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It's one of those rare weekends where Shouta and Hizashi are both free.
It happens less often than Shouta likes. But through some miracle, everything seems to line up perfectly: his latest mission finished up two days ago so he's on a brief but mandatory vacation from hero work; Hizashi is in a lull with his DJing and other music-adjacent gigs; they're both done teaching for the week; and the plans that they did make with Nemuri and Tensei are now canceled after a family emergency came up for Tensei.
So Shouta is sitting on the couch with his eyes closed, trying to unwind, and maybe even doze off. It's hard when Hizashi is pacing around their living room, working on a playlist for his radio show next week.
The current song's chorus is bearable; beige blurs with dark purple blobs, and Shouta's about to comment that it isn't too bad, until the song hits the bridge and becomes a convoluted mess of brick red and canary yellow and purple swirls.
"So, which song do you like? This one or," Hizashi trails off, tapping at his phone, "this one?"
Another song starts, and it's unpleasant. A cacophonous insult to the senses, Shouta decides immediately. It's a peppy rock song that translates to highlighter yellow and fuchsia competing for his attention, overlapping into a complementary eyesore. The colors seem to solidify with each consecutive riff the guitar plays, and when he thinks it can't get any worse, he sees vivid cerulean polka dots when the singer starts belting the opening lyrics.
He immediately winces, and Hizashi frowns, skipping to the next song then muttering, "Okay, definitely not that one. Maybe this one?"
Another song starts, which only makes Shouta groan. He 'helped' Hizashi last week by vetoing a handful of songs that were utter garbage, and now he's unofficially become Hizashi's music lab rat. He's not the type to be dramatic, but he thinks this is actual torture, a fate truly worse than death.
"Hizashi — Please. You know I don't like music," Shouta huffs.
To his relief, Hizashi makes an apologetic hum and pauses the music.
"But why?" Hizashi asks as he sinks into the couch. "Like, you don't like the singer or is it just the genre or what? You gotta give me something, babe."
"It's… Loud. Too noisy."
"I don't know if you can use that excuse," Hizashi says, tossing his phone on the coffee table and leaning back to lay his head in Shouta's lap. There's a devious glint in his eyes as he looks up at Shouta. "You tolerate me, after all. I venture to say, I think you may even like me."
"Tolerate? Like? I don't know where you got those ideas from," Shouta deadpans. He succumbs to the urge to pet Hizashi's head when Hizashi wiggles to get comfortable, smoothening down stubborn strands of hair. Shouta drops his voice, gruff yet playful, adding in, "I think you just enjoy torturing me."
Hizashi gives a Cheshire Cat-wide grin and when he falls into laughter, it's an earnest one, where his eyes close shut and his whole body seems to participate, shaking with each rumbling laugh. Shouta watches as sweet, melodic thrums of red pulse out with each exhale, stretching into lazy threads that meander along his peripherals before fading.
The previous headache immediately dulls and his stomach coils, bubbling up with an all-consuming affection.
He's not sure how he's landed himself in this situation — in love, and most importantly happily together with his longtime best friend — but he takes the opportunity to offer thanks to the powers-that-be that are responsible.
And as cliche as it is, Hizashi is the sunshine to his brooding storm. He can't quite imagine what it might be like to not have these small blips of bliss, these pocket moments where they can just indulge in each other's company without a care. The world seems to come to a standstill for them, with the normal disruptions — horrible music thankfully included — fading to the wayside as he idly runs his hand through Hizashi's silky locks.
"But no, I wouldn't call you loud," he says. His words come out softer than he would like, hesitance making him stumble over his words. "It's different with you."
Hizashi opens one eye, studying him before tilting his head to the side in a way that is too practiced. Shouta lightly drags his blunt fingernails against Hizashi’s scalp, settling to scoop up a handful of hair to braid a portion of it into a chunky plait.
"How so?" Hizashi asks.
Shouta falls quiet, debating on how to even broach the topic. He's never bothered to tell Hizashi about his synesthesia. How does he explain he perceives the world differently? That he sees sound? That his life is an explosion of color, and he's only ever found two consistent things that reset him when his living painting becomes too overwhelming?
He finishes the braid and continues to comb through the rest of his hair with calloused fingers. Hizashi, placated by the preening, hums under his breath, summoning crimson red that weaves along locks of golden blond.
Shouta absentmindedly thinks Hizashi would look lovely with a red ribbon braided in his hair, or with his hair tied up in a high ponytail, dressed with a red bow.
He resolves to mention this later, maybe when they're half-asleep so he doesn't have to deal with how Hizashi will inevitably turn it into a bigger deal than it needs to be. Shouta can already picture Hizashi fluffing out his hair and batting his eyelashes — strutting like he's a damn peacock — all while teasing him in more ways than one.
Shouta tucks a persistent baby hair behind Hizashi's ear, and his eyes eventually settle on Hizashi's hearing aid.
"You know how you're sensitive to vibrations?" Shouta finally says.
"Mmhm."
The soft red peters off and Shouta takes a deep breath when it's then replaced by soft muted grey-brown dots that overlay on top of Hizashi's face like freckles, the telltale sign of residents' muffled walking as they travel to and from their designated apartments.
"I have something similar. How you perceive sound through feeling — I see sound."
"See it? Like, how?" If Hizashi's attention was previously divided, that was not the case anymore; his interest is piqued, evident by green eyes staring him down with an unwavering intensity.
"Colors, mostly. The cat in the alleyway by our apartment — her purrs are a light pink, that twinkle like fairy lights. Midnight's heels are a dark mustard that sort of pulse when she's stomping in the UA halls. And her voice is a neon pink that gets all jaggedy when her voice gets shrill. And you— Your voice is a bright red. Not dark or dusty or leaning orange or anything. Just that bright red you think when someone says red. It's calming."
He realizes he's practically rambling when he describes it. His eyes close so it's easier to envision — he struggles to vividly recall those light pink twinkles or mustard stomps, but (maybe because Hizashi is present and here) he can visualize the red glow that emanates, and how with each word, it twists and dances along his vision, overlays over all the other colors until it's the only one he pays any attention to.
Hizashi — his voice, his color, everything inherently him — is loud. His voice can reach unearthly decibels, the red is as in-your-face as his personality. Hizashi drowns out everyone in the room, so by that logic, he is loud, but to Shouta, he's a lightning pillar to hone in on, to help him sift past all that clutter.
So, maybe it's all just perspective.
While he was content to drift in his musings, he's brought back by Hizashi's voice.
"Y'know, red is usually the opposite of calming, babe."
Shouta's cheeks feel warm, partially from spacing out, partially from Hizashi's teasing, and when he opens his eyes, he sees Hizashi staring at him, equally amused and interested.
"I didn't mean to get you all flustered," Hizashi croons, raising a hand to affectionately poke his cheek. "I'm just. Surprised. And maybe a little confused? Like, is that part of erasure, or—?"
"Not necessarily. Quirkless people still have colors, but people with quirks — their voices, er, colors are bolder. And after Garvey, after Oboro's— Well, there's truth that a do-or-die situation can make a quirk evolve or power-up or whatever. I can see them like a soft halo around the person, so I guess there's some connection."
"And with erasure," Hizashi puzzles out, "you, what, literally erase the color?"
"Sort of. Erasure mostly just… drowns out all the colors. Makes the world red. And then I just decide I don't want to see that person's color anymore and it — the quirk and their color — is gone until I blink."
"So erasure gives you literal rose-tinted glasses? Or maybe rose-tinted goggles?"
Shouta rolls his eyes.
"When I was younger, I used to use my quirk when I was overwhelmed," he mumbles. It's rare for him to get to that point now. The last time was during the few years he spent in Naruhata, when he and Hizashi couldn't meet on a regular basis. He swallows thickly. "You — your voice — is the only thing that's red like erasure."
Hizashi's eyebrows rise, so much that if he could raise them any higher, they might launch off his forehead. Shouta recognizes it as Hizashi's light bulb moment, when all the pieces seem to connect and fall in place.
"Oh my god, Shou. That's so cute."
"Ugh, I knew if I told you, you'd tease—"
"I think that's actually maybe the sweetest indirect thing you've ever said. You make it sound like we're legitimately soul mates." Hizashi whines, and each word sends warbling red ripples that Shouta enjoys far much more than he should.
"Soul mates aren't a thing," he huffs out. Any attempt at looking stern is betrayed as he lets his mouth twitch into a small smile.
Hizashi follows up with a pout that makes Shouta's heart melt every time.
"But doesn't that make you think that maybe it does exist? Or better yet, maybe we're the one exception and that we're meant to be together and, I'm sorry, I don't know why— It's just so sweet."
Shouta is aware that Hizashi's voice has a rawness to it. It's cracking and he thinks he should interrupt Hizashi before he launches into the full waterworks, but then Hizashi reaches for Shouta's hand, entwining fingers together. Shouta succumbs to watching pensively as Hizashi babbles on and his brilliant green eyes get misty-eyed, full of love, happiness, tenderness, all of it compounding together to make Shouta's chest tighten.
"I love you so much." Hizashi's voice wobbles out, with tears now streaking his cheeks, and he tightens his grip on Shouta's hand.
"Sunshine, you're so emotional," Shouta teases, barely louder than a whisper, and dabs his sleeve against Hizashi's cheeks. "I love you, too."
Shouta pulls Hizashi up so he's sitting in his lap and wraps his arms around him. He sweeps blond hair off his neck and presses a soft kiss against Hizashi's neck. They fall into a peaceful silence, only interrupted by the occasional sniffle or hiccup.
"Just when I thought I knew everything about you, I'm still learning new things," Hizashi says once he's calmed down. "Which, don't get me wrong, I love that there's more to learn and love about you, but why didn't you mention it sooner?"
"I don't know. There were a few times it came up when I was a kid, and I'd get weird looks. But my father knew, and the doctors stressed how uncommon it was," he says. "So it's easier to not talk about it."
"It's just– It gives so much context. Makes more sense now why you hate music. God, it's probably why I've never been able to sneak up on you. I just always thought you had some incredible hearing or a sixth sense, to be honest."
Hizashi squirms in his grip, rocking forward to retrieve his discarded phone from the coffee table. He nestles back against Shouta's chest, and opens his music library and starts tapping through it.
"Okay, well, new plan: make a playlist dedicated to my favorite listener, Shouta," he coos playfully.
Shouta groans.
"Hey! Don't be such a downer. We just need to find a song that you vibe with," Hizashi says as he scrolls through his music. "Maybe we just need to find a good genre, or maybe a singer with a more agreeable voice…?"
Hizashi trails off and starts to shuffle through songs, each with a different feeling. They start with the kinds of music they play in dance clubs, each of which he immediately vetoes. Hizashi puts on some kind of heavy rock song that has Hizashi bobbing his head forward and Shouta bobbing his head no. Next is a song that Shouta thinks sounds off-beat and confusing – though Hizashi clarifies it is called ska, and the offbeat is intentional. They experiment with a variety of indie rock, and while some are alright, there is always something that ends up being grating, whether it is the singer's voice, or the tonal shift from opening to chorus, or a cymbal crash that has him wincing.
Shouta doesn't think they'll find anything, but after well over a dozen songs, they are successful when Hizashi pulls up something slower-paced, more laidback than the typical music he plays on his radio show.
It still has some elements of rock or pop, he thinks – he'll have to ask Hizashi later – but it's more subdued, a balanced blend of genres. Shouta finds himself surrounded by ghostly blooms of pastels, soft yellows, baby blues, and lavenders. They seem to melt, eventually flowing like marbled veins on an off-white canvas.
It's almost ethereal. A gentle caress that has him melting comfortably into the couch cushions and closing his eyes so he can fully focus and enjoy it.
Then the artist starts singing, and it's a bubblegum pink that softens along the edges when her voice dips and emboldens when she hits the chorus. He has no idea what she's singing, and only realizes it's English when Hizashi sings along softly with it, and when the chorus picks up a second time, Shouta finds himself humming alongside the weaving red-and-pink braid that the two voices form.
"That one wasn't so bad," Shouta murmurs when the song ends and blinks his eyes open.
"That's all you have to say about it?" Hizashi asks.
He glowers. "It was nice. Happy?"
Hizashi looks like he's ready to strut and give an acceptance speech for a prestigious award, grinning wide as he taps at his phone. Shouta peeks over his shoulder in time to catch him typing out the name for a new playlist, simply titled "aizawa shouta".
He should have guessed that one song wouldn't be enough for Hizashi, but he's oddly not too upset over the idea of listening to more music now.
"What'd it look like?" Hizashi asks. "The song, I mean. I'm guessing it wasn't just one color, right?"
Shouta struggles to figure out how to put it to words; it's the first time he's had to explain something more complex than a single sound, so he makes Hizashi play the song again – which makes Hizashi ecstatic – and tries his best to describe the visuals as the more pleasing ones pop up, making Hizashi pause occasionally when the song has its shift in moods.
"See? Music's not that bad."
"Whatever," Shouta snorts. He pauses before awkwardly adding in, "Any other recommendations?"