Bruised And Broken

"Thank you, dads."

Recommended music: Ride by Lana Del Rey

"

Shoto." Aizawa nodded his greeting as he stepped through the doorway. Mussed hair, weary eyes and a baggy sweater, Aizawa was the epitome of comfort to Shoto.

"Hey." Shoto replied, equally weary.

"You should be getting discharged tomorrow." Aizawa sank into a visitor's chair and rubbed his fatigued eyes. He'd been battling a court case both for Endeavor's sentence and official custody over Shoto. Adoption.

"You okay?" Shoto asked quietly.

Aizawa let out a bitter laugh. "I should be asking you that. But I'm fine."

"Hizashi-?"

"Teaching." The pro hero explained. Each teacher was allowed one day off per week to spend with Shoto. UA had the resources to cover a few lessons per week.

Shoto gazed at the same four walls he had been stuck in for the past two weeks. The blanched white glared back at him, and he let out a sigh. He'd give anything to get out of this place, anything to get a chance to phone Touya without the risk of anyone overhearing.

He hadn't told anyone. Touya's phone number laid tucked in an abundant bunch of sapphire blue flowers. Sometimes in the depths of night he would retrieve that little slip of paper, the only thing keeping him sane, and clutch it in his hands. It was the only thing reminding him Touya was still there.

"Yuki misses you." Aizawa mentioned off-handedly. Both being introverted individuals, neither were the best at conversing in the absence of Hizashi.

Shoto smiled softly. "Yeah."

"Ready to get out of this dump?" Aizawa asked, gesturing to the clinical walls and furniture.

"Definitely." Shoto responded. His voice wavered. He'd been longing to escape for 14 days, and now the prospect drew closer, fear clutched at his heart. Being in this room, was like being cushioned from the outside world. Barely any visitors, barely any news from the outside world and certainly now reporters shoving microphones in his face. No one whose eyes would nervously dart to his scar before talking to him in careful, hushed tones. No one who'd walk in a mortifyingly slow manner to avoid scaring him.

Shoto was not broken.

He didn't need them treating him like some invalid because his father had given him a few punches.

"Really?" Aizawa's eyebrows spiked. Ever the observant one.

"No, not really." Shoto sighed. "It's just... everyone will be... and I..."

"Shoto..." Aizawa's apathetic mask cracked, and he lent forward to embrace Shoto.

"I'm sorry..." Shoto whispered, clutching the black sweater.

Aizawa just shook his head.

~

Saturday morning dawned early and bright. Shoto groaned as the light flooded the small room that had held him captive for so long. He wished he'd kept the blinds shut. Ever since the countless creept reporters gave up trying to photograph him through the window, Shoto had been in the habit of letting the light in. "It's good for the soul," one, relatively old nurse had told him, before patting his hand and leaving with a warm smile.

His belongings, half-packed in a tote bag supplied by Hizashi, sat at the foot of the bed. Shoto had only recently been allowed to get out of bed, so he revelled in being able to stand and get dressed devoid of aid. Bandages still adorned his left forearm and right upper arm, and stitches still stung in his side, but overall he was feeling considerably better. Lighter, even.