Work Text:
"No."
Shouta Aizawa freezes. The single word enough to make him completely motionless, save for the slow turn of his head, eyebrow twitching as he turns to look at his son. The son who was about to have an extremely sore rear end, if he didn't change the tone he was using, and quickly.
"Excuse me?" It's a moment of reprieve if he'd take it. A rare "didn't mean it, sorry" take back he so rarely distributed for his class. But Hitoshi Shinsou was standing firm, arms crossed over his too thin chest and face set in a dark scowl. A scowl that was equal parts frustration and exhaustion, the dark circles under his eyes near permanent and moods ever shifting. He had confided in his parents, signed and legal, new enough Aizawa still had to smile every time he said the words, a few months ago: he was struggling. His mental state had never been the greatest, Aizawa sympathized with him there, and between school stressors and daily life…
They had met with a doctor, who had offered them a prescription. Nothing large or too intensive. Just a mild sleep aid with properties to assist the nagging depression Hitoshi was struggling with. It worked. It even worked well, but he had missed a dose or two over the past week. Had passed the limit of sense and rationality, and was now glaring up at Aizawa, arms crossed stubbornly.
"I'm not going to take them." He snaps, stubborn and angry. And exhausted, under the veneer of defiance. "I don't like how they make me feel and I'm not going to."
Aizawa wasn't unreasonable. Even to the twenty students he taught on a daily basis, who claimed he ruled their class with an iron fist and several trips to discipline rooms: each and every one of them knew by now that if they were struggling, if they were honest, then he was more than willing to wait. To sit and talk and help. But they had to say that first, before attitude or defiance. Because, even if the reasoning was so obviously clear, being out of control enough to back talk villains or authority without the ability to back it up? Nothing good came from it. Aizawa would rather they learn that now, where the consequences amounted to little more than a sore rear or copying lines if the offense was truly small, rather than marks on their public record or revocation of their hero licenses. Or death, if they provoked the wrong villain.
But… Hitoshi wasn't his student right now, though he was still in UA's uniform. They were home, supposed to be relaxing after the long day and. Well, Hitoshi had at least removed his blazer but Aizawa hadn't managed to do more than get into the kitchen and start a quick, easy meal before Hitoshi's fit had started. One more chance, then. One more opportunity to adjust his behavior, to talk to Aizawa instead of this flat out refusal, before he'll do more. Just to be safe, though, because this is his son after all, Aizawa rummages in the drawer next to the stove and very deliberately brings out a simple wooden spoon. It's unadorned, except for where someone had taken a permanent marker and drawn on a rather accurate angry face to the wide, flat back.
No words needed to be said, as he flicked off the stove and placed the small fry pan on one of the cool burners. It would keep long enough for this discussion.
"You're on thin ice, Shinsou. Reevaluate if this is how you want your night to go." It's an order, but one gently given and Aizawa raises one eyebrow in expectant silence, watching Hitoshi's eyes go from the spoon, to his face, and back again. They're so bloodshot, is the problem. Bloodshot with deep bags underneath, exhaustion shown so clearly Aizawa wants nothing more than to get a meal in the boy's stomach and let him sleep the weekend away. They don't have class tomorrow after all, and that's part of the reason he's insisting that the medicine be taken tonight. There was no need to rise at the break of dawn, if the dose is too strong then Hitoshi can sleep more. It would be fine. He had been complaining the medication made him too tired to wake up properly, drowsy through the first few morning classes while any lower dose didn't actually help him sleep at all.
"There isn't going to be a night if I take those fucking things!" Aizawa is already striding forward, wooden spoon loosely grasped in one hand, when the purple haired boy makes it, somehow, worse. Thoroughly tantruming now, it's a struggle to undo the lid of the little yellow bottle, but Aozawa hesitates for just long enough. He could, of course, finally be giving in, with the threat so close. Instead, Hitoshi Shinsou decides the proper and mature thing to do is to take his prescription and throw it against the wall.
In slow motion, both pairs of eyes tracking the inevitable trajectory, the bottle hits the wall and bounces off. Tiny white pills scatter instantly, bouncing off the floor, the walls, each other, and for a few long moments the only sound is their own heavy breathing and the slowly settling medicine. It takes a little while, Hitoshi had been getting stronger everyday and he hadn't bothered to hold back any of his new strength, but eventually the last pill skitters under one of the bookcases in the corners of the room and the only sound is Hitoshi. Furious Hitoshi, breathing heavily and through gritted teeth so every exhale comes out more as a hiss than anything else.
"I think…" Aizawa says carefully, reaching out with hands that are carefully well within the boy's sight and just as slow, projecting every movement far before it connects. Hitoshi flinches anyway, jerking away from even the gentlest hold. "That you need to go to your corner, Hitoshi. Right now."
That should have been it.
Corner time was a fairly common part of their life, after all. It wasn't a punishment, not in and of itself. But it's time to calm down, to reflect and to understand where they were going wrong. The both of them. Aizawa would be the first to admit he doesn't handle everything the way he would like to, and the few minutes Hitoshi was in the corner was immensely helpful in centering his own emotions.
It was part of their routine.
What wasn't part of their routine?
Was Hitoshi pulling away, shaking his head. Shaking his head and crossing his arms, every inch the stubborn, defiant teenager he normally wasn't. Normally, as in when he wasn't half exhausted and yet too awake to sleep. But that still wasn't enough of an excuse and Aizawa frowns, releasing Hitoshi's arm to lean back and snag the wooden spoon.
"I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, kid. But you're pushing your luck, settle down and talk to me like an adult. Whatever is upsetting you, we can figure it out. But stop with the attitude before I decide you need some incentive to." It's the last warning. The very last olive branch Aizawa can hold out as an adult. Any more pushing, anymore defiance and it would no longer be ignorable. Not even ignorable long enough to stick the boy's nose in a corner. They were already going to have a discussion, one Hitoshi was not going to be enjoying, if there was any chance to get by on a lighter punishment Hitoshi had to take it now.
"Stop treating me like a fucking kid!" And that was it. Hitoshi was done. Done with the nosy, bossy Eraserhead and his fucking rules and the fucking medicine. It was awful. He would take the little white tablets, two a day an hour before the time he should be sleeping, and it would make him dizzy, out of control, helpless against the darkness rising up to swallow him. He didn't get a choice if he wanted to sleep yet, he was drowning and it wouldn't stop. It wouldn't let him up in the morning either, a drag on his energy as he tried to wake. Tried to get to do anything without being controlled. Controlled, unable to regulate even the simplest wake-sleep that everyone should be able to. He hates it. And Aizawa wasn't listening. Was refusing to listen. The stupid fucking pills had already been thrown, impossible to take now that they'd been on the ground for this long. But he was… there was a burning discomfort in his chest, in his hot and heavy head, behind his eyes and their painful scratchy dryness. And it was. There weren't words for it. It just kept building, and building and building, until he couldn't stand it. Throwing the bottle had helped, had vented a tiny portion of the angry, jittery energy, but Hitoshi needed more. He needed to sleep.
Everything would be better if fucking Eraserhead control freak would just let it go. He could go to his room, curl under the heavy warmth of the weighted blanket that was practically a godsend and he would sleep. Everything would be better after that. It had to be. And tonight… Tonight he would be able to master his body. He would lay down, close his eyes and sleep.
Easy as that. Eyes closed, brain off. Sleep.
But he couldn't. Not when his fucking mentor-- he can't call him Dad, not when he was this angry and ready to meltdown and that name would be admitting the man had the right to tell him off at this point-- was deciding to be a complete asshole. An asshole who is grabbing the wooden fucking spoon. That bitch hurt, and he wasn't going to accept it. Not without a fight.
Hitoshi is fully aware he isn't making the best choices right now, but he doesn't have the energy to frankly give a fuck. Aizawa-sensei is reaching for the wooden spoon, with the clear intention of using it on his ass and really, it's better to be anywhere but in this exact spot. In this exact moment.
So…
He takes off.
Aizawa-sensei was fast, but sometimes desperation translated to unpredictability and that sometimes translated to beating the man in his own territory. The bathroom door slams shut seconds before Aizawa's fingers crosses it, and Hitoshi locks it quickly and crosses his arms. And, yes, he may be backing up as far as the included space will let him, but that's just because he wants to. It has nothing to do with the fact that he just ran from a spanking he already had coming and then locked Aizawa-sensei out of his own bathroom.
"I'm not taking them! I'm not taking them, I'm not going in the corner and you're not spanking me! I won't!" It's childish, it is so childish. But Hitoshi lifts one foot and slams it down to the tiled floor anyway, emphatically underlining his point. This wasn't going to happen. He wouldn't allow it, and he sure as hell wasn't going to help it happen. He didn't have to and he wasn't going to and Eraserhead could shove that in his pipe and smoke it. Hitoshi didn't care not about the old man, not about his stupid rules and not about the massive amounts of trouble he was surely in.
Quickly, in case the man came in-- he was a pro hero, one little locked door wouldn't stop him, even if Hitoshi desperately wanted it to-- he scrubs at his cheeks with one sleeve drawn down over his fist. The material is starched, stiff and scratchy over his skin and he hates it, but better than running the water. Better than letting Aizawa-sensei know he's crying. The man wouldn't judge him for it, they've had that conversation too many times for any doubt to linger, but he can't be properly defiant if he's having to stop and wipe away tears every few seconds.
He's just… tired.
Silence reins. It lasts both too long, and far too short, but when it's finally broken… Well, Hitoshi flinches, but that's only because his nerves are strung past their breaking point. Aizawa's voice is soft, gentle past the thin wood and his own panting breath. There's something kind in it, though the sternness isn't far off. Just… set aside for the moment, put on the back burner, and what's left is…
Understanding.
Coaxing.
Gentle.
"Take the time you need, Hitoshi. When you're ready to come out and have this conversation, I'll be here. It doesn't matter how long you wait, I'm here." As if to underscore that thought, cloth rustles just outside the door. A body, thin and wiry but heavy with muscle and lean strength, settling down against the door. Not blocking it, the door opens in, but… waiting. Like he said. Sitting. Calm, and quiet, and… not-mad. There's better words, surely, Hitoshi knows better words. But that's all his brain can latch onto. Not-mad. Aizawa was not-mad, or at least not enough to betray it in his voice and he never bothered to hide his emotions at home. At school… Maybe, for the purpose of being a 'respectable adult' and 'proper teacher' but not home. Not here, where the stern glares and flat stoicism faltered and Aizawa-Sensei became… Became Dad. Became the man that was so utterly warm with him and Yamada. The kind man, who smiled and stopped to pet stray cats and always had some kind of encouragement for Hitoshi. Who not only taught but offered judgment free guidance.
And the words themselves… Hitoshi shivers, sitting heavily on the ground and pressing his eyes to his knee. It's not fair. They're both a threat and a promise. It doesn't matter how long Hitoshi waits in here, Aizawa will be there. He will be there. To spank Hitoshi's ass raw for being such a fucking moron, yeah, but also… in a bigger sense. Broader. Hitoshi fucked up, even he's not blind enough to deny that, but Aizawa is still outside. Still waiting for him. Like the day he offered the adoption papers, setting them down beside Hitoshi before leaving for patrol and not mentioning them again. Waiting for Hitoshi to make his own choice. He's probably hoping for Hitoshi to make a choice and do it quickly but… willing to wait if he's not ready.
Well…
If there was one way to feel like a complete asshole who didn't deserve to have someone like Aizawa in his life…
He sniffles, rubbing roughly at his eyes again and looking at the shadow under the door. The proof Aizawa was waiting for him, despite the older man's increasing complaints that his body doesn't move the way it used to and sitting on the hard ground couldn't be doing it any favors. More unhappiness he was putting himself through for Hitoshi's sake.
"Aizawa…?" It may have taken forever, or all of twenty minutes, but Hitoshi finally speaks. He doesn't have his phone, the time seems endless without it. No light in the room, no escape except through the door Aizawa was guarding. His voice, thankfully, doesn't shake. But that could just be how quietly he calls out, barely letting himself hope that Aizawa fell asleep and he could just… sneak around him? Maybe?
But that hope doesn't even fully form before it's firmly crushed.
"I'm here, kid." I'm here. Again, those words make his stomach squirm in a way Hitoshi can't pinpoint as pleasant or not. Aizawa is there, but… with the wooden spoon. And a spanking for throwing what --in hindsight-- Hitoshi could admit was a truly massive fit.
"I'm sorry." It's the only thing he can think of to offer, to get Aizawa to continue talking to him, to make the empty bathroom a little less empty. "I was… kind of blowing things out of proportions."
There's a snort, and the shuffling of cloth. Aizawa, adjusting his position a little. The sounds, small as they were, were oddly comforting. It was more reassurance, more promises he wasn't alone in his trouble.
"Kind of? Hitoshi, you threw a massive fit." Fair. But he still makes a face, scrunching his nose and sighing dramatically. "And it's not going to go away, either, before you think that. The longer you stay in there, the longer it takes before we can get you into bed."
That makes sense, but the door seems… it's impossible to make himself open that door. Open the possibility that this time he pushed too far. That this time, out of all the punishments he's gotten in all the different severities, is going to be the time Aizawa kicks him out. He's not supposed to, of course, Hitoshi isn't 18 yet, he can't be legally kicked out of his home but… but it hasn't mattered before. And while he knows Aizawa wouldn't just kick him out… the reality is he can't make himself believe it.
"I… can't." Admitting it is like pulling teeth, but the silence is really just… it's too much. Too much to bear and the tiny buzzing of electricity in the wall may as well be sirens for how loud it's getting. "I can't come out, Aizawa-Sensei. I…"
Silence, for a long moment and then another sigh.
"Do you need my help, kid?" Relief is a physical sensation. A loosening of his muscles, and a burning in his eyes. The embarrassment flashing across his cheeks in the next minute.
"I… yeah." There's another moment of not-quite silence, the soft rustle of cloth, the smack of skin to floor as a hand braces itself against the floor. And fuck, why does that, out of all the sounds he could hear, have to be the loudest? He already knows Aizawa's hands are huge, and how heavy they are against his ass, he doesn't need a reminder before they even start! Feet against the floor come next, the soft shuffling of house slippers and then… the door. Hitoshi doesn't dare look up, even when the slippers come closer, stopping just in front of his own, bare feet.
"Are you gonna look up?" There's amusement in Aizawa's voice. He knows it, and he's not exactly trying to hide it. The kid was being cute though. Hiding in the bathroom, curled into a ball and hiding his face. He looked, probably because he was, like an exhausted child. And exhausted, overtired and overly dramatic child, hiding from a well deserved spanking in the one place where there weren't three differing exits. Kid probably wanted to be caught, even if he would never admit it. Aizawa wasn't about to say he knew exactly why teenagers acted the way he did, but he knew their habits well enough. And, most of the time, what they needed. Right now?
Hitoshi needed to know that it was going to be alright, even if it didn't feel that way right now. And it wasn't like it was a hardship to crouch down in front of his son, no matter what his stiff, aching knees said. He was getting old, far too old to be taking off after wayward teenagers, and then spending any amount of time sitting on cold hardwood. Even if it was only for around five minutes. Hitoshi doesn't look up, refusing to meet his eyes. Probably ashamed, which… he should be, after that little display, but Hitoshi should never be afraid to meet his eyes, and Aizawa rests a heavy hand on the boy's head, ruffling lavender hair with a fond smile.
"Come on, Hitoshi, look up at me, sweetheart." No luck, Hitoshi keeps his head ducked down, though he does press his head up into the light touch. A good sign, at least. "Hitoshi, you're going to be okay, kid. This is part of learning. Right? Fucking up. And then paying for it."
Hitoshi shakes his head again. He knows Aizawa wants him to look at him but… he doesn't want to. He knows he fucked up, but he's not sure he knows it is going to be okay. But… Aizawa is waiting again, still and silent and his hand is so gentle…
He looks up. It's inevitable that he was going to eventually… right? But Aizawa's face isn't mad. Again that not-mad that's the most nuanced he can comprehend at the moment; fond if still a little blurry. Fond, and using one hand to wipe away the remainder of Hitoshi's tears, fingertips a little rough but gentle as they do so.
"That's better, kid. Isn't it?" Slowly, Hitoshi nods, closing his eyes for another moment. "Then come on, you still have cornertime. And then we've still got to deal with your earlier tantrum."
That earns a wince, and… well. It was one thing to think that word within the safety of his own mind, and a whole nother to have his dad say it.
"Don't call it that." He protests, face instantly flaming. "I didn't. That wasn't--"
"It was." Aizawa, both home and in front of his class, is merciless. The words are clipped, neatly puncturing the almost-banter they had, tucking away the kinder tone Hitoshi instantly misses. That tone meant, at least in the moment, his ass was safe. Safe was the very last thing his ass felt in the moment, however, standing when Aizawa motions and freely pouting. It had never worked before but there was a first for everything and maybe…
Maybe nothing. There's a hard swat to his ass as he stands, startling a yelp from him and looking over his shoulder with wide, wounded eyes.
"Don't even try to get out of this, Hitoshi Shinsou. Your actions earlier were atrocious and you know better." Ouch. Hitoshi winces, one hand flying back to rub the sting out of the swat. That hurt. Even through the protection of his uniform slacks and underwear. "I am, frankly, appalled at your behavior."
Double ouch.
That one gets more than a wince, because… yeah. He maybe deserved that one. Of course, that won't stop him from pouting all through his corner time. Pouting, and using one bare toe to slowly crush one of his meds into dust. Even if Aizawa did want him to take the stupid things… he couldn't take this one now, and it was slightly comforting to consider that. Not comforting enough to make it less nerve wracking when Aizawa calls for him, though, he admits, slinking out of the corner and over to his father.
"Are you ready to talk yet, Hitoshi, or do you want to get your spanking over with first?" It's an honest choice. Hitoshi knows that. And he knows that whatever he picks they'll both get done. It's just… sometimes. As embarrassing as it was to talk around a nose full of snot and curled up like a child to Aizawa's chest, he sometimes went easier with the hard questions if they talked after a spanking. But he still has to try and say that, grimacing and focusing his gaze over Aizawa's shoulder instead of looking him in the eye. Which, he won't get away with it for long but…
"If I say we can talk before, can we leave the spoon in the kitchen?" It's a hopeful thought, as near to begging as he'll let himself get. Because while the spoon was better than the hairbrush or the few times he'd gotten in enough trouble to get spanked with a leather strap at school, it stung. Like a bitch. He's in trouble, but not that much… right?
Aizawa, the asshole, just laughs. Shaking his head and patting his own black-covered thigh.
"No. But I take it that means you want to talk after?" Which… yes that was what he meant by that but the dashing of his hopes still sucks. "You know the deal, pants and boxers down, then over my lap."
On the bare!? Right away?
"Dad! That's not-- that's not fair!" He's whining. Hitoshi Shinsou is officially whining now, shaking his head and about to back away, if not for the large hand that wraps around his wrist and keeps him in place. "You can't start on the bare, that's--"
"Completely fair? And based solely on the way you've been acting?" It was probably too much to ask from the boy at this point. Aizawa takes pity on him, reaching out with his free hand and undoing the light gray slacks, hooking the boxers underneath as well and dragging them down to mid thigh. That's better, and Hitoshi only whines a little as he's pulled over his legs. Good. This is already going to be hard, and fast, anymore whining and Aizawa would have to be more stern than he really wants to be. The spoon was already a concession to Hitoshi's condition, lighter than any other implement they had, and an excuse to go easier than he could with just his hand. He has a feeling Hitoshi won't last long without crying anyway, and that he was already deeply regretting his actions.
Promises were promises, though, and Aizawa promised Hitoshi he would be firmly corrected on this. Firmly taught. There were ways to politely refuse. Even firmly refuse, without throwing a tantrum and without running away when he was caught. That was just… illogical, considering who he was running from in the first place.
Even as he's thinking, considering the boy's actions that have led him to twisting over Aizawa's lap, though his rear was hardly pink, Hitoshi is starting to cry. Not much, not loudly, but sincerely. Which… is good. Aizawa knew it was all the sleeplessness that had prompted the temper tantrum, Hitoshi being too tired to properly regulate his emotions and reactions. But it was nice to have that fact reaffirmed, and to know the spanking wouldn't have to be a very long one.
To tell the truth, Aizawa doesn't think he could handle a more prolonged punishment, traveling over the boy's rear several times already and deepening the rosy tone. He hadn't been able to rest either, with Hitoshi awake at all hours and creeping around their home like a restless spirit. But it doesn’t make it any easier to raise his hand, letting it fall with a sharp little ‘clap’ each time it strikes against the wiggling butt over his knee. Over, and over, a quick rhythm that is easily predictable, alternating cheeks and letting one second pass between each fall of his hand. It helps, to keep the spanking steady. It helps him stay focused, and it probably helps Hitoshi if he knows exactly when and where each strike is going to fall, even if he would never admit it.
"'M s-s-s-sorry, Dad!" If only the kid knew what it did to him, to hear those tears and not only know he was the reason behind them, but that they weren't done. Not even close, though Aizawa could thankfully rest his hand against untouched thighs and take a moment before picking up the spoon. And, why not take this moment to talk? At least a little.
"What are you sorry for, Hitoshi?" Because… that may not actually be clear. For Hitoshi, at least. He was still struggling to figure out what he did wrong, when it was more nuanced than breaking a direct rule. "Beyond acting like a two year old being told no more ice cream."
And, yeah. Silence. Hitoshi didn't know. It was far from the first time Aizawa had the urge to strangle everyone who had custody of the purple haired brat before him, and it wouldn't be the last either. But, it would be a decent backdrop for drawing out the spanking with the spoon, and there was a saying about the best position for reflection being over someone's knee, something about making the lesson stick. It had helped him remember important conversations, after all. Nothing quite like the memory of a glowing ass to keep something fresh in one’s mind. Aizawa still remembered some of the larger ones, and had to extend probably more effort than he should to not shift uncomfortably in his seat. He, after all, wasn’t here to go down memory lane, shaking his head firmly and delivering a half-pat to Hitoshi’sass, just to keep the kid from starting to whine too much at the wording.
If Hitoshi had wanted to be described with words that weren’t childish, he shouldn’t have acted so childish. The punishment fits the crime, after all.
"That's alright. I'll tell you: it's not safe to stop any medication without warning and without consulting with your doctor." Each emphasized word was followed by two firm swats with the wooden spoon. Mostly sound, but Hitoshi wails like it's full force, toes scrabbling against the bare wooden floor like he's trying to take off despite being face down. There was no one he was going to be able to keep this up. Aizawa mentally rearranges his lecture, shortening both his scolding and the spanking, laying the next few swats slightly harder to make up for it. Harder, which wasn’t a difficult feat since in all honesty Hitoshi was barely receiving baby swats as it was. "You could end up really messing up your brain chemistry, Hitoshi Shinsou."
A few more spanks, evenly distributed between his two cheeks, and Hitoshi nods frantically, repeating the words a few times around small, gasping breaths. He wants to be good so clearly it makes Aizawa’s heart ache for him, and his tone softens despite his best efforts to keep it stony. More coaxing for right answers than the scolding he had meant but… They’re both tired, it can be forgiven.
"And if you want to stop them, you talk to me." This was the important part. Carefully, he keeps one hand on Hitoshi's lower back, keeping him close and as calm as possible. Calm, because Hitoshi is writhing over his lap now, whimpering into his folded arms like the world is ending and Aizawa just took away the last cat on earth. It takes effort to keep laying swats at all, and they’re half hearted at best, barely an imprint forming before fading back to the same blush he started with. "Some medications don't work for some people. That's okay. But you talk to me."
Another pause, and a brief smattering of swats on the lowest part of his cheeks, just above the thighs. Honestly, by this point Aizawa is just going through the motions. There is nothing within himself that could punish Hitoshi for over reacting after too long with too little sleep, and it was clear enough that Hitoshi had already been punishing himself while locked alone in the bathroom, if his hangdog look had been any indication. Aizawa wasn’t stupid, he knew self-loathing and insecurity when he saw it, and if it weren't for the extenuating circumstances they would be having another conversation about self depreciation and how it wasn’t allowed. As it was, he would be keeping a closer eye on the boy just in case there was more to that look than a rough week and overwrought emotions.
"Do you understand?" Of course he does. Aizawa tries not to let the sardonic chuckle actually form out loud. Get any one of his kids on their own and they will deny wrongdoing until they pass out. But the moment they're over his lap… suddenly, they understand. They're wrong and sorry and promising to do it better the next time. If it didn't involve making them cry, and making him feel like an absolute brute in the meantime, he'd want them always like this. Meek, easily teachable. Boring.
"And throwing a tantrum like that--" He trails off, letting the spoon spank down a few more times before setting it to the side. It was, after all was said and done, one of the lightest punishments he'd ever dished out. But with Hitoshi already sobbing and how he had started the night…? He'll consider it fair. And even if it wasn’t, he was done. They both were, done and tired and still with a floor full of medication to sweep up in the morning. Morning, not now and Aizawa even rights Hitoshi's pants before pulling him up for a hug, wild purple hair tickling his lower lip as he holds his son closer. Not that the additional fabric is appreciated against slightly reddened cheeks, but it’s better than catching a cold in the chilly evening air, and Hitoshi is crying too hard to make the blanket on the far side of the rooma viable option.
"Now, can you explain to me what all that was about, Hitoshi? Because from where I'm sitting it looks like you just really wanted to throw a tantrum, and I know you better than that. Talk to me."
The truth comes out in little pieces, reluctantly given and extracted through careful questioning and even a few swats when Hitoshi was reluctant to part with the information. But as it turned out…?
Hitoshi hated the medication because it took away what time they had to hang out after school. After homework and supper, he had been taking the pills and only had enough time to shower and crawl into bed before the dizziness started, or if he was going to be alert when he started school. It was… mundane, but heartwarming, to know how highly Hitoshi valued the small amount of time they did have to spend together.
This sweet, idiotic, child. Willing to do almost anything except talk to his father and get more time. Between whispered assurances of love and also wanting to spend time together, Aizawa wasn’t sure when Hitoshi falls asleep, but his heart does in fact melt a little as the boy mumbles something about ‘didn’t need the fucking pills, see? ‘M good’ right before he slips off into true sleep. It didn't stop Aizawa from scheduling a new doctor's appointment for the very next day, his son sound asleep on his chest as night truly sets into their small apartment, however.
The entire night may have started poorly, but sometimes the bitterest medicine had the sweetest results. And Aizawa, for one, wouldn't have it any other way, finally settling in for a snooze himself when Hitoshi starts snoring lightly against his neck, a warm, comfortable and above all safe weight pressing him into the darkness of rest.
It was all going to be okay.