Chapter Text
The first time was in their second year at UA...
Oboro was dead.
And that made Shouta sick to his stomach.
He stared down, wide eyed, gripping his aching arm as he watched everything unfold in front of him. The dust clearing, the last few bits of rubble rolling down the pile, a pair of shattered goggles sliding out from beneath. It was as if that was his way of surrendering. Of saying: "You got me, I'm gone."
A deep shuddering breath in is all it takes for the tears to start. And they won't stop. He's dead. Dead dead dead. All because that stupid work study, because that building fell on him... Because of the high fruequency that made it crumble.
He was dead because of Hizashi.
It was his fault.
Did he even know it?
Did he know that his obnoxious quirk just killed their best friend? No. He probably didn't. He probably thought he was doing good by doing that, using his quirk. It was pointless anyways—Hizashi's quirk. Shota always hated him for it.
It was annoying and a pain in the ass to deal with. Yeah, it was a good people repellent, but that was also the problem with it. To be honest, Shouta never really wanted to be friends with him. He was too loud and self-centered. He only stuck around for Oboro.
And now he's gone.
It shouldn't be him. He had goals to reach, things to do... He was too bright to burn out. Too young to die.
It should never have been him.
Shouta's chest tightened, he could feel the bile rising from his gut. The thought was hard to swallow, hard to keep down. It came up through his throat and out his mouth as a gut-wrenching scream.
"OBORO!"
Dead. Dead. Dead. Just like that, he was gone.
Thrown into the garbage can like a failed attempt at an essay. Blown away like dew droplets in the wind.
Hyperventilating. He was hyperventilating. His chest hurt, lungs screaming for the air he was desperately gasping in. His face felt fuzzy and his vision was blurred over with tears. He was sobbing like a little kid.
And then something came to mind. Something that made his chest tighten and his stomach hurt. He didn't want to think that... No, no that's too far...
He wanted it to be Hizashi.
His jaw clenched and he swallowed back a sob. What if it wasn't Oboro under that building? What if it was Hizashi? He shook his head. He never liked the guy, sure, but that was too far. It wasn't a heroic thought...
But it would save Oboro.
He pictured seeing a blur of blonde run into the building, up the stairs. He could see Hizashi yelling for anybody inside , calling out something like "I'm on my way, don't worry!"
He could vividly see the building starting to crumble, the little yelp Hizashi would let out trying to stabilize himself. He imagined him running back downstairs with an evacuee, ready to push them outside the rubble.
Shouta swallowed again, he felt sick.
He could almost hear the final scream the boy would let out as he got crushed by one of the buildings supports.
He wanted to throw up.
But he liked that thought better than the images if Oboro going through the same thing.
He let out a choked sob. It should have been Hizashi. Oboro didn't deserve to die like that...
He put a hand over his mouth and his knees buckled just as he started sobbing and screaming into his palm.
"Damn it— DAMN IT!"
He pictured the look on Hisashi's face as he realized he wouldn't make it out. The image blurring with Oboro. He saw the color drain from his face, his freckles becoming more visible now that he wasn't so flushed.
Cracked glasses instead of goggles.
A voice instead of the sky.
"Stop it, stop!"
He didn't want to think that. He didn't want to see it... He wanted them out, all those terrible things.
He imagined Oboro finding those glasses, clutching them close to his chest as tears rolled down those beautiful tanned cheeks. Shouta could feel his weight on his shoulder as he leaned into him, crying into his scarf. Those soft blue locks falling over his shoulder. His warmth, his tears, his breath on his neck...
He could feel the scuffed up leather of his jacket in his arms as he hugged him tight. The smell of asphalt and that stupid Axe body spray he always wore...
Oboro was alive in that vision.
He needed him...
The vision stopped as someone pulled him to his feet. A Pro Hero. He grabbed the boy's shoulder and lead him away from the scene, he was holding the goggles in the other hand. He was talking, saying things Shouta didn't quite comprehend. He was still hyperventilating. Still panicking.
He was seated by an ambulance not far away, and his arm eas patched up. He sat spaced out for a while, still wrapped up in Oboro's lingering memory.
He felt a weight on his shoulder. He looked over. The shaking warmth of someone next to him, crying into his scarf. Locks of blonde hair, messy and darkened with dirt fell over his shoulder... He could feel the other's breath tickling his neck as he sobbed.
It's just Hizashi...
Not Oboro.
He'd honestly prefer it the other way around, but he'd never admit that out loud.