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“That bad, huh?” Hizashi asked, coming to lean against the doorframe. He crossed his arms and let his head rest against the wood as he watched him.
“There’s going to be a press conference,” Shouta answered as he lathered up the rest of his face. He took a moment to look at himself in the mirror: tired black eyes underlined by puffy black bags, sweat-mussed hair reminding him of the nightmare he’d had during his nap, sparkling white shaving cream that only served to make his teeth look stained in comparison. Had he even remembered to brush them this morning?
Nedzu had been right to tell him to clean himself up.
He grabbed his razor.
“Here, let me,” Hizashi said, slipping into the bathroom behind him. He took the razor from Shouta’s hand. “You’ll probably cut yourself with how little sleep you’ve been getting.”
“I’m fine.”
By now it was the automatic answer. It had been ever since Hizashi had found him bent over in the hospital waiting room, elbows on his thighs and head in his hands, trying to rest without actually resting as he’d waited for someone to update him on Midoriya’s status and whether or not the boy would even be able to continue onward in the hero course.
He’d never regretted not expelling someone more than at that moment.
“Liar,” Hizashi said as he tilted Shouta’s head back.
He was given no chance to defend himself as the blade ran down his neck. Hizashi, naturally, took Shouta’s silence as an indication that he was meant to talk enough for the both of them.
“Did you hear about the stunt Mt. Lady pulled the other day?” He didn’t wait for Shouta’s response before continuing. “Apparently she jumped over a building.”
Shouta rolled his eyes. A rookie mistake. Or the actions of someone solely out to get attention. He couldn’t decide which was more annoying.
“It didn’t end well, as you can imagine. She’s lucky not to have had her license revoked. I can understand the desire to try to get a bit of publicity, but that is not the way to handle it. Tweets are where it’s at nowadays. The media loves those things. I set up an account for Mr. Eraser Jr. a few months back and he’s already got 100,000 followers.”
Mr. Eraser Jr. being the black cat Hizashi had found one day while out on patrol, naturally. He claimed the white around its neck made him look like he was carrying a capture weapon.
“You know, we should do this more often,” Hizashi said, abruptly switching topics. “It’s kind of fun getting you tidied up. At least when I don’t have to. Maybe we can shave somewhere else next time.” Hizashi winked at him in the mirror.
Shouta gave him a dead-eyed look in response.
He watched the reflection of the razor move across his skin. It was a familiar scene. After the USJ attack, Hizashi had been forced to take care of him in ways Shouta had never imagined until his hands and arms had healed enough for him to begin doing things for himself again. Despite how infuriating his helplessness had been, the image of Hizashi behind him, looking into the mirror over Shouta’s shoulder as he worked, was a familiar comfort.
He tried not to swallow as the razor glided over his Adam’s apple. While one of the least intimate things they’d done while he was injured - certainly nothing compared to Hizashi’s ‘helping hands’ when Shouta had woken up hard and irritable over not being able to do anything about it - their shaving routine had always seemed strangely erotic in a way that Shouta couldn’t quite pinpoint. Perhaps it was how close Hizashi had to stand in order to get the right angle. Perhaps it was the way Hizashi would occasionally stop to trail his fingertips across Shouta’s skin, as if to physically gauge where he needed to shave next. Perhaps it was the trust. There were few other people Shouta would allow to take a blade to his throat.
“All done,” Hizashi said, setting the razor down.
Shouta rubbed the traces of shaving cream off with one of the towels. Tilting his head back and forth, he examined himself in the mirror. He looked good. Or, at least good enough not to draw unwanted attention while he was being dragged through the mud by vicious reporters.
“Thanks.”
Hizashi curled his arms around his waist and pulled him back towards his chest before Shouta could leave. Blond hair spilled over his shoulder as Hizashi buried his face into his neck.
“You want me to come along?” Hizashi asked.
The appearance of Present Mic would either be a brilliant distraction or add fuel to the already raging fire. It wasn’t a wager Shouta wanted to make.
“I’ll be fine. It’s not the first time they’ve come to yell at me.” Shouta tried to stay away from the spotlight, but that didn’t always mean the spotlight stayed away from him.
Hizashi pressed a kiss to his collarbone. “You want something to relax you?” His hands drifted downward.
“Maybe afterwards.” Getting into bed now would only make it all the harder to leave later.
“Well, how about a shower.” Hizashi held up a piece of Shouta’s hair which looked to be knotted at the end.
“In a moment.” He just needed a moment to think without Hizashi’s incessant chattering as the man attempted to cheer him up.
Hizashi turned his face so as to give him another kiss, this one on his now stubble-free jaw.
“I’ll go get your suit ready,” he said, getting the hint.
Shouta waited for him to leave before he pressed his palms to the counter. He leaned over the sink and sighed.
This plan had better work.
He didn’t know what he’d do if it didn’t.