Hardware, Hands, and Heroes in the Making

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/54707599.

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero
Academia (Anime & Manga), my hero - Fandom
Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Aizawa
Shouta | Eraserhead & Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic
Characters: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic
Additional Tags: Friends to Lovers, Pre-Canon, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining,
Crushes, Awkward Crush, Flirting, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead is a
Good Friend, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead is a Good Hero, Hurt/Comfort,
Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Deaf Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Yamada
Hizashi | Present Mic is a Dork, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic Uses Sign
Language, Sign Language, Supportive Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead,
Support Course Shouta Aizawa, Shouta Aizawa wants to be a hero,
Hizashi Yamada wants a friend, First Meetings, Embarrassment, U.A.
Support Department (My Hero Academia), support items, Young Love,
Young erasermic, Young Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi |
Present Mic, Young Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Young Yamada Hizashi
| Present Mic, Some original background characters - Freeform, Hizashi
Yamada is being bullied, Muzzles, Muzzled Yamada Hizashi, Canon-
Typical Violence, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2024-03-25 Words: 7,971 Chapters: 1/1
 Hardware, Hands, and Heroes in the Making
by alliovellia

Summary

Yamada Hizashi is trying his best. Even if he can't help being a little loud, he wants to be a
hero. Maybe even more than he wants to be a hero, he wants to have a friend-- so much so
that he'll delude himself into believing his class bullies are turning over a new leaf when they
ask to meet him after school.

Tearful, terrified, and trapped in a quirk dampening muzzle, Hizashi wanders the empty halls
of U.A, trying to find someone who can help him get the hated thing off. What will happen
when he stumbles upon Shouta Aizawa, a support course student with his own ambitions of
becoming a hero?

Notes

I wrote this fic as a gift for my lovely partner! I hope anyone else who reads it enjoys it too.
If you like it, leave a comment, it would make my day!

*** I am not Deaf or HOH myself. I got my degree in Speech Language and Hearing
Sciences, am still learning sign language, and work with D/HOH people as a Speech
Language Pathologist. If you are a part of these communities and anything doesn't seem right
with my depictions of them, please let me know so I can continue to educate myself!
Hizashi had just decided that he was never going to watch Saw again. Sure, the movies were
thrilling and interesting for a passive observer– but it was a lot less fun to be on the receiving
end of the torment. His glasses, cracked and crooked on his face, fogged up as he took quick
panicked breaths beneath the device clamped over his mouth. The muzzle was fitted to his
jaw- thick cold steel and metal clamps reaching and ratcheting tightly behind his head. He
clawed uselessly at it– it remained as firmly latched on his face as it had been the last six
times he tried to remove it.

The trapped sensation made it difficult to control his breathing, to avoid hyperventilating and
passing out in the hallway, where no one would find him until tomorrow. Just one more
embarrassment… Hizashi thought miserably. At least if it killed him, he wouldn’t be around
to deal with the fallout of being discovered as a ‘helpless victim’ in a school for heroes.

Maybe he was being a little dramatic. Like many of the characters from Saw , he was trapped,
confused, and terrified- but unlike in Saw , the horrid mask wasn’t designed to snap his head
in half. Just to shut him up.

Unfortunately, it was very effective- Hizashi couldn’t even cry out for help. He had certainly
tried.

He slumped against the wall, burying his pounding head in his hands. Hot tears stung his skin
where it had been rubbed raw, either by the tight seal of the device to his face or by his
fingernails scratching him while trying to peel it away.

Was it like Saw ? Had Hizashi committed some long-forgotten crime that he was now
receiving his retribution for? Had he somehow earned this? His mind raced with these
questions, tears hitting the unforgiving metal in time with the rapid beat of his heart. The
words his frien- his classmates had jeered as they held him down echoed inside his skull,
bouncing between his ears like a cruel game of pong.

Attention Seeking. Destructive. You thought we were friends? Loudmouth Freak. Villain. You
destroy everything you even breathe near.

The only sound louder than the memory of their voices was that of the muzzle’s latch closing
with finality, on repeat in his head.

Hizashi would not realize for some time that his only transgression- the one his peers had
juried and punished him for- was that of being too earnest, too trusting– and too easy to pick
out as a loud yellow target.

The Hero-In-Training took in deep steadying breaths through his nose. Even if he would
never watch Saw again, he had learned enough from the movies to know that there must be
some sort of solution, a way to escape nearby somewhere. In a good Saw trap, there was
usually some metaphor intended to teach the victim a lesson about themselves or the world
around them. But that was stupid, and this was real life- Hizashi thought. All he needed was a
key– or someone who knew what they were doing.
Someone who knew what they were doing turned out to be about four doors away as Hizashi
rounded a corner into the hallway of UA’s Support Course. They weren’t really doors so
much as they were massive sliding metal sheets covering openings to rooms so large they
may as well have belonged to municipal airplane hangers. He peered hopefully into each
room as he passed, disappointed but unsurprised not to find anyone there. The school day had
ended about an hour prior, and most students and staff were already back home. As he
approached the fourth and final door, Hizashi’s pace and heart rate picked up at the sound of
clanking metal emanating from within it.

Through the window, Hizashi saw someone, at long last– a boy about his age, wearing a thick
leather apron and gloves. He was aggressively bending a metal rod to his will with a hammer
half the size of his body.

Hizashi’s exclamation of joy and relief was completely silent, deadened by the mask he wore.
He rushed inside, waving his arms erratically to get the boy’s attention. The smaller student
looked up, wiping his sweaty forehead before it wrinkled upwards in confusion. He set the
hammer down, taking a few steps backward to avoid being crashed into as Hizashi skidded to
a halt in front of him, gesticulating wildly and emoting with his eyes and brows.

“Uh..Can I help you?” He asked quizzically.

The blonde nodded emphatically, desperately, pointing to the hammer, then the boy, then his
face.

“Hit you with a hammer? No, I would lose workshop access.”

Hizashi wasn’t entirely sure whether or not he was joking. He shook his head no regardless,
gesturing meaningfully at the mask that was somehow more suffocating now than it had been
moments prior.

Across from him, the other boy’s dark eyebrows crept upwards into his equally dark hair.
Deep, black, intelligent eyes that were in stark contrast with his pale complexion roved over
Hizashi’s face, assessing the contraption.

“Your face-mask? That thing looks industrial. Do you have hyper-flu or something?”

Hizashi groaned under the mask, feeling hot tears pricking at his eyes in frustration and
mounting panic.

Help. he signed desperately. Help me, please, I’m stuck, I’m scared, I can’t get it off, I need
help. I need help, please help. His hands flashed so quickly that the black eyes of the
mysterious support course student couldn’t track them. Even as Hizashi slowed his
movements, deliberate and intentional, his expression remained quizzical. He didn’t speak
sign. Most people didn’t.

The dark-haired boy brought a finger to his chin, rubbing it as he considered Hizashi. “You
gotta help me out here man.”
I’m TRYING! Hizashi signed, slamming his hands on the table in frustration. He reached up
and pulled miserably at his hair– the style had been ruined by Makado, Yato, and Ikeshi
already- there was no point in trying to preserve it anymore.

Suddenly, his face was hot and wet– the tears he had been fighting won, and spilled over.
Hizashi sobbed silently, pulling hard at the muzzle still stubbornly unmoving.

Short dark and smart-stupid frowned. “Ok, ok ok ok, I get it– I get it now– shh, I’m going to
help you– I’ll get it off, it’s ok–” He gripped Hizashi’s arms, firm, but not painful. It was
steadying, grounding– somehow comforting. Hizashi felt himself being guided backward–
the backs of his knees hit a chair, and he sat hard.

“Just let me grab some stuff to try, ok? Not the hammer, don’t worry– I’m going to get it off.
You’re safe. You’re going to be ok.” His voice was soothing in a way that was working- but
seemed somehow as though he had practiced it. Like there was a ‘helping’ script he was
loosely following.

Hizashi nodded, light-headed and a little delirious with the barely suppressed panic. He took
deep breaths, figuring it would be harder for his savior to work on him if he passed out. His
leg bounced so quickly it was practically vibrating.

The support course boy was only out of sight for about 20 seconds– the comforting presence
of another soul had been more beneficial than Hizashi realized, once he was without it. His
heartbeat was visible in his throat. He felt every rush of hot blood racing through his tense
muscles.

Then he was back, carrying a small case of finely tipped tools. It was rapidly apparent to
Hizashi that he was on a swivel chair, after his strange new friend spun him around on it.
Unsure how he knew, Hizashi was certain the boy’s eyes were boring into the back of his
head.

“I’m going to start trying stuff,” he said lowly. “I’m gonna put my hands on your head, ok?
Try to stay calm.”

Hizashi swallowed hard but nodded affirmation. He appreciated the warning.

Soon after, he felt steady hands sink into his hair. They tested the edges where the straps of
the muzzle pressed against his scalp, following it all the way around. Strong fingers held his
head steady as another set pulled gently at the contraption, searching for a weak point or an
unlock mechanism. After a moment, he seemed to give up that tactic.

One hand slid from the back of his head down to the curve between his neck and his shoulder
and stayed there, even as the mass of his body moved away. The sound of clattering on the
table told Hizashi he was searching for tools. The boy’s thumb rubbed gently against his skin,
trying to comfort him. Maintaining their connection.

Hizashi realized the boy from the support course was trying to make sure he knew he was
still there– that he wasn’t alone. All the while, the steady mantra continued. “You’re alright.
I’m just grabbing some tools, I’m still here. There isn’t a quick release- but that’s ok. You’re
ok, I’m gonna get it off, I just need to try something different. It’s alright. You’re alright.”
Through the haze of the panic, Hizashi was vaguely aware of a warmth in his belly.

A tinny scratching sound registered in his hearing aids. The high frequency itched the inside
of Hizashi’s ears where the tubing output the sound. Support boy must be fiddling with some
tools– though he didn’t do it for long. Hizashi heard him swear, and the scratching stopped.

The chair spun around, and the black-haired boy came back into view. His dark brows were
knit and furrowed in concentration, his tongue barely poking out of the corner of his mouth
as he examined the front of the silencing mask. His hands gently held both sides of Hizashi’s
jaw, tilting it left and right.

“This might be a little trickier than I thought..” He muttered, more to himself than anything.
Hizashi’s eyes grew wide and round, like a horse who had heard a gunshot. It wasn’t almost
off? He fought off the bile rising in his throat as panic overwhelmed him again, beads of
sweat breaking out on his forehead. Beneath the muzzle, he started to scream. He screamed
and screamed, and though no sound leaked through, the other boy’s hands on the muzzle
trembled with the vibrations. Hizashi felt the device begin to heat as his voice shook its
molecules-- until the temperature became too much and he stopped. Support Boy sharply
drew his hands back, eyeing Hizashi warily as he thrashed and cried soundlessly.

Hizashi’s tears pooled in the seal between the mask and his skin, his chest rising and falling
rapidly with frantic breaths. On instinct he lifted his hands again, scrabbling uselessly at the
metal before letting them fall, flapping miserably and half forming indistinct signs as they
went.

Support boy reached forward, grabbing each of Hizashi’s shoulders and steadying him as he
leaned over him. His eyes were deep black mirrors, reflecting Hitachi's terrified expression as
he looked him in the eye.

“Shh… calm down." He soothed. "I AM going to get it off of you. It’s just a little harder if
you move, ok? Try and stay still for me.” His voice was low and even. Hizashi took a big
shuddering breath in through his nose and tried to nod.

“Try to find something else to focus on while I work on this, ok?”

Hizashi bobbled his head weakly in affirmation, closing his eyes and sucking in a few deep
breaths. When he opened them again, he decided to focus his gaze on the corner of the dark-
haired boy’s mouth, where his lips met and formed a little dip.

The focus of each student was unbreakable as they attended to the other. Hizashi’s eyes did
not move from their spot as Support Boy worked until he moved to tinker behind him. As he
vanished from view, Hizashi concentrated hard on the wall of tools that had been his
backdrop instead.

The smaller boy kept a firm point of contact with Hizashi’s body whenever he left his sight,
whether it was his elbows or his hands. He murmured non-stop as he worked, and whether to
himself or to Hizashi, Hizashi took comfort in it all the same. “It’s alright, you’re ok, you’re
doing great, you’re ok” again and again, like a chant.
When he finally came back into view, his sharp features were set in a look of determination
and confidence. Metal mechanisms scraped and whirred as he took Hizashi’s face in his
hands and carefully jiggled the jaw hinge until finally– it clicked, separated in two, and fell
from his face, hitting the floor with a metallic clatter.

Support Boy stood back, blowing a strand of dark hair out of his eyes and crossing his arms
over his chest– a screwdriver still clutched in one hand. He watched as Hizashi tentatively
brought his hands to his face, feeling the exposed skin. His hands moved slowly from his
freed jaw to cover his whole face, and he began to sob all over again, audibly this time. It was
a raw, broken little sound.

The other boy shifted his gaze uncomfortably, avoiding looking at him and politely allowing
him a moment to recover as he picked the pieces of the contraption from the floor and placed
them on his worktable. He waited patiently as he let the blonde cry all he needed.

After a few moments, when the wails had subsided into sniffles and hiccups, Support Boy sat
carefully beside Hizashi and spoke in a soft voice.

“So… I’m guessing it wasn’t a support item gone haywire, huh?”

Hizashi let out a bitter little laugh interrupted by a hiccup as he shook his head no,
aggressively rubbing at his puffy red eyes with the heels of his palms.

“Good- '' Support Boy replied “Because we all have your names and support items on our
work order board. And I haven't seen anyone asking for a gag or a- whatever this is.” He
glanced at the chalkboard by the front door, as if to check he wasn’t lying. “And if we made
it, for it to malfunction this badly, well…. Whoever put it together would fail out of the
program.”

There was a long silence. The boy rubbed the back of his head, rumpling his already very
messy hair. He was clearly uncomfortable with both doing the talking and the silence– but
Hizashi hadn’t spoken yet.

“So…” he started uncomfortably. “Do you talk too, or is it all just charades?” He waved his
hands vaguely in a poor imitation of the signs Hizashi had made earlier.

Hizashi wiped one last tear from his aching cheek and took a deep breath before responding
shakily.

“No, I talk… maybe too much,” he sniffled. “It’s not charades. It’s sign language. I’m Deaf.”
He made the sign for it as he spoke, a d handshape from his ear to his mouth.

“Oh” said Support Boy, the look on his face indicating he was worried he might be missing
something. “How… are you hearing me talk then? Is it your quirk?”

Hizashi laughed in a distinctly mirthless way, shaking his head. “No. My quirk is how I got
deaf. It’s… It’s called Voice. I can be pretty loud. It blew out my hearing as soon as I was
born. And the Doctor’s. And my Parent’s. You know, crying. My APGAR scores were crazy
man.”
“Oh” Support Boy repeated quietly, feeling stupid and very tactless.

“But then-” he blundered on. “You’re hearing me right now? How, if you’re deaf-”

“I have hearing aids.” Hizashi tucked his golden hair behind his ears, showing the small
devices nestled atop them. They’re not perfect– I’m due for a mapping soon. But they work
alright, and I’m pretty good at lip reading.”

“Oh..” the other said for the third time. He seemed unsure what else to say.

“Yeah.” Hizashi confirmed, wiping his nose on his sleeve with a hearty sniff.

“So..how did you get into that thing anyways then?” The dark-haired boy asked tentatively,
knee bouncing. “I’ve only seen the upperclassmen manufacturing things like that as
prototypes for the police and pros to use against villains during detainment.”

“Well…. That was the idea, I guess. Muzzle the villain.” Hizashi replied, eyes downcast.

“What do you mean?” Support boy asked sharply.

The blonde looked uncomfortable, his mouth pressed into a thin line. No matter how he tried,
Support Boy couldn’t seem to catch his eye.

“Some of my classmates… Uh… They don’t–well– I guess they’ve got a different sense of
humor than I’m used to?” he tried. “They thought it would be funny to teach me a lesson I
think”

His green eyes, which were very pretty , the dark-haired boy noticed, were suddenly
overbright again. “I think maybe I’ve realized they don’t like me very much”

The support course student was silent, bunching and unbunching the fabric of his uniform
tensely as he listened.

“They’re always saying I’m loud– but so does everyone. I didn’t think it was anything
unusual. I just figured it was normal guys being dudes, you know? Or maybe just everyone
doesn’t like me and I didn’t realize until now. I don’t really know.”

Hizashi’s face creased in misery. The smaller boy’s eyebrows were knit so tightly together
that they had become a unibrow.

“I thought when they asked if I wanted to get together outside of school, they were being
friendly… I– I’m embarrassed to admit it now, but… I was really excited. I haven’t hung out
with friends from class since elementary school. I was so stoked that things were turning
around for me.” He laughed, but it was hollow. Like he didn’t find it very funny at all.

Support Boy winced. He felt nauseous. He folded his arms tight over his chest as he listened
to the miserable story, expression contorted.

“What do you MEAN though, villain?” He interjected.

“Well… They said that villains hurt people and break stuff– And that no one likes them, and
that they’re a nuisance. They thought I fit the bill, so… on it went. Obviously I couldn’t use
my quirk to stop them either– they are right that it’s destructive. I would have brought the
whole building down if I had tried to use it to get away.”

“You’re NOT a villain!” The support course boy burst out. He clapped his hands over his
mouth, looking surprised with himself.

“I mean, that’s the idea-” Hizashi said, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. “I’d really like to be
a hero instead. I’m in the hero course actually. I had a helpless victim speedrun course today
though-” he chuckled emptily. “If they had an ‘endangered civilians’ class, I’d be at the top
of it.”

“But I mean… you seem like a good guy” said Support Boy, sounding a little pained. “You
were nice to those dudes even when they were saying stupid shit to you. And you’re
obviously smart- you ARE a hero, you chose not to risk destroying the building and hurting
people to save yourself, That’s pretty heroic!”

A very small smile lifted the corners of Hizashi’s mouth. Support Boy’s lips twitched.

“That's nice and all…” he started slowly “But I really would have been a villain if I had. That
close, I could have killed them. It’s hard to find a faster way out of the hero course than
committing murder.”

“Self-defense… The dark-haired boy muttered indignantly. There was a beat of silence before
he spoke again.

“So.. what, those assholes muzzled you because you’re loud?”

“And destructive. And annoying.” Hizashi added.

“Don’t say that or you might start to believe it-” he shot back hotly.

“Well… I am at least destructive. They’re right about that.”

“How do you mean?”

Hizashi rubbed the back of his neck– it felt hot. “It’s… hard to control.”

“Can you show me?”

The blonde shrunk back in his seat nervously. “It’s not really safe for you-”

“I’ll be fine,” said the other boy with startling confidence. “I can look after myself.”

“Who even is ‘yourself’ anyways?” Hizashi inquired. “I never asked your name-”

“Aizawa Shouta,” he gestured around the room. “Support Course”

“Well, Aizawa, I should properly thank y-'' Aizawa held up a hand.

“No need. Don’t worry about it. And you?”

Hizashi smiled. “Yamada Hizashi–Hero Course.”

“Alright Yamada,” said Aizawa, as if testing out the feel of his name in his mouth. “Let’s see
how this ‘horrible villainous quirk’ of yours works”

“I’m really not-”

“There’s a testing room over here. It’s pretty much indestructible. If there’s ever a bomb that
goes off, I want to be in here when it happens.” Aizawa guided him to the thick metal door.
Behind it was an enormous white room, empty and flawless aside from some minor scuff
marks on the walls and ceilings

“Show me what you can do. I want to judge for myself”

Hizashi looked uncomfortable. He checked around the workshop to see if anyone was nearby
before slipping his headphones from around his neck and set them snugly on Aizawa’s ears.
His world went quiet.

“These will protect you.” Said the blonde. Aizawa looked at him, nonplussed, and raised an
eyebrow.

Hizashi smacked his head with his hand, then mouthed clearly and slowly, signing with his
hands simultaneously. THESE-WILL-PROTECT-YOU.

Confusion was still evident on Aizawa’s face. He pulled one ear free, and Hizashi laughed a
little in exasperation.

“They’ll help protect you. Look—” He signed help. Then protect.

“Help. Protect.” He pointed at Aizawa. “You.”

Help. Protect. Aizawa mimicked with his hands, and Hizashi smiled. As opposed to the
miserable look that had been on his face for the entire half hour Shouta had known him, the
difference, that smile- was blinding. He almost didn’t look like the same person. His teeth
were bright, and perfect, and radiant. Aizawa’s heart stuttered.

“You have a nice smile” he said dumbly, before he had a chance to think it over.

Hizashi’s cheeks tinged with pink. “Thanks– I just got my braces off last week. It’s nice to
know they paid off.”

“Yea..” Aizawa said dazedly.

Despite the stupid response, it earned him another smile, though this time with closed lips–
and Hizashi reached out to slip the headphone back over his ear.

Help. Protect. He signed.

Shouta nodded, hoping his face wasn't the deep red he associated with the heat spreading up
his neck.

Hizashi fiddled with a knob on his hearing aids, turning them off and letting his world go
silent. He shot Aizawa one last apprehensive glance before drawing a deep breath, cupping
his hands around his mouth, and screaming into the empty room.

The sound was muffled, but still audible through the headphones that Aizawa clutched to his
ears as the room vibrated.

Yamada’s face was growing red with exertion as he pushed himself to bring the volume
higher– it began to leak under Aizawa’s headphones, his ears were ringing. The room
trembled violently before all at once, everything suddenly stopped, and Hizashi was rendered
mute once more. For a moment, he panicked as if he had been muzzled again, raising his
hands to his face but finding it bare.

He turned to Aizawa, whose eyes were brilliantly illuminated crimson Christmas lights,
locked on him. His hair floated ominously around him, as if he were deep underwater.
Trapped beneath that gaze, Hizashi found himself unable to speak.

After a moment, his hair dropped back down and his eyes faded from red to their original
black- no, Hizashi realized-deep brown.

“What was THAT?” Hizashi asked, testing his voice weakly.

“Erasure,” Aizawa replied simply. The hero-course student raised a questioning eyebrow,
remaining silent. Aizawa shifted awkwardly.

“It’s.. my quirk. All I can do is erase other people’s quirks. It’s not really fit for the hero
course, so… Anyways, I told you it’d be fine for you to yell– sorry I had to stop you. It was
getting loud.”

“That’s a sick quirk, man,” Hizashi said earnestly. “I bet you’d make a great hero.”

“Yeah, well, when you get on the enrollment committee you can give me a call.”

“What, you tried?” he exclaimed.

“Tried what?”

“To get into the hero course!”

“I mean… yeah” Aizawa scratched the back of his head, apparently embarrassed. “But I
failed the entrance exam in like, ten seconds flat. It was probably a record. I’m useless
against anything that doesn’t rely on a quirk.” He scrunched up, the memory clearly painful
to relive. “Like robots.”

Hizashi shook his head. “That thing is rigged man. It’s so biased. The entrance exam only
cares about people with physical quirks.”
“Which is why you got in, I’m sure– your voice is amazing.” He countered.

Hizashi snorted. “Yeah, if you like going deaf or annihilating local architecture”

“No.” Aizawa frowned. “For annihilating giant robots. And villains.”

The blonde shook his head, silky tresses flying every which way. “I don’t think they took
points off for collateral damage in the entrance exam because we were all such newbies. But
now that I’m in the hero course, I keep getting low marks because when I take out a practice
villain, I take out everything around them too.”

“How Come?”

Hizashi blinked, unsure. He took a moment to consider the question. “I don’t know… I guess
because it’s so hard to control? I can’t really aim. My voice just goes all over the place, and
whatever is in the way… it’s donezo.”

Aizawa nodded along as he listened. “I see..”

For a moment, the room was almost quiet enough for them to hear their thoughts echoing
back to them as they mulled the conversation over. The tension was broken when Aizawa
hesitantly slipped Hizashi’s headphones from around his neck and held them back out to
him.

“How do I say thank you?”

“What?”

Aizawa’s cheeks tinged pink again. “In sign language. How do I say thank you?”

That same brilliant smile broke over Hizashi’s face again. With a flat hand, he touched his
finger tips to his chin and swung downward in a gesture toward Aizawa.

Aizawa practiced the gesture a few times. Hizashi watched as before his eyes, he carefully
put together a string of signs, forming a message.

Thank you. Help. Protect.

Hizashi laughed softly. It was a beautiful sound. Warm and bright like windchimes and
inexplicably, stained glass. “It’s no big deal man. I should be thanking you– or teaching you
how to say ‘you’re welcome for saving your dumb ass’”

Aizawa shook his head, mirroring Hizashi in his response. “That really wasn’t a big deal. It
sounds like you just have a hard time aiming your quirk, and a couple of assholes in your
class who are too busy being bullies to learn how to be heroes. You could report them for this
you know.”

“Nahh” Hizashi replied with an easy smile. “Karma will get them one of these days. I want to
be a hero, right? Not stoop to their level. My mom says the best thing I can do to deal with
people like that is just to keep winning and let them feel dumb when it happens.” He cringed,
then rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “Uh, but it’s probably lame to tell you the
advice my mom gave me, huh? Forget I said it-“

“No, she’s right,” Shouta said firmly. “And you WILL win, and show them. You’re going to
be a great hero one day Yamada.”

“Hizashi”

“What?”

“Call me Hizashi”

Shouta’s ears felt hot. Hizashi’s cheeks looked equally flushed. “Oh.. well. You’re going to
be a great hero. Hizashi.”

“I hope so, one of these days. But today, you were my hero.”

Shouta couldn’t look him in the eye. He felt the heat spread from his ears to his cheeks. His
collar was uncomfortably tight.

“You should try again for the hero course Aizawa— I really think you coul-“

“Shouta!” He interrupted. “If I get to call you Hizashi, then please-Shouta. You can say
Shouta”

Hizashi felt this smile stretch from ear to ear. He was a little embarrassed to be so thrilled
about making a friend- but couldn’t help himself. And he couldn’t wait to tell his mom later.

“Either way Ai- Shouta— I really do think you’d do well in the hero course. I can vouch for
you, put in a good word-“

Aizawa cut him off again. “I appreciate it, but…I want to make it into the hero course on my
own. I haven’t given up. I just need to come at it from a different angle, and figure out how to
play to my strengths- but I’m going to do it.” The determination was evident in every line on
his face.

“Well… I look forward to having you as my classmate when that happens.”

“Me too-” Shouta replied, surprised to find that he meant it. “Maybe I’ll take the spot of one
of those dicks who jumped you today when they expel them.”

Hizashi barked out a laugh. “Wouldn’t that be nice— Miss Karma would be soooo good to
me if that happened. I’ll keep my fingers crossed”

“I guess.. I’ll see you in class then?”

“I hope I don’t have to wait until you join us to see you again— I mean! Hizashi’s cheeks
were on fire. He hoped Shouta didn’t notice. Unfortunately, he seemed like the sharp type. “I
just mean— don’t be a stranger.” Hizashi amended. “Come up and visit 1A if you get the
chance.”
Shouta smiled softly. “I might”

Hizashi prayed he wasn’t pushing his luck. “And if—could I- if I stopped by the workshop
again, would I? Would you be here?”

The corner of Shouta’s lip that Hizashi had glued his eyes to, had studied so closely before–
lifted up. Aizawa had dimples.

“I might”

“Ok” Hizashi said, unable to separate ‘thrilled’ and ‘flustered’ into different mental
categories. “Ok cool! Um… I-Well-Thank you again for uh. For your help. And it was radical
to meet you and- I really appreciate what you did for me. I won’t forget it.”

“It’s no problem, Hizashi.” Shouta said, like he was practicing letting the name roll off his
tongue. Like it felt good there. “Anytime.”

Hizashi’s uniform was far too hot. He swallowed.

“See you around?”

The playful smile widened.

“You might.”

/////////

Hizashi stumbled onto the bus just before it pulled away from UA’s stop. His muscles were
lead; the terror and subsequent excitement and elation that had torn through his body in the
short span of an afternoon left him exhausted.

Still, he had enough energy to pull his phone out of his pocket and start drafting a ‘thank you’
text to his new friend, hoping it wasn't too soon— when he realized with horror that he had
forgotten to ask for Aizawa’s phone number. Fuck.

He would just have to ask for it the next time he saw him. And he was going to see him. So,
twice a week for the next three weeks, Hizashi stopped by the workshop whenever he could
find time, trying to catch Aizawa. During his lunch break, after school- he even tried arriving
early. But each time, he was disappointed not to find a dark mop of messy black hair bent
over a project, hiding a mysterious smile

By the fourth week, Hizashi began to wonder if he really had consistent bad luck, or if
perhaps Aizawa was avoiding him. He hurried into class just moments before it began,
throwing himself into a seat. Why was he risking lateness and a lecture for some guy who
had been kind to him nearly a month ago now? Was he really that desperate for a friend?
Could he even call them friends? He had mistaken his classmates as being friendly. Was it
possible the same thing had happened with Ai- with Shouta? It couldn’t be. He had asked
Hizashi to call him by his first name. He had been so gentle as he unwound the springs and
gears that forced his mouth shut.

The bell rang and class ended. Time had warped and distended for Hizashi, too lost in his
thoughts to respond to the chime. It wasn’t until Hizashi heard his name that he was startled
out of his reverie.

“Yamada Hizashi?” His teacher called out. “Your support item is ready for pickup at your
locker. I just got word” She waved a yellow form back and forth. Hizashi blinked.

“Support item?”

“Yes, at your locker. Enjoy your lunch Yamada– maybe it’ll help bring your mind back to
earth.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Hizashi alone in the classroom. He hadn’t ordered a
support item. Was there another Yamada Hizashi at UA that it could have gotten mixed up
with?

Hizashi gathered his things, apprehensive about what he might find as he headed for his
locker. When he swung it open, it was unmistakable. A silver case with his student number
glinting faintly on the profile. Even if he had a doppelganger, there was no way he shared the
same locker and number. It must really be for him.

He removed the case from his locker and set it hesitantly on the ground, unclasping the snaps
holding it shut. He could hardly believe his eyes when they fell on what was inside.

It looked like a yoke– or an enormous ring of some sort. Perhaps a very bulky necklace. The
craftsmanship was phenomenal. Each groove and line fit perfectly against the other, the metal
polished to the point of reflection. The cushion inside the neck piece was hand stitched in
place with yellow thread.

Hizashi lifted it from its foam bed with shaking hands and examined it, twisting and spinning
the strange device to view it from every angle. There were speakers, unmistakably– knobs,
dials, and buttons. A slot for CDs. His initials were even engraved on the inner rim.

When he snapped it in place around his neck, he found that it fit perfectly. Who could have
known his precise measurements?

Suddenly apprehensive that it might not come off, he reached to unlatch it and found that it
came away swiftly, easily, in every way the hated muzzle hadn’t. Hizashi exhaled with relief.
A lot of care had been poured into its construction- A support item, custom built for him. He
could hardly wait to try it out.

////////
The opportunity to do just that presented itself that afternoon, when his homeroom teacher
announced a surprise round of sparring matchups. Students muttered with excitement and
nerves, some stretched, others cracked their knuckles menacingly or showed off their various
quirks.

Hizashi didn’t like the wicked way Ikeshi’s eyes shone one bit. His throat closed up.
Breathing was momentarily impossible. Ikeshi’s quirk, Statue, was a particularly nasty one to
go up against. With so much as a fingertip to skin, he could paralyze an opponent at will. The
longer he maintained contact, the longer they stayed frozen in place. Certainly it would be
useful for detaining villains until police arrival, if Ikeshi ever became a hero. But that was a
strong if. Statue was the quirk that had contributed heartily to Hizashi’s silent humiliation a
few weeks prior. It left him entirely unable to move aside from his eyes, as Ikeshi and his
companions had lowered the muzzle over his jaw.

The look he gave Hizashi now said all too plainly that Ikeshi would be delighted for a replay.
Of course, it wasn’t guaranteed that they would be matched up - he tried to reason. Not that
he was scared. The raised hairs on the back of his neck disagreed.

Hizashi braced himself, squaring his shoulders and determinedly trying to screw his face up
into what he hoped read as “confident hero.” He scanned the board, searching for his name
and– of course. Yamada Hizashi vs. Ikeshi Kyozou .

That was just his luck. He considered his options, tried to formulate a strategy as his mind ran
jackrabbit circles in his skull. All he could hope to do was keep from getting touched, and try
to send him out of bounds from afar. If it came to close combat, he was done for.

Each student assumed their starting position on the field. Their classmates gathered to watch
from the nearby safety of the arena boundaries. Ikeshi was a panther pacing back and forth,
baring his wicked teeth. As long as Hizashi could keep him at bay without converting the
cityscape arena to rubble, he’d be alright. It was easier said than done.

Hizashi slid his headphones over his ears and aids, shutting the world out. They protected
him from the snarling taunts Ikeshi slung at him, from the muttering white noise of the
crowd, and from the devastating power thrumming just beneath his vocal chords. If only they
could protect the cityscape from collateral damage- but no, he had a new support item for
that. His hands trembled as he latched the directional speaker into place.

Though Hizashi couldn’t hear it, a countdown blared through the speakers. He chose not to
waste time reading whatever venom spat from Ikeshi’s lips as they readied themselves–
instead he assessed his opponent’s position, scanned the environment, and then— there in the
stands. A flash of pale skin. Eager eyes. Familiar tousled black hair. Hizashi’s chest
squeezed. It was Aizawa.

Without thinking, he lifted his fingers to brush against the speaker. Even from this distance,
he could feel dark eyes on him. His mind and his heart raced.

From his place in the stands, the support course student raised his hands. Hizashi could just
make out what he signed.
 HELP. PROTECT.

He felt weak in the knees. But not with nerves.

The countdown reached zero, and the horn signaling the start of the match blared so loudly
that it vibrated through the stadium, through Hizashi’s bones. For the first time in his life,
Hizashi felt in control of his voice. It didn’t matter if he was up against Ikeshi. He would
never even have time to get close.

Hizashi’s quirk was springwater inside him, welling up and begging to burst free. Without
knowing what else to say, Hizashi cried at the top of his lungs.

“ NEW SPEAKERRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!! ”

The ground trembled with all the force of an earthquake as sound waves ripped through it in
a controlled path, and like lightning seeking a rod struck Ikeshi. Ikeshi was blasted
backwards and out of bounds, into the back wall of the arena. If Hizashi had been able to
hear, he would have listened to a rather foul crunching sound. Spectators struggled to discern
whether it was the shattering of Ikeshi’s bones, or the stone wall he had broken them on. He
lifted his headphones from his ears just a moment too late to appreciate the music of his
unintentional revenge– but just in time to hear a whoop from the bleachers, before it was
drowned out by the wild applause his classmates broke into. It was the fastest match in UA’s
history.

Their congratulations fell on deaf ears, however– Hizashi had eyes only for Aizawa, who was
standing on the bleachers with a fist raised triumphantly in the air.

Hizashi grinned like a madman, his cheeks stretched with the width of his grin. He lifted a
hand to his chin and signed THANK YOU.

A handful of his classmates had turned to see who was shouting in the bleachers, but none
understood the exchange. The bright glint of Aizawa’s smile was apparent, even at a distance.

HELP. YES. PROTECT. S-P-E-A-K-E-R. YES. FRIEND. HELP. H-I-Z-A-S-H-I”

Hizashi put his face in his hands. His smile was so wide, it felt like it might split his face
open. He was sure every one of his teeth were visible.

When he lifted his head again to look at the support course student, the bleachers were empty.
Aizawa was gone

It was like a beautiful fever dream, and Hizashi didn’t want to wake up. The rest of his day
passed in a bubbly haze. Hizashi, ever the good sportsman, vaguely recalled putting the
fireman’s carry from last week’s class into practice and lugging Ikeshi to Recovery Girl’s
office. Distant pats on the back, nods and words of approval drifted in and out of his
awareness. It was the best he had ever done in a practical class, and somehow, none of it
mattered. The clock couldn’t move fast enough.
The moment the day ended, he flung his backpack over his shoulder and raced through the
corridors toward the support course workshop.

Somehow he was certain that this time Aizawa would be there. A compass in his stomach
promised it, pointed him insistently northward.

Sure enough, when he finally burst through the door, Aizawa was slouched on the
workbench, swinging his feet and fiddling with a piece of paper. Almost as if he had been
waiting for Hizashi.

“Shouta— the speaker-you? Was that- you?” Hizashi panted.

Shouta shrugged nonchalantly, the smile on his face hiding nothing

“It might have been”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks, I kept- I kept checking-“

“Maybe I’ve been busy working on something-“ Aizawa said. He was nowhere near as subtle
as he was smug. “I’m done with that project now though. I should be free if you want to
come by again sometime?”

“You came to see me!”

“I had to know it worked…” Shouta admitted, hopping off the table and shoving his hands
deep in his pockets. With every step he approached, Hizashi felt more aware of the
temperature in the room.

“It looks like it did though, huh? Much more controlled than its been in previous matches”

“In previous— have you seen my matches before?”

Hizashi was all at once very concerned with how sweaty he may or may not have looked
during the last few weeks of class. How many times he had been knocked on his ass.
Whether or not the gym uniform looked good on him.

Shouta shrugged, not meeting his eyes. Hizashi wasn’t sure if he was just projecting when he
noticed a light pink flush creeping across Aizawa’s cheeks.

“I might have”

“But how- I’ve never see you-“

“And you never will, if I don’t want you to- I can be pretty stealthy when I have to.” Shouta
rubbed the back of his neck, apparently embarrassed. “I thought if I ever make it as a hero, I
might be underground or something”

He made a sound like a mouse being stepped on as the breath was suddenly squeezed out of
him by Hizashi, who swept him into an enormous bone crushing hug.
“You’d be an amazing underground hero Shouta, and you’re an amazing friend. I can't
believe you did this all— in secret?! For ME?”

Shouta’s Feet dangled off the ground as he was lifted into the air. His hands were still trapped
inside his pockets

“I mean.. Yeah” he wheezed. “It’s no big deal-“

“And those extra signs— where did you learn those? I didn’t teach you ‘friend’— or
fingerspelling!”

“Um…” It was unmistakable now. Shouta had turned bright red “YouTube…”

Hizashi gushed too much, too giddily to stop and comment. “And the speaker fits me
perfectly— and it lets me go fast— how did you do that?”

Aizawa was red from his forehead to his ears, and all the way down his neck.

“Uhhhh… attention to detail?”

“I can’t believe you. Why would you do all that, for me?”

Aizawa took a long time to answer.

“...No one has ever let me call them by their first name before…”

Hizashi laughed incredulously.

“You did all of this for me because I let you call me Hizashi???”

The support course student was blushing so hard it looked painful. Hizashi was only a little
worried he might pass out. Unable to speak, he just nodded, avoiding Hizashi’s gaze.

“Shouta-” He let the name melt onto his tongue, rotated it in his mouth, tasted it again and
again and again.

“Shouta, Shouta, Shouta— let me buy you dinner. Let me buy your tokens for an arcade.
Pick something to do and let me pay for it— I’ll call you Shouta all day every day, whenever
you want– just give me the opportunity and I swear I’ll make all this worth your time. You
can call me Hizashi whenever you want– you’ve earned my first name a million times over. I
just can’t say it enough– Thank you. Shouta. Thank you”

It all seemed to be a bit too much for Shouta, who looked like he might collapse. Hizashi
made him sit down, and he drank clumsily from a water bottle covered in cat stickers while
his face cooled down

“You… mean that?”

“Mean what?”
“I can pick a place?”

“Anywhere.”

“Even…” his face looked in danger of overheating again. “Even a cat cafe “

“Of COURSE a cat cafe-” Hizashi babbled. “anywhere you want, anywhere at a- wait, you
like cats?”

Shouta plucked at the hem of his shirt, avoiding eye contact. It took him a beat to nod
affirmatively.

“Shouta, for this, I’ll take you every week for a year”

“Maybe I’ll hold you to that,” Shouta said with a weak grin. He fiddled nervously with the
slip of paper still clutched in his grasp.

“Um… if we’re going to go to the cat cafe, we’ll… need a way to stay in contact. So we can
schedule it”

He seemed to be going somewhere with this, so Hizashi waited patiently, even as his heart
did jumping jacks.

“I… um.. I was going to leave this in the case with your speaker… but I thought it might be
better if I just? Um.. just gave it to you in person”

With hands he hoped Hizashi didn’t notice were trembling, Shouta reached out and offered
him the piece of paper.

The hero in training unfolded it to see a messily scrawled phone number with a little star
penned next to it. Underneath the digits, Shouta had signed his name.

“That’s my number. You can put it in your phone- and then you can talk to me. If you want.”

“I know how phone numbers work,” Hizashi laughed. “Of course I want to talk to you. I have
to talk to you if we’re going to figure out when I’m taking you to the cat cafe”

Hizashi slid the piece of paper into his phone case for safekeeping. Anyone with a foresight
quirk could have told him that it would live there for the next several years. A treasured first
token from a real friend– if you didn’t count the speaker.

In the end, Hizashi kept his promise. Though the cast of cats at their local cafe was ever
changing, He and Shouta became constants– regulars. They went at least once a week, the
elderly owners greeting them by name each time. They practically had their own time slot at
Coffee and Calicos. The pair delighted in the quality time they spent with the cats and with
each other. It was a tradition they honored, even after a year had passed; and Aizawa
begrudgingly began to pay for his own tickets.
/////

Even though the time, date, and location of their weekly rendezvous at the cat cafe was fixed,
it was still somehow difficult to find opportunities to discuss when they would hang out
again, or what adventure they would go on next– Watching Saw , for example– with the half-
joke promise that Shouta would protect Hizashi from any evil contraptions. Apparently the
hero course and support course schedules were staggered just enough to make meeting up
difficult– though Hizashi occasionally caught glimpses of Shouta-shaped shadows in the
stadium seats during his matchups.

It did, however, finally become somewhat easier to plan their escapades, and considerably
harder to pay attention during lectures when the following year, Shouta Aizawa joined the
Hero Course- Class 1-A.
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