⚠Mentions of past rape, it is briefly talked about a few times but never going into detail.
Mentions of bugs and insects.
Mentions of hoarding.
Mentions of past child abuse/neglect.
This is long... Like 6278 words long⚠

Aizawa is autistic in this fic, if you don't like it, don't read and/or comment about it.

This was originally posted on AO3 but why not post it here? Ya know?

Sorry if the spacing is weird, wattpad is fucking me over for sum dummmm reason.

∆•∆•∆

For the longest time, Shōta didn't believe he lived in an abusive household.

Abuse was supposed to be where the parent hits the kid and hurts them physically. Yes, that is a form of abuse and it is horrible.

He… he just didn't realize how horrible his parents were. His emotionally distant father (who he hasn't seen since the age of ten), and his mother that was verbally abusive along with neglecting. And well… he was raped by one of his mothers boyfriends, but that was only two times. Nothing more or less. It… it didn't really matter that much. It shouldn't.

And god… his mother was such a hoarder. Even though she wasn't at home that much (always working at her ever changing jobs), the house still managed to fill up with stuff.
Thankfully the plot of land belonged to his father that was passed down from Shōta's only sense of security, his grandfather. They didn't need to pay rent, and it still stands there. To this day that house still stands, filled with an ungodly amount of things. Most definitely rotting away. Shōta could already sense the smell, he always hated the smell of his house. Imagine it now. Probably filled with bugs and rats, maybe the occasional bird…

Shōta never acknowledged his childhood after the revelation that he lived in an abusive home. Almost twelve years he completely forgot and never thought about his horrible childhood.

Maybe that's why he's so emotionally challenged, he never had a good childhood. Hell, he became homeless at eighteen. He'd rather be out in the streets than in that house, listening to his mom bitching about how she should've given birth to a baby girl, or that Shōta had a demon quirk, or how another job layed her off.

Shōta should feel guilty that he's glad that his mother is dead. He never went to her funeral and refused to even acknowledge that she died. She was dead to Shōta the second he left that house.

The only funeral he ever went to that was part of his blood relative's… was his grandfather's. He was devastated, the only father figure he had that never left him, (besides Nezu but he wasn't close with the rat at that time). That man was dead and Hizashi and Nemuri watched Shōta cry for the second time in his life. Ever.

First, was Oboro. Second, was his grandfather.

But now… now. God. Fucking. Damnit.

He looked at that email, his face remaining neutral. An email from someone unfamiliar but contained a familiar name in the details. Despite his neutral face, the way he just… paused was a clear indication something was wrong. He looked as normal as ever, but Hizashi and Nemuri knew that if Shōta suddenly paused for no reason, something was wrong.

“What's wrong, Hon?” Hizashi asked softly.
Nemuri noticed too, looking up from her work, “Shō?”

He took a deep breath, letting out a long sigh, looking around for a moment before back at his computer, “My father died. I guess I was in his will. He left some shit for me”
Nemuri sucked in her breath with a hiss, both of them knew that their boyfriend did not like talking about his past. They hardly know any of it besides how he felt like an alien with ‘normal’ families. He seriously thought that birthdays were only in movies and exaggerated to the point where they were unrealistic. He thought that having a cake, and gifts… was an unrealistic expectation.

They know Shōta's father gave him some trust issues, he constantly had insecurities that they're just going to up and leave him. Dropping everything and just… going. He's always so worried coming home and thinking that their apartment was going to be empty and leaving nothing, not even a note. He had a small form of separation anxiety, but it was small now. It took a lot of work for him to grow confidence in himself.

Seeing him almost shut down at an email was… concerning to say the least.

He just completely shut up, wincing when he had to click on the email and read its contents.
Something about his will and how they would have to make an appointment. Getting everything sorted things like that.

Hizashi was the first to move, Sitting next to Shōta and taking the laptop from him, reading quietly.
Shōta reached for Nemuri's hand, lacing his fingers with hers, then reaching for Hizashi. Holding both of his lovers hands while they read away.

Of course. Of course this had to happen to him. He couldn't help but feel dread creep up his spine. The last time he saw his father, he was ten. They called around two times though. It was just an act so his father could talk to his mother. Before, they hung out and bonded and had a lovely time, then… his father got a new girlfriend and no matter how many times Shōta called he never answered. Only giving a single text about his new girlfriend and that he doesn't have a son anymore.

He shouldn't care that much. He… he shouldn't.

It was in the past. Yet he hasn't acknowledged those memories for so long that they've rotted. Now, he was dragged back into those pits and was drowning in rotten feelings and fears.

Of course he shouldn't care. But it's so hard to ignore them now.

∆•∆•∆

His mood has been dark for the past few days. It turns out that he isn't as good as hiding it if his students managed to find out something was wrong.

It's fine. He's fine.

He can't help but feel guilty that he's pushing Nemuri and Hizashi away slightly. Every time they mentioned it, he would shut down and not say a word for a good ten minutes.
The day they had to go to that meeting, where Shōta figured out what he got from his father's will… getting home, he didn't say a word the whole rest of the day. He hardly even moved. And would get anxious whenever one of them would leave his side.

It stressed both Hizashi and Nemuri out. He used to be so talkative and happy and… normal, but then this hit him right in the face.

Hizashi might regret asking this but… “Hey, Shō?”
“Yes, Zashi?” he asked in a quiet voice, looking up from his computer. He seemed a bit sluggish, almost exhausted. He hasn't been sleeping well, just now getting nightmares. Hizashi and Nemuri were trying to get him to therapy but he said he wasn't ready yet.
“Are you… uhm, you got that house. From your father…”
Nemuri immediately sent an alarmed look towards the blonde, worried that Shōta would shut down on them again.
“I know your childhood wasn't the best… but would you like to just go visit it? Maybe even get something from inside, like a photo or… a recipe book or… o-or…”

Neither Nemuri or Hizashi knew what kind of abuse happened there, whether it was physical, sexual, verbal, and/or anything else. Hizashi didn't want to mention it, but Nezu asked him to ask Shōta. Nezu was getting worried, the teachers were getting worried, and his students were getting worried.

He had to take a chance. And if going to his childhood home where… whatever the fuck happened there, might help Shōta get closure, then… then Hizashi will ask.

Nemuri sighed, taking out her hand for Shōta to take, and surprisingly he did. He took it with no hesitation.
And then Shōta mumbled something under his breath. He had to repeat it another two times for Hizashi and Nemuri to finally hear.

“I… was actually thinking of going there.” he seemed so out of place and Nemuri felt her heart break all over again.
“Hon, Shō sweetie… you don't have to go. You don't have to force yourself”
“It's… it's an old house. It's been abandoned for… years. There's probably mold, and-and bugs and rats and other little animals. It-it's full of junk. And I want to go there.” he paused, scrunching up his face, “I think… if I clean that house. It might help”

That house was always dirty. It was in the middle of the woods, sometimes the garbage trucks forgot to pick their garbage up. So there would be piles upon piles of just… junk lying around. The house itself was a beautiful model, vintage. It would sell well if it wasn't so full of…
Shōta always imagined himself cleaning up the house one day. When he was a kid he daydreamed about cleaning that house. He didn't dream about being a hero, or his crushes, he always dreamed about having a clean house like his few friends.

A clean house equals a happy family, right?

But that dream became lost when his mother's hoard began entering his room. Soon the only place that belonged to him and him alone was half of his bed. The other half had a large cardboard box that held many papers with random ‘important’ words and other shit. Maybe a few receipts.

Shōta remembered when he lost his teddy bear. It was the one thing that made him still feel like a kid, the one thing that kept him happy. After losing Mr. Moo (his teddy bear), that was when he began having trouble expressing his emotions. That bear… with a little red nose and glossy eyes. They shared so many memories together, so many tears and so many… so many stains. Mostly a black marker on his white fluffy fur. Shōta tried to make paws but he failed and now he had black fur at the end of his paws. It was fine though. Even if the house smelled awful, he'd bury his face in the soft fur, taking a deep breath. Although it didn't smell clean, it didn't smell as bad as his home.

Shōta quietly explained how he always wanted to clean that house up, as a kid it was his dream to have a house where he could just stand in without worrying about tripping on loose paper or a mysterious stain. Hizashi and Nemuri didn't ask why, but took that answer. They don't know what his house looked like.

He'd need help though. Hizashi, Nemuri, and him wouldn't do much by themselves.

He needed help, and why not ask his second and currently only (not so human), father figure. Who was in fact, a little rat.

Maybe… maybe he'd finally lay his lack of childhood to rest, one trash bag at a time.

∆•∆•∆

“You all didn't have to come…” Shōta mumbled.

Of course all of the UA staff decided to come. The three lovers had to check out the house first, and fuck… It was not a pretty sight. Nemuri immediately got bad vibes seeing at least twenty trash bags laying on the ground. Most them had holes in the bags and had so many fucking bugs crawling around.

Hizashi was terrified, but this was for Shōta.

Of course the teachers were told of the situation, explaining Shōta's… not so great mood. They decided to help, even though Shōta tried to scare them away with how bad shape the house was in. Nezu wasn't concerned that anyone wasn't going to help at all.

Of course all of the heroes seeing the state of Shōta's childhood home, then soon began to understand a little how Shōta acted. They've been to Shōta's old apartment before. He lived alone once, and he absolutely refused to have anything in it. He had a full panic attack having furniture in his apartment. Seeing a bed in his room he had to go to the bathroom and vomit. A chair was pushing things, a TV was too far. He hated things in his house and couldn't help but panic.

Hizashi at first thought that Shōta was overreacting. Then he thought that Shōta was… well, on the spectrum. He was right, Shōta was autistic. The blonde immediately felt guilty for thinking that way though. Thinking that Shōta was ‘wrong’ to freak out over simple furniture.

Moving in with Hizashi and Nemuri, he was an absolute clean freak. Of course he got over the issue with furniture (kinda), but was still freaking out over messes. Hizashi was a slob at times, and it stressed Shōta out but he also enjoyed cleaning. Cleaning a house felt like cleaning his mind. It was his form of therapy.
He liked cleaning for a reason. Nemuri thought it was because he had hyper fixations on cleaning, but… after this week she now realized why.

The heroes now knew his mother was a hoarder, Shōta told them before they came. They just wanted to help Shōta out. They didn't know that was this bad. Just looking at the house from the outside was bad. Windows broken, the front porch filled with boxes and more, paint peeling off, the front yard strewn with garbage and even a mattress. Everything looked disgusting.

Nezu just told Shōta to take it slow. Renting one of those giant dumpsters, exactly 40 yards. Shōta said nothing to any of the heroes, with his gloves on he worked on the outside only, along with all of the other heroes/teachers. Nemuri and Hizashi made sure he was breathing right, they caught him beginning to hyperventilate but managed to calm him down.

Almost everyone could tell Nezu had a revelation. Nezu now knows why Shōta acted the way he acted most of the time. Of course he suspected past child abuse (the thought had the little rodent's blood boiling every time), but every human acted differently. Nezu shouldn't assume. And even though he wanted to look into Shōta's parents and see if they were in jail not, he never did. It was a line he wasn't allowed to cross without permission and Shōta was always… distant about his childhood. Everyone in the staff knew not to mention his childhood, they knew.

As the weeks went by, Shōta became simultaneously more relaxed and more stressed out. They had to wear masks now, after finding mold it was dangerous to be breathing in the air.

Shōta kept pushing on, it seemingly had no end in sight. Of course they found dead animals in there, the smell was horrible, it had to be. Shōta was offered a break multiple times, the heroes there wanted him to take a break but this was his mess to clean. This was his. He needed to do this, the heroes were helping, but this should've been his burden alone.

What made the heroes really begin to gain concern was when Shōta completely avoided one room. Nemuri asked him about it and his only answer was, “I was raped in that room”
Nemuri tried to push for more answers but Shōta said nothing more. Chiyo wanted to start pulling her hair out, seeing Shōta react as if everything was fine was stressing her out.

They chipped away and when Snipe asked where his room was, Shōta had to point down the hallway that they hadn't touched yet, they couldn't even get to his room, it was blocked off by so much junk. It…of fucking course it had to be.

His mother died in a car crash (Thankfully not in the house or they'd probably find her body). She was on drugs (not something Shōta was surprised about, she was always drunk or drugged up), they found so many used needles, beer bottles, even a bag of cocaine. They had to take it away to the police for that, the officers didn't need to help since heroes were already doing the job clearing out this house.

It was clear that Shōta was getting more and more… resolved. Like a weight was being lifted from his shoulders. Each empty room was a miracle and Shōta almost cried a few times, especially when he could begin to see the floor. It was surprising how excited he got seeing the kitchen floor for the first time in… god only knows how long.

Shōta began to tackle the hallway that held his room and the bathroom/laundry room. He began just pulling out junk not even caring to clean up and trying to open his room door but realized he had to clean all of this up first. The heroes helped, of course. They even picked up the pace seeing how desperate Shōta was to see his room.

When he could get the door open, he sighed. Of course it was still full, but it wasn't as bad as the rest of the house. Almost like his mother left what little privacy he had after he left.

This room. God. This room. He stood there for a long time, breathing through the mask that did nothing to hide the smell still seeping through. But he was used to it by now. He was always used to it. He went to a specific drawer, pushing on the bottom and getting out a secret compartment.

A wad of cash was hidden there. Still to this day. He forgot about it when he left, there were a lot of emotions and yelling and he forgot about that cash. He had saved it specifically for food and maybe a cheap apartment. But he forgot to and went hungry for a few days, working as a hero nonstop until he gained a reputation and earned enough money.

Looking at this… he couldn't help but frown. A dark look passed over him as he just stared at that money.

That money. He could've gone back for it. But… no. No he never did. It would've helped. He remembered working every day, only getting four hours of sleep, even doing homework and studying in his breaks, trying to excel in school and get enough money to leave. He worked himself almost to death… all for nothing.

He remembered when his mom found his other stash of money. Somehow in this mess she found it and got into a screaming match that the money was hers. Shōta let it happen. He didn't believe he was in an abusive environment, so he thought he could do nothing against her. He had a lot of hiding places for money, he used it to buy food because all the stuff his mother had was for her or rotting in the fridge. (Which… the fridge was not fun to clean out.)

He felt a hand (or paw) on the back of his leg, Nezu comforting him while all of his frantic efforts to clean suddenly stopped to look at this wad of cash. The only thing left of a desperate teen trying to get out of this place.
He's been working nonstop. Getting up early in the morning and going home (regretfully he's dragged back) at dinner time, which was around 17:00.

Why did he stop? Why was this the thing that made him pause? Why not the dead animals or bugs? Why not the needless, beer bottles, and drugs? Why not photos of him when everything was still fine, when his mom and dad were still living in the same house, still in love? Why not the box of razors in the first bathroom Shōta knew he cut himself with? It was obviously how he reacted to them, touching his wrists with scars years old, that he used them. Why did he stop at the money? There were worse things that he left behind. Was it because he remembered how desperate he was to leave? Was it because he worked so hard only to leave it behind? Was it because everything that happened over the past few days hit him now?

Why? Why, why? What was he feeling? He doesn't know what he's feeling. Why does he feel sick? He isn't sick but he feels sick. He feels the same way when his lovers (only friends at the time) tried to put furniture in his old apartment. He wanted to vomit. Not because he was sick, but because he was overwhelmed.

“–ōta?” he distantly heard and he slowly turned his head towards the source of the noise. He was drained but felt like he needed to keep going. He had to. “Shōta. Come on. Let's go. Let's get you to Hizashi and Nemuri, ok?”

Nezu. Yes… yes Nezu was talking. He was… he… Nezu was talking. He's..

“I want Nem and Zashi…” he mumbled out with a broken voice. He didn't cry. He was close to having a complete mental breakdown but not yet. No. It's not time yet. Maybe when the house is done and empty, the only thing left… the stains, mold, and dead bugs still littering the floor. He set the money down on the desk and Nezu noticed how he winced at that, looking at the old worn out dollars. How he looked as if just thinking about the memories that brought up physically hurt him.

Not now. Not… not now.

“Everybody, we're finished for today” Nezu yelled, holding Shōta's hand where he had to slouch down to reach. He didn't care if it was bad for his back.

And if he stood in the shower for an hour with Hizashi and Nemuri holding him close… letting the water wash over all of them, as he tried to wash away the smell that just wouldn't leave him… it… it's not his fault.

Shōta didn't expect to break so easily.

The next day Shōta was back in his room.

Digging through his old room, clearing things out, he had to get rid of an old bed frame that was just… there. Then, he dropped it once he moved it. The heroes around him jumped. At the sudden loud slam on the floor.

Shōta saw it… he saw it.

He was still for a solid five seconds, Vlad carefully opened his mouth, Nemuri following closely before Shōta suddenly began moving trash out of the way like a mad man, using his body weight to lift boxes that seem so heavy, metal rods, for some reason, another metal bed frame. Making even more of a mess. Diving down, trying to grab what he saw.

He saw it. He… God. Please he needs this.

Then he felt it, his hand wrapping around a soft faux fur. He struggled to get back out of the mess trying to get whatever he was out from where he was wedged between the wall and bed frame. It was crushing his wrist and soon Vlad and Nemuri got the idea to try and push it out of the way…

Mr. Moo. His teddy bear.

Shōta was absolutely devastated that he was ripped open. Stuffing falling out, he was almost in half, the head hanging on by just a few threads.

Can… Can he save him? Can Shōta save what he had left of Mr. Moo? Is it bad to keep the bear when it's been sitting in-in this… mess. For years.

Shōta felt tears well up into his eyes. He didn't cry much. He's only cried two times in front of only two people. He didn't want an audience seeing him cry over a ripped stuffed bear. With his reaction seeing just the bear's fur, it was obvious this bear was important. It had to be.

Mr. Moo was his only friend for the longest time. He made the mistake of leaving it on his bed when he had to go to school. Mr. Moo was gone and Shōta thought the worst. He thought his mom threw him away. He looked through the garbage and in the woods, trying to look around the house. He grew so desperate to think he brought it to school somehow and tried to look there. He was devastated. Mr. Moo was his best friend. Mr. Moo was what kept him happy.

Now… he was ruined. Seeing him so broken, so torn up, his stuffing falling out and seemingly damp.
What made him crack though… was the dead bug inside the stuffing. Tangled in there and left bits and prices of it's thousands of legs. A centipede.

Mr. Moo deserved better. Why… why? This was his whole childhood. He couldn't remember most of his childhood, but this… Mr. Moo was one of the only good things he remembered. He didn't deserve to be stuck here, with-with bugs dead inside him and sitting in this damaged and moldy house.

Mr. Moo was his friend. His friend. His… his… he- why? Why? He just wanted to be happy. He just wanted a happy childhood.

He let tears fall but didn't move.

He sobbed even harder when Nemuri took out the stuffing that had the dead centipede revealing another two. One was alive but it looked like it was on its way to death. Vlad began to help as well.

And Shōta couldn't help but curse himself when he froze.

Was this bear saveable? Could he cuddle this bear ever again? Fuck… fuck why? This… this… can't… Why? Why? Why?

Why? Mr. Moo was gone? Was he gone? He can't be.

Nemuri tried to take him away but Shōta Immediately freaked out, clutching the bear close even if it had previously held three centipedes and possibly had mold. He held it close and refused to let go.

“Please… he's my friend.” he looked down and tried desperately to hold his tears back. “He's… he-he's my friend. He's my friend.”

His eyes burned. They burned. He cried and cried and his eyes burned. Why did he have to have dry eye? Why was it so hard for him to cry? It hurt. It hurts to cry. Why did it need to hurt? Why couldn't he have a normal childhood? Why didn't he have a normal home? Why didn't he have a normal family? Why couldn't he be taken to foster care or be adopted? Why didn't he tell anyone? Why did he not know that he was in an abusive environment? If he just knew… if he just told someone…

If he was just smarter… Mr. Moo would be… would be ok. This teddy bear would be ok and… he-he…

Shōta was curled up in a ball. Crying quietly as Nemuri was desperately trying to calm him down. Eventually Hizashi, Nezu and Chiyo (Recovery Girl) came.
They tried to take the teddy bear away. There was a possibility that it had more bugs or mold and could harm Shōta if he breathed it in.

While Shōta repeated like a mantra, “He's my friend. He's my friend…”

Shōta was crying, panicking, he felt like he couldn't breathe only realizing he was hyperventilating right before he smelled the familiar sweet scent of Nemuri's quirk.

He sobbed as he passed out in Nemuri's arms.

∆•∆•∆

“I know you're overwhelmed.” Chiyo began softly, making sure Shōta was listening, “The house is empty, Shōta. And although I can tell you're a lot more… relieved, I would like you to tell me what happened during your childhood.”

“Why?”

Hizashi and Nemuri were both there holding his hands, trying to make sure he's ok. Making sure he wouldn't shut down on them so easily again.

“Well, for starters, it's going to be for a therapist I'm getting you. Another is for officers so I could file a report of child abuse. And well… maybe it'd help to just skim the surface and tell us what happened.” Chiyo paused, giving Nemuri and Hizashi a worried look before going back to Shōta, “You mentioned something concerning while cleaning. A room you wouldn't touch? Did your mother rape you?”

Shōta frowned. Feeling an uncomfortable buzzing deep down in his chest. The mere memory made him want to vomit. Why was his past important? It was in the past. That's why it's called the past. His parents are dead, so his childhood shouldn't matter. It doesn't make sense.

He still answered but he was quieter, “No. She didn't”
“Did your father?”
Shōta winced, “He couldn't have been around to do that”
Chiyo was getting more and more worried, “Do… Do you have any siblings?”
“I did. I had an older sister, but she killed herself a long time ago” the room seemed even more tense, “It's fine, we weren't that close”
“Do you know who raped you?”

Why were they stuck on this? Why not something else that's easier to talk about…

“It only happened two times… My mom had a lot of boyfriends coming in and out of the house. I don't remember him. I don't really remember much at all, I… I shut down. Like I usually do. I only remember that I felt sick afterwards. It doesn't matter that much. I shouldn't have mentioned it”

Shōta watched Chiyo hold back a grimace when he said, ‘It doesn't matter that much’ yet… she said nothing related to that. More and more questions came and the more and more Shōta felt sick. He felt light headed, and exhausted. The more and more they talked the more he realized he didn't remember much of his childhood. He couldn't answer simple questions most of the time. Such as, which elementary school he went to, what he usually ate, or did… he… he didn't even remember the color of his mother's eyes… He remembered they were pretty, he remembered when he was a kid, he wanted her eyes.

“What was your mothers quirk?”
It was a simple question. He should know this. Opening his mouth to answer, he paused. He was… confused. A completely confused look on his face passed him, “I… I don't know. She used it on me a lot of times I just… I should— why don't I… what? It's… it…”

He couldn't wrap his head around why he couldn't remember. Before all of this mess happened he thought he knew. He thought he remembered everything.

Did she have a levitating quirk? No… no that was his dad's. Something to do with her eyes. That's why they were pretty. He remembered looking at them all the time, but he didn't like looking at them. They were pretty but afterwards he never wanted to look at them again. Eye contact. Something to do with eye contact. She couldn't turn it off, she had a bad quirk. People didn't want to hire her because of her quirk.

What… What was it?

After another twenty minutes of questions, he finally remembered, “A paralyzing quirk” he said suddenly, not even close to the question, ‘were you starved from physical touch?’
“What?”
“My mom had a paralyzing quirk. I hated it, it scared me... Why didn't I remember it?”

It was what he worried about every single day. He was scared to look into his mom's beautiful eyes. If he was looking at her general direction he couldn't help but have his eyes dragged towards hers. He remembered shaking in fear that he couldn't be allowed to move ever again. She usually used her quirk to yell and scream at him while he couldn't even defend himself.

He should've known his mother's quirk. He feared it for eighteen years of his life. Why… why didn't… w-why?

He questioned his memory. Did he have amnesia? Is it going to get worse? Is he going to forget Hizashi and Nemuri? Is he going to forget his students? What does he not remember? Maybe he was physically abused, he just didn't remember. That doesn't make sense. That doesn't… why doesn't… Why would he forget that? Is something wrong with him?

When Chiyo was done she said in a soft tone, “I know I shouldn't be handing out a diagnosis this easily, but it's obvious that you have some form of dissociative amnesia. It won't affect your memory in the future (unless you go through some serious trauma then you'll probably forget most of that experience too).”

“O-oh…”

Amnesia? But he remembered a lot of his past… he remembered… like that time… he… what? It doesn't make sense. Why can't he recall it? This isn't right, his whole childhood was a nightmare. Why would he forget? Why would he have amnesia?

If he didn't remember… Why was his past still haunting him?

“You ok Shō?” Nemuri asked, looking at the rearview mirror to see Shōta sitting quietly in the back seat of the car. He hasn't really said a word, still quietly trying to process everything that has been said to him that day.

Looking out the window and watching the word pass by in a blend of colored blobs. He can't have enough strength to pull those blobs of color into shapes and things. He felt broken. Very broken.

Like the time before he knew he was autistic, he felt like something was seriously wrong with him. Right now he couldn't help but agree with his past self.

Something felt wrong.

He tried to imagine his mother. The woman that he feared for his entire life. The woman he thought he knew. He thought he knew exactly what she looked like. He can't even think up anything. He almost forgot she had brown hair, thinking she had black like him… No… no she had brown. She had a birthmark on her jaw. She always had manicured nails even though she cared little for her own appearance. She… she had pale skin, but lots of freckles. She… had a gap in her two front teeth. What else? What else? Shōta tried to picture her with all of those clues… He tried. He tried.

But nothing came together in a clear picture… because no matter how much he tried…

He couldn't remember the color of her eyes.

∆•∆•∆

Hizashi came up to Shōta suddenly and kissed him, Nemuri following right after.

“We have a gift for you,” Hizashi said with an excited smile.
Shōta was still eating breakfast when Hizashi suddenly disappeared after looking at his phone.
Nemuri ran a hand through his hair, “We've spoken to Best Jeanist. He owed Zashi a favor, but he admitted that he would've done it willingly anyway.”
“What is it?”
“You'll find out soon enough, once Zashi comes back. Jeanist wants your reaction to be recorded as well so he could see how good of a job he did”
“Did he make me some tacky pants?”
“No, no he didn't”

The door suddenly opened and Hizashi held a box with wrapping paper on it. Pink with brown paw prints dotted around. Hizashi sat Shōta down (away from his breakfast that was getting cold), on the floor in front of the box.

The blonde began recording with a smile on his face. “Open it”
“I swear if it's another cat themed jean jacket I will fucking kill you” Shōta said while carefully getting rid of the wrapping paper.
“Just rip it open, Shō!” Nemuri yelled, “Boo go faster than that, you're just going to throw away the wrapping paper anyway”
At the same time Hizashi squawked at what Shōta said, “It's not another jean jacket and you're too in love with us to kill us”

Once all the wrapping paper was neatly off (much to Nemuri and Hizashi's disappointment), Shōta began taking the tape off of the brown box, eyeing Nemuri or Hizashi every now and then.

Opening the box carefully and looking inside it took him a moment to realize what he was looking at. Suddenly taking out a plastic bag, there was a clean and fluffy Mr. Moo inside. This time Shōta was more chaotic with the opening of it. He didn't waste time ripping a hole into the plastic bag and taking out the teddy bear.

He sucked in a breath and looked at both of them, “I… you're both too sweet” he said, tearing up once again. Would this be the fourth time he ever cried in front of anyone, on camera even? Jeanist was going to watch this.
Shōta covered his face while holding the bear. Turning away from the camera while he felt Nemuri walk up to him and run her hand through his hair while he started sniffling.

“Are you going to read the note?” Hizashi asked with a soft smile on his face.
Shōta rolled his eyes, tears running down his cheeks. And even though his eyes burned he didn't care as much. It… it seemed as if those tears didn't burn as much as last time he held Mr. Moo.

He grabbed the note he ignored and opened it, still with tears running down his cheeks, onto his neck, making his face wet and his nose runny.

‘My friend Aizawa,

I've heard about your situation from a few heroes and even your lovers, and was given the great chance to take care of your precious teddy bear. I feel a little guilty I wasn't there to help you with your house. I am going to help with remaking it though. Your bear has a heart with some of the original stuffing and the fallen fur that I couldn't get back onto the bear. I can tell a lot of love went into this bear, and I hope even more love will come into the bear in the future.

Your friend, Hakamada Tsunagu.’

Shōta now realized that Hizashi put the phone down, Nemuri was still running her fingers through his hair, while Hizashi began whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

It's going to be ok.

Hizashi kissed Shōta.

It's going to be ok.

Nemuri kissed Hizashi's cheek and Shōta's forehead.

It's going to be ok.

The soft white fur was still in his hands, glossy eyes looked back up at him.

It's going to be just fine.