic quirk,”
Hizashi pauses, removes his shoes and begins to head towards the kitchen with a frown.
“Is he ok?”
“Not last I asked, but he’s handling it fine for now if you want to go change out of hero costume and shower,” Naomasa tilts his head slightly, glancing back behind him and saying something Hizashi can’t hear before turning back to face him with a grin. “Sho says there will be absolutely no physical affection until you’ve showered,”
Hizashi rolls his eyes but concedes with a nod and heads towards the bathroom. He wouldn’t want to hug or cuddle with Shouta right after he got back from a patrol either, so he can’t exactly complain. (He will anyway, because he’s ok with being a hypocrite and he’s worried so it’s definitely justified.)
Shouta is quietly counting out cups of flour and pretending not to notice Nao’s worried presence at the edge of the kitchen.
Part of him is annoyed that at some point in his life his brain decided to latch on to baking as the best thing to do to relax during times of stress, purely because it’s so glaringly obvious when something is wrong. He can already imagine the concerned glances he’ll be getting when he brings several trays worth of cookies to UA on Monday. (He can’t just not bring them, there’s no way they’ll be able to eat them all before everything goes bad. It’d be wasteful.)
(A tiny part of him that he likes to pretend doesn’t exist for reasons that his therapist would no doubt tell him are trauma related is warmed by the fact that they care enough to notice the tell in the first place.)
The other part of him tells his brain to shut up and get back to the mindless work of measuring and mixing ingredients so he doesn’t have a mental breakdown or something.
He half-ignores that part, because repressing your emotions and thoughts is kind of counter productive when you’re trying to use a healthy, non-destructive coping mechanism.
He knows it’s not his fault. He still feels guilty, he already knows he’s not going to be able to do anything about that. Eventually it’ll have to go in the ‘pile of guilt for things beyond my control’ that has accumulated over his life and grown exponentially during his years as a hero and a heroics teacher.
It feels wrong to cast it aside right now though.
He does wonder why it’s affecting him this much.
He knows that he never really got used to seeing a body, or even a victim, it never got easier. Never got desensitized to it the way some of his teachers used to say it would, the way some of his coworkers say it has.
But that’s for after, for later, so why-?
There are hands over his, warm and calloused and thin.
He blinks, his hands are shaking.
Someone is hugging him. They smell like mint and warm vanilla.
“I think that quirk might have fucked up my head,”
They’re all sitting on the couch, sipping tea and curled up together under blankets as a random cartoon plays from the TV, volume too low to actually make out anything.
He reaches up and taps Hizashi on the shoulder and repeats what he said. They both frown. Hizashi shifts so he can see both of their faces and hands.
“You have been acting more out of it than normal, but this doesn’t exactly happen often so it’s hard to tell,”
“Are you sure it’s the quirk and not just exhaustion or stress?”
“No, but this definitely isn’t normal, it feels like I’m in highschool again,”
“I know you said you’d go to a quirk specialist once we got an identity, but you should see recovery girl or a quirk doctor as soon as possible to see if there’s anything immediate or obvious,”
Shouta groaned, but nodded. As much as he disliked hospitals, he wasn’t stupid.
“I’ll make an appointment,”
Hizashi grinned at him, warm and soft as he quietly began to thread his fingers through his hair.
Naomasa also smiled, more tired and heavy but warm all the same. Not that he saw it, his eyes slipping shut and quietly humming in satisfaction as Zashi played with his hair.
They fall asleep like that, warm and safe and just a bit too old to fall asleep half sitting on the couch without regretting it come morning.