Mha Present Mic - Blog Posts

New Beginnings?

So this story is inspired by gglitch1dd’s post about Small town My Hero Academia. Honestly go read her story Sweet-bee if you like Kiribaku x reader; it’s amazing! I’ve reread it so many times.

So my story is loosely inspired (I made some changes but barely) and involves an OC. After reading her post and remembering the first season of Once upon a Time, I couldn’t get the idea out of my head and decided to write it. Very much just for fun and considering continuing it; I just don’t have the ending figured out.

Mostly fluff. Let me know if there is anything; triggers or errors.

Italics are thoughts.

Enjoy!

Summary: an unknown quirk sends all of UA and some others to a small town... in an alternate reality! No memories of their real lives and no quirks. A calm, peaceful life where everything is perfect. A bit too perfect.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 A new life?

Lizelle holds Eri close under the desk as a villain rant and raves through the school’s PA system. The red feather necklace around Lizelle’s neck shake as Hawks sends his feathers throughout the building to find the villain.

Class 1A and 1B had gathered for a joint training session with most of their mentors also there to see the progress. Lizelle was there to keep watch over the students’ emotional states as they go through the course because of her quirk ‘Colourful Emotions’.

While she is Hawks’ personal assistant, she is a family friend of Present Mic and had been living with him and Aizawa since she was a teenager until she was old enough to care for herself. She had become close to the 1A class and Eri. And ever since working with Hawks, Mirko had become a good friend.

Everybody had gathered for the training session when something shook the building and a bunch of goons invaded the premises. Lizelle had grabbed Eri who was sitting with her and took cover under Present Mic’s desk while he went down from the presenter booth to join the fight. Then who they assume is the main boss started making threats over the announcement system.

Lizelle focused on the villain’s voice to hear the last part of his speech. He chuckled darkly:

“Aren’t you heroes tired of it all? Don’t you wanna live a normal life…?”

Lizelle gasped as she noticed a strange mist filling the room and everywhere else.

“… and leave the rest of us alone?”

Lizelle peeked over the over desk to notice all the heroes starting to faint. Her necklace stills and she knows it got to Hawks as well. She coughed trying to get the mist out. She heard Eri cough as well.

“Eri-berry, hold your breath.”

Both she and Eri hold their breaths but then a blinding light fills everybody’s vision before it went pitch black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lizelle groaned as she slowly opened her eyes. She looked around the bedroom while reaching for her phone to shut off her alarm. She yawns, stretches and runs a brush through her long golden blonde hair before making her way out, down the stairs and into the kitchen where Hizashi Yamada otherwise known by his radio show personality, Present Mic is busy cooking breakfast.

“Morning Uncle Zashi.”

“Morning Lizzy. How did you sleep?”

“Pretty well. One thing is for sure. The bed was not the reason for Shinso’s insomnia.”

Hizashi chuckled: “Glad to hear it’s not that at least.”

She smiled as she sat down.

“Thanks for letting me stay in Hitoshi’s old room for now.”

Hizashi smiled at her from the stove: “No problem. You know you are like my own daughter. I’ll always help.”

Lizelle smiled: “Why couldn’t you be my real dad?”

“Then I would to have had you when I was 9.”

“Well you were a flirt since you were young if Aunt Nem is to be believed.”

The two laugh at that.

“Yet I met my soulmate in high school and won him over,” He pressed a hand to his heart.

“More like you didn’t leave me alone.”

The two turn to see Shouta Aizawa walk into the kitchen carrying a very sleepy Eri.

“You didn’t exactly try to get rid of me. C’mon admit it, deep down you liked me.”

Aizawa shakes his head at his husband. He put Eri adjacent to Lizelle’s left before walking to kiss Hizashi.

“Zashi, the pancakes.”

Hizashi looked over to see the pancakes starting to look a little too brown. He quickly moved the finished pancake to a plate. Lizelle smiled at the cute scene before turning her head to the tired girl rubbing her eyes.

She gave a quick tickle to the little girl’s sides: “Morning Eri-berry.”

Eri gave a small shriek of laughter. Lizelle giggled.

“Morning Uncle Shou.”

“Morning Lizzy,” he sits down adjacent to Lizelle’s right.

Hizashi places the food down and greets his daughter with a kiss to her head.

“So what is your plan for today?” Aizawa asks Lizelle as they start to eat.

Lizelle shrugs: “Explore the town, look at living places, look for a job, maybe even visit Shinso on his break.”

“Y’know, if you can’t find anything, you are more than welcome to come help me or Shouta at our jobs.”

“Thanks Uncle Zashi but I don’t see how much help I’ll be at the Sheriff or Radio station. Thanks for the offer; I’ll definitely keep it as a back up.”

“Daddy, Papa, can I show Lizzy around town?” Eri asks with her mouth full pancakes.

“Eri, swallow before you talk,” Aizawa gently said while Hizashi jokingly presses her chin up, “I don’t know.”

“Oh come one Dadzawa,” Lizelle grinned, “Eri knows the town better than me and I can keep her safe.”

Aizawa sighed but looked doubtful.

“Babe this whole town knows Eri is the sheriff’s daughter and not to mess with her. Eri will actually keep Lizelle safe, especially if the League decide to be annoying today. They know not to mess with your family,” Hizashi reasons, “Besides Lizelle is right. Eri knows the town better and this way Lizelle won’t get lost.”

Aizawa sighs again, knowing Hizashi is right and that he is fighting a losing battle.

“Fine, you can show Lizzy around.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll keep each other safe,” Lizelle gave the little girl a side squeeze.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eri kisses and hugs her dads goodbye.

“See you two later.” Hizashi waves.

“Be safe,” Aizawa calls after them.

“We will,” Eri giggles.

“Bye Dadzawa. Bye Papa Mic.”

“Bye girls.”

The two girls set off down the street to the right in the direction of what looked like a school. Currently mostly empty since it was Saturday. Maybe some overtime teachers or sport teams, other than that a ghost place.

“That’s my school!” Eri excitedly points.

“Oh really? Remind me what grade are you in?”

“Grade 2. Mr. Togata is my teacher.”

“Wow you’re getting big,” Lizelle squeezes Eri’s left hand.

As they turn the corner, Eri spots something that makes her squeal. Lizelle tightens her grips when she feels the little girl wants to run. Standing outside the gates are two men who turn in their direction upon hearing Eri. Seeing Eri, the two men wave. Lizelle makes sure they get safely across the street. Only then does she let the little girl run to them.

“Hi Eri!”

The tall blond picks up the girl as she happily squeals.

“Hi Mr. Togata! Hi Mr. Deku!”

The green haired man next to them gently pats Eri on the head: “Hi Eri.”

The man Eri calls Deku turns to Lizelle. He greets her with small nervous smile.

“Hi I’m Izuku Midoriya, understudy to Mayor All Might.”

Lizelle shakes his hand.

“So Deku?” She asks curiously.

He shrugged: “A mean nickname I was given when I was younger. I’m trying to put a more positive spin on it.”

Lizelle nodded in understanding: “I get that.”

The taller blond shook her hand: “Hi My name is Mirio Togata. I’m Eri’s teacher.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Lizelle. I’m a family friend of Hizashi Yamada. I just moved to town and I’m staying with them till I find a job and my own place. Eri is busy showing me around town.”

“Well welcome to Yuuie,” Mirio says with smile.

“And if you’re looking for a job just to keep busy, there is always the Midnight and Fatgum diner/bar and B&B and the library are always looking for volunteers,” Izuku suggest, “If it’s more a specific profession, Yuuie has a lot of businesses. Sure you’ll find something.”

Lizelle nods gratefully: “Thank you. I shall look into those places,” she looks to Eri, “C’mon sweetie we still got a lot to see. Maybe we can even go visit your brother if we are there on his break.”

“Yay!” Mirio gently puts her down.

She grabs Lizelle’s hand again and they continue walking down the street waving goodbye to Mirio and Izuku.

Walking across the street they pass a park and start passing some houses. About halfway Eri points out the Mayor’s House with trees surrounding it. They cross the street and tree line into the second main street where by the looks of it, is the most action. People walk up and down, doorbells constantly clinging as people enter and leave.

Eri quickly tugs Lizelle to cross to the right of the street while throwing slightly nervous looks to the biggest building on the corner of the left block.

“Everything okay Eri-berry?”

“Daddy always says to avoid that place and be careful here.”

Lizelle looks at the building. Two shops occupy it; Shigaraki’s bar and Dabi’s tattoo parlour. It’s a little rundown but otherwise okay. Lizelle can’t help the negative feeling that reaches her, making her feel on edge. The place definitely looks like trouble. Or at least definitely not the place for a little girl to be.

A man walks out of the parlour. He leans against the outside wall and lights a cigarette. She can only see the tattoos under his eyes, jaw, neck and wrists but Lizelle is positive he is probably covered in them as well as multiple piercings.

Was the flame from his lighter blue?

He pulls the cigarette from his mouth and releases a puff of smoke. Through the smoke he catches Lizelle’s eye. He looks her up and down with his piercing blue eyes before giving a nod. Lizelle gives friendly smile in return and then focuses back on helping Eri across the street.

“New plaything?” a female voice asks from the door.

Dabi turns his head to the blond girl: “Nah that Aizawa brat was with her. Unless we want the Sheriff to strangle us we better not mess with what’s his.”

“Aw, not fair,” Toga complains. Dabi simply shakes his head.

At the corner Eri points to a building on the left block behind the building on the street.

“There’s Dadzawa’s work…”

Then she points to the slightly L-shaped building diagonally in front of the Sheriff’s Station.

“… and there’s Papa Mic’s.”

Lizelle nods.

They past the Post Office, an apartment building behind a small park and past another building they reach the Midnight and Fatgum diner/bar.

“Wanna a milkshake, Eri-berry?”

Eri’s eyes sparkle as she looks up at her: “Can we?”

“Sure. C’mon let’s go in.”

The bell rings as the two enter. They walk up to the counter and Lizelle helps Eri up. A beautiful girl with long blue hair comes walking out from behind.

“Nejire!”

“There’s my little berry. Your daddy called and said I’m off babysitting duty today,” the girl turned to Lizelle, “Hi, I’m Neijre Hado, waitress and the occasional babysitter for this little angel.”

“She is also the town’s resident beauty queen,” a large man comes walking out from the kitchen, almost squatting to get through the doorways.

“And this is Taishiro Toyomitsu otherwise known as Fatgum, best cook in Yuuie,” Nejire giggled, tapping the man’s belly, “And he knows it.”

The man gives a jolly laugh.

Lizelle smiled, enjoying the wholesome energy in this place.

“I’m Lizelle, I’m new and a family friend of this little one’s family.”

“Welcome to Yuuie Miss. We hope you enjoy your stay here,” Fatgum smiles warmly.

“Thank you,” she smiles back. He feels like an uncle.

“So what can we get for you?”

“I’d like a chocolate milkshake and some fries. You Eri?”

“An apple pie and strawberry milkshake please.”

Nejire winked at the two: “You got it.”

Fatgum moves back into kitchen and Nejire cuts out a slice of apple pie for Eri. She then hands a small A6 card to Lizelle, full of numbers.

Upon Lizelle’s confused look, Nejire explains: “Numbers of the business around here. If you are ever in need of a handyman the mechanics shop is the place to call and ask for Eijiro Kirishima. That mountain of man can fix anything.”

Lizelle smirked: “Mountain, huh?”

“Well he is Fatgum’s nephew.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

Nejire giggled: “He works at the shop with his cousin Tetsutetsu and it is owned by Mei Hatsume. That girl is genius with machines and Tetsu seems like he bend steel, almost has if…”

“He is steel himself,” Lizelle gets a weird look on her face before shaking her head. She lifts the page, “The others?”

“Right. The mechanics is behind the sheriff station by the way. Right next to us is the vet/pet shelter run by Tsuyu Asui and Koji Koda. Then across from us is Ojiro’s dojo and next to that we have our Electrician Denki Kaminari. He’s good but don’t worry if he shocks himself. It happens from time to time.”

At Lizelle concerned look Nejire quickly adds: “He’s fine. He is practically Pikachu by now.”

“As long as he is not Pichu,” Lizelle shakes her head.

Nejire laughs, tipping her head: “Well…”

Shaking her head, she continues: “I’m assuming you walked past the school? And of course where the sheriff and radio station is?”

Lizelle nods: “Eri also pointed out the Mayor’s house to me. And the bar and tattoo parlour I was warned from.”

Lizelle gently pats Eri on the head.

Nejire nodded with a tight mouth: “Yeah the league… aren’t bad but they are trouble. So best to try stay away as much as you can.”

Lizelle raises and eyebrow: “The League?”

“The League of Delinquents.”

“I saw a man with tattoos and piercings smoking outside the tattoo place.”

“That’s Dabi. He seems chill, but you don’t want to piss him off. He has an affinity for arson. The one you really have to careful around is Shigaraki. He runs that place and the league. Also Toga; she’s a blonde girl with sharp teeth. She has a weird fascination for blood and sometimes gets a little stab happy. So just be careful.”

“And Shigaraki?”

Nejire shudders a little: “Trust me you’ll know. He just seems dangerous.”

Lizelle nods. Geez you guys go on about these guys like their villains.

Nejire puts back on her smile: “Anyways, we also have Rikido Sato’s bakery, Hanta Sero’s restaurant, Tamaki Amajiki’s flower shop; that’s Fatgum’s adopted son and Mirio’s Boyfriend.”

Lizelle raises her eyebrow with a smile: “Ok cute.”

Nejire giggled: “And both are my boyfriends.”

Lizelle gasped: “Lucky you! Kinda jealous. Of you and them.”

They both laugh.

“You?” Nejire bends her hand at the wrist in a silent question.

“I’m…” Lizelle snaps her fingers into a finger gun/thumbs up and peace signs.

“Ah,” Nejire nods in understanding, “Ok then there are the builders (that are behind Denki and Ojiro’s places), the library’s number, if you want to shop wood personally the lumberjack office; ask for Rumi. She is the boss and she is one the people who knows the woods the best. Mina Ashido’s hair salon, Yuga Aoyama’s Twinkling Styling Palace; it’s mostly a clothing shop but Mina, Toru Hagukure and Aoyama together are a styling dream team. They helped me with the beauty pageants. We also have the Yaoyorozu’s Properties, the gym, the Bank of Iida, the Todoroki Supermarket, and Yuuie Hospital and of course the town hall.”

Nejire juts her thumb to Eri: “Your little tour guide here knows where everything is.”

Lizelle smirks at Eri: “And why do you know everything?”

Eri giggled, finishing up her milkshake.

Nejire smiled: “Sheriff Aizawa wanted to make sure if anything happened, Eri knows all the safe places to go to.”

Lizelle nods with a small smile: “That sounds like Dadzawa.”

As the two finishes up, Lizelle pulls out her wallet. Fatgum quickly pops through the window.

“Uh uh, It’s on the house.”

“You sure?”

“Of course, especially for my favourite customer,” He winks at Eri with broad grin.

Lizelle grins: “Thanks for everything. The food was delicious. And thanks for all the info Nejire.”

The blue haired waitress waves at her as they exit.

Eri points out Ojiro’s dojo and Denki’s Electrics across the street and the vet next door to the diner. They cross the town square over to the library with a clock tower on top of the corner of the building. Across the street at the corner was Sato’s Bakery and next to it Sero’s Restaurant. Next to them was Mina’s hair salon and connected to it Aoyama’s Twinkling Styling Palace.

Lizelle giggled at the name.

Next to the library was Yaoyorozu’s Properties and on the corner Amajiki’s Flower shop.

“Wanna stop by the library real quick? I want to ask the librarian something.”

Eri nodded and the two headed in. Lizelle sighed in relief at coolness compared to beating sun outside. There was a little dark haired girl with purple eyes a few years older than Eri sitting in a dark corner reading by a low light. A dark haired man with Goth makeup came from the office behind the desk. Eri waved to him.

She gave a whispered greeting: “Hi Tokoyami.”

“Hi Eri,” He whispered back in a pretty deep voice.

Huh this man’s makeup makes him look like crow or raven. Cool.

“Hi, I’m Fumikage Tokoyami, how can I help?”

“Oh hi! I’m Lizelle, I’m new to town. I was wondering with there are any positions open here.”

Tokoyami shook his head: “Not at the moment, but if you don’t mind working part time, we always accept volunteers. On certain days we are busier, especially when exam season comes.”

Lizelle nods with a smile: “Yeah I don’t mind.”

Lizelle gives Tokoyami her contact information. Lizelle waves Eri over for them to leave. Lunch is soon if they want to make it on time for Shinso’s break. Tokoyami hands Eri an apple with small smile. The two wave goodbye. As they leave they hear Tokoyami talk to the other girl:

“Shadow, do not read by such a low light. It is not good for your eyes.”

“But I don’t like the bright light!”

Lizelle smiled as the door closes. Must be brother and sister.

Lizelle and Eri continue down the street. They stop outside Tamaki’s flower shop to smell some of the flowers outside. Lizelle looked at bouquet of white and red roses with a smile on her face. She always liked the beauty more than the smell. Mostly flowers smell like plants to her. There are very few flowers’ smells she actually likes.

Lizelle looks from smiling at Eri to through the window when she spots movement from her peripheral vision. Just in time to see an indigo haired man duck out of sight. Lizelle tilts her head to side. He peaks around but ducks back upon noticing she is still looking. Lizelle gives a small smile at the man’s shyness. She offers him small wave before ushering Eri along.

They turn right to the main street. Then a turn left to walk to the hospital. Walking in, up to the front desk, Lizelle asks if Dr. Hitoshi Shinso is on his break. The woman about to ask the reason why she wants to see him, spots Eri. She smiles and waves the two on ahead while giving directions to his office. Eri leads the way.

Knocking on the door, Lizelle hears Shinso’s tired: “Come in.”

“Hey doc, got time for lunch?”

Shinso looks up and smirks: “Hey Lizzy. Hey Eri!”

Eri runs up to him and he easily picks her.

“Yeah sure lunch. We can do that.”

The three sit down in the cafeteria.

“So you enjoying your time here so far?” Shinso asks around the bad cup of coffee.

“Oh yeah this place is great. Everyone is so friendly. Well mostly everybody.”

Shinso frowns, confused before he asks concerned: “You didn’t run in to the league did you? Dadzawa would have their heads.”

Lizelle shakes her head: “Not really. Just saw one of the members. Nothing happened.”

“Ok good. How’s the living situation?”

“Pretty good. Thanks for okaying the use of your room.”

“Sure.”

“Other than that, it is nice. But I would like my own place.”

Shinso gets a thoughtful look: “And a roommate?”

“I wouldn’t mind a roommate. Helps with rent and stuff.”

“How about...” Shinso puts down his cup, “You move in with me?”

“At your apartment?”

“Yeah the apartment building next to the Post office. I have a spare room/ loft. Also I’m barely home because of the hours at the hospital. It will be more like your apartment and I crash there.”

Lizelle giggles: “I know you can’t help it but you should stop overworking yourself.”

He shrugs: “So what do you say? Once you get a job you can start helping with rent if you want to, but you don’t need to. I make more than enough with a doctor salary. Besides I can’t help much cleaning wise and stuff, so the least I can do is pay the rent.”

Lizelle sighs: “Hitoshi I can’t expect you...”

Shinso holds up his hand: “I want to. I have no problem paying the rent but it’s going to waste because I’m barely there. So whaddya say?”

Lizelle thinks about: “I mean free place, not too far from Eri-them, nearby possible work place...”

Shinso smiled and sat up to reach into his pocket.

Lizelle looks up as she makes her decision: “Ok sure I would love to. Oh!”

She backs a little when she found keys in front of her face.

“Here are the keys to the apartment building and my flat. Go take a look at it. If your decision is completely final we can go make you a copy.”

Lizelle takes the keys and smiles gratefully at Shinso: “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

Shinso just smirks: “It’s not a problem. You’re family. If we switched places you would have done the same.”

Lizelle nods: “True.”

When his break was over, Lizelle and Eri say goodbye and head back. They stop by the park for a bit while Eri plays with some of her friends.

Lizelle stands at the edge to watch Eri when a siren rings through the air. Lizelle jumps and looks behind her to see Aizawa climb out of the sheriff car.

“What’s with the siren?”

“Easy way to get your attention.”

Lizelle smirks: “Well you got it. Here to arrest me officer?”

Aizawa chuckles: “So how is everything?”

“Great. Eri showed me around, I have places for possible jobs and I have a place to live.”

Aizawa raises an eyebrow.

“Shinso offered me his flat because he is barely there because of his hours and the rent is technically going to waste.”

Aizawa sighs and shakes his head: “That boy works hard. Too hard sometimes. I told him he is more than welcome to stay at home. He didn’t listen.”

“Sometimes people gotta learn by bumping their own heads even when you wanna protect them.”

“Unfortunately. So his apartment?”

“Mhm. He gave me the keys to go check it out. Then we will make my own copy.”

Aizawa nods: “Alright. I can take Eri off your hands if you want.”

Lizelle shakes her head: “Nah that’s okay. I’m good with taking care of Eri for the rest of day.”

“You sure?”

Lizelle nods.

“Ok. Well I got to get back to work. Eri!”

Eri runs over with excitement. The two hug.

“I’ll see you two later tonight.”

“Bye Daddy!” “Bye Dadzawa!”

Lizelle let’s Eri play for a little while longer before they head for the apartment.

Outside parked on the street was a gold motorcycle with red wings and the words ‘Fierce Wings’ on the side. Lizelle nodded impressed before opening up the front door and letting Eri through.

At the mailboxes in the wall stand a man a couple inches taller than Lizelle with feathery blond hair. He wore a tan jacket with two red wings printed on the back, continuing onto the sleeves. Considering he was putting packages and letters into the mailboxes with a big bag slung across his body, Lizelle assumed he is the mailman and that the bike outside is his.

Lizelle started up the stairs.

“Hi Mr. Hawks,” Eri greets the man.

He turns slightly to greet her, only slightly seeing Lizelle before she disappears up the stairs.

Hawks blinks slightly before shrugging.

Eri joins Lizelle as they go to the third floor. 3A, here it is.

She unlocks the door and lets Eri in first. It was small but decently sized with a lot of woodwork. Lizelle snorted. This is very cottage-core. Too much for you, Shinso. But the rest of the apartment was more Shinso. Minimally decorated with just the basic essentials aka – does anybody even actually live here? Oh and coffee.

The place was in good condition from just a brief look, just a bit dusty and dirty, Lizelle noted. Eri showed her around while Lizelle smiled at how cute Eri was. Up the stairs were the loft and the other bedroom. Once again minimally decorated and mostly empty.

“Are you gonna stay with Toshi from now on?”

“Uh yeah, I think I am,” Lizelle sits next to her on the bed, noticing a slight twinge of sadness from Eri even though her face doesn’t say anything.

Lizelle slightly bumps shoulders: “Don’t worry; I’m still going to see you all the time. Who do you think is gonna babysit you?”

She nuzzles her nose against Eri’s playfully, grinning at Eri’s giggle, sadness gone.

The two lock up and leave, bring Shinso’s keys back for him and head home.

Seeing nobody else home yet she decides to get head start on dinner. She hears Eri watching TV and by the sound of it, it was some superhero anime. Lizelle smiles as Eri cheers for the heroes. Considering the back story of Eri, it’s no wonder she has a great love for heroes. Lizelle growled slightly, thinking of Eri’s past. If I ever get my hands on that abusive foster father of hers... Thank goodness Mirio had noticed the signs of something wrong at her house; first the wounds on her arms, explained away by saying she’s reckless and clumsy even though Eri was the gentlest and most careful of all the kids in his class; and second Eri’s hesitancy to go home. Mirio got Izuku involved and using his high position in town along with some others’ help including the Deputy Mayor Mirai Sasaki, they were able to save Eri.

Lizelle had heard the story from Shinso and Mic. She was happy to meet two of Eri’s saviours today, but didn’t want to say anything in front of Eri in case of trauma triggers. Lizelle quickly focuses back on the food to avoid burning it. She giggles as she is reminded of this morning with Mic and the pancakes. No wonder people who don’t know us think we are related.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After dinner and telling Mic and Aizawa about their day, Lizelle helps Mic wash up as Aizawa takes Eri upstairs to get her ready for bed.

“So which job do you think of going after?” Mic asks as he dries the plates.

“Well Tokoyami from the library has my contact details if he ever needs my help, but I am thinking of maybe doing some part-time at the diner and maybe somewhere else as well. At least like secretary or cashier considering I don’t have the skills to help at the other aspects of the businesses here.”

Mic nods: “Well, that sounds good. After all you won’t have to worry too much about money with the rent being Shinso’s responsibility and you do need the time to work on your real career. But hey...”

Mic puts a gentle hand on Lizelle’s shoulder so she focuses on him.

“... Don’t go throwing yourself out there and stressing yourself out too much. I know you and I know that’s what you’ll do. You are away from your family. You have no one to prove yourself to here and us to support you. And don’t listen to those negative little voices inside your head because you know those are your family’s words and thoughts, not your own.”

Lizelle smiles and gives Mic a hug: “Thanks Papa Mic.”

The two finish up and retire for the night. Everything here is perfect...

A little too perfect.

I made a c.ai character if you wanna check it; (User is still Akira9lives)

You may ask for other characters and prompts to be done, I'll try to deliver.

Here's my taken on my first ever character:

(YN Shinsou)

*{{user}} and Hitoshi are siblings. They both have indigo hair, Hitoshi's hair is messy up and {{user}}'s is down but cute as it was messy and wavy. {{user}} and Hitoshi were biological siblings, adopted by Aizawa and Present Mic, they had moved up from the general education course to class 1-B and decided to visit Aizawa after lunch.*

*As Aizawa and the Shinsou siblings walk down the hall in U.A. the three pass by Bakugo and Kirishima- with seemingly the rest of the self proclaimed 'bakusquad' trailing behind them. Kaminari, being good friends with Hitoshi, was the first to acknowledge the three.*

Kaminari: "Oh! Hey Mr Aizawa! Toshi, and-" *He pauses when he gets a glance at {{user}}, smiling at the recognition of his friend's sibling though the rest of the squad didn't know them* "{{user}}!!"

Aizawa: “Good afternoon Kaminari.” *He greets, scanning over the group.* "I trust you six aren't doing anything stupid?" *He asks, eyes scanning over each individual member of the Bakusquad; Bakugou, Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero, Mina and Jirou.*

I made some tiny changes to this drawing, so I'm posting it again

I did this little comic a few months ago but never posted it here. The story is from my hero academia ultra impact! Present Mic's day out history.

Page 2

This is the piece I made for the Sonambulism exchange

Just two American pro hero’s learning the election results between classes.

Yeah so, how are we feeling?

erasermic masterpiece from psychology class

hizashi is, in fact, pregnant

HIZASHI IS NOT THE SECOND CHOICE!!

*i sob as i sink to my knees and rock myself back and forth*

quick sketch bust it down wuh luh wuh style

I have this headcanon that the rooftop squad would've been banned from every single McDonald's with a play area in Musutafu. And like if someone asked them why they couldn't go Hizashi would start a dramatic retelling (with bad impressions of everyone) about how they tried to play tag multiple times in which Shouta always ended up asleep somewhere and they couldn't get him back for a while because they kept getting kicked out.

Legend says new hires get shown their pictures so they can alert everyone in case they ever try stepping in the restaurant.

Have a lovely day/night

MHA JUMPSCARE anyway father/daughter Mic & Uraraka propaganda

workin on a pokemon au. here's Present Mic's design plus various doodles. Mic is an Elite Four with a mainly electric type team

They’re girls now. They’re just hanging out in the clouds. Just girl things.

I like drawing pleated skirts.

Shouta playing with Hizashi’s hair. It’s canon to me. They play with each other’s hair

Art block is killing me

I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore

I drew this while I was in Japan and then I left my sketchbook there(cried btw) and had to have the hotel mail it to me so this is like almost a month late.

I hope the hotel staff enjoyed my drawings of middle aged men kissing and Gacha life OCs. (Ngl I’d be down to show my Gacha OCs if people wouldn’t murder me for being cringe)

Anyways, the drawing. After school before they go home, Hizashi continues working and Shouta stays with him for company but inevitably falls asleep every single time.

I much prefer doing digital art. Drawing without my beloved liquify and lasso tools is so hard for me. Also drawing people so close together is harder bc I don’t have layers

Chat, the art is blocking rn. Idk what to do

Hizashi was up late grading papers, this is Shouta’s way of trying to convince him to come to bed. Spoiler, it works every time

Commission for @idontinternetwell

This is the first commission I’ve ever done. I’m so glad I got such a sweet and easy to work with person for my first one.

This is art is of their headcanon where Mic was a delinquent before going to UA. They told me all about it and it’s super interesting!

Like I said, this is my first commission so idk how these posts are supposed to go. Idk what to talk about 😅

Couch nap on husband. What more could anyone ask for

Sorry for not posting. I’m so jet lagged.

So tired. I’m not even sure if this is good. Don’t tell me if it’s bad tho. I will cry.

More Erasermic Yuri.

I almost forgot to post today bc I’m so busy. I was in a cave full of ice. I almost lost everything in my pockets bc it all fell out. I also almost froze to death. So that was fun

Erasermic Yuri

Erasermic Yuri

I love the idea of their hero costumes being exactly the same. It both makes sense for personalities and also it’s funny

They’re married in every universe.

God, I love women

I drew this 2 weeks ago. I’ve been waiting for the day I could finally post it bc I love it so much.

I will be drawing more Erasermic Yuri in the future, whether people like it or not

Them as teens are so cute. I had so much trouble deciding what to do with Hizashi’s hair. In the end I just did a teased layers sorta thing bc that’s sorta the same vibe as what he had going on.

Part two of this

And then they got kicked out bc Hizashi was too busy making out with his new fiancé to get off the table.

I was gonna add a little bonus scene of that but I ran out of time. I’m busy all day today so I can’t even make a little sketch

Anyways, I’m going on a trip. I have one more drawing saved up to post in a couple of days but after that I might not post for a few days. I will be bringing my sketch pad so I’ll probably draw on that to post but I’m out of digital drawings

I almost forgot to post today. That would’ve been bad.

Anyways. More Erasermic as usual. I’m still obsessed with them. Probably not gonna stop anytime soon (hopefully)

I like to imagine this is what happens after a long day of Aizawa not seeing his husband. He just jumps him. He really missed him. Mic welcomes it every time

Drawing character kissing is really hard so I’m trying to do it as much as possible to get really good at it. so don’t he mad at me if I post a LOT of Erasermic kissing. That’s just how the cookie crumbles

Guys. Guys. He’s gonna- he’s gonna propose. On Valentine’s Day. Stay tuned for that

Valentine’s day proposal comic coming out on Valentine’s Day (hopefully I finish it by then. I only have 5 days)

Follow me to see that! It’s gonna be cute and wholesome

Edit: here it is 🤭

Miku with Mic’s hairstyle is too powerful. His quirk too ig but mostly the hair

i tried posting this earlier but it didnt work for some reason and now i cant make posts on my phone anymore. anyways, i Love these ships so much.

Gyro and Mic would be friends, I fear. and i truly mean I fear. who knows what this loud, obnoxious, and stupid (but actually smart) duo would do together.

who also knows how they scored those grumpy baddies. i don't know if Johnny and Aizawa would be friends bc they seem to just hate everyone but i feel like they wouldn't hate each other, you know?

my hand hurts really bad and idk why. i think i drew too hard. i drew this like a week ago btw. i draw a bunch of little drawings in advance so i have time to draw longer comics. thats probably why my hand hurts so much. i should really take a break.

i was about to but i realized i still hadn't posted today so i stopped. i wish i got money for this. even just likes would be nice but i dont even get those anymore ;-;

i need a job

Present mic🔊

@}‑;‑’‑‑‑

See i made a joke that i wouldnt be able to draw present mic but… WHAT THE FUCK???

(btw im still looking for MHA moots or discord servers hmu in dms)

@}‑;‑’‑‑‑

Hizashi Yamada / Present Mic X Reader

↻ Off The Record ↺

Masterlist

So like….. this one I really thought of a Batman/ Jason Todd reader…. Also its been a while! whoopie! also this is a lot of tension without resolve. Someone asked for a angst one but then wanted comfort and by the time I was done this I realized it was too late for that. So youll be getting a double angst fic soon for some more comfort.

Synopsis: You and Hizashi had a family. Until one day you didn’t. When is it a point that you can avenge your family.

The camera focuses in on a patch of green where a blanket is spread out. Sitting cross legged in the middle of it is a young woman hair tied up messily, sleeves rolled past her elbows, and wearing an old, oversized band shirt that’s clearly been through more than one laundry battle. She’s got something smudged on her cheek maybe mashed banana and she doesn’t seem to notice or care. Just in front of her, a baby with soft blond hair and a gummy smile is trying to crawl with intense determination. Their chubby little arms slap against the blanket as they inch forward, letting out squeals of delight every time they gain a few inches. From behind the camera, Hizashi’s voice comes through, a little breathless from laughter.

“You’re getting this, right?” the reader calls, glancing up with a grin.

“I never stopped,” Hizashi replies, his voice warm. “I always catch the moments of my beautiful girls”

“You said that last time and then forgot to hit record,” she teases, catching the baby just as they topple forward with a squeak. She lifts them into the air with practiced ease, blowing a raspberry on their tummy that makes them shriek with laughter.

“That was one time,” he defends, shifting the camera a bit to frame her better. “And anyway, you’re the one covered in banana. If anything, I’m preserving art right now.”

The reader sticks her tongue out at him, still holding the baby against her chest. “bleh bleh bleh.” The baby reaches up, curious fingers poking at her face before pressing against her nose. She goes still, cross eyed, then bursts into laughter.

“Oh no. That was a critical hit. Guess I’m down for the count,” she groans playfully, flopping back into the grass and pulling the baby down with her. The baby giggles again, burying their face against her collarbone. Her hand comes up to gently support the back of their head, and her laughter softens into something quieter, more content. The camera zooms in just a little. The sunlight catches the edges of her hair, and even from behind the lens, it’s obvious how peaceful she looks. Hizashi’s voice lowers, more to himself than anything.

“My beautiful beautiful girls”

The camera lingers on the moment the baby nestled against her, her hand cradling them gently, her eyes half closed as she sways slightly in the grass. The wind moves through the trees, and for a moment, everything is still.

[END RECORDING 1]

There’s a small inflatable pool in the center of the yard. The water sloshes gently as a toddler barely old enough to speak in full sentences sits inside, smacking the surface with open palms and laughing at the splash. The reader crouches at the edge of the pool, sleeves rolled up and jeans cuffed just above the ankle. She’s holding a little plastic cup, pretending to sip from it before handing it back to the toddler with exaggerated delight. “Mmm! That’s the best pool water tea I’ve ever had,” she says, wiping fake tears from her eyes. “You really outdid yourself this time.” The toddler giggles and claps, delighted, before refilling the cup by dunking it haphazardly back into the pool. Most of it spills over their arm.

“You want more!” they declare proudly.

“Oh, absolutely. A whole round, chef,” she grins, holding out her hands with mock anticipation. “Let me savor this deluxe pool water blend.”

From behind the camera, Hizashi’s voice breaks in. “You two openin’ a café back there or just giving away five star service to VIPs?”

“You wish you were invited,” the reader calls, not looking back. The camera jerks a little clearly Hizashi’s picking it up now. The view bobs as he walks closer, eventually settling in on the reader and the toddler who’s now attempting to pour the ‘tea’ onto her head. She shrieks and leans back just in time.

“No! We don’t serve it like that! That’s assault!” she laughs. The toddler dissolves into giggles, proud of the reaction. Hizashi kneels beside the pool, one arm visible as he reaches in to push a floating rubber duck toward the baby.

“You’re teachin’ them all your bad habits,” he teases, looking over at her with a crooked grin.

“Oh, yeah?” she says, nudging him with her shoulder. “She got your hair and your voice. you have cursed her.”

“extremely cool and amazing style, you mean,” Hizashi corrects with a wink, then turns the camera back to the toddler who’s now taken the duck and is trying to make it “fly” through the water. There’s a long pause no talking, just the soft splash of water, the toddler’s happy babbling, the creak of a tree branch above them. The camera dips a little, and Hizashi exhales slowly through his nose. His voice is quieter when he speaks again.

“Man… she’s getting so big.”

The reader leans back on her hands, watching the child with that same soft look from the last video. “I know,” she says. “I keep thinking if I blink too long, I’ll miss something.”

The toddler looks up, eyes shining, and yells, “Dada! Look!” holding up a soggy duck triumphantly. Hizashi laughs, hand coming into frame to gently ruffle the baby’s wet hair. “I see ya, little rocker. Ten outta ten splash style.” The screen slowly starts to fade as the camera slips back into the grass, forgotten in favor of joining the moment.

[END RECORDING 2]

The room is dark, lit only by the faint blue glow of a laptop screen. Everything else is still. The walls are lined with old posters and shelves cluttered with memories records, photos, little things that once felt important. But right now, all of that fades into the background. Hizashi sits hunched in front of the desk, elbows on his knees, head bowed low. He’s still in his clothes from the day, shoes kicked off and forgotten beside the chair. The laptop screen flickers as a video ends static for half a second and then begins again.

The reader is sitting in the grass, wind in her hair, laughing as their baby crawls toward her. Her voice echoes faintly from the speakers. “C’mon, c’mon ! You can do it, little storm!”

Hizashi doesn’t speak. He barely blinks. His fingers, curled tight around the laptop’s edges, twitch. He rewinds the video ten seconds. Plays it again. Rewinds. Again. Over and over. The sound of her laugh becomes a loop warm, full of life, a sound that feels so distant now it may as well be from another lifetime. His chest rises with a shallow breath then another. A shaking exhale escapes his throat, and he bites the inside of his cheek as if that might hold something in. His eyes stay locked on the screen.

“C’mon, little storm,” she says again, softer this time.

The baby giggles. He presses pause. The image freezes on her face smiling, eyes glowing with joy. The baby is half lunging forward, caught mid motion. Hizashi swallows hard, jaw tight, knuckles white. He presses play again. Then rewind. Again. Again. There’s no sound in the room now except for the looping of her voice and the faint whir of the laptop fan. His breathing grows uneven, but he doesn’t let himself cry. Not yet. He just sits there, stuck in time with her rewinding the only piece of her that he still had.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 Hizashi’s sprawled on the couch, one leg kicked up over the armrest. He’s wearing his tinted glasses, though they’ve slipped slightly down his nose. In his hands is a sleek, beat up notebook with audio notes scrawled in the margins and ideas circled three times. Across from him, Aizawa sits in a chair, arms crossed, hair pulled back just enough to look like he tried. He’s sipping something that probably started as coffee but has long since gone cold.

“so I was thinking,” Hizashi says, flipping the notebook toward Aizawa with a grin, “for the next episode, I bring in a retired pro hero who’s been doing underground rescue work. You know, off the grid, totally unofficial, but still out there saving people. The guy’s voice is all gravel and chain smoke it’ll sound awesome in post.”

Aizawa raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You’re going to platform someone who’s technically breaking the law?”

“It’s inspiring, not incriminating. I’ll edit carefully.” Hizashi grins, waggling his brows. “And I’m not naming names. Just telling stories.”

“You said that last time and still ended up with Nezu calling you in for a ‘polite conversation’ that lasted an hour and a half.”

“He understands.”

Aizawa sighs into his cup. “If it were me, they’d shut the whole thing down.”

“That’s because you sound like dead puppies or something. total buzzkill” A faint twitch tugs at Aizawa’s mouth full of amusement.Hizashi laughs, stretching his arms behind his head. “Hey, what can I say? People like when I talk. It’s either the podcast or every event this place has. If i was bad at what I do they would not ask me to do the things I dooooooo.”

“ew stop.”

Hizashi leans forward, smirking. “You’re just jealous you don’t have a fan club of sleepy office workers who listen to you while folding laundry.”

“Correct,” Aizawa deadpans. “I want none of that.”

Before Hizashi can fire back, the intercom crackles to life, breaking the moment. “Yamada, Aizawa please report to my office at your earliest convenience,” Nezu’s cheerful voice chirps through the speakers. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble!.”

The intercom clicks off. A beat of silence. Hizashi squints up at the ceiling. “I feel like im in highschool again”

Aizawa sets down his mug with a quiet sigh and stands, already reaching for his capture weapon. “He calls you like this all the time”

“Yeah so exactly like highschool” Hizashi follows, grabbing his jacket off the back of the couch.

“I just want to go home.”

“Come on, Shota, don’t be like that,” Hizashi grins, catching up as they head for the door. “Our fearless leader is calling.” “ugggggggh.” And with that, the lounge door swings shut behind them.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 The door to Nezu’s office swings open with a faint creak, the familiar scent of tea and paper drifting out to meet them. Nezu sits perched behind his desk, paws folded neatly, tail swishing slowly as he watches them enter with that ever pleasant smile that somehow always makes people nervous.

“Ah, thank you for coming so quickly!” he chirps. Aizawa steps in first, quiet and unreadable, hands shoved in his pockets. Hizashi follows, a little slower, his usual swagger dialed down into something more neutral though he still offers Nezu a quick two finger salute. Nezu gestures to the chairs across from him. “Please, have a seat. I won’t keep you long.”

The two settle in, Hizashi lounging back while Aizawa sits forward slightly, eyes already narrowed in suspicion. Nezu picks up a folder from his desk and slides it open with practiced ease. “I received a request this morning from a pro hero agency one you both are familiar with.” He lifts his gaze, tone still light. “Lumine’s (Y/n hero Name) agency.”

Aizawa’s eyes flick to Hizashi before Nezu even finishes the sentence. Hizashi goes still. Nezu continues, unaware or simply unbothered by the sudden tension in the air. “They’ve taken on a delicate undercover case. They need more pro heroes involved enough to form the appearance of a cooperative task force, but discreet enough that it doesn’t draw too much attention. They specifically asked if I had any heroes in mind.”

Hizashi’s fingers curl around the arm of the chair. Aizawa’s voice cuts in, cool and even. “Send someone else.”

Nezu blinks, tilting his head. “Oh?”

Aizawa doesn’t look at Hizashi. “There are plenty of capable pros who could play the part. You don’t need us.”

“I’m aware,” Nezu replies calmly, clasping his paws again. “But your teamwork history with her is one of the strongest among U.A. affiliated heroes. There’s a unique rhythm there. And in this case, familiarity might be more useful than sheer numbers.”

“Still,” Aizawa starts again, firmer this time, “it’s a mistake.”

But before he can say more, Hizashi leans forward. “I’ll do it.”

Aizawa finally looks at him. “Yamada ”

“I’ll do it,” Hizashi repeats, more certain now, even though his jaw’s tight. His voice is steady, but his eyes aren’t quite meeting Aizawa’s. “She asked for help. I’m not gonna sit back and pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Aizawa studies him for a long, silent moment. There’s something sharp behind his gaze, something protective. He doesn’t speak again not yet. Nezu nods, pleased. “I knew I could count on you.”

He turns to Aizawa next. “And what about you?”

Aizawa doesn’t answer right away. He looks at Hizashi again, then slowly exhales through his nose. “…Fine,” he mutters, rubbing at the corner of his eye. “But I’m not playing backup if this gets personal.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Hizashi says quietly.

Nezu claps his paws together. “Wonderful! I’ll forward you the brief. You’ll both head out in two days.”

As they stand to leave, Hizashi lingers for a moment, staring down at the folder still resting on Nezu’s desk. His eyes trace the corner of your name just barely peeking from a report inside. His hand tightens once before he forces it to relax. And then he turns, following Aizawa out of the room.

The door shuts behind them with a soft click, sealing off Nezu’s office and all the weight it carried. The hallway is quiet. Hizashi walks a step ahead, hands shoved deep in his pockets, mouth set in a line. His usual energy is gone no humming, no idle chatter, no light bounce in his step. Just silence. Aizawa follows beside him, eyeing the tension in his shoulders, the way he hasn’t said a word since they left the office. They pass a group of first years who pause to wave, but Hizashi doesn’t even notice.

“What was that?”

Hizashi glances sideways. “What?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Aizawa says, voice low.

Hizashi doesn’t answer right away. They keep walking past empty classrooms, the echoes of their steps filling the space between them. Finally, he exhales, slow and shaky. “It’s just been a while,” he says, too quickly.

Aizawa stops walking. Hizashi slows but doesn’t turn. he he “I’m serious,” Aizawa says. “If this is going to get in your head, I need to know now. You’re not the only one going in. I’m not dragging you out of something you weren’t ready for.”

Hizashi finally stops, his back still to Aizawa. He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it more than usual, then turns halfway just enough to speak over his shoulder. “She asked for help, Shota,” he says quietly. “Whether she meant to or not, she did. I’m not gonna ignore that.”

Aizawa’s gaze narrows. “This isn’t about obligation. Don’t pretend it is.”

Hizashi chuckles once, but there’s no humor in it. “It’s not. But… I need to do this. Maybe for her. Maybe for me. I don’t know yet.”

Aizawa steps closer, voice dropping lower. “You haven’t talked to her since…”

“Yeah,” Hizashi cuts in. He finally turns fully, arms crossed, leaning back against the wall like he’s trying to hold himself up with it.

“I miss her every single day,” he murmurs. “Whether I understand it or not Im going to be there for her”

Aizawa watches him in silence, the faint crease between his brows softening just a little. “Alright,” he says. “If you’re in, I’m in.”

Hizashi gives a weak smile. “Thanks, man.”

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 Hizashi and Aizawa step in, both dressed In their hero gear. Hizashi scans the place, mouth a thin line. Aizawa just yawns behind his scarf. “Can I help you?” the receptionist asks, eyeing them both before recognition softens her tone. “Oh Present Mic, Eraserhead. Lumine said to expect you.”

“She mention what this was about?” Aizawa asks, voice low.

“She said she’d brief you personally,” the receptionist replies with a tight smile. “She’s just ”

FWUMP.

A faint rush of wind and a shimmer of light drift in through the skylight above and then you land lightly in the center of the room, boots clicking softly as you straighten. Hair tousled by the wind you offer a nod to the others in the room before your gaze lands on the newcomers.

Your breath catches for a beat. Hizashi. You weren’t expecting him. But you recover quickly. A smile curls at your lips professional, measured, but undeniably a great thing. You brush your hair back and take a few steps forward.

“Thanks for coming,” you say to the room, your voice smooth and sure. “I’ll keep this quick. The mission’s simple. There’s a formal pro hero gala tonight big guest list, all high ranking heroes and agency leaders. Somewhere in that crowd is a contact I need to extract information from.”

You pause and glance around. “Problem is, I can’t make a direct move. Too many eyes. So I need all of you trusted faces to act as cover. Draw attention, start conversations, keep the spotlight off me.”

One of the pros a tall woman with a flame patterned cape raises a brow. “You brought this many people just to run interference?”

The others murmur similar questions. Your smile doesn’t waver. “Sometimes the most valuable thing in a room full of pros isn’t strength. It’s distraction. And trust.”

Still, a few of them exchange skeptical looks. Then, from your left “…Why us?” The voice was one you knew all too well. Hizashi steps forward just a little, arms crossed. He’s not challenging you but his gaze is steady, careful. “Why me?”

The room goes quiet. You meet his eyes those same eyes that used to crinkle when he laughed too hard. Your heart stutters, but your smile remains. “Because Nezu has a good memory,” you say lightly. “he knows what works best.” Hizashi tilts his head, lips parting like he might say something else but you turn toward the rest of the team before he can. “Everyone, get your formal gear ready. The gala starts at eight. I’ll brief you again in the transport. No costumes. No weapons. just please kiss some ass.”

As the others disperse, still murmuring to each other, you linger where you stand eyes trailing Hizashi just a little longer than necessary before turning away. He watches you, silent, that same tension in his shoulders he had in Nezu’s office.

Aizawa quietly steps up beside him and mutters, “This was a bad idea.” But Hizashi doesn’t answer. He just keeps watching you. The corridor glows with warm light from the sunset bleeding through the floor to ceiling windows, streaking gold across polished floors and glass panels. It’s quiet up here. Peaceful. A break from the constant motion of the agency below. You stand near the railing, clipboard in hand, eyes trained on the city skyline but you’re not really looking at it. Your smile is soft, just enough to pass, just enough to say: I’m fine. This is fine. Behind you, footsteps approach. Light, familiar. You don’t turn.

“You always did like ahen things were quiet,” Hizashi says casually, his voice easy, light. “Something poetic about it.”

You turn your head just a little, enough to see him in your peripheral. “Poetic? Did you pick up a new hobby? must have been something I missed while you were off being a radio star?” You make it a joke. You even add a small laugh that feels practiced now.

Hizashi steps up beside you, resting his elbows on the railing, looking out. “Nah. Still can’t write poetry for anything. But I can still recognize when you are hiding.”

Your smile twitches, just slightly. But it doesn’t drop. “If I was hiding, this would be the worst place to do it. Big windows.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches you from the side. “I didn’t come up here for the mission,” he says finally.

You nod slowly, still staring straight ahead. “Yeah. I figured.”

“You gonna ask why I did?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” You keep your voice airy. “Everyone missed me. I’m the star attraction around here.”

Hizashi’s laugh is quiet. “You always were in my eyes”

You turn to face him with a too sunny smile. “Anyways Present Mic, what can I do for you?”

That earns a grin from him, but there’s something searching in his eyes like he’s not buying it. Like he never really did. “Just wanted to see you,” he says, voice quieter now. “Cant say that Ive seen you in a while”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the clipboard. “Well, lucky for you, this is it. Ta da.”

But it doesn’t come out with the same flair as usual. The exhaustion slips through the cracks. He catches it. “You don’t have to pretend with me, y’know,” he says gently. “You never did.”

then you laugh small, hollow, just barely a sound. “You say that like it’s easy.”

He tilts his head. “Isn’t it easier than bottling it up?”

You look away again. “Bottling it up got me this far.”

Another silence. You hear him shift closer, just a little. Still not touching, but close enough that you feel the warmth radiating from him. “I missed you,” he says.

You blink. Slowly. The weight of those words settle over your shoulders like a coat you forgot belonged to you. “I missed a lot of things,” you murmur. “Doesn’t mean I know what to do with them now.”

“You don’t have to,” Hizashi replies. “Just… don’t shut the door all the way, okay?”

Your smile fades, softens into something tired and unsure. But you nod. “…Okay.”

He leans a little closer, voice gentle. “And for the record? I didn’t come up here for closure. I came up here because the door’s still open. Even if it’s just a crack.”

You let out a slow breath. Then quietly, more vulnerable than you’d like you say, “Don’t make promises you don’t plan to keep.”

Hizashi smiles “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 The room is quiet except for the soft clink of a makeup brush against a ceramic palette and the low hum of distant city traffic. Golden light from the setting sun filters through the tall windows, catching on your vanity mirror. You sit in front of it, barely blinking as you apply a dark line of eyeliner with practiced ease. Your reflection stares back at you. Polished. Perfect. Controlled. Like you haven’t broken a hundred times over. Your hand pauses mid swipe. Lips slightly parted, mascara wand hovering. The image in the mirror doesn’t look like you. Not the version of you who’s been slipping through alleyways in the dead of night. Not the version who helps the desperate and the voiceless when the system turns away. This version? She’s a performance. She’s what the hero system still expects you to be. You press the wand down and exhale shakily. And then your mind drifts to him.

Hizashi.

Of all the people Nezu could’ve sent, of all the names that could’ve landed on that list it had to be his. You grit your teeth, swallowing the rise of emotion burning in your throat. Of course you still love him. You always have. From his dumb jokes to his reckless optimism. From the way he held your baby like the world might fall if he didn’t… to the way he shattered when it actually did. But that love lives under the ash of everything you lost. The system said you couldn’t move your child. Protocol. Civilians were to shelter in place while pros handled the threat. And what happened? He escaped again. Again. Again.

How many people did it take before they actually locked him away? Too late. Always too late. Your hand trembles against the vanity. They told you to trust the law. To wait. They said justice would come. It did but only after blood. So you stopped trusting them. You still wear the hero name, still hold the title because it’s useful. But when the uniform comes off, you become you. The one who helps where the law won’t go. The one who tracks the ones the system forgets. The one who avenges. You sacrificed everything to live that life. Even him. Even love. Because the hero system let you bury your child. And now… now you’re here again, curling your lashes, dabbing soft shimmer onto your eyelids, pretending you’re whole. Pretending you’re going to a party. Pretending you’re just another hero at a gala with a mission.

You click the lipstick shut, the final touch complete. The woman in the mirror stares back beautiful, unreadable, deadly. No one in that room tonight will see anything else. You rise slowly, smoothing out the fabric of your dress midnight blue, sleek and elegant, with a slit that hides your knives and your scars. Another mask. You glance once more at your reflection.

“…Let’s get this over with,” you whisper.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 The gala glows beneath chandeliers and camera flashes, a swirl of polished shoes, clinking glasses, and hero agency logos gilded in gold along the walls. Music hums soft and jazzy beneath the polite roar of conversation, laughter.

Hizashi Yamada is in the center of it all, exactly where he knows you need him to be. His suit is sharp dark green with golden accents, the kind of color that catches the light just enough to make him pop. His hair’s tied back neatly, but the grin on his face is pure Present Mic: loud, magnificent , effortless.

“C’mon, c’mon!” he says, waving his drink with a flourish as a small circle of heroes gathers around him. “You haven’t lived until you’ve been in a karaoke bar in Osaka with Gang Orca and Fat Gum. I swear Orca screamed ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ like his life depended on it!”

The circle bursts into laughter, even the stiffer heroes cracking smiles. A few paparazzi hover near the edge of the group, lenses trained on him, capturing every animated gesture and flashy grin. Exactly as planned. If he was going to do this help you with this mission he was going to do it right. Draw the spotlight. Drown out the background. Let you move like a shadow behind the scenes.

“You’re really working this room,” comes Aizawa’s voice, low and unimpressed, as he appears beside him with a glass of water in hand and his long coat thrown over the more traditional black suit.

“Course I am,” Hizashi says through a grin, only just glancing at him. “Isn’t that the job?”

“You’re being loud even for you.”

“People like loud,” Hizashi replies, motioning around the room. “Loud means attention babygirl”

Aizawa physically recoils at the nickname ans follows his gaze. Your figure is barely visible, cutting clean through the crowd in a sleek dress, slipping between clusters of distracted pros with silent precision. You’re already at the far end of the room, unnoticed. Unbothered. Just like you wanted.

Aizawa hums, eyes flicking back to Hizashi. “So, what happens if they start looking for you when the lights go down?”

Hizashi’s grin softens, just a little.

“Then I keep being the one people hear.”

And with that, he throws an arm around a nearby hero, dragging them into the conversation, voice booming again like nothing’s changed. But behind the volume, behind the show, his eyes keep darting toward the edges of the room where he knows you are. And he prays they keep looking at him, just a little longer.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 The room spins in soft gold and velvet shadows as the band shifts into something slower strings and piano, romantic and dangerously timed. Laughter hushes to murmurs as couples begin to gather at the polished dance floor, gliding in practiced steps.

He sees you. You step out from the fringe of the crowd, no longer a shadow. No longer just the woman on a mission. You’re standing beneath a chandelier, its light bathing you in soft firelight. Midnight blue silk wraps around you like the night itself, slit high enough to whisper of the weapons hidden beneath, and yet all he sees is you. like the memory he’s never been able to rewrite. Hizashi’s mouth parts, breath catching in his throat. For a second just a second he forgets what he’s supposed to be doing. He forgets the crowd, the mission, the weight of years between you.

All he sees is the love of his life.

You’re scanning the room, eyes sharp but you feel it the burn of a gaze that cuts deeper than the others. When you meet it, your chest tightens. Of course he’s looking at you like that. Like it’s the first time. Like it’s the last time. Like it’s always been you. Your jaw ticks slightly, but before you can move away.

He’s already in front of you. You feel it before you see him. His hand on your waist. Warm, firm. Familiar. His other hand gently, reverently, slides into yours. Your breath stutters. “Dance with me,” he says, voice low, the wild energy of his public persona stripped away.

You look up, annoyed just a little. “This isn’t part of the plan.” But there’s no venom in your tone. There never is, not with him.

His thumb brushes your hip, soft. “Maybe not. But I’ve waited years for five minutes with you that weren’t shadowed in grief.” He leans down, hand still clasping yours, and presses a kiss to your wrist. Then another, up your arm. Slow. Like he’s memorizing the pieces of you he thought he’d never touch again. You say nothing. You don’t pull away. Because your heart is screaming. He leads you gently toward the floor. The crowd shifts, moving out of your path, and the room seems to hush, the music rising as the two of you step into its rhythm. You dance. Bodies close, breath shared. His touch is careful, not possessive never possessive but like he’s holding something fragile. You’re stiff at first, guarded, but then your fingers curl tighter in his hand, your other hand brushing his shoulder. It feels like coming home and stepping into a fire, all at once.

Neither of you speaks. You don’t need to. His hand squeezes yours. you let yourself rest your cheek against his shoulder for just a moment. One song. That’s all he asked for. And for the first time in what feels like forever… You let him have it.

The music wraps around you like silk smooth and slow, the kind of song that sways rather than marches. You move with him, step for step, breath for breath. But your posture is rigid. Not cold, not cruel just closed. Hizashi doesn’t push. His hand remains at your waist, guiding you gently across the floor, fingers warm against your lower back. You’re dancing, but your eyes keep flicking away over his shoulder, past the crowd, toward your objective. He doesn’t mind. He’s just watching you. Fully. Softly. Like he doesn’t care who sees.

“Its been so long,” he murmurs, his voice low enough only for you. “you still look like a rockstar as much as the last time i've seen you”

You glance at him, unamused.

“Don’t start.”

He grins. “Just sayin’. It’s cute.”

Your brows tighten, your gaze cutting to the side. The rhythm doesn’t falter, but your walls stay up. You keep moving like a soldier dressed as a socialite. He chuckles softly, not deterred. “This dress, though…” His fingers graze the silk at your hip, reverent. “Do you know how beautiful you look”

You say nothing. You just breathe in through your nose, shoulders sharp.

“I mean it,” he goes on, shameless. “You look like a star. Like the kind that burns out entire galaxies”

You roll your eyes, lips twitching into a ghost of a smile. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well. I’m allowed to be,” he says, eyes on you like you’re a masterpiece. “Haven’t seen you like this in forever. Let me be ridiculous.”

You stare straight ahead, chin tilted just slightly higher. “I’m working,” you say softly.

“I know,” he replies, no protest in his tone. “I’m just dancing. With the woman I love.”

Your chest tightens. You hate the way that lands. The way it splits you open with something soft and aching. But you don’t reply. You just keep dancing. His thumb brushes circles against your spine.

“You’ve always been good at this,” he says suddenly, quieter now. “Ive always liked things loud and fast. But I think… I think I always liked you best when you stayed still. Just for a minute. Just long enough to look at me.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Not yet. He smiles anyway. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… needed to tell you.”

The song fades into its last few notes, and you step back from him, just a little. The space between you isn’t wide but it feels like miles. Still, his hand never drops yours.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 The sun barely filters through the blinds of the teachers’ lounge, casting long stripes across the floor. The coffee in Hizashi’s mug has gone lukewarm. He doesn’t seem to notice. Slouched on the couch in his yellow hoodie and black joggers, he’s staring blankly at the muted TV screen as the early news drones on in the background. Aizawa stands near the counter, dark hair tied back, arms folded across his chest, his cup untouched. The room feels heavy like something is waiting to drop. Then the news breaks.

“We interrupt your regular programming with breaking news. Last night, the body of Daigo Nishida was discovered in a private lounge of the Pro Hero Gala. Authorities report the man had been dead for several hours before staff discovered the scene.”

Both men turn their heads.

Hizashi’s eyebrows pull together. “Wait what?”

Aizawa is already narrowing his eyes, moving toward the remote to turn the volume up.

“Initial speculation assumed it was a heart attack, but the situation has taken a drastic turn. Investigators have confirmed that Daigo Nishida had been under covert surveillance for months. Allegations include child trafficking, harassment, and laundering funds through hero support firms. Authorities are now treating the death as a possible homicide.”

A still photo of Nishida appears on the screen, taken at some formal event. He’s smiling. Glass raised in a toast.

Aizawa’s jaw clenches. “He was at the gala.”

Hizashi blinks slowly, sitting forward. “He was there. We were there. We were what, fifteen feet away the whole damn night?” They sit in stunned silence as the anchor continues listing charges, connections to known black market labs, even a supposed deal that fell through with a hero firm overseas. Hizashi scrubs a hand through his hair. “You’re telling me all that was happening and we were out there charming sponsors and spinning small talk?”

“I didn’t even see him in the crowd,” Aizawa mutters.

“Same.” Hizashi leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You’d think I’d catch a guy like that. Especially at that kind of event.” A beat of silence. He stares at the screen, face unreadable. “Can’t say I’m shedding tears over it, though.” Aizawa gives him a look but doesn’t disagree. Hizashi shakes his head, muttering, “Guy like that getting away with that much, that long… Makes you wonder who else was looking the other way.”

But he isn’t angry about that. Not really. His mind is already somewhere else circling you. He remembers the tension in your shoulders. The way you never quite softened, even when you danced with him. The way your eyes kept drifting always watching, always calculating. You’d known something. Or someone. And if you were close to it if you were even near whatever happened in that room Hizashi’s jaw tightens. I should check in on her, he thinks, quietly.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 Your fingers move fast, scribbling notes, signing documents, flipping pages without hesitation. There’s always more to do. There always has to be more to do. A knock breaks through the silence. You don’t look up. “Come in,” you call, already bracing yourself. Another pro. Another secretary. Another bright eyed intern wanting advice. Your voice shifts instinctively preparing the familiar bubbly tone, the one people expect from you now. But when the door opens, and you finally glance up Your heart stutters. Hizashi stands in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, the other tucked into his jacket pocket. His usual energy is dulled still him, still tall, still magnetic in the way only he is but quieter. He’s in his casual wear again: yellow hoodie layered under his bomber jacket, hair loose and a bit windswept from being outside. Your throat tightens. You immediately look back down at your papers, flipping to the next sheet like it’s more interesting than the man you once shared a life with. He steps inside slowly and closes the door behind him. You speak first, flat but polite. “Need something for the report?”

Hizashi doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he studies you. The way your jaw clenches. The way your pen stills just slightly before moving again. The way you’re not looking at him really refusing to. “…Are you okay?”

The question hangs there, heavier than it should be. You don’t flinch, but your fingers tense around the pen. “Why wouldn’t I be?” you reply, still not meeting his eyes.

“Because,” he says softly, stepping closer, “a man was killed at the gala last night. You were off on your own when it happened. who wouldnt be scared after that?.”

You finally stop writing. The silence stretches. He waits. You take a breath shallow, careful. Then say, “I’m fine.” And maybe if it were anyone else, they’d believe it. You’ve made a second career out of pretending to be fine.

But Hizashi isn’t anyone else. He watches you for another beat before quietly asking, “Can I sit?”

You finally look up at him again, reluctant. Just tired of trying to guard things he already knows. You gesture to the chair across from your desk. The air between you both feels thinner now. Hizashi leans forward in the chair, elbows on his knees, hands loosely folded, eyes never leaving you. His voice cuts through the quiet, softer than usual. No booming theatrics. No playful edge.

“…I miss you,” he says.

You blink, your chest tightening.

“I miss us.” He smiles faintly, almost bitterly. “There’s not a single day I don’t think about the life we had. About ” His voice catches for half a second. “ about our baby.” That word still feels sacred. Shattering. Whole. Your hand stiffens where it rests on the desk. But you don’t speak. “I still hear her laugh sometimes,” Hizashi says, his voice rougher now. “In my dreams. The little squeal she used to do when she saw you. The way she’d hold my finger with that tiny hand like she thought I could protect her from the whole damn world.”

You still say nothing. But you move. You get up slowly, walk across the room without a word, and turn the lock on the door with a soft click. Then, instead of sitting back behind the desk you perch on top of it. Facing him. Closer. A little more honest.

“I miss you too,” you say quietly and tiptoeing around the edges. “God, Hizashi… of course I miss you.” He looks up at you, eyes aching. You exhale a long, shaky breath. “But I couldn’t do it anymore. Not when the same system that asked us to stand for justice told me I wasn’t allowed to take my daughter to safety. Told me to wait. Told me it wasn’t protocol. Told me he’d be caught eventually.” Your voice wavers. “I needed to protect her. That’s all I ever wanted to do.”

“I know,” Hizashi whispers. There’s a beat. Then, he sits up straighter, eyes searching yours, like he’s stepping to the edge of a cliff. “…Come back,” he says. Your heart lurches. “Come back to me. Please.”

You look at him and the ache in his voice, the longing behind his words, it shreds through every wall you’ve tried to rebuild. Your gaze softens. “It’s too late,” you whisper. And yet your feet move before your mind can stop them. You slide off the desk, stepping between his legs, and lower yourself slowly into his lap. His hands hover at your sides, unsure, until your arms slide around his neck and your face finds the crook of his shoulder. Hizashi exhales shakily, like he’s been holding his breath for years. His arms curl around your waist, firm but reverent, pulling you impossibly closer. One hand presses flat against your back while the other slides up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading into your hair like he needs to remind himself this is real. You’re here. You’re his again, even if only for this moment. He buries his face against your shoulder, and you can feel it his breath catching, the way his chest rises like he’s trying not to break down.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined this,” he murmurs into your skin, voice barely holding steady. “What I’d say… what I’d do if I ever got to hold you again.” Your grip around his neck tightens, and your eyes sting, but no tears fall. Not yet. You’ve cried enough behind closed doors. You’ve mourned in silence long after the world moved on. “I thought letting you go would be what you needed,” he continues. “But I never stopped waiting. I never stopped hoping you’d come back. Or… or maybe you’d let me come to you.”

You stay quiet, your nose brushing the side of his neck, breath warming his skin.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 The city hummed beyond the cracked walls of the abandoned parking structure, its sound dulled by distance and the encroaching dark. Sunset spilled its last rays through broken slats, casting jagged lines of orange across the concrete. The air was heavy with dust and the ghosts of burned rubber. Years of neglect stained the ground with oil and time, and now it bore the tension of a battleground. Hizashi’s boots struck the floor in rhythmic strides as he entered, his silhouette framed by the last bit of daylight. His voice rang out, echoing between the pillars with confident bravado, that trademark flair he never quite dropped. “C’mon, man,” he called, scanning the shadows. “You’ve got a good quirk, slick moves, and bad taste in timing! But you picked the wrong night to stir the pot.”

He could’ve waited for the rest of the team outside. Could’ve played it safe. But something in the reports had itched at the back of his brain, and he wanted to see this vigilante for himself. A sharp motion sliced through his peripheral. He pivoted instinctively, ducking just as a metal pipe came sailing through the air and smashed against a pillar with a shriek of impact. Hizashi spun on his heel, already shouting. “YEAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

The Voice Pulse detonated like a cannon. A wave of sound surged forward, cracking the air and hammering into the attacker. They flew backward, slammed into the ground with a sickening thud that echoed like thunder. The impact threw up a cloud of dust and debris, choking the air in a fog of grit. Hizashi didn’t wait. He launched forward, every muscle braced, boots skidding as he weaved between the pillars. Another attack came this one closer. The vigilante had recovered faster than he expected. A shockwave burst from their palm, hurling a chunk of concrete at him with kinetic force. Hizashi ducked, rolled, and came up swinging his voice again, a controlled blast meant to knock them off balance without killing. The two clashed in rapid bursts strike, dodge, counter, repeat. Sparks flared as a baton scraped metal. Energy hissed against sonic force. It was messy, fierce, personal. The vigilante moved like someone who didn’t care about pain, only results. Hizashi fought like someone who had to win but didn’t want to destroy the person in front of him. Eventually, a low kick swept the vigilante’s legs out. Hizashi lunged forward, slamming his shoulder into their chest, sending them sprawling. They hit the ground hard, a choked gasp escaping as they slid across the cement and into a low wall.

Dust swirled again. Silence returned. A groan followed. Breath ragged, Hizashi jogged over, eyes narrowed behind his visor. The vigilante was pushing themselves up on one elbow. Their mask stark black with jagged red lines was cracked along the edge. Their body was wrapped in mismatched, tactical gear, not a hint of official regulation in sight. No hero would wear that. But the way they moved the way they flinched when he approached it twisted something in his gut, something he couldn’t quite name.

“You talk a big game,” he muttered, crouching beside them, keeping a cautious distance. “But your moves? yeah I can just guess thats all it is. All talk.”

The vigilante laughed, low and bitter, blood at the corner of their mouth. “You heroes,” they rasped, “you think you’re saving people by playing by the rules. But all you’re doing is running alongside the tracks, hoping the train’ll stop before it kills someone.”

Hizashi’s eyes darkened. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know the trolley problem?” they asked, spitting blood to the side. “If one life saves ten, you pull the lever. If it saves a hundred, you run to pull it. But heroes?” They coughed, the sound dry and broken. “You wait for backup. For clearance. For someone to sign the damn form. You’re not saving anyone. You’re just dragging it out while more people get hurt.”

“Funny way to justify hurting people,” Hizashi said, quieter now. There was something about that voice. The cadence. The way they spoke like they’d already lost something they couldn’t get back. It echoed too close to home.

They didn’t answer. Didn’t move. He hesitated, then reached forward with a slow, steady hand. “You’re done,” he murmured. Fingers curled around the edge of the mask. A tug. It slipped free. Time stopped. The mask fell from his hand and hit the ground with a hollow clatter, echoing louder than it should’ve. His eyes widened. His breath caught halfway through his throat and never made it out. His heart slammed against his ribs like a prison break.

“No…” You were staring up at him. Your face was streaked with dirt, blood dried at your temple, lips cracked and trembling. But your eyes your eyes were the same. Hizashi staggered back a step, almost tripping over himself. “You?”

The word barely left his mouth. His voice, always so loud, now a broken whisper. Everything around him dust, darkness, the mission blurred into nothing. His hands shook. And then, you smiled. Faint. Wounded. Soft in a way that felt like the end of the world.

“Hello,” you whispered, voice hoarse but steady. Your eyes didn’t waver from his. “Hello, my love.” And just like that, Hizashi’s heart split clean down the middle.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead. The walls are sterile, lined with gray panels. A single metal table sits in the center, bolts securing it to the floor. Across from the table is you handcuffed, ankles crossed, posture relaxed like you’re waiting for a friend at a café. You’re smiling. The interrogator across from you flips a page in their file, eyes narrowed.

“You’re a pro hero. Top ten, even,” he says, frustration threading through his voice. “What made you throw all of that away?”

You lean forward a little, a glint of amusement in your eye. “I didn’t throw anything away,” you say cheerfully. “I just started picking up where everyone else left off.”

“Don’t play games. We’ve connected your movements to multiple incidents. Incidents where people wound up dead. Or disappeared.” His voice is harder now. “You were supposed to protect the system, not act like you’re above it.”

You rest your chin in your palm, smile deepening like it’s painted on. “And who exactly is the system protecting?” you ask softly, tone still sugar sweet. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t my kid.” The interrogator falters. You sit back, stretching your shoulders as much as the cuffs allow. “It’s funny,” you continue. “People love heroes until it’s inconvenient. Until they need someone to really fix things. But no one wants to get their hands dirty. No one wants to do anything. Just wait for the paperwork to clear, hope the next press conference goes well.” You laugh light, like a bell. Like none of this matters. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Being the good guy while watching people fall through the cracks.”

You tilt your head, still smiling. “Is it really a crime to protect the people I love?” Then your eyes shift slowly toward the mirrored glass. Behind the glass, Hizashi stands frozen. Shoulders rigid. Jaw clenched. You’re looking straight at him. i… he doesn’t look away. Not from the woman he still loves. Not from the woman he failed to protect. Not from the woman who’s trying to save others the only way she knows how. Hizashi hasn’t moved.

He’s barely breathing. Your words echo in his head “Is it really a crime to protect the people I love?” and they cut deeper than any blast or wound he’s ever taken. The interrogator beside him keeps talking into the mic, flipping pages, preparing more questions. But Hizashi doesn’t hear a word. His eyes are glued to you through the glass. That smile that isn’t really a smile. The light in your eyes that no longer warms. His hands are curled into fists. Then he speaks, voice low and uncharacteristically quiet.

“Let me talk to her.”

The interrogator glances at him. “Mic, she’s in the middle of an official ”

“I said,” Hizashi cuts in, sharper this time, “let me talk to her.”

The silence that follows isn’t long, but it’s heavy. Eventually, the man sighs and gives a short nod. “You’ve got ten minutes.”

Hizashi doesn’t wait. He’s already moving.

The door hisses open. Your eyes flick lazily toward it, the grin on your face sharp and bright an obvious performance, polished to perfection. But the moment you see who steps in, it falters for half a second. Hizashi. Of course. You straighten in your seat, smile shifting into something thinner, more barbed. “Well, if it isn’t Present Mic himself. Come to yell me into a confession?”

He says nothing at first, just closes the door gently behind him. His shoulders are rigid, but his eyes his eyes are soft. Too soft. You hate that. He takes a step toward the table. You don’t let him get close.

“Don’t,” you warn. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asks, voice low.

“Like you still can love me.” That silence is the kind that suffocates. He takes another step, and you narrow your eyes at him. “I don’t need your pity, Present Mic,” you bite, spitting out the name like it burns your mouth. “I’ve made my bed.”

Hizashi flinches at the name. You’ve never had called him that before, opting for zashi even before dating. “Stop acting like you’re surprised,” you continue, leaning back in your chair, chains of the cuffs clinking against the table. “What did you think I was doing when I disappeared? Yoga retreats? This was always coming.”

“I’m not here to judge you,” he says, quietly. “I’m here because I needed to see you.”

“Well. You’ve seen me.” You motion dramatically with your cuffed wrists. “Hope the visual lives up to whatever fantasy you had in your head.”

His jaw tightens. You expect him to argue, to raise his voice, to be the loud, animated man everyone knows. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you achingly quiet. “I’m not here as Present Mic,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I’m here as Hizashi. The man who inderstands this more than probably anyone else.”

Your face twitches, the hostility cracking like glass hit with a stone. You look away, blinking hard, gripping the edge of the table like it’ll keep you grounded. “You don’t get to say that,” you whisper.

“Why not?”

“Because you got to move on. You still get to be the hero. You didn’t have to become this.” You gesture to yourself worn down, tired, a mask made of bright smiles that hide nothing.

Hizashi takes the seat across from you, slow and careful like he’s afraid you’ll bolt if he moves too fast. “I didn’t move on,” he says. “I just survived. Without you. Without our kid. Every damn day I woke up and wished everything played out different. Wished I’d fought harder. For both of you.”

You grit your teeth, eyes stinging. You won’t cry. You won’t cry in front of him. “You think this was easy for me?” you murmur. “You think I wanted this?”

“Then why didn’t you let me help?” he asks, and his voice breaks just a little. “Why did you shut me out?”

You finally meet his eyes. They’re glassy now. He’s holding everything in by a thread. “I didn’t want you to have to choose,” you say. “Between me and a normal life”

He leans forward. “I would’ve chosen you. Every time.”

You laugh once, sharp and bitter. “Yeah? Even if it meant losing your hero license? Even if it meant turning your back on everything you fought for?”

“If it meant protecting you?” Hizashi swallows hard. “If it meant protecting our kid?”

“There was never even a question.”

Your breath catches, chest tightening painfully. You blink down at your hands.

Hizashi: I miss you.

Reader: That’s unfortunate.

Hizashi: …I deserved that.

Reader: You really didn’t. I just have unresolved feelings and sarcasm is easier than tears.