Perhaps a Better Place [A Dadzawa Story]

Luxury: Chapter 38

     The ride home later that same day was, to put it simply, absolutely horrible. I felt every bump, every turn, and every little hill that raised my guts like I was riding a rollercoaster and made me want to throw up.

     Yamada was driving slowly and trying to be careful, but I would have preferred that he drove home as fast as possible.

     I'm not ashamed to say that I cried in the car. That shit sucked and I had every right to be in pain.

     But we made it home eventually, of course, and Yamada helped me up the stairs and into the house after taking off my shoes.

     He led me to my bedroom and I changed into an over-sized t-shirt and sweatpants. He politely waited outside the door in case I fell and knocked myself out or something (you know, like an idiot. Which I tend to be every now and again.)

     But I managed well enough on my own, pulled my hair back and out of my face, and was brought into the living room, where Aizawa proceeded to give up his armchair and collapse on the loveseat instead.

     I took the chair and Yamada laid a folded blanket over the back of it, in case I got cold.

     And then proceeded to offer me everything under the sun. Water, tea, juice, milk, snacks, food, pillows- Aizawa was the one to get him to calm down and go to his room, so he could get dressed for the faculty meeting in a couple hours.

     Aizawa left and got dressed, too, and I texted my friends that I was home now.

     Soon enough, Aizawa and Yamada come back in different civilian clothing that looks a tad more professional than t-shirts and jeans.

     Yamada pulls his hair back into a ponytail and wears his normal glasses, not his orange ones. He's currently cleaning the red things I usually see in his ears.

     I, admittedly, have no idea how Aizawa changed. What the fuck.

     I watch as Yamada pulls Aizawa's hair into a slightly more presentable style: half-up, half-down. Aizawa grumbles something about it not being necessary, but Yamada hushes him.

     Oddly domestic. I wonder...

     Nah.

     But maybe.

     I smile to myself and don't entertain that thought.

     I shake my head and reach for the TV remote on the end table, plucking it up and pressing the button for the YouTube app that Yamada showed me a while ago.

     I watch as various songs and random videos show up on the screen.

     "... Why is 'Fergalicious' one of the most recent searches?" I ask, sighing as both of the grown-ass men laugh. "Guys, please. You're kidding."

     "He's got it memorized," Yamada says, jerking a thumb at Aizawa. Aizawa tries to hit him with his cast but Yamada dodges and laughs.

     “I do not, shut up,” Aizawa grumbles, standing from the couch. “Let’s get going before you make us late again.”

     “That wasn’t even my fault,” Yamada says as he hops to his feet, then spins on his heels to make his way to the door.

     He opens the door and looks outside, and I faintly hear a car door close.

     “You’re early!” He says and I hear Jirou’s voice.

     “Yeah, I don’t live far at all,” she says, and I peer around Aizawa to see her climbing the stairs to the mudroom, where Yamada moves out of her way as they greet each other and she takes off her shoes. He offers to take her jacket, hanging it up for her as she walks inside.