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Shouta refused to examine the way that still silence pressed against his ears without the soft static hum of late-night radio rehearsals, the absentminded off-key singing while toothbrush foam muffled lyrics, or bright commentary about nothing at all as Hizashi packed. He’d been vibrating with excitement for weeks about the opportunity to spend three nights in Osaka, co-hosting a special live segment for Hero FM. A mountain of t-shirts and sweatshirts covered the bed, the inevitable consequence of Hizashi’s inability to choose and his unwavering belief that packing light was a myth, because you could never be too prepared.
He stood in the doorway while Hizashi double-checked the contents of his travel bag, watching a bright yellow jacket get folded with unnecessary flourish. His suitcase bulged at the seams, zipper teeth straining in protest as he pressed one knee into the center and tugged it inch by stubborn inch. After successfully wrestling the zipper all the way around, he stepped back proudly and declared, “See, perfect fit.”
Their apartment buzzed with bright, restless energy, all radiating from one source while he paced the room, searching for misplaced keys. Shouta listened to his rambling about the special segment they were doing live, nodding at appropriate intervals as details spilled out faster than he could track. He slipped in practical reminders about hydration and meals between pauses. Somewhere beneath his steady composure, an unwelcome thought pressed at the edges of his mind. He pointedly ignored the creeping awareness that his bed would be too large and the apartment too quiet without a certain blonde, because that would be dramatic and unfair.
“It’s only three days,” Hizashi said brightly, slinging the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “You’ll barely even notice I’m gone.”
Shouta made a noncommittal noise, something that could be agreement, and walked him to the door. There was a brief pause filled with their unspoken ritual of departure as Hizashi leaned down to press a lingering kiss to Shouta’s temple, warm and grounding, and pulled him into a tight hug. His fingers curled briefly in the fabric of Hizashi’s sleeve before releasing, because he would not allow himself to be clingy, but Hizashi gave him a knowing glance anyway, before dragging his suitcase out the door.
For the first few hours, Shouta put himself to work grading piles of papers, answering emails from coworkers, and patrolling around their apartment building for no reason other than to occupy himself. ‘He’d slept alone countless times before they moved in together, and this would be nothing new. Nothing fundamental had changed.’
But when he finally turned off the lights and lowered himself into bed, the absence was immediate and undeniable, a hollow dip in the mattress where someone else should be. No matter how hard he tried, Shouta couldn’t ignore the missing weight against his shoulder or the lack of a familiar arm slung loosely across his waist when Hizashi would drift unconsciously closer in his sleep.
The ceiling offered no comfort as he stared up at it, listening to the refrigerator cycle on and off, to distant traffic, to his own breathing. He turned to one side, then the other in quiet frustration, until finally deciding on burying his face into the pillow, hoping to suffocate rather than face the realization that his body had grown accustomed to sharing the bed and was now overwhelmingly restless.
It was absolutely humiliating.
Closing both eyes, Shouta tried counting backwards from one hundred or practicing measured breathing techniques he had taught students during high-stress simulations, all useless to help his growing problem. He pulled the blanket tighter, tucked beneath his chin, only to end up shoving it away moments later with a frustrated exhale. The faint glow of his phone screen cut through the dark when he reached for it, sending Hizashi a quick ‘good night’ text before he could overthink it. His thumb hovered over the text box as he considered sending more, but he rejected the idea almost as quickly as it came, because what would he even say? ‘Come home, I can’t sleep without you.’
The words felt ridiculous even in the privacy of his own mind. He watched the digital clock on the edge of his nightstand shift from 1:17 to 2:03 then to 3:40, each minute dragging itself forward until dawn shone bright and unwelcome through the curtains, and he had not slept at all.
Shouta went to work anyway, per usual.
By mid-morning, exhaustion had threaded itself beneath his skin, and his patience, which wasn’t much to begin with, was worn down to the bone. But he didn’t falter during training or allow his capture weapon to misfire, because exhaustion was not an excuse for slacking off. The hallway lights glared harsh, and air conditioning scraped cold against his skin as he moved on autopilot towards the teacher’s lounge. His shoulders were set in their usual rigid line, even as something beneath them trembled with fatigue. The doors slid open, and the low murmur of conversation inside paused just slightly as he stepped in. Burnt coffee and cheap creamer hung heavy in the air.
Toshinori Yagi was seated near the window, long fingers wrapped carefully around a mug as though too much pressure might shatter it, while Kan leaned back in one of the worn lounge chairs. Behind the counter, Nemuri lazily stirred something into her cup with slow, absent circles. He didn’t greet them, he rarely did, but instead headed straight for the coffee machine, movements precise, but more sluggish than usual. Nemuri paused mid-sip and studied him over the rim of her mug with narrowed eyes.
“You look terrible,” she said pleasantly.
“Thanks.” He pressed the black coffee button and waited, eyes half-lidded, staring at nothing in particular as the machine sputtered to life.
Kan studied him openly. “You do look rough.”
Shouta reached for a mug without looking. “I always look rough.”
“Not like that,” Kan began, leaning forward now, elbows resting on his knees. “You look like you went three rounds with a villain on the way here.”
His coffee had finished pouring, and Shouta picked it up immediately, using the heat as an anchor. “I didn’t.”
Toshinori’s brows knit together, concern creasing his already lined expression. “If there was a difficult villain encounter, we could’ve taken over your classes for you.”
Shouta took a slow sip of coffee, eyes closing briefly and hoping the bitterness might shock him awake. “There wasn’t.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose, irritation flickering faintly under the exhaustion, and shifted his weight deliberately to prove a point, though the motion cost more energy than he would’ve liked. “I’m fine.”
Toshinori set his mug down carefully, ceramic clicking softly against the table. “Fatigue after trauma is common, particularly if something triggered past experiences.”
The words hung there, heavy but well-meaning. Shouta’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around his mug. For a split second, something defensive flashed in his eyes, but it dimmed quickly beneath practiced neutrality. “That’s not what this is,” he huffed, annoyed.
Kan exchanged a look with Toshinori. “Then what is it?”
Shouta didn’t answer immediately, instead staring down into his dark coffee as if it contained something deeply fascinating. The surface of his drink trembled faintly from the subtle shake in his hands, though whether from caffeine or lack of sleep, even he couldn’t distinguish.
“It’s nothing,” he replied, tone flatter now.
There was a silence that suggested none of them believed him, but neither was brave enough to push the subject without Hizashi there to intervene. Nemuri finally pushed away from the counter, heels clicking softly against the tile as she approached, gaze sweeping over him from head to toe in one slow, assessing pass. Her expression faded into something sharper, more perceptive as she knew him well enough to recognize when he chose not to fight a comment.
Toshinori cleared his throat gently. “You’re certain you do not require assistance?”
“Yes, I’m certain.” Shouta lowered the mug and rubbed two fingers briefly against his temple. “If I needed a break, I would take one.”
That part, at least, was somewhat true. He’d never been shy about collapsing in a sleeping bag in the corner of his classroom if necessary, but that apparently did not apply during Hizashi’s absence. Toshinori studied him for another long moment, then nodded reluctantly. “Very well, but do not hesitate.”
Shouta hummed again, already turning slightly toward the door, signaling the conversation’s end.The floor seemed to shift beneath him as he crossed the room, just enough where he had to plant his feet to remain steady. It was subtle enough that he was sure no one noticed, no one except Nemuri, whose gaze sharpened instantly. He reached the door and paused, as if considering something, then slid the door open without further comment. The fluorescent lights hummed faintly overhead, not helping his pounding headache.
Behind him, Kan muttered, “He’s going to fall asleep mid-lecture.”
Toshinori sighed softly. “Someone should keep an eye on him.”
Down the hallway, Shouta adjusted his scarf with deliberate precision and thought that with any luck, he might become exhausted enough to collapse into bed tonight. But the problem had escalated into something far more insidious. Some small, irrational part of him still believed the first night was an anomaly, a temporary adjustment that his body would learn to correct on its own. But when he turned the key in his apartment door and drug himself inside, the quiet greeted him again with that same hollow stillness.
He stood there longer than necessary, waiting for the usual overly dramatic greeting shouted from the kitchen that never came. Silence used to be a reward, something he earned after long patrols and escaping from unwanted conversations. It had meant no slamming doors, no raised voices, and the comfort of knowing he could lower his guard because there was nothing to react to. Now the silence was deafening.
He moved through the apartment, slowly and deliberately. The living room was neat, without records half-pulled from their sleeves or lyric sheets abandoned on the coffee table. The kitchen counters missed a bright jacket tossed carelessly over the back of a chair, and a forgotten mug of tea gone cold. He took a shower and changed out of his work clothes, still pausing in front of the bedroom doorway, not wanting to face where the quiet felt loudest, where the bed waited untouched on one side with blankets smooth and unrumpled. He sat on the edge of the mattress and stared at the empty space beside him.
It was ridiculous, he knew that. Shouta had slept alone most of his life. He’d spent nights on rooftops and in safehouses and hospital rooms where the only sound was the distant beep of a monitor. But he’d grown to expect the subtle dip of the mattress when Hizashi collapsed into bed dramatically, complaining about late nights or overly enthusiastic fans. It wasn’t that he was just fond of sleeping beside Hizashi but utterly dependent upon it.
He lay down anyway, staring at the ceiling again, and counting the faint shadows cast by streetlights through silk curtains. Somewhere between shared apartments and late nights, he had altered his sense of safety to include another person, and that knowledge unsettled him in a way he couldn’t easily categorize. Dependence had always come with vulnerability in his own experience, and vulnerability had its risks. But his mind still betrayed him.
He missed the humming. Missed the way Hizashi talked, narrating his own thoughts out loud, or the way his voice dropped when he was tired, losing its broadcast polish and becoming something softer, meant only for him.
He missed the warmth.
God, he missed Hizashi.
Shouta rolled onto his side, facing the empty space, and immediately felt foolish. This was exactly the kind of attachment he’d once sworn he would never have. Before he could stop himself, his face was pressed briefly into Hizashi’s pillow, inhaling the faint citrus scent of shampoo. It was embarrassing how much that alone made his chest ache.
Memories of the early days surfaced, those late-night broadcasts he used to listen to alone in his apartment, the radio turned down so low it felt private, even though thousands of others were tuned in. What he’d always admired was how effortlessly Hizashi made strangers feel less alone. Shouta would’ve given anything to hear Hizashi’s voice beside him again, close and unfiltered. But calling wasn’t an option. He was too scared of what might slip in the stillness of the night and Hizashi deserved to chase this opportunity without the faintest trace of guilt weighing him down. Even the livestream stayed untouched as hearing Hizashi’s voice without being able to reach for him would be compounding the problem. Instead, he lay awake, staring into darkness and shifting closer to the edge of the mattress without thinking, as if making room.
He imagined Hizashi’s laugh when he was genuinely amused, head tipping back slightly, hand reaching out instinctively to grab his sleeve, or the way he complained about early alarms but woke up first anyway, padding around the kitchen in socks, humming while the coffee brewed. How he stole the blankets and then apologized half-asleep when Shouta attempted to take them back, or the way he pressed cold toes against his calf just to get a reaction. He thought about the way Hizashi said his name, bright and teasing in public, but softer when they were away from watchful eyes.
It hadn’t occurred to him how much he would miss the simple, steady reminder that someone chose to be by his side. The weight of that realization was mortifying, that he could need someone this much. He’d always been an independent person, and yet here he was, staring into darkness, waiting for a presence that was hours away. A slow breath left him, measured and controlled, the way he approached everything. It was only one more night. He’d endured worse than this.
Sleep continued to evade him, hours stretching thin and restless. Eventually, Shouta turned once more toward the empty space beside him and closed his eyes, pretending for just a moment that the space was occupied and that he’d not grown so accustomed to that bright, loud, irreplaceable blonde being by his side.
The next morning found him in sharper temperament and slower motion, eyes rimmed red and scarf hanging slightly as if even it sensed the imbalance. Nemuri cornered him after lunch, backing him toward the window with predatory grace, arms folded, expression equal parts amused and concerned.
“Alright,” she said softly, dropping the teasing lilt. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re about to fall over.”
“I’ve handled worse,” The words came out even, but lacking its usual edge, the sharpness dulled by two sleepless nights. He didn’t bother trying to step around her; he knew better.
“That’s not an answer.” Her head tipped slightly, eyes scanning his face with careful precision.
A sharper retort hovered at the edge of his mouth as he considered deflecting again, but he just didn’t have the energy for it. Maybe it was the exhaustion that loosened his restraint, or maybe it was the way Nemuri’s gaze softened slightly, but he exhaled slowly and muttered, “I’m not sleeping well.”
The admission sat between them, small and heavy. Her brows lifted. “Nightmares?”
“No.” He stared past her shoulder at the training fields below, watching students move in distant blurs before grudgingly forcing out, “He’s gone.”
Understanding dawned slowly. Her mouth curved upward, amusement growing, as she connected the dots to a certain blonde’s disappearance with his current state. “Oh.”
“Don’t,” he warned immediately, eyes snapping back to hers, a flicker of his old sharpness returning on instinct.
“You can’t sleep without him?”
The question was gentle, but he looked away again, jaw tightening until it ached. He didn’t say anything, but his silence confirmed it more effectively. For a moment, she simply watched the way his shoulders sat too high, the faint tremor in his exhale, how his eyes avoided direct contact. When she spoke again, every teasing edge had vanished. “It’s okay, Shouta.”
A muted huff escaped quietly through his nose. “It’s inconvenient.”
He rubbed at his eyes, pressing harder than necessary, trying to push back the ache. “Don’t tell him. This trip means a lot, and he’d feel guilty if he knew how much it affected me.”
His gaze locked onto hers now, not pleading but insistent. Nemuri studied him carefully, taking in the stubborn line of his mouth, the faint shadows beneath his eyes, and the quiet desperation hidden beneath composure. Then, a slight nod. “I won’t drag him away from an opportunity.”
Relief flickered across his face before he could suppress it, quick and unguarded. She tapped her chin thoughtfully, eyes narrowing as she tried to problem-solve. “But we can troubleshoot.”
Immediately, he regretted saying anything. Shouta knew that look, the one that meant she was already forming a plan, and his exhaustion made him far less equipped to withstand whatever well-intentioned interference she was about to unleash. Still, beneath the irritation, he was grateful for her. As humiliating as it was to admit that to her, part of him was quietly relieved that someone else knew. It wasn’t sitting solely on his chest anymore.
That evening, she texted him a link to the live broadcast along with the message ‘Exposure therapy. Try it before you get all dramatic.’ He stared at the notification longer than necessary before tentatively opening the tab. The room was already dim when he propped his phone up on the nightstand, angling the screen away, so the light didn't bother his head. He lay down stiffly, arms crossed over his chest.
The broadcast began mid-laughter as Hizashi’s voice poured into the room, vibrant and effortless. “-And I’m telling you, that caller absolutely knew what they were doing.”
The host laughed, overlapping him, and studio energy crackled through compressed audio. For a brief, traitorous moment, Shouta’s muscles loosened as he listened to the familiar rhythm of Hizashi’s speech. It was the particular way he stretched certain vowels when he was animated, and the barely restrained excitement vibrating beneath every sentence.
He closed his eyes, trying to imagine Hizashi next to him, but that voice was meant for an audience, rather than murmured half-asleep into the crook of his neck, and the contrast made his chest ache with pride and longing in equal measure. Before turning off the broadcast, he watched the small live icon pulse red.
Five hours away.
The silence that followed was even louder than before. With a long, drawn out groan, Shouta fell back into his nightly routine of staring at the ceiling.
Present Mic’s classroom down the hall sat closed and silent, the absence noticeable in a way Shouta hadn’t anticipated. He caught himself glancing toward it more than once, as if expecting the door to burst open. The faculty meeting dragged on, voices blurring together into a low, indistinct hum that pressed at the edges of Shouta’s concentration. Even the scrape of chairs against tile sounded distant and distorted.
He sat near the end of the table, arms folded loosely, and chin tilted down as if in thought. In reality, he was fighting to keep his eyes open and his head upright. Every time his gaze dipped toward the polished surface of the table, he caught the faint reflection of dark circles beneath his eyes and had to look away.
Nemuri watched as his head dipped forward before jerking back up, and sighed dramatically, but refrained from commentary. When the meeting finally adjourned, chairs shifted back in a chorus of tired relief, papers shuffled, and conversations sparked up in clusters around him. He waited a second longer than necessary before standing, giving himself time to steady the brief wave of dizziness following the motion without attracting attention.
“Aizawa.”
His name cut through the noise, much closer than expected. A slight turn revealed Nemuri rounding the edge of the table, expression giving nothing away.
“You have a free period next,” she whispered, glancing around to ensure no one was lingering too close. “Go to your classroom.”
His eyes narrowed faintly. “Why?”
She held up her phone, pointing to a voice message. “I told Hizashi I needed a short motivational clip for his class. Something about perseverance and pushing through exhaustion.”
His expression flattened. “Nemuri.”
“It’s not incriminating, relax, I didn’t tell him it was for you,” she said firmly, reading the accusation in his eyes before he could voice it. “There’s a group of third-years who have a tendency of falling asleep.”
That, at least, sounded plausible.
“It’s only about a minute long, but at least quieter than his show.”
Silence stretched between them, his attention fixed on the darkened phone screen. Nemuri pressed the phone into his hand before he could refuse and stepped back, giving him space. The hallway felt longer than usual, each step reminding him of the device weighing down his pocket. Inside the room, Shouta locked the door behind him and tugged the blinds halfway down, sunlight thinning into muted bands.
He didn’t bother with his sleeping bag, instead lowering himself into his desk chair and leaning back carefully, just enough that he could rest his head against the wall behind him. The position wasn’t comfortable, but it was familiar, something he’s done countless times between patrols and grading. Shouta stared for a moment longer before pressing play and allowing Hizashi’s voice to fill the classroom, softer in the empty space, unaccompanied by background music or rambling.
“Hey listeners,” he started, warmth threaded through every syllable. “If you’re zoning out right now, I get it, life’s loud and school’s exhausting, but you’re tougher than you think.”
There was a faint unmistakable smile in the words.
“Take a breath, reset. Each minute you persevere is a victory. I’ll be back soon, and I expect to see all the progress you’ve been making.” A quiet, playful huff of laughter followed.
His throat tightened unexpectedly. The advice wasn’t meant for him, and yet it landed anyway. He closed his eyes. The classroom was quiet except for the distant, muffled sounds of students moving between periods somewhere down the hall. The chair creaked faintly as he shifted, letting his head rest fully against the wall.
“You’ve got this,” Hizashi finished softly. “One step at a time. I’m rooting for you.”
The recording ended, and for a moment, the silence that followed didn’t feel sharp. He let the words settle in the space around him, in the hollow places the last few nights had carved out. After a slow breath, he pressed play again. This time, focusing more on the way Hizashi’s voice dipped slightly on certain phrases, the steadiness beneath the brightness, and the warmth that remained. The edge of exhaustion dulled just enough to make his eyelids heavy.
For a few fragile minutes, he drifted, not fully asleep, but hovering somewhere close. It wasn’t the deep, anchored sleep he was hoping for, but it was closer than any of the last three nights had allowed. The recording clicked off again, and he opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the dim light. He didn’t sleep, but his pulse wasn’t racing anymore, and the constant ache in his chest had softened into something manageable.
When the bell rang for the next period, he straightened, slowly rolling his shoulders back into place before slipping the phone into his pocket to return later. He still looked tired, but his expression had become softer and more grounded. It should be enough to get him through the rest of the day. Tonight, he reminded himself as he unlocked the classroom door and let the noise of students flood back in; Tonight, the silence would finally be broken.
By the late afternoon, Shouta found himself constantly glancing over at the clock. Nemuri had caught him more than once and smirked into her stack of papers as he pointedly ignored her. When the final bell rang, he was already halfway to the parking lot, telling himself it was only to beat the horrors of after-school traffic. He refused to acknowledge the way his pulse picked up at the sound of his phone buzzing thirty minutes later.
‘Just landed at the airport. Can’t wait to tell you all about it. Did you miss me?’
He stared blankly at the message for a moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard, as he typed back, ‘Get home safely.’
There was a brief pause, then, ‘That’s not what I asked, Shou.’
He rolled his eyes, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth despite himself. ‘Yes, more than I expected,’ but he didn't type it. He didn’t have to.
The apartment door swung open with its usual burst of energy as Hizashi finally returned, full of commentary about delayed trains and ridiculous on-air bloopers. Shouta was seated on the couch pretending to read, but the book had remained on the same page it was twenty minutes ago. The moment Hizashi dropped his bag and stepped into the room, the tension in Shouta’s spine eased so abruptly, it was almost painful.
He paused mid-story, eyes widening behind orange glasses as he took in the dark circles, the slack posture, and the laughable attempt at looking awake.
“…Are you okay?” he asked slowly.
Shouta closed the book with a quiet rustle, sliding a marker between the pages before finally glancing up. “I’m fine.”
A beat passed. “Liar.”
His brows drew together, faint disbelief flashing across his face. “I’m not.”
“You’re shaking with exhaustion,” Hizashi countered, folding his arms briefly.
With a sharp exhale, Shouta looked away and Hizashi crossed the room in three strides, hands settling warm and solid on his shoulders. Thumbs pressed gently into tense muscle, and his eyes closed before he could stop himself. There was a long pause.
“…You haven’t been sleeping,” Hizashi said quietly.
The silence stretched further.
Understanding dawned slowly, softening his features. “…You haven't been sleeping because I wasn’t here,”
Shouta’s jaw tightened. “It’s not—”
“Oh my god,” Hizashi breathed, half delighted, half incredulous. His grip shifted, sliding down to Shouta’s upper arms as he leaned back enough to see his full face. “You can’t sleep without me.”
Shouta huffed, a soft shade of pink dusting his cheeks. “That is an oversimplification.“
Warm laughter filled the room as Hizashi leaned down until their foreheads touched, grin wide and unrestrained “Shou. That’s adorable.”
“It’s an inconvenience,” He corrected stiffly, trying to keep what remained of his dignity, even though his eyes refused to open and he leaned into the touch.
“It’s adorable.”
Shouta glared weakly, which might have been more intimidating if he wasn’t swaying slightly, and Hizashi’s teasing expression softened into something far more tender. There was a gentle pressure at his back, guiding him toward their bedroom without further commentary. Hizashi pulled back the blankets and slipped in beside him with familiar ease, arms circling his waist as if they had never been absent.
“Go to sleep,” Hizashi murmured against his hair.
Shouta intended to argue, to maintain some sense of pride, but the warmth seeped in immediately, a steady heartbeat against his back and breath fanning softly at his neck. The relentless tension of three sleepless nights unraveled all at once, leaving him pliant and heavy and safe. Just before consciousness drifted away, he felt a kiss on his shoulder and a whispered, half-teasing and half awed, “Guess I’m not allowed to leave you ever again.”
There was a faint, disgruntled noise that might’ve been protest but sounded suspiciously like contentment. For the first time in three days, sleep washed over him quickly and without resistance. The apartment was no longer hollow, the silence no longer oppressive, because the space beside him was once again filled with warmth.
————-
Hizashi came to the realization a few nights later. Sheets rustled softly as Shouta shifted closer almost immediately. Hizashi lay still, staring up at the ceiling and replaying a particular memory in his mind, the recording. The one Nemuri had requested so casually. He’d thought nothing of it, but the timing aligned a little too well.
A sly grin spread across his face in the dark as he lowered his voice to barely above a whisper and murmured, “You know, Nemuri said her class really liked that clip.”
Shouta hummed faintly, already half-asleep, and Hizashi turned his head slightly on the pillow, studying the faint outline of his profile in the dim light. “Did it help you, Sho?”
A grumble answered him, muffled against his chest. “Go to sleep.”
Amusement lingered for only a second before melting into something quieter; something fond and unbearably warm. His hand found its way into Shouta’s hair, fingers combing gently through dark strands. The way he leaned into the touch without thinking didn’t go unnoticed.
“You could’ve just told me,” he breathed, voice dropping into that softer register he rarely used. “I would’ve sent you a whole playlist of dumb late-night rambling if that’s what it took.”
Shouta made a low, embarrassed sound, tugging him closer instead of replying. That was all the confirmation Hizashi needed as he pressed a lingering kiss into his hairline. Later, when patrol schedules resumed and late-night radio recordings stretched into early hours, Hizashi didn’t announce his solution.
A new villain had surfaced, which meant patrol requests doubled overnight. Heroes were redirected in overlapping rotations while sightings flickered in and out across districts. One call and Hizashi was rerouted straight from the studio to assist with perimeter control and civilian evacuation.
A quick text buzzed on Shouta’s phone before midnight ‘Long patrol. Don’t wait up. Check your files before you get in bed.’
A faint crease formed between his brows as he unlocked his phone and navigated absently through folders. It didn’t take long to find the unmistakable file titled: ‘For Shouta.’
Hizashi’s voice was low, stripped of performance, intimate and steady. “Hey, Shou. I know you’re huffing, pretending you don’t need this. That’s fine. You can pretend. Just… listen. You’re probably sitting at the edge of the bed, or staring at the ceiling, acting like you’re not tired. I hate that I’m not there to pull you back down or just wrap my arms around you and feel you finally relax. I love that you let me see the parts you don’t show anyone else, the stubborn, exhausted parts. And I hate that I’m miles away, instead of holding you right now. I miss you. I miss the way you pretend you don’t listen when I ramble, but you remember every single detail. l miss how you carry everything without complaining.”
There was a soft exhale, then the faint rustle of fabric.
“But you don’t have to do things alone. You’re the strongest person I know, but you’re still allowed to need other people. I’ll be back soon, okay. Try to get some rest. Love you.”
Shouta stared at the ceiling for a long moment, phone resting on his chest, before closing his eyes and letting the voice fill the space.