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On a dark corner of an empty street in a worn-down part of Musutafu, a villain is hard at work. Not much of a villain, judging by appearances. Just a slight man, unassuming, and quiet in the way that causes some people to fade naturally into the background. Nor is he committing any particularly heinous acts of villainy - there are no screaming victims, no fleeing crowds or terrible property damage. You could barely call him a villain at all - he looks ridiculous, crouched down in front of a vending machine, cheap lockpicks spread out around him haphazardly as he pries at the door that withholds whatever piddling amount of cash he’s trying to steal. As villainy goes, it’s a pathetic example.
Still, even that is enough to draw attention. The prybar falls to the sidewalk with a clatter and the villain, Shibai Ningyo, follows directly behind it, arms pinned to his sides by the inescapable embrace of a hero’s binding weapon.
“Why am I even bothering with this?” The hero mutters to himself as he tugs Shibai upright, to his knees. Then, louder: “What do you think you’re doing?” His eyes burn red, his dark hair a menacing cloud around his face, and the villain crumples with no resistance.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He babbles, squirming uselessly against the binds. “I just needed some cash, that’s all! It’s the end of the month and the rent is due!” His eyes squeeze tight, his voice breaks. Tears appear to be imminent.
The hero sighs. The binding cloth relaxes. “Whatever,” he says, hair falling over his now-dark eyes. They look tired. “You know, there are better ways than stealing if you need to make rent. Come quietly to the police station and you’ll probably just get a talking-to.”
“All - all right.” Shibai struggles to push himself to his feet with shaking hands. He slips - his palms are sweating - and he winces as his knees hit the sidewalk. The hero sighs.
“C’mon, I don’t have time for this,” he says, reaching out a hand to the villain. A kindness, and a mistake. The moment their palms touch, light flashes, illuminating the street with a brightness that rivals midday, and when it fades, only a single figure remains in the shadows.
“Oof,” the pro hero rocks on the balls of his feet, stretching his arms behind his back to try and loosen up the tight muscles of his shoulders. “I don’t think I’ve ever possessed anyone who needs a massage as much as you, Eraserhead.”
You set me up, Eraser’s thoughts echo through their now-shared skull. Why?
“Don’t worry about it.” All traces of panic are gone and Shibai, completely at ease now and fully in control of the hero’s speech and movements, begins rifling through the pouches on his utility belt. “Once I have what I need, I’ll let you go and be on my way - ha!” He pulls a cell phone from a hidden pocket triumphantly. “Wanna make things faster and tell me the passcode? Oh, never mind! Looks like I don’t need it!” He grins as the phone unlocks with the touch of a fingerprint.
You’re making this worse for yourself, Eraserhead drones from the back of his mind. He sounds almost bored. End it now, let me take you to the police station, and it will go better for you.
“Noted.” Shibai scrolls through the apps - there aren’t very many, just the ones that come with the phone and a few cat games - until he finds what he’s looking for: Eraserhead’s contacts. “Let’s see…” He flips through them, finally stopping on his prize. “Hello, Present Mic - wait, no address?”
I’m offended you think I would be that stupid. If Eraserhead had control over his body right now, he would be smirking, Shinbai can tell. What do you want with Mic?
Shibai ignores the question, flipping through the rest of the names on the list irritably. “Do you really not have your own information in here? Paranoid much?”
It’s not paranoia if it pays off. Eraser sounds more annoyed now, almost anxious. Tell me what you’re after.
“Information,” Shibai snaps, closing out of the contact list and opening email instead. “And the faster you help me get it, the sooner this will be over… yes!” He grins down at the first message on the list, a confirmation email for the purchase of a grumpy cat t-shirt, complete with shipping address. “Ready to go home, Eraserhead? Let’s see if you leave your address book there.”
No. Eraser’s tone is clipped, firm. More serious now, but finally engaged. There’s something at his home he doesn’t want Shibai to find, he’s sure of it. There’s nothing at my place. Drop it and I’ll tell you what you want to know.
“Nah.” Shibai shoves the phone back into its pocket and starts walking in the direction of the apartment. “I wouldn’t want to miss the chance to see how the other half lives. And who knows? Maybe it’ll be more useful than you expect!” In the back of his mind, he feels Eraser’s growing fury, the way he thrashes and flails, trying to take back control of his body. “Hey, quit that!” Shibai says, bringing a hand up to his temple. “It’s not going to work and it gives me a headache.”
The vague impression of Eraserhead’s smugness follows them the entire way, and the hero doesn’t let up his assault on Shibai’s aching brain. “Knock it off,” Shibai growls when they arrive, unlocking the apartment door with the single key he’d found in one of the utility pouches. “Or I’ll get you a really hideous tattoo. Something truly inappropriate.”
The door swings open, and Shibai doesn’t get an answer before a voice welcomes him into the warm entryway. “Babe!! You’re back!!”
Babe? Shibai can still feel Eraser’s frustration, and he understands it much better now. This is what he didn’t want Shibai to find - Eraserhead, scruffy, rough-around-the-edges Eraserhead, has a partner. And nothing in Shibai’s intel has prepared him for it.
Shit, he thinks as he hears footsteps draw closer. He hasn’t moved, can’t move. He doesn’t know Eraserhead well enough to be able to fool a friend with his imitation, let alone a partner. He’s got to buy time.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, ducking his face into Eraser’s very convenient capture weapon. “I’m not feeling too well. Headache.”
He can’t say anything more before Eraser’s mysterious partner is on him. “A headache? What’s wrong? Were you using your quirk too much? Did you take anything? Should I make you some tea?”
“Tea would be…” What would Eraser say? Great? Helpful? It may not seem important, but little inconsistencies add up, make people suspicious. Shibai has got to get out of this. “Nice, thank you. I should probably just go to bed.”
“Bed?” The blond man in front of him repeats the word, sounding confused, and Shibai winces internally. A misstep. “You’re going to skip date night?”
Date night, oh shit. Shibai could cry, who would have guessed that a grumpy misanthrope like Eraserhead would have such a functional relationship? And with someone so handsome! “Sorry,” he mutters, trying hard to sell the idea that he’s in pain and hoping any out of character reactions will be attributed to that. “Just not up to it. Long day.”
The blond’s eyes are beautiful, wide and green, and they soften when they look at Shibai - at Eraserhead. “All right, Shouta. God knows I’ve been encouraging you to take more personal time. Go ahead and lie down, and I’ll get you that tea.”
Shibai can feel himself wilt in relief, ready for the man to leave for the kitchen and let him quickly familiarize himself with the house in peace. But rather than turn away, the man opens his arms, pulling him close before Shibai can figure out how to extricate himself from this situation. And… it’s not bad. The man’s arms wrap around him firmly, a hand pulls him close enough that he can smell the slight citrusy scent of his hair. “Go rest.” The man presses a kiss to Shibai’s temple before he lets him go and leaves him standing there, stunned.
It takes him a moment to get his bearings enough to hastily kick off his shoes and drop the capture scarf. Eraserhead - Shouta - is no help, lingering at the back of his mind like an angry stormcloud.
Stay away from him, Eraser commands. Don’t talk to him. Don’t touch him.
“What makes you think you’re in charge?” Shibai whispers, trying to figure out where the bedroom must be.
I’m serious, says Eraser. If you lay one finger-
But Shibai doesn’t hear the rest of the threat. He doesn’t hear anything - his attention is entirely focused on the table by the front door - the perfect place to drop keys, or sunglasses… or the trademark speaker that unmistakably belongs to Present Mic. It takes him a minute to process. Present Mic lives here, with Eraser. That means - that means-
“Holy shit,” Shibai can’t help saying it out loud. That guy was Present Mic. Present Mic and Eraserhead are together. And it makes perfect sense, but it doesn’t. “Who knew Mic was such a looker under all that hair gel and leather? Congrats, Eraser.”
The hero’s temper flares again, but under it Shibai can sense just a hint of smugness. It’s hard to begrudge, Shibai thinks as he moves through the cozy apartment. He’d always pictured Eraserhead as living in a box under a bridge somewhere, not a place as nice as this. He glances through one doorway - a bathroom. Good to know. He tries another, only to find himself face to face with shelves of neatly-folded sheets and towels. Less useful. The people who hired him to gather info on Present Mic probably aren’t interested in the thread count of his bedding.
Third time’s the charm. Shibai finally stumbles into the bedroom, ready to be done with this entire fiasco. He could separate from Eraser right here, and dive for the window while the hero finds his bearings. But no - in a sense, his mission has been wildly successful. He now knows more about Present Mic than anyone besides his closest friends.
But not enough, he thinks as he crawls into the neatly made bed. He hopes this is his side; there’s a photo of Eraser scowling into the camera on the other nightstand, so it seems like a safe enough bet. He’s got to find out more tomorrow - Mic’s real name, for a start, and a rough idea of his schedule. His instructions had been very clear - find out when and where Mic will be alone, without his gear. The relationship angle threw a bit of a wrench in the plan, but Shibai is a professional. He’d gone to Tokyo University of the Arts! A little improv was nothing he couldn’t handle.
“Shouta?” Mic calls softly from the doorway. “Are you still awake?”
He should deny it. He should close his eyes and feign sleep and try to figure out how to get through this as quickly as possible. And yet - “Yeah,” he whispers.
Mic smiles at him, the light from the hall casting a warm silhouette around his figure in the doorway. There’s a mug in his hands, and he crosses the room in a few steps to place it gently on the table beside the bed. “You didn’t even get undressed?” He presses his lips together. The words are disapproving, but also worried, and before Shibai can answer a cool hand is pressed to his forehead. “Hmm, you’re not warm.”
Undressed? Oh god, Shibai hadn’t even considered that. He closes his eyes against the awkwardness. “Sorry. I just need some sleep.”
“Yeah, I can tell you’re not yourself right now. You didn’t even put your ring on when you got home.” Mic half-smiles, reaching for the little dish Shibai had overlooked on the nightstand. He plucks something shiny from it, and Shibai extends his hand, ready to take it from him. But Mic’s grin twists into something more mischievous, and he takes Shibai’s hand in his own and slides the ring onto his finger. “There,” Mic leans down to place a kiss to the back of Shibai’s hand. “Now you’re perfect.”
Stunned at the intimacy of the gesture, Shibai can’t bring himself to reply. “Don’t worry about date night,” Mic says, smoothing the hair out of Shibai’s eyes. “We’ll make it up next week. Double date night! Hey, we should invite Emi and Kayama!”
“Sure,” Shibai says, because it seems the thing to do. “Whatever you want.”
Mic tilts his head, narrowing his eyes slightly, but lets the matter drop. “I’ll let you rest.”
He leaves, but not before leaning down to kiss Shibai’s temple. Eraser, who’d spent the better part of their evening red-hot with rage, has shifted to an icy coldness in the back of Shibai’s mind. Do you have any idea how wrong this is? He asks, as Shibai is trying to think. He thinks you’re me. He thinks you’re his husband.
“That’s kind of the idea,” Shibai murmurs, but there’s no heat to it. It does feel wrong, slimier than he’s comfortable with. He has no ethical qualms imitating bank managers and prison guards, but this? This isn’t right. “It’s not like it matters anyway.”
Why? Eraser is on him in a moment, pushing against the bonds that lock him away, desperate for answers. Why doesn’t it matter? What are you doing this for?
“For money!” Shibai would rather not answer, but he’s never going to be able to focus on his current predicament with Eraser losing his shit in the back of his mind. “I just need some information to pass along, and then I’ll be out of your hair. Literally.”
What information? Pass along to who? Eraser’s questions are instantaneous and unrelenting. Why do you want to hurt Mic? He hasn’t taken down anyone particularly consequential lately.
Shibai covers his head with a pillow. It doesn’t do any good when the questions are coming from inside his own mind, but it makes him feel better. “Just the usual stuff! His location, his comings and goings! And I’m not telling you who I work for! Just be happy I’m not the violent type, because honestly, I could be earning a lot more!”
In the back of his head, Eraser goes quiet. You really think this isn’t going to end in violence? He says, low and serious. Mic doesn’t deserve that. He’s a good person.
Shibai squeezes his eyes shut. “That’s not my business. I’m just here to do my job.”
Maybe you need a new line of work, is the last thing Eraser says to him before going silent.
It’s almost impossible to relax with Eraserhead batting at the back of his mind, looking for a way free. There isn’t one, and most of his captives figure that out a lot faster than this. But it makes sense, Shibai thinks as he stares at the steaming mug of tea on the bedside table. Eraser has plenty to fight for. A comfortable home, a handsome husband who loves him. A happier life than Shibai would have expected.
Pity he’s going to ruin it.
The hour grows from late to early as Shibai talks himself through his next steps. He has no idea what Eraser’s schedule looks like, so he’s going to have to hope Mic unwittingly directs him. If not, he can feign sick a little longer. He’s done an all right job of fooling Mic so far, but how long can he keep it up?
Shibai doesn’t expect to get any sleep that night, which is why it’s such a shock to open his eyes between blinks and see sunlight. “Hey, look who’s up!!” a voice from across the room calls brightly. Shibai turns to the voice, then wishes he hadn’t. Mic is there, and he looks even prettier than last night, with his long hair loose around his shoulders and a pair of sweatpants low enough around his hips to show off the V of his abs.
His eyes are up there, Eraser growls, menacingly.
“Morning,” Shibai mumbles, turning his head away from Mic and towards the other side of the bed, which looks untouched. “Did you even sleep?” he asks, before he can think about it.
“Of course! Five whole hours!” Mic grins at him, like this is some kind of achievement. “We have nowhere to be today so I didn’t wake you!”
Shibai fights the urge to groan. His head is pounding. Eraser, now fully awake, has resumed pounding at Shibai’s mental barriers. And it looks like he’s not even going to learn anything useful about Mic’s schedule, at least not yet. And now -
“C’mon sleepy, time to get up!! I made breakfast!”
Well. Maybe it wasn’t all bad.
Shibai drags himself out of bed and to the table, hoping the food will fortify him for the day ahead. “This is good,” he says around a mouthful. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, I know you love natto,” Mic smiles behind his coffee cup. Shibai has no strong feelings about the dish one way or the other, but the soft look on Mic’s face soothes the pounding headache he’s been weathering since yesterday, and he’s grateful.
“Is there something you wanted to do today?” he asks, hoping that even with nothing scheduled, he can still get an idea of Mic’s comings and goings for his employers.
Mic perks up. “I thought we could spend the day together! You know, since we don’t see each other that much!”
Shibai curses internally. Though he wouldn’t normally object to passing a day with someone as good-looking as Mic, spending so much time together is going to make it that much more difficult to fool him. He’s already made at least a few mistakes, and sooner or later one is bound to be the tipping point. “Do we have any errands to run?” he asks, hiding his desperation behind a swig of tea. It will be easier to pass as Eraser if they keep busy.
Mic blinks. “A few,” he says, consideringly. “Are you sure you’re feeling up to it? How’s your head?”
“Fine,” Shibai lies, wondering where Eraser keeps his painkillers. “Maybe it will help to get out for a bit.”
“I feel like I’m always the one telling you that!” Mic smiles. “It’s nice to see you’ve been listening!”
“I always listen,” Shibai and Eraser protest together. This only makes Eraser angrier, and he knocks against Shibai’s aching head with a particularly vengeful slam.
Mic pushes away from the table and starts clearing the dishes. “No, don’t get up,” he waves away Shibai’s half-hearted attempt to help. “I’ve got it. Let me get this and then shower and we can go.”
“I’ll get cleaned up,” Shibai says, getting to his feet. At Mic’s encouraging nod, he heads to the bathroom, which turns out to be a treasure trove of information. The bottles in the medicine cabinet identify Eraser, a.k.a. Shouta, as Shouta Aizawa, which means Mic must be Hizashi Yamada, according to his prescriptions. Good to know. Shibai is a good actor, but not even he can play off not knowing his supposed husband’s name. There’s also a bottle of over the counter painkillers, which Shibai downs with a handful of water from the sink. “Which toothbrush?” he asks Eraser, his hand hovering between the two on the counter.
Yellow, Eraser supplies grudgingly. He’s quiet while Shibai brushes his teeth, but then - At least let me take the wheel for this, he complains, as Shibai turns on the shower.
“That’s not how it works,” Shibai mutters, stripping off his grimy, day-old shirt. “Stop complaining. Don’t you want to be clean?”
I’ve gone longer without it, Eraser mutters, and Shibai makes a face.
“Not something to be proud of,” he says as he steps under the spray. He keeps things as perfunctory and professional as he can while he gets cleaned up, but it’s not until he’s drying off that he realizes his mistake. “Where are your clothes?” he whispers, hoping Mic isn’t standing too close to the bathroom door.
For once, Eraser is silent. Shibai is somehow not surprised. He wraps the towel around his waist and scuttles across the hall into the bedroom. “Shower’s free!” he calls, hoping Mic will go directly there while he tosses the room for clothing. “Fast fast fast,” he mutters to himself as he opens drawers with one hand, the other holding the towel tightly in place. He can’t tell which items belong to Eraser and which belong to Mic, and that might be a real problem. In the end, he pulls on a few of the plainer things and hopes for the best. At least he’s dressed.
“Babe?” Mic says from behind him. “Can you toss me some underwear?”
Shibai slams the drawer he was looking through so hard he hears something crack. Fuck, Eraser is strong. “Uhh, sure.” he says, grabbing a random pair out of another drawer and tossing it over his shoulder. He doesn’t know if Mic is wrapped in a towel and turning around is not a risk he’s prepared to take.
“Thanks!” Mic says brightly, and Shibai has half a moment of relief before he follows it up with “is that what you’re wearing?”
“Yeah,” Shibai says, slowly. “Should I change?”
Mic hums thoughtfully. “I can pick something out for you, if you want?”
“Sure,” Shibai says, gratefully. “That’s fine.”
“Great!” Mic rushes past him, and it’s all Shibai can do to throw himself out of the way of Mic’s long limbs and bare chest. He’s a criminal, yes, but he’s not a creep. “What about this - and this! And I bought you this forever ago and you never wore it once!”
Shibai stares off into the distance, trying to ignore the sensation of Eraser silently laughing at him. Eventually, he and Mic are both decent, though it takes some careful maneuvering to avoid stealing an eyeful. The shirt Mic picked out for him is tight, especially around the sleeves and collar, but Shibai has to admit that Eraser is pulling it off. “Looks good,” he nods to Mic through the mirror. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure, believe me.” Mic winks appreciatively, then turns his gaze back to the mirror to finish twisting his hair into a loose bun. A few blond strands fall artfully around his face, framing his high cheekbones, and Shibai can’t help letting his glance linger for just a moment too long.
Keep it in your pants, Eraser chastises him with a particularly painful knock against his temples.
“Yeah yeah, they’re your pants anyway,” Shibai mutters, turning away so Mic won’t hear.
They leave the apartment shortly after that, Mic hustling them out the door like he thinks he’s getting away with something. It doesn’t take long for Shibai to realize why: Mic runs them around all morning and well into the afternoon, to every corner of the city, dropping off dry cleaning, picking up essentials for the apartment, stopping here and there for groceries Mic insists they’re running low on. Shibai endures it all without complaint. If pressed, he’d have to admit that he enjoys it - Mic is good company, cheerful and fun to listen to as he talks about anything that crosses his mind, new songs Shibai’s never heard of and coworkers he’s never met. Shibai doesn’t know a thing about any of it, but Mic is so enthusiastic that it’s hard not to match his energy, and a few times he finds himself asking questions not to pry out valuable personal information, but just for the pleasure of hearing him speak.
Still, as the day goes on, Shibai starts flagging. Eraser lurks in the back of his mind, relentlessly pressing at his headache, and even though it’s a bright day, the wind is icy through the lightweight fabric of his shirt. By afternoon, he can’t control his shivers.
“Are you cold?” Mic stops in his tracks when he notices, taking the bags from Shibai’s hands and putting them carefully on a nearby bench. “I should have grabbed you a jacket. Here, take mine,” he says, shrugging his arms free of his sleeves and wrapping his coat around Shibai.
“You need it,” Shibai protests, even as he pulls it on. Mic doesn’t answer, just takes a step into Shibai’s space and carefully does up the zipper, stopping just beneath his chin. The care on his face is dizzying; Shibai feels tears prick the corners of his eyes. It’s not for him, he reminds himself. None of this is for him.
“Shouta,” Mic murmurs, pressing a blessedly warm hand to his cheek. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” Shibai chokes a little on the words. “It’s just - I’ve never felt this loved before.”
Mic looks at him thoughtfully, and it occurs to Shibai too late that that might be an odd thing to say to the man who’s supposed to be his husband, who presumably has been loving him this well all along. But if it’s suspicious, Mic doesn’t say anything, just takes Shibai’s hand in his own and squeezes it.
In the back of his mind, Eraser quiets slightly. Shibai gets the impression that he’s considering something, but whatever it may be, he’s not talking.
“I have to go in to work tonight,” Mic says later, as they leave yet another shop. “The station manager is out of town and somebody has to stay after hours and make sure everything’s running smooth.”
“You’ll be there by yourself?” Shibai asks, not quite as hopefully as he would have expected, though he isn’t sure why. There’s a feeling in the pit of his stomach that’s something like dread.
Mic shrugs. “Sure, but it’s no big deal. Just a few hours watching the screens. Maybe I’ll get some paperwork done.”
This is it. This is it. Eraser is howling in the back of Shibai’s mind, but it’s easy to ignore him now. All Shibai has to do is stick it out another few hours until Mic goes for work, and he’s done. The job’s over. And yet… and yet… Shibai’s hand ghosts over the phone in his pocket.
Ready to call your boss? Eraser growls. Did you get what you need?
“No,” Shibai whispers. “Not yet, I - not yet.”
Why not? Eraser asks, and Shibai has no answer. Why not? There’s no reason he shouldn’t. It’s valuable information, enough so that Shibai won’t have to take any other jobs for a while. He can focus on his acting, maybe move on from this life all together if he catches a break. But first, he has to make the call.
“Shouta?” Mic leans towards him, face all concern. “Did you say something?”
“Yeah.” Shibai moves his hand up, away from his pocket, burying it in the back of his hair. There’s something oddly comforting and familiar in the gesture. “I… uh… you wanna get something to eat?”
Mic blinks. “Sure! What did you have in mind?”
“Anything,” Shibai shrugs. “Is there someplace you’ve been wanting to try?”
Mic lights up, face breaking into a grin, and Shibai knows then he’s not going to get the money. He can’t do it, not when he knows what he’d be trading away. And Mic isn’t for him, none of this is for him, but there’s something fortifying about knowing that it’s real, that something like this is even possible. It makes Shibai want to be better, to be worthy of it.
“…or we could just go to the cat cafe. What do you think?” Mic says, and Shibai realizes he’d been listing restaurant options while Shibai’d been lost in his thoughts.
“I don’t care, whichever you prefer,” Shibai shrugs. Mic glances at him, then turns off the main street onto a less populated side road. Shibai follows, and a moment later the shopping bags litter the ground at their feet as Mic pins Shibai to the rough bricks of the building behind them. “Eraser hates natto,” Mic leans in, his tone more severe than Shibai has ever heard. “And even when he had bandages covering his entire body, he still insisted we not skip date night. I knew from the first minute something was off with you. And now I’m certain - you’re not him.”
“I can explain,” Shibai said, not struggling at all against Mic’s hold. But Mic doesn’t relax his grip.
“Where is Eraser?”
Shibai tries to find the words, but gives up after only a moment. It’s pointless, he can’t talk his way out of this now, and anyway, the job’s a bust. Time to let go. He closes his eyes - Eraser’s eyes - and in less than a blink, he’s standing beside the heroes, just out of reach.
He could run for it - the shock of the abrupt separation left Eraser sagging, disoriented in his husband’s arms, and Shibai knows Mic won’t drop him, even to chase a villain. But he waits - he’s not quite ready to say goodbye just yet, and Eraser will hunt him to the ends of the earth anyway, no doubt of that.
“Shouta!” Mic says, struggling to hold him upright. After a moment, Eraser finds his feet, and Mic switches to checking him over, turning his head this way and that, looking for injuries or any sign he’s still not who he seems. “What was the name of the first cat we got together?!”
“Trouble,” Eraser says, voice warm. Mic, Shibai is starting to realize, has a way of thawing even the coldest hearts. “After you.”
Mic throws his arms around his husband, burying his face into Eraser’s shoulder and taking a gasping breath. “I was worried about you!”
“I’m sorry,” Eraser says, into Mic’s hair. “I knew you’d figure it out.”
“That’s not how it felt,” Shibai mutters. Mic turns his way, curious, and their eyes meet. “We shared a brain. He was panicked.”
“You,” Eraser stalks closer, shooting out an arm to pin Shibai to the wall again, entirely unnecessarily, in Shibai’s opinion. “You know a lot of things you shouldn’t.”
Behind him, Mic wrings his hands. “Shouta-”
Eraser keeps his gaze threateningly on Shibai, even as he answers his husband. “Don’t try to talk me down, Hizashi! He was going to hurt you! He knows our names, he knows where we live - we’re going to have to move! I liked that apartment!”
Shibai drops his eyes. “I won’t tell,” he murmurs.
Eraser leans in to respond, softer now. Too quiet for Mic to hear, probably. “Why should I believe that?”
“I don’t-” Shibai squirms, but Eraser’s grip is like iron. He doesn’t even flinch. “He’s - he’s good. I wouldn’t hurt him. I won’t help anybody hurt him.”
Eraser’s eyes are stern, like he knows every illegal thing Shibai has ever done and some of the legal but ethically questionable ones as well. But eventually, the arm pinning him to the wall relaxes, ever so slightly. “Can’t argue with that,” Eraser mutters.
“Shouta,” Mic says worriedly, hovering over Eraser’s shoulder. “Go easy, huh?”
Eraser snorts, but lets Shibai go, taking a step backwards, closer to Mic. “Figures. He’ll probably visit you in jail.”
Shibai brightens. “Yeah?”
“Well,” Mic shrugs, smiling a little guiltily. “It’s nice to meet somebody who appreciates my natto.”
“I can’t believe you dressed me up and dragged me all over town,” Eraser complains, even as he leans into the consoling arm his husband wraps around his shoulder.
“Well, you’re not usually so agreeable!” Mic grins, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Eraser’s lips quirk into a half-smile, all is forgiven already, apparently.
“You know,” Shibai says, “I’ve been doing this a long time-”
Eraser holds a hand up as he pulls out his phone. “Wait, if this is a confession I want to get it on tape.”
“No no,” Shibai shakes his head. “I was just thinking. I have a lot of information the police might be interested in. Maybe I can trade it for a reduced sentence!”
“You could be home by New Year!” Mic says, with an encouraging smile.
“I’ll send you a card?” Shibai offers, ducking his head a bit. Eraser rolls his eyes.
“Why not? We’ll put it on the shelf with the cards from his other admirers. Come on, let’s go talk to the police. No funny business this time.”
Shibai shrugs. “Fine, fine. Bye Mic!”
“Bye - hey, I don’t think I ever caught your name!” Mic says, hand paused mid-wave.
Shibai shoots him a wink over his shoulder. “You could keep calling me babe.”
“Jail,” Eraser says firmly, pulling him along by an arm. “So much jail. And I’m going to ask All Might to give you a lecture on civic responsibility.”
“No!” Shibai gasps, stumbling over his feet. Eraser grins, wide and a little unhinged, and Shibai can only shake his head at the man Mic has chosen to love.
“What can I say?” Eraser says, smugly. “You ruined date night. I’m not above a little petty revenge.”
Shibai has to admit it. “You know what, that’s fair.”