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Naomasa’s known Chizome longer than Toshinori.
He had been a regular at the station for years, even before Naomasa joined the force. It was during the detective’s first week at the station that they met.
The station was an overworked mess that day—loud and frantic. Everyone was too busy to much mind to the man who sat quietly at the front. He didn’t fidget, tap his foot, call for attention, or even shift impatiently. He just sat and watches the chaos with a patient gaze.
Being new meant Naomasa was the least busy of them all, so he took it upon himself to check in.
Back then Chizome had long, straight hair and a nose. When Naomasa approached, Chizome’s gaze flicked up; his eyes were sharp, but not as piercing as they’d later become.
“You’re new,” he observed.
Naomasa blinked.
“Hah? Is it that obvious?” He let out a weak laugh as he second-guessed his choice to approach, wondering if there was a reason no one else had acknowledged this man. If there was, he couldn’t see it.
“Everyone who’s more experienced has their hands full right now,” he explained, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “I fear you’re stuck with me—unless you’d prefer to wait for someone else? It might be a while before anyone else is available…”
“You’ll do,” Chizome answered shortly. He got to his feet, dug through his pocket, then pulled out a neatly folded bill. 10,000 yen. He held it out for Naomasa to take. “I found this on a bench a few blocks down. Along the the walkway that runs beneath the bridge.”
Naomasa stared at it for a moment, before tentatively accepting it. “Oh. That’s… Very considerate of you. Is that all?”
Chizome simply nodded and returned his hands to his pockets. He had no interest in reward or recognition and left shortly after.
It was only once he left that one of Naomasa’s superiors decided to ask, “What’d he want this time?”
“He just turned in some lost cash,” Naomasa answered, then frowned. “Why? What do you mean ‘this time?’”
His superior sighed. “Akaguro is a regular that comes in here with all sorts of things. If he thinks something needs done, he’ll tell you exactly what it is and how to do it.”
Naomasa glanced back at the door. “He seems like a passionate citizen.”
His superior snorted. “Those are certainly words for him. With the amount of stuff he brings in, I can only imagine what he does with the rest of his time.”
“He doesn’t seem that difficult to handle. A little intense, sure, but not unreasonable. If it helps, I could handle him whenever he comes in,” Naomasa offered.
His superior raised a brow. “Are you sure about that?”
Naomasa nodded.
“Very well. I’ll give you a month before you regret it.”
Naomasa’s lips twitched. “I’ll take that bet.”
He lasted longer than a month.
At some point Chizome realized he’d always wind up talking to Naomasa—whether by referral or coincidence, the other officers would always nudge him in his direction. Chizome never commented on it, but he did start entering the station by asking, “Where is Detective Tsukauchi?” or, “I’m here to see Tsukauchi.”
The issues he brought varied wildly, but his demeanor always fell into one of two categories.
Sometimes he was bored; just handing things over with a sense of detached obligation. He had no desire for recognition or gratitude. To him, everything was the bare minimum.
Other times, he was passionate. Frustrated. Not at the problem itself, but at the fact it existed at all. Because Chizome held himself to a certain standard, a rigid sense of discipline and virtue, and the rest of the world, in his eyes, did not.
On those days he talked more. He Complained. He Ranted. Sometimes about others, sometimes about himself; always with an air of righteousness.
Looking back, Naomasa wonders if his history with Chizome is why he was eventually introduced to Toshinori. If dealing with one overambitious, self-sacrificing do-gooder proved he could handle another.
He can’t deny that—even then—he saw the similarities between them.
There was one day the two were at the precinct at the same time, not that Naomasa thinks they remember it. At the very least, they don’t remember each other.
But Naomasa does.
He had been at his desk, Toshinori sitting in the guest chair across from him, and two cups of tea between them. It was one of those rare moments where Toshinori lingered for a little, catching his breath before he’d throw himself back into the fray as All Might. They were engaged in casual conversation when the precinct door opened and Naomasa turned to see Chizome.
“Ah, Akaguro.” Naomasa straightened. He silently glanced at Toshinori to ask for a moment. Toshinori just waved him off. They’d resume their conversation later, so Naomasa got to his feet and went to meet Chizome at the entryway. “What brings you in?”
There was a kid at Chizome’s side. Small, frail, and clinging to the fabric of Chizome’s pant leg.
Chizome glanced down at the kid, then back at Naomasa. He kept his voice low, restrained, and measured in a way that seemed uncomfortable to him. “I’m here to report a case of abuse,” he informed. “She needs to be looked after. I’ve already called in an anonymous tip about her father. I… may have punched him in the face.”
His hand hovered over the kid’s back, a protective shield being kept at a distance to keep from becoming a cage. The fingers of his other hand curled slightly with a barely constrained tension.
Naomasa took a slow breath, nodding as his eyes flickered over the bruises on the child’s skin. He didn’t need more details. It was all there, and the rest was written in the way Chizome stood—like a dam barely holding back a flood of his own emotion. He was trying to keep calm. He was trying not to distress the kid.
“I see,” Naomasa said softly. “We can take it from here. We’ll do everything in our power to handle this.”
Chizome exhaled through his nose, nodded, then crouched down to the child’s level. He kept his voice steady as he carefully reassured her, “You’re safe now. The people here will take care of you and make sure you’re not hurt again. They can be trusted.” Every word was chosen carefully, as if he was afraid of breaking the fragile trust keeping the child anchored to his side.
“Let's get you settled, okay?” Naomasa said kindly. “I’ve got a friend over there—” Naomasa nodded to where Toshinori sat, “—he’s got tea, knows where to find snacks, and has lots of stories. Can you go sit with him for a bit?”
Chizome glanced at Toshinori and assessed him with caution.
Toshinori, halfway through sipping his tea, blinked at the scrutiny. With a gentle smile he offered a kind wave, and effortlessly shifted into hero mode when the kid stepped away from Chizome. Warmth and reassurance comes as naturally as breathing to him, regardless of the form.
When Chizome got back to his feet he continued to watch two with a wary gaze.
“He’s not a threat,” Naomasa reassured. “He’s a friend of mine. He’s good.” It felt weird having to clarify that about All Might of all people, but he clarified it all the same.
Chizome barely reacted, but eventually nodded. “Will she be alright?” he asked.
“We’ll do what we can.” He watched Chizome with a mix of gratitude and caution, before eventually addressing Chizome’s actions. “But you said you punched her father?”
Chizome’s jaw clenched, as though fighting the urge to turn around and finish what he started.
“I did.” His voice was flat, but his eyes burned with his fury. “And I won’t say I regret it. Not after what he did—” His breath caught, and his fingers curled into fists. He forced himself to breathe, then dragged a hand over his face. “... I’ll accept whatever the repercussions are. So long as the kid isn’t sent back.”
Naomasa studied him. There was no shame in his words, no excuse. Just truth. Raw and unwavering truth. He was once more reminded of Toshinori.
He could hear Toshinori talking with the kid in the background. The kid was settled in the guest chair with food, paper, and pens, while Toshinori sat on the floor so his height would be less intimidating. Keeping her focused on the drawing, he slipped in questions to assess her safety and situation without pushing too hard.
Naomasa returned his focus to Chizome.
“I understand. And I’ll personally make sure they’re safe. That being said… I need you to exercise restraint in the future, and not resort to violence.”
“In the future…?” Chizome repeated. “You’re not writing this up?”
Naomasa sighed. “Not this time. But this isn’t a free pass. If you do this again—even if it’s for a good cause—I will.”
For a moment, Chizome didn’t respond. He stared, his throat bobbed, and then he exhaled slowly. “Understood.” His voice was quieter now and his posture shifted—just enough for some of the tension to leave his shoulders. “... Thank you,” he whispered, voice rough, and eyes downcast.
Naomasa softened. “We’ve got it from here, Akaguro.”
“That’s all that I ask.” Chizome stood but didn’t meet Naomasa’s gaze as he turned to leave. “I trust you’ll call me in if needed.”
“I will,” Naomasa assured, then hesitated. “Akaguro—”
Chizome stopped and looked back.
“Thank you for bringing her here. You did the right thing.”
Chizome held his gaze, and for just a flicker of a second, something broke—some raw aching emotion flickered, before being swallowed again. He nodded once, then left.
Naomasa stood in place until the end of Chizome’s long hair disappeared from view. Then he sighed and returned to his desk.
“Who was that?” Toshinori asked, glancing up from the child’s drawing.
“Just a civilian who likes to look out for people,” Naomasa hummed.
He pulled up Chizome’s record, and scanned to make sure this really was a one off thing. There was nothing. Just a few notes about soapboxing. At the time, Naomasa had thought little of it.
A passionate citizen with a loud voice.
But not dangerous.
… Naomasa wishes he could say he had no idea Chizome was a vigilante before Toshinori introduced them. Alas, that’s not the case.
He doesn’t even recall what Chizome had come in for that day. It was something small, but he lingered. His attention was caught on a set of steam buns on Naomasa’s desk, each one decorated to look like a different animal.
“... Those are cute,” Chizome had said so quietly Naomasa half thought he misheard him. But when he looked up, he saw Chizome staring at the steam buns. He wore a mask that covered his mouth and nose, but the tips of his ears were tinted pink. Embarrassed, yet evidently fond enough of the cute shapes that he couldn’t keep in the comment.
It was an endearing sight.
“Do you want to try one?” Naomasa offered.
Chizome jolted, his eyes going wide. “I couldn’t possibly—”
“I doubt I can finish them all. They were a gift from a woman I helped earlier this week. I don’t want them to go to waste,” Naomasa cut off. Pulling open a drawer of his desk, he found an unused pair of wooden chopsticks from a past takeout order and handed them over. “Besides, you help out a lot around here. You deserve one.”
Chizome hesitated, staring at Naomasa’s reassuring smile, before tentatively accepting. His gaze flicked back to the steam buns. “Which one should I take?”
“Whichever one you think is the cutest,” Naomasa teased. He wasn't used to seeing that side of Chizome. The man always held himself with a sharpened, refined, yet punk edge. Curiosity piqued, he watched as Chizome studied the selection with serious deliberation.
Eventually, he chose a bun shaped like an otter. Complete with tiny black eyes, whiskers, a nose, and a shell held in its little paws.
He hesitated for a moment longer. Then, tentatively, he pulled down his mask.
Naomasa froze.
Chizome’s nose was gone.
Chizome’s nose had been cut off.
Chizome, too preoccupied with the steam bun, didn’t notice Naomasa’s staring. He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and only realized when he looked back and met Naomasa’s eyes. Immediately rethinking his choice, his mask was yanked back into place.
“I’m fine,” he said briskly. “Thank you for the steam bun.” He took a step back, ready to escape.
“Akaguro—wait!”
Naomasa rose from his seat on instinct and reached out. If not for the desk between them, he might have caught Chizome’s sleeve. But thankfully, even if he failed to catch him, Chizome stopped. He didn’t turn around though.
Naomasa’s hand clenched mid air, hesitating.
“... Did you get into another fight?”
Chizome didn’t immediately respond.
“Something like that.” His voice was quiet. “I lost.”
The simple honesty of it caught Naomasa off guard. He huffed a dry laugh. “No shit.”
Chizome glanced back at him.
Naomasa frowned. From the glimpse he saw, he could assess a few things. The wound is recent. Untreated. No doubt because a hospital would ask too many questions. Naomasa hadn’t been trained as a doctor, but he knew the basics and could do more than Chizome could do by himself. So, he offered, “… There’s a first aid kit in the back. Could you let me take a look?”
Chizome considered. After a moment he took a step back and gave a small, guilty nod.
Naomasa led him to the back room, got Chizome to sit, then gathered the medical supplies. When he looked back, he was struck by an odd sense of déjà vu.
The way Chiziome sat, with his shoulders hunched, mask off, gaze fixed on the floor, and eyes shadowed by a hat; it reminded him of Toshinori. Acting like he did something wrong not because he’s injured, but because he was caught hurting. As if having wounds treated is more punishing than receiving them.
Naomasa knelt in front of him and gently touched Chizome’s face so he could examine the wound. It wasn’t healing right.
“How did this happen?” he asked.
Chizome winced not from pain, but from discomfort. “... A knife.” He looked away and acted uncharacteristically shy. Whatever happened didn’t just hurt his body. It wounded his heart.
Naomasa exhaled slowly. That tracked. It’s a clean cut. Too clean, too precise. It looked purposeful and deliberate, and that thought made Naomasa’s stomach churn.
“Who did this?”
A long silence.
Naomsa busied himself by laying out the supplies while he waited. He was about to repeat the question when Chizome finally muttered, “... I don’t know.” The way he said it made Naomasa pause. The words didn’t ring as a lie or the truth—not even with his quirk.
Seeing Chizome’s distant gaze, Naomasa frowned but didn’t press further. Instead, he carefully started treating the wound.
Chizome inhaled a brief, sharp hiss.
“Shh… I know, I know it hurts,” Naomasa soothed. “But it would hurt a lot more if it got infected. If you’re refusing to go to a hospital, you’ll have to suck it up for a bit.”
“I know,” Chizome murmured, his eyes distant, and thoughts elsewhere entirely.
The silence settled heavy between them as Naomasa continued cleaning the wound. Something about the silence didn’t sit right with him. Not when it was only broken by Chizome’s occasional wince.
“Come on, talk to me while I fix this up. Distract me from all the blood I’m dealing with.” Naomasa tried to lighten the mood.
“You’re a detective,” Chizome reminded. “I bet you’ve seen worse.”
Naomasa grimaces at the reminder. “Yeah… I have. But I’m not a medic. I’m pretty sure even some doctors would get squeamish about a wound like this. Or at the very least nervous about treating it.”
“... You’re doing good,” Chizome said softly.
Naomasa frowned. He’s pretty sure a lot of patients would struggle to sit through this while conscious as well, but aside from the occasional wince, Chizome just looked tired.
He looked away, focusing back on his task. “I went through medical first aid training,” he informed. “I need to be capable of assessing what I’m looking at as a detective after all. And sometimes find a person in need of help while I’m investigating. I like being able to help in those cases.”
Naomasa went quiet for a moment, considering if he should share the more personal details. He decided there would be no harm in it. “I’ve done a few extra trainings over the years as well. There’s someone close to me that regularly needs patching up.”
It’s hard to remain squeamish when dating Toshinori Yagi. Between his long-term injuries and his nasty habit of hiding fresh wounds while continuing to put strain upon them, Naomasa has become somewhat familiar with this position.
Naomasa sighed.
“You chose the otter?” he asked, redirecting the conversation in hopes of keeping Chizome engaged, distracted, yet present.
Chizome blinked, momentarily disoriented. “What?” He frowned.
“The steamed bun,” Naomasa clarified. “You picked the otter. Any reason?”
“Oh. You told me to pick the cutest.”
He said it so seriously that Naomasa couldn’t help but smile. “And the otter won?”
“Otters are hard to beat in terms of cuteness,” Chizome huffed, as if put out by explaining something that should be obvious. “They hold hands when they sleep so they don’t drift apart, they have favorite rocks, and their pups have fur so dense that they float.”
Naomasa blinked. “I knew about the hand-holding, but not the floating part.”
Chizome hummed. “I used to work at an aquarium.”
“Yeah?”
Chizome pointed at the black cap on his head that’s embroidered with a dolphin. “My hat’s from there. One of my favorite hats for that reason. I don’t go there as much anymore, but… It meant a lot to me.”
Chizome hesitated, then admitted, “It was a high school internship. A lot of sea creatures have paralytic toxins—pufferfish, lionfish, box jellyfish, beaked sea snake, blue-ringed octopus, cone snails…” He trailed off, realizing he was rambling off a list, and cleared his throat. “Just to name a few.”
His voice grew quieter. “My quirk causes paralysis. I thought maybe, if I worked there, they’d be more understanding.” A faint smile ghosted his lips, fragile yet sincere. “They were.”
Naomasa stayed quiet, encouraging him to continue.
“They encouraged me to come back if another learning opportunity came up. I thought they’d be disappointed when I didn’t, but…” His expression wavered. “When they heard I dropped out, they reached out. Hired me and everything. I didn’t have the education to do what I really wanted, but… It was enough. It helped me pick myself up and adjust.”
“You miss it, don’t you?” Naomasa asked gently, finishing up.
Chizome didn’t answer right away.
“I miss a lot of things,” he murmured at last. “And right now I think I’ve lost something more. I think I’m losing more and more of who I want to be, even if I’m becoming more of who I am. More of who I need to be.”
Naomasa frowned, setting aside the medical supplies, he met Chizome’s eyes.
“Someone hurt you,” he said. “Physically, sure. But emotionally too. It’s not your fault.”
Chizome looked at him with that tired, unreadable stare. They weren’t close enough to be having this conversation.
Naomasa exhaled. There was nothing more he could do. “I did what I could. Next time you come in, I’d like to check on your recovery. And… If you need something before then—due to your injury, or.. Something else. Tell me? You know where to find me,” he offers with a weak smile.
Chizome softens a bit. “Alright.”
Seeing a bit more of the familiar ease in Chizome’s posture, Naomasa relaxed a little bit. He pushed himself to his feet and went put the first aid kit away. “Do me a favor before you leave?” he asked.
Chizome straightened slightly, giving Naomasa his full attention. “Of course. You treated my wounds, I am in your debt. Whatever you need.”
Naomasa smiled. “Take another steamed bun on your way out.”
He isn’t shocked to have found out Chizome is a vigilante.
Still, he misses when he had deniability.
Now that they’re living together, there is no escaping it. Not when Naomasa sees Chizome’s gear when he opens the closet, and Chizome’s bandaged wounds when the man changes, and all the swords around the house.
Then one night Naomasa got home and found him and Toshinori sharing a literal bloodbath. Drunk on blood loss, giggling like idiots, and acting like all of this is suddenly normal. It’s not.
Chizome doesn’t show up at the station anymore, not that he’s stopped finding things (through illegal means)… Now that he’s living with Naomasa, he doesn’t have to go to the station. He can just come home after a late night out and drop a bag of who knows what into Naomasa’s hands. All before Naomasa even has a chance to get his morning coffee.
Chizome has no concept of “off hours.” He has no awareness that Naomasa could possibly want to take a break from being in detective mode. Not when Chizome’s work ethic is; Conviction! Full commitment! Embody your beliefs at all hours!
Well, unlike Toshinori, Naomasa has no interest in becoming a weapon or symbol. He’s still aware he’s human and has human limits.
“I’m not on the clock, Chizome,” he says.
“I already did most of the work. I just need you to—”
“Not. On. The. Clock.”
Night isn’t much better. Even if Chizome is asleep, he snores. And where Toshinori’s snoring is distinct as a result of his size and singular lung; Chizome’s breathing is even more distinct. He breathes without a nose, then he snores with his long tongue sticking out.
Naomasa has been struggling to rest at home, so he takes naps while at the station—the only place he can go to escape. His personal and professional life are blurred, and he can feel them eroding his last shred of sanity.
So, when Chizome suddenly shows up at the station, Naomasa feels a sense of dread and is immediately prepared for the worst. It’s already a bad day due to a multitude of reasons—
But then Chizome’s hand moved, and he carefully placed Naomasa’s bag on the desk.
“You forgot your bag at home,” Chizome says. No smugness. No teasing. Just a hesitant, almost awkward air of exsistence, as if he isn’t sure he should have shown up at all.
“You—” He stops himself. Delays, then accepts the bag. “... Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” Chizome steps back for a moment, and lingers as he considers if he should say something more.
Naomasa does the same.
He’s been so caught up in everything—the change, the work, the sharing—that he hadn’t stopped to consider the possibility that Chizome wasn’t trying to throw off his life.
Maybe he’s not trying to change Toshinori. Maybe he’s just being himself, and maybe he’s just enjoying Toshinori’s company in ways that differ from Naomasa’s relationship with the hero.
Maybe he’s just trying.
Naomasa sighs, feeling the force of his headache dull. “Chizome... I’ll see you at home.”
Chizomes eyes widen slightly, and a slight, relieved smile twitches at the corner of his lips. “See you at home,” he repeats, then leaves with a bit more confidence to his step.
Naomasa watches him leave, as he’s done so many times before. He breathes another sigh, and turns back towards his desk—only to freeze.
Sansa stares at him.
With wide eyes, attentive ears, and an open mouth. The feline officer no doubt heard everything. “Are you… Are you dating Akaguro?”
Naomasa immediately throws his hands up and waves denial. “It’s not like that! It’s–” What? Complicated? His movements slow as that realization forms. His relationship with Toshinori isn’t known. Trying to explain Chizome is his partner’s partner would just raise more questions.
Naomasa slowly lets his hands lower.
“... Sure.”