Resurrection | Shota Aizawa

Chapter 14

Third person pov

Aizawa knew staring was both creepy and rude, but he couldn't stop himself as Hiroki bustled around his-- their-- kitchen. After hauling his boxes upstairs, Hiroki had bounced right out the door, proclaiming that he'd be back in a jiff and saying nothing else to indicate where he was going. It had left Shota alone to sit and let everything sink in, with Hiroki's belongings surrounding him. He sort of had some sort of internalized panic occur as he dwelt longer and longer. Hiroki had moved in. He lived here now. The man Aizawa had been in love with for over a decade was living with him. Calling him by his first name. Smiling at him like he mattered, and being painfully kind. It was almost too much.   

Against what was probably his better judgement, Aizawa had taken off the first day of work he'd taken of... well, ever. He couldn't recall a single day where he'd willingly called in. He had vacation days galore as a result. Burning one to help Hiroki move in and such was certainly no big deal. Plus, he wouldn't be able to focus knowing Hiroki was here by himself. Shota had the undeniable urge to be around him at all times, if possible. Which was weird. Not in the sense that he wasn't expecting it, but because he knew it was relatively creepy of him.

When Hiroki said he'd be back soon, he really was. Only half an hour later was he stumbling through the door weighted down by grocery bags Aizawa surely could've helped carry and pay for. Which was probably why Hiroki had gone by himself to begin with, the more Aizawa thought about it. He rose to his feet as the man teetered in, cheeks flushed red and a light sweet of sweat covering him. He gave Aizawa a breathless grin, with his ponytail in disarray and his clothes ruffled from rushing about. Shota's own cheeks heated.

"I got provisions for the week to come." Hiroki said in a tone near teasing as he closed the door with his foot. The action was so domestic and familiar, and it once again smacked him in the face that Hiroki was now a resident here alongside him and the gremlin he dared to call a cat. It was going to be a big change, but Shota welcomed it with open arms. Hiroki Akisuka was in their kitchen. With their groceries.

"Can I help?" Aizawa finally hunted down his voice, clearing his throat before just to make sure his words didn't come out too quiet or too squeaky. He felt like an awkward teenager all over again, despite Hiroki being his equal now. Hell, Shota was older than him now! Not by much, but it was enough. They were both teachers now, working alongside one another at UA High. It felt entirely surreal. Shota was pretty sure he'd had dreams about this happening in the past, while Hiroki was still dead. And here it was, somehow happening.

Hiroki was excited to be living with Shota. For one thing, he wasn't homeless anymore. That was a plus. But now, finally, he could help his ex-student and now coworker! He was nowhere near healthy. Hiroki was surprised he hadn't keeled over from the sheer amount of jelly packets and gummy vitamins he'd been consuming. Opening the pantry was a nightmare. Iron supplements? Trashed. One a day vitamins? Washed down the sink! He was going to get Shota on a healthy, balanced diet even if he died in the process. He was going to clean this place up, make sure he was sleeping enough and not overworking, and of course, ensuring he had some sort of fun! Didn't he have hobbies? He needed hobbies.

"No!" Hiroki burst out, whirling on him before he could come forward. Shota froze, raising his brows at him. Hiroki thrust a finger at him. "You are going to go relax and watch TV. I'm going to cook. You've done enough today."

"It's not a big deal." Shota said simply, feeling flustered and unsure of how to react. His eyes drifted to the many bags he'd hauled in, examining the few contents he could see. Most were ingredients-- frozen meats, spices, noodle boxes, canned vegetables and sauces. Hiroki's eyes narrowed at him. He felt exposed, under those sharp grey eyes. He felt a flush begin to climb up his neck, but kept his expression schooled. He was good at maintaining a blank face, if nothing else. He was deathly afraid of making a fool out of himself.