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No amount of experience changed the following: attacks would always happen, and they would always happen fast.
It was an expectation that had embedded within the nerves of every pro-Hero from the moment they entered a university, to the day they earned their license, and then every numbered day after that. But despite this instinct, even the best ranking pro-Heroes could be caught off-guard; Quirk or Quirkless, humanity was all the same - flawed and fragile.
Even before losing One For All, Yagi had gradually been coming to terms with this fragility, which only seemed to worsen in the aftermath of his final brawl with All For One. The pain in his chest had graduated from a dull ache to more of a constant sharpness whenever he moved. His arms, once capable of carrying eleven people from smoking wreckage, could hardly summon enough strength to carry groceries. His fingers, once balled tightly into fists that terrified even the worst of foes, were lately too weak to open a jar. Most days, Yagi really only felt comfortable sitting or lying down, but he’d never admit it, even to himself...
Shouta knew, though. He’d noticed Yagi’s persistent tiredness, which was enough to (almost) rival his own. He saw the evidence in the form of dropped paperwork in the hallways and a curious receipt left on Yagi’s desk for an automatic can opener. But most of all, he noticed it in Yagi’s eyes; though they had been sunken in from the day Shouta saw his true form, the once electric-blue light within them had dimmed in a way that resonated beyond all of the physical clues. Toshinori Yagi, the man who believed in always smiling, was deeply troubled.
Yagi picked up on Shouta’s concern over him pretty easily. Ordinarily, he would have shrugged it off, but lately, he was finding it harder and harder to deny Shouta’s gestures, which ranged from holding the door open for him to accompanying him to the store - though, it wasn’t because of his growing weakness.
Yagi wasn’t sure when he had fallen for Shouta. Much like his illness, it had developed gradually over time. All he knew was Shouta somehow made his chest hurt in a way that wasn’t bad.
An autumn sunset was bathing the Kamino ward in lilac hues as the nightlife of the city began to stir. Yagi had been invited to see the statue that had been unveiled of him - of who he used to be, anyway - and Shouta, without being asked, had tagged along for the trip.
“What did you think?” Shouta asked, after the ceremony was over, and after Yagi was quiet for too long
“Oh, I think it’s amazing…” Yagi started, “I can’t believe how fast they rebuilt this place…”
“I meant your statue,” Shouta corrected, causing Yagi to still, “What did you think of it?”
“Oh… it’s…” Yagi scratched the back of his head, fighting for the right response, “It’s very humbling, and I’m most appreciative!”
Shouta looked as though he wanted to roll his eyes, but refrained. For whatever reason, Yagi challenged him.
“What?”
“I’m not the media, y’know,” Shouta mumbled, tucking his hands into his pockets, his face partially hidden by his ever-present capture weapon wrapped around his shoulders, “You don’t have to give me such a generic response - you can be honest.”
“I am being honest!” Yagi said, far too defensively, “I do appreciate it…”
“But…?”
“It’s just,” Yagi sighed and looked down at Shouta’s boots, “Not many heroes have a statue made of the exact moment they stopped being a hero… it’s a bittersweet feeling. I mean, I’m not ungrateful or anything, I just - ”
“You don’t need to justify yourself to me, Toshinori,” Shouta said, “I understand.”
Yagi took as big of a breath as his remaining lung would allow as he followed Shouta down an alleyway to a side street, opting for a potentially quieter route from any would-be fans still lingering on the main boulevard. Yagi smirked; Eraserhead was a master of avoidance.
Shouta knew Yagi was struggling a lot more than he was letting on, a stubbornness that had well-preceded his retirement. Would he ever drop the facade and just admit he needed help? Flashbacks of All Might deteriorating on live television mere blocks from where they were walking flashed in Shouta's mind. He froze.
"Yagi," Shouta said suddenly, "You may have retired, but that doesn't really mean you 'stopped being a hero'.”
Yagi watched as Shouta looked over his shoulder towards him, momentarily stunned by his words. Yagi supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised - this was Aizawa he was dealing with after all, yet…
"That's… kind of you, but I don't think you do understand. I can barely hold a textbook. If anything were to happen to the students, or just an ordinary citizen walking down the street, I'm completely useless,” said Yagi, “How can I still be a hero if I can’t do anything?"
"Idiot," Shouta glared, as if he were about to use his Erasure, but instead, he pointed to Yagi’s chest, “It’s still here. Continuing to teach, continuing to guide Midoriya, the effort you put in just to get out of bed every day… it might not be your idea of what a ‘hero’ is, All Might, but it’s plenty good enough.”
Yagi could only watch as Shouta’s finger pressed gently into his chest, before retreating back to his pocket. Shouta turned and continued on, and Yagi was unsure if Shouta was aware of the impact of his words. Yagi slowly reached towards his chest, finding the spot over his heart that Shouta had touched. He smiled to himself, then followed after the fellow teacher, taking in the cool air, the comforting hum of cars driving nearby, and in the distance, a lone dog barking.
Yagi watched Shouta’s form, hunched over and broody, his dark hair blowing with the breeze. A familiar pain radiated in his chest, not from his lung, but from the moment. This small little moment with Shouta that he never wanted to end... He’d become so entranced, that he missed the second Shouta’s capture weapon sprang to life.
“Get down!” Shouta shouted, the rushing noise of his binds zipping past Yagi’s frame towards an enemy that had jumped down right behind him.
Yagi dove towards the street, only hearing the sound of running footsteps - Aizawa’s - and the grunt of whoever was on the end of his binds. But before Yagi could look, the sound of a gunshot pierced through the once-calm side street. Yagi’s heart went into a free-fall as he saw the gun sticking out from the binds, still smoking. The crazed man holding it was smiling wildly at Aizawa, who kicked the gun out of his grasp and slammed his head into the nearby wall. The man slumped immediately, his grin still ghosting his face.
“Yagi, call the police,” Shouta instructed, still with a white-knuckled grip on his weapon.
‘He doesn’t seem injured,’ Yagi thought, part of him still shaking with adrenaline as he reached for his cell phone, ‘What a relief…’
Shouta continued to look down at the assailant that had just attempted to murder Yagi. He was Quirkless, but a villain none-the-less. His gaze traveled to the pistol, which he reached to pick up - it was only then that the pain hit. Shouta felt his left arm weaken with the realization. Next, his fingers stopped cooperating and the binds fell from his hand, slumping onto the ground between him and the attacker.
A warm sensation, accompanied by a hot knife-like pain twisted at his side. He clutched the area with his free hand, his skin immediately met with the tell-tale warmth of blood. His breath caught and he looked to Yagi, who was faced away, attempting to describe their location to emergency services.
“Tell them to bring an ambulance,” Shouta called to him, but Yagi didn’t seem to hear him.
“Tell them…” Shouta tried again, realizing that his voice was just above a whisper, “Ambulance…”
Yagi was scratching his head as he squinted at the sign on the backdoor of one of the buildings - some kind of a clothing store.
“We’re behind… Dirt-Cheap Donki-Oote…” Yagi explained.
“Who is the Pro you are with, Mr. Toshinori?” asked the dispatcher.
“Shou - Eraserhead,” Yagi answered, smirking a little as he turned to Aizawa, who… was on the ground.
Yagi froze, only for a second, before dashing to Shouta’s side. In the glow of the streetlight, he could see blood was quickly pooling around Shouta’s torso; it completely covered his hand, which was feebly attempting to clutch the wound, his other hand still gripping the weapon wrapped around the shooter.
“Send paramedics - my friend’s been shot!” Yagi yelled to the dispatcher, who had been questioning his silence.
“Where has your friend been shot?”
Yagi reached towards Shouta’s hand, trying to ignore how much his own was trembling. “I don’t know, h-he’s wearing all black… lower stomach, maybe…? Torso. Lower left side… Shouta, where were you hit?”
“Here…” Shouta said, cringing as he pressed on the spot in his side, the blood-soaked clothing sticking slightly to his fingers.
“Is he bleeding?”
“Y-Yes, a lot…” Yagi said, making the mistake of locking eyes with Aizawa, who had a look on his face Yagi had never seen on him before, but had seen on the faces of countless people before - people who knew they were in grave danger.
The dispatcher’s tone rose in seriousness. “You need to apply pressure - “
“I know, I need to put down the phone, please - just hurry!”
“Sir, wait - ”
The phone was set aside, just a few inches from the gun.
Yagi gently nudged Shouta’s hand away, then placed his own hands over the space on Shouta’s side.
“Here?” He asked, to which Shouta nodded.
Yagi swallowed hard, then pressed down as hard as he could. Shouta grunted and closed his eyes tightly while Yagi tried not to react to the sight of the blood bubbling up between his fingers; he hadn’t seen a sight like this since the USJ incident, which had also involved Shouta and a lot of blood.
Back then, he had been able to save him.
But now...
Only two minutes passed before Yagi’s arms began to strain. Still, he kept the pressure on, keeping a careful eye on Shouta, the dazed attacker, and the gun between them. He swallowed hard when he noticed the capture weapon was starting to slack. Shouta’s grip was slipping.
“Shouta, hey…” Yagi tried, “Help is on the way. Just hold on.”
Shouta mumbled some kind of acknowledgement, and after the fourth minute, every nerve in Yagi’s fingers were on fire. Still, he kept the pressure on, listening for anything that remotely resembled a siren approaching, but the quiet ambiance still remained; the far away dog kept barking.
Yagi glanced at his phone, which was still on the call with the dispatcher. He thought about picking it back up, or trying to put it on speaker mode, but before he could even consider how to do so without letting go of Shouta, he saw the capture weapon crumple in his peripheral vision. Shouta had let go, and much to Yagi’s terror, Shouta’s face was now as white as a sheet.
“Shouta, talk to me…” Yagi said shakily, looking between him and the attacker, who still seemed to be unconscious. No longer held by Shouta, Yagi could only hope that the bastard stayed knocked out or the police would arrive soon. Yagi would wonder about who he was and why he had tried to kill him later...
Shouta opened his eyes, studying Yagi closely. “You… talk to me instead.”
‘What am I supposed to say…?’ was Yagi’s first thought, before a lifetime of instinct rushed back to him.
“You’ll be fine,” Yagi said, but the words came out stilted at first.
Shouta somehow managed to smirk a little. “I think you should try that line again…”
“You’re going to be just fine,” Yagi said once more, “Because I am here...”
It wasn’t as boisterous as Shouta had heard him say it so many millions times before, but it was just as sincere. Shouta felt Yagi’s renewed spirit tighten the pressure on his side; there was no doubt holding his wound was taking a profound toll on Yagi, yet here he was, holding on anyways, with everything he had. Yet, Shouta was drifting. He couldn’t feel his capture weapon or the street beneath his back anymore. He couldn’t feel his fingers or legs. All he could feel was Yagi’s hands.
‘I can’t die…’ Shouta thought suddenly, ‘I can’t let him think he failed…’
Yagi could feel the urge to cough clawing up his throat as his hands trembled. Eight minutes, now.
“Just a little longer, okay?” Yagi said, looking carefully at Shouta, who had closed his eyes again. Suddenly, the feeling of a hand brushing against his. Shouta’s.
“Not…” Shouta rasped, as a thin line of blood began to trickle from the corner of his mouth, “Not… your fault…”
Everything within Yagi came to halt. “W-What…? What’s not my fault?”
Shouta’s hand came to rest over Yagi’s. “...if I don’t make it.”
Those five words, uttered by Shouta Aizawa, were worse than any punch, kick, or bite than Yagi had ever received in his life.
Nine minutes.
“You’re going to make it,” Yagi argued.
‘You have to make it. The world needs you. UA needs you. Class 1-A needs you. Midoriya needs you. I need you.’
Through the white-hot pain flaring from the tips of his fingers to the ends of his shoulders, Yagi felt Shouta still.
“Shouta?” Yagi asked, his voice cracking.
Ten minutes had passed and Shouta stopped moving, even as the sound of sirens finally emerged in the distance, echoing indiscernibly between the tall buildings of Kamino. He didn’t move, even as Yagi continued to call out his name. He didn’t move, even as the criminal beside them began to stir.
Yagi looked quickly from Shouta to the man, the bundles of Shouta’s weapon in a heap around his lap. He watched as the man opened his eyes, taking in the realization of Yagi and Shouta, and then the gun just within his reach. The sickly smile he’d had before returned to his face.
Eleven minutes.
“How can I still be a hero if I can’t do anything?"
“It’s still here... it’s plenty good enough.”
As red and blue lights flashed over the surrounding buildings, Yagi forced his left hand down and snatched Shouta’s capture weapon with his right, yanking it back as the man leapt for the gun. The binds hissed as they instantly constricted the man, stopping him just inches from reaching the pistol. Yagi kicked his leg out, sending the gun spinning away from them towards the oncoming convoy of police and ambulances.
The very next thing Yagi knew, he was in a hospital bed...
No amount of experience changed the following: a Hero was bound to wake up in a hospital bed, definitely more than once.
Yagi noticed the IV in his arm first, then the familiar feeling of a paper-thin hospital gown fitted awkwardly over his frame, before the memory of Shouta sprang him forward. Heart pounding, he looked around, his sight catching on a curtain that was pulled between his bed and the next one over.
‘Please…’ He thought, reaching out to grip the edge of the curtain and pulling it back.
The sunlight streaming through the window blinded him at first, delaying the sight of the familiar disheveled UA teacher resting right beside him.
The sound of the curtain being drawn back so rapidly stirred Shouta from whatever morphine-induced daydream he was in. He wasn’t surprised to see Toshinori staring back at him as if he were a ghost, his panic reflected in the sudden erratic beeping of the EKG attached to him.
He supposed Yagi’s concern wasn’t too far-fetched; apparently he had been clinically dead, but only for a few seconds during the ambulance ride. A bit of hemostatic, blood transfusion, and the removal of the bullet - which thankfully hadn’t been a hollow-point - and Shouta had woken up around 4:30 in the morning, just as he always did, briefly wondering if he could make it to class in time. Once he noticed Yagi was in the bed beside him, however, he texted Hizashi about the situation. Class 1-A would have to wait.
Unsurprisingly, Naomasa arrived only a few hours later, having already collected the preliminary details on their attacker: a man named Fuyuto, whom, as Aizawa had figured, was Quirkless and had a criminal history. His exact motive for targeting Yagi wasn’t yet known, but Naomasa was already suspecting the possibility of a link between Fuyuto and the League of Villains. Shouta was too rational to make any assumptions this soon, especially concerning the League; for all they knew, Fuyuto was merely ill and the attack was completely random.
“What happened to Toshinori?” Shouta asked Naomasa.
“No major injuries,” Naomasa assured, “He exhausted himself, is all. When first responders arrived, they found him holding onto you, and using your scarf to hold Fuyuto down, and while doing all that, he’d managed to kick the gun out of reach, too. As soon as they cleared him to let go of you, he collapsed.”
Shouta looked off in the corner of the room, suddenly remembering the last words he had said to Yagi. For whatever reason, Shouta tensed up with guilt. ‘It’s not your fault if I don’t make it…?’ Ugh. Just how much blood had he lost? Yagi would’ve blamed himself, regardless of anything he said. He should have said something else. Something that he had been trying to say wordlessly for years, in the form of opening doors, bringing him coffee, and joining him for the absolute media Hell that was a statue unveiling.
Come to think of it, after all this, the Kamino ward had certainly seen the last of them - willingly, anyway - for a long time...
A phone call had beckoned Naomasa out of the room and a nurse came in right after, closing the curtain between the beds as she checked on Shouta’s dressings. After she was done, she neglected to place the curtain back when leaving, and it was a little after noon when it suddenly snapped back, revealing Yagi had woken up.
And here they were...
“Shouta,” Yagi breathed, “You’re okay… I… I’m so glad you’re alright!”
“Take it easy,” Shouta warned sternly, “You did a number on yourself.”
“Oh, r-right…” Yagi said, gazing down at the space between them as he sat back on his bed, somewhat resembling a drooping sunflower. It made Shouta’s heart squeeze.
Yagi continued to look at the floor, even when he saw Shouta’s bare feet step into view. He looked up to see Shouta standing before him, staring down at him intently. He was… really close, Yagi realized, much closer than he’d ever been to him before, or anyone for that matter. He couldn’t commit much more thought into it as Shouta had now taken his hands in his own. Yagi felt a familiar pang in his chest as Shouta’s thumbs slowly stroked the tops of his hands.
“Sho…” Yagi started, just as Shouta leaned in and kissed his forehead.
Yagi stilled, only able to look forward at the dipping collar of Shouta’s hospital gown, revealing his normally-elusive neck and upper chest.
Shouta figured his gesture might make Yagi cough up blood, just not all over him. But before Yagi could start sputtering apologies over it, Shouta squeezed his hands gently.
“Don’t worry about it,” Shouta assured him, “You were covered in plenty of my blood last night. Let’s just... call it even, I guess.”
Yagi grinned, then looked down again. “I love you...”
Yagi wasn’t sure why he said it. Much less so suddenly. The words just escaped him, like a caged bird. He looked back up to Shouta again, ready to bury the words under a slew of platonic phrases, but Shouta kissed him before he could even try.