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teethrotter · 2 years

Text

words don’t come easy.

Aizawa cannot seem to cohesively understand the unlikely enigma that is Matsuda, particularly after they enter into an even more unlikely relationship. He commends his best efforts over ice cream.

CW: suicide ( mentioned ), suicidal ideation, mental illness, alcoholism ( mentioned )

Aizawa feels exceedingly cramped in the small black chair, its legs scraping gratingly over the hard floor as he manually scoots closer to the similarly minuscule table. His double scoops of matcha ice cream remain untouched in the bowl before him, the result of a complicated knot of dubiety and vexation blocking his throat; he had never been one for any emotional turmoil, much less his own. If not for Ide's striking implications and words the night prior, he undoubtedly wouldn't be anywhere close to leaving his comfort zone for Matsuda's sake, especially not stranded away from it as he currently was.

The man in question ( the man responsible for this entire plight, might he add ) sits directly across from him, familiar dopey smile tugging at his lips. His gaze is focused contently on the bowl set before him, spoon grasped loosely in his fist. The ice cream is colored obnoxiously pink, but Aizawa is unable to recall if the selected flavor is strawberry or perhaps bubblegum. Noting how carelessly Matsuda holds the spoon despite his integral clumsiness only serves to irritate him further, but he holds his tongue where he might have once snapped, instead heaving a slow sigh. The sound appears to capture Matsuda's attention, and the lazy smile loosens its hold on his lips, heightening Aizawa's annoyance for a very different reason than before.

"You haven't even touched yours," Matsuda comments, gesturing to Aizawa's own bowl, and he is both relieved and exasperated at its extraneous nature in relation to the situation that should be at hand. He has never been anything but a blunt man, often to the point of cruelty, and the itch to simply tear into Matsuda to get to the damn point is almost unbearable. The point is his own fault, however, and so he resolves to continue to grit his teeth and carry on for Matsuda's sake until one of them inevitably slips.

"Must've gotten distracted for a minute," Aizawa mutters in reply, the gruff edge to his words wholly unavoidable. He makes an acceptably ( but not overly ) dramatic show of his hands, very well pecking at his ice cream and partially mollifying Matsuda in turn. His easy placation has been a pet peeve of Aizawa's since meeting him.

Struggling to prevent his discomfort from etching its mark into his current expression, Aizawa tongues at the spoon pinned between his teeth, reminiscing on Ide's statements from the night before. Despite their worrisome nature, he finds that mentally conjuring the man's voice and image is enough to partly quiet his nerves, a notion both humiliating and covertly useful.

He was well aware of Matsuda's recent struggles with liquor. In the days and weeks following the conclusion of the Kira case ( a period irreparably blurred to the majority of them, but perhaps that was for the greater good ), the man had been decisively absent from work. Given the circumstances of Light's death, the remainder of the task force had been quick to cover for him, deducing that he simply required time to mentally process the event and consequently begin to recover. After days of nonexistent contact, however, Ide had taken it upon himself to check up on Matsuda, the same looming and impossible conviction of suicide suicide suicide passing between him and Aizawa.

The scene Ide had apparently stumbled into had not been at all pleasant, Matsuda sprawled on the floor covered in his own vomit and his ( very spoiled ) dog left unfed. There had been no viable threat of suicide, but Matsuda had been beyond inconsolable, piss drunk for days and repeatedly prodding at Ide, begging to be left alone to simply die until Ide managed to coax him into the shower. Somehow, through methods which remain undisclosed, Ide accomplished the Herculean feat of dragging Matsuda back to work two days later, allowing him to be closely monitored through several pairs of eyes. Retroactively, Aizawa likely should have taken the time to develop something of a true sense of sympathy for Matsuda outside of basic concern back then, rather than have Ide's own statements over a year later spur the inception of such. It certainly wouldn't have warded off the lingering issues with alcohol, no, but perhaps it could have prevented some of the mental suffering that had been wrought due to Aizawa's behavior. The same suffering that would easily have been capable of contributing to said alcoholism.

The absolute last thing he currently needs is to torment himself with such possibilities. Instead, Aizawa resumes in picking at his ice cream, quite reminding himself of the manners his youngest child formerly possessed. Vaguely similar to the prior thoughts of Ide, the mere notion of his girls brings a temporary sense of calm, accompanied by a palpable warmth in his chest. He is an exceptional father, at the very least; there is something going for him. The realization that he is grasping for excuses to pat himself on the back in a situation that was brought about entirely by his cruelty sickens him enough to banish the girls from his mind.

"Thanks for bringing me here. I never thought you'd be the type to just go out for ice cream, you know? Not without someone begging. I guess I should've know better, though. I mean, you're a dad," Matsuda suddenly interjects, familiar toothy smile plastered to his lips. Until last night, Aizawa never would have taken note of the perpetual exhaustion under his eyes, nor the present touch of anxiety to the corners of his mouth. Basic facial cues he had learned to pinpoint and decipher long ago, and yet had missed completely in Matsuda's case because he hadn't even toyed with the idea that he was capable of such complex emotions.

"Yeah. Both of my girls love ice cream," Aizawa replies offhandedly, willing to sacrifice just about anything for a mere ounce of stoicism. He can all but feel the corners of his mouth drawing involuntarily downwards.

"All kids do, I guess. They'd be a weird kid if they didn't." Matsuda spares a glance up to his solitary companion, having finished off his ice cream while about a scoop more sits within Aizawa's own bowl. The spoon balances between his index and middle finger, but his hands are surprisingly still. "You could've brought your daughters, if you wanted to. I wouldn't mind. I guess I haven't seen too much of them yet, but I love kids, so if you ever want to bring them somewhere, just do it. I'm sure Ide wouldn't mind, either. They're definitely good kids."

The realization that Matsuda is undeniably the type to unconsciously fill nervous space with words begins to dawn on Aizawa the more he speaks, particularly with redirecting the subject to his own daughters, indubitably a "safe topic". The fact that he appears so outwardly carefree does nothing to soothe Aizawa's chest. Even now, when he is well aware that Matsuda simply must be distressed because there is no other feasible option, Aizawa comes up with nothing solid to prove his theory outside of a hardly noticeable stress in the other man's lip. Matsuda must have spent a large chunk of his time over the course of his life perfecting the concealment of his microexpressions, perfecting the default persona of easy peppiness that would decisively take their place. The notion is enough to strip Aizawa of any will to pick mechanically at his ice cream.

He should definitely offer some sort of response, something to maintain their pitiful, shared farce, but his throat seems to have momentarily swelled shut. He's been a secret empath since the day he was born, and this certainly isn't the first ( nor will it be the last ) time that he has ever been rendered useless by a cacophony of emotional responses. Suffocating, unexpected pity for Matsuda, self-directed anger, ever-present anger towards the general world, things he is unable to cohesively identify. Ridiculous, really, if he stopped to think about it, but there was no time for that now. Matsuda had once again settled his gaze on him, sickening and willingly expressed worry beginning to dig its claws into his brows.

"Hey, Aizawa? Are you okay? I, uh, don't want to say anything wrong. You can tell me if I did. I wouldn't be upset."

That's exactly what he expects of me. He expects me to snap at him for fucking talking about my daughters.

The night prior, Aizawa hadn't noticed anything peculiar regarding Matsuda's attitude, nor the routine that the three of them were gradually beginning to settle into as they learned to operate as a unit. As living arrangements presently stood, they continued to live separately in differing apartments, but it was ubiquitously agreed that they take the time to meet for dinner at Ide's apartment whenever possible. This would typically occur in the form of congregating up to three times a week ( twice during the working week and once over the weekend ), most often with Ide's home-cooked dinner.

Matsuda had graciously volunteered to gather the dishes with the conclusion of their shared meal, scooping both the plates and bowls up together simultaneously. Clearly having overestimated himself and underestimated his integral clumsiness, a plate managed to slip from his effective tower, instantaneously shattering on the hard floor. Aizawa had still been seated at the dining table, his reflexive response being to snap at the other man's idiocy, just as he had always done before ( having formed a practical habit of it, really ). Matsuda had fallen abnormally silent, making quick work of dumping the remaining dishes into the sink. His following actions had been extremely unexpected, the man very well crumpling to the floor, as if his legs had been manually taken out from underneath him. The tears began shortly afterwards, all heaving breaths and choked sobs, leaving Aizawa thoroughly dumbstruck in his seat and summoning Ide from the other room.

Matsuda was simply hysterical, apologizing endlessly for dropping the plate and clutching tightly to Ide's arm. He had spared Aizawa a brief shake of his head as he reassured Matsuda regarding the state of the useless plate, something about being perfectly replaceable and nothing truly being his fault, rendering Aizawa absolutely speechless with confusion. Why had Matsuda grown so deeply perturbed by a damn plate, of all things, and what could he have possibly done to contribute to his apparent misery?

Ide was left to coax Matsuda up and into the bedroom, remaining there with him until he managed to physically tire himself enough to fall asleep. By this time, Aizawa had at least relocated to the primary room and set the television on, but hadn't been paying any degree of attention, settling to merely wait in restless anticipation until Ide inevitably exited the bedroom.

Aizawa was well-acquainted with Ide's particular forms of irritation, having been on the receiving end of such many times over the course of their friendship, but he doubted that he had ever acquired what was effectively a lecture from him before. Granted, Ide had spoken in an appropriately firm manner and each of his individual arguments proved to be highly relevant, therefore voiding the assumption of such a label, but it had taken a rather hearty moment until Aizawa had been able to accept the notion. Each of his points centered around the fact that Matsuda unarguably tended to default to a persona much happier than he genuinely was, and the fact that words were capable of cutting him far deeper than he would ever have anyone believe. His outburst had indubitably been the result of an accumulation of upset and discomfort, Aizawa's comment having only triggered the contemporaneous release of these feelings.

Aizawa had comprehended Ide's statements far too clearly than he would have otherwise liked, consequently being filled with an intense need to better understand Matsuda's mannerisms, as well as improve upon the fiasco from the night before. Given that the three of them were now linked in a relationship intended to be disgustingly intimate, understanding was absolutely crucial. Whether or not Aizawa wished to understand was irrelevant ( if he were to ruminate on his thoughts, however, he would likely find that he undeniably possessed a desire to understand, as well ).

"Matsuda." His own words served to jar him from his brief reverie, decisively locking eyes with the man opposite him. While his chest remained infuriatingly tight, he was at least able to manipulate his tone, projecting cautiously indifferent self-assurance. "Calm down. I don't bite."

The words cause Matsuda to slowly blink, his eyes wide and his shoulders partially slouched. The clumps of hair dangling just over his eyebrows do nothing to draw away from the innately childish appearance. Aizawa can't help but grow minutely agitated with the reminder that he will likely never be able to truly read him, as it is very well impossible to distinguish his genuine mannerisms from the staged, but this is no place for such feelings.

"Oh, no, I wasn't worried about anything like that. I'd just want you to tell me if I did, you know? I'm not very good at knowing when to shut up or when I shouldn't talk about certain things. It's better just to tell me before I get too ahead of myself," Matsuda replies, his tone perfectly carefree. His words are accentuated with a grin, but not one wide enough to expose insincerity or discomfort. "Just keep it in mind, okay?"

"Of course." Aizawa decides that mentioning the point by now is the sole logical path, having arrived to the conclusion that Matsuda knows far too well how to seamlessly avoid uncomfortable points of discussion. Also the fact that Matsuda would undoubtedly become highly uncomfortable if he were to speak in any manner different from his typical bluntness, settling to spare the both of them any anxiety that may arise from abandoning such.

"I brought you here hoping to talk about last night. I'm not the type to just randomly go out for ice cream; surely you at least had an idea." Any substance that his double scoops of matcha once held has melted away by now, pooling in the bowl peppered with bits of red bean paste.

"Oh, really? I thought it was a little weird that you just took me out for ice cream on a whim, especially without Ide, but I was looking forward to spending some real time with you, so I didn't think too much about it." Matsuda's smiles always come with ease, seemingly unfazed by the reveal of Aizawa's true intentions. "I really wasn't thinking about last night at all. I didn't think there was anything to talk about, but if you want to, then I'm all ears." He would say more, but is momentarily left uncertain regarding which potential direction this conversation will head.

"Yes. There are definitely some things to talk about." Aizawa can feel the scathing comments rising in his throat, can feel the space that is left unoccupied in the air with the biting of his tongue, and only grows angrier with himself. He must initiate the exchange with his genuine intentions before he inevitably becomes visibly enraged or simply becomes too irritated to speak cohesively. "First and foremost, Ide and I had a talk after you went to bed. It really helped open my eyes to some things that I couldn't figure out before. If he wants to, he can talk with you about specifics, but I don't see much of a point in asking. Hopefully, it'll all be wrapped up and unnecessary once we leave. To get to the fucking point, I wanted to apologize. Mostly for last night, but I haven't even been considerate to you for a long time, and probably should've been paying more attention. More like I should've just been a damn decent person, especially after we all... got together. Basically, I... want to be a better fucking boyfriend. That's it." He can feel the tips of his ears heating and his brows struggling to furrow.

Matsuda's expression wavers, and Aizawa is able to say with certainty that it is not the result of any sort of fabrication.

"O-Oh. Um, that's really sweet. I don't think you have anything to be sorry for, it was always my fault for being dumb, I-I mean..." He trails off, clearly stumbling over his words as he realizes the sheer feebleness of his excuses. He and Aizawa both knew, at least subconsciously.

Appearing to cave and simply accept the apology, as an argument was the last feasible thing either of them currently need, Matsuda continues, "I... really appreciate that. A lot. A lot more thank you probably think. I know that must've been hard for you to do. N-Not because you're a jerk or anything, just because you aren't really a heartfelt guy. Me trying to deny anything you just said will only make things bad, so... I mean it when I say that I appreciate it. So much. And I'm excited for us to get closer now. I can't blame you for only agreeing to date the both of us because of Ide, but I can be a pretty good boyfriend, too. At least, I hope so." He grins widely, and a degree of exhaustion seems to temporarily lift from his features. Aizawa is reminded once again of his easily projected childishness, but currently finds it endearing rather than infuriating. It is somewhat concerning that Matsuda was able to deduce his primary reasoning for agreeing to the terms of their unconventional relationship, but it is understandable when his former attitude towards him is brought into account.

"Hm. I'm sure Ide has a different opinion, but I guess it'll be a learning experience for us both. See if either of us are really boyfriend material." Aizawa spares a brief grin to his words, posture almost visibly relaxing. Matsuda offers his own toothy smile in response, raising his fist in a little cheer. Each of their cheeks are partially flushed with color.

"Yeah! Also, your ice cream completely melted. You don't want it anymore, right?" The inquiry spurs Aizawa to quirk a brow in question.

"No, I suppose not." He glances listlessly down to his pitiful bowl before returning his gaze to Matsuda. "Why do you ask?"

The man's grin quickly develops an edge of mischief, all but flinging his arms across the table to snatch Aizawa's bowl. He brings the rim to his lips, raising his eyebrows gleefully in Aizawa's direction as he tipped the bowl forwards. Aizawa's expression immediately sours with disgust as Matsuda effectively slurps the remaining liquid from the bowl, red bean paste and all.

"I've changed my mind. If this is what it means to get to know you, I think I'd be happier not knowing at all." Matsuda laughs heartily in response, and Aizawa is suddenly struck with the understanding that the three of them will indubitably be alright ( particularly in regards to himself and Matsuda ).

#death note #fanfiction #touta matsuda #shuichi aizawa #aizamatsu #matsuidezawa #writing tag #ORIGINAL DATE: 06 / 18 #i just. need for that to be abundantly clear.#more info on ao3 under the same username + fic title

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