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♡ ꕥ ♡
Shouta loves Eri. He loves her so much, and so deeply, that he's trying not to make her aware of how much pain he's in. But he is in pain, and it hurts so much he feels like he's going to be sick. The nausea is ripping through his guts like a hurricane. He feels lightheaded, too; like he might black out as his pulse pounds in his head. But he can't. He won’t.
Shouta knows that the weather is responsible for the onslaught. It's a freezing January afternoon. And it doesn't matter how high Shouta turns up the thermostat, or how many hand warmers he goes through, or how many hot cups of tea fill up his stomach. He's cold deep down in his bones, and that maximises his pain. It quadruples the aches he can usually manage, and it makes them near unbearable. It’s agonising.
His face feels like it's on fire; that patch of skin beneath his eye is pulsing with pain, and it is matched, of course, by the stinging of his once destroyed elbow. It feels as if all of the scar tissue on his body has been scraped away against concrete, and then scrubbed with a cheese grater. And then there's the leg, the leg that isn't even there anymore. The ghost of his pain is stabbing at him afresh, as if he’d severed it only hours ago. And, for a moment, Shouta wonders why. Why he did what he did, why he thought it was necessary, why he thought it mattered. So what if he’d ended up quirkless, so what if he had died? But then he sees Eri skipping into their living room, with a stuffed narwhal in one hand and a bento box in the other, and he remembers. He did it for her , so he could be beside her, so he could be a stable foundation for her growth.
She bounces over to him and holds out the bento. It's nothing special, just a simple box he makes in case he doesn't have the time to feed himself during the week. He relies on them more than he should, but it’s better than those jelly pouches.
Shouta takes the box and watches as Eri dips her hand into the front pocket of her dungarees and pulls out a spoon. It's her special spoon. It has a cat-shaped plastic handle. She hands that over to him too, and Shouta knows she understands that he's not okay, despite his best efforts. Despite how hard he's trying to seem okay, she knows he's unwell. Shame washes through him in an instant. How did he think he could get away with it? How would he be able to hide pain from a young girl whose entire childhood has revolved around hiding her pain?
'Eat up, Daddy,' She says with a smile, and Shouta wants to cry. She's just started calling him that. He never asked her to; he hasn't ever suggested it, but she had come to him, and she had asked him if she could, and Shouta had said yes instantaneously. And he had meant it wholeheartedly. Of course, he had. Eri is his precious person. His most cherished connection in the world. And she had asked him so earnestly, for something so sweet. Shouta hadn't ever expected to become a father. But he hadn't planned on a lot of things - most things - that now form the basic structure of his life. And Eri is a part of that, a big, wonderful part of everything that holds him upright. Everything that keeps him going.
'Thank you, Eri,' Shouta says as he opens the bento. It smells so good that, just for a moment, the pain flickers away. His pain shows him mercy for a speck of time.
'You have to eat, even when you're sick, or you won't get better!' She says with the confidence of a hospital consultant. He believes her. Of course, he does.
Eri is a good girl, and she's a very intelligent child. Shouta has been through a significant number of emergency drills with her in their home. What to do in case of a fire, what to do in case of an earthquake, what to do in case of a break-in, what to do if he - or the adult watching her - has a medical emergency and can't help themselves safely. But Shouta is also hyper-aware of the fact that she's been through enough , and he doesn't plan on adding to her list of bad memories. So, he shoulders the pain. He tries to keep it to himself. But that only works to a point. And, apparently, they’re now far beyond it.
'Sweetheart, I'm not feeling great today,' Shouta says, as evenly as he can, and Eri nods, moving to stand beside him. Like she wants to be close to him. 'I'm sorry, I don't think I can come to the tea party with your stuffies today.'
'Daddy, that doesn't matter!' Eri says as she clasps her hands together. 'I don't want you to be hurt. We can have the tea party next time!'
'I'm not hurt, Eri,' Shouta says, wincing as pain burns through him. 'There's no danger, baby.'
'But you're hurting, and it's making me sad,' Eri offers, and Shouta raises his good arm up in invitation. She dives onto the sofa beside him and nestles against his chest. Her hair smells like cherries. He breathes it in as her little hands grab at his shirt.
'It's okay,' Shouta says as he holds her close. 'I'll be okay, sweetheart.'
'But, Daddy-' Eri begins, her teary cry halted by the vibration that radiates between them.
Shouta reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, hissing as pain radiates and ripples through his elbow. He grits his teeth and accepts the call.
When he finally musters the strength to press the phone to his ear, he hears Toshinori repeating his name. He sounds soft and concerned.
'Hi, Toshinori,' Shouta says, still catching his breath. 'H-how are you?'
'Bad pain day?' Toshinori asks calmly, and Shouta feels his chest ache. Of course, Toshinori understands. No one in Shouta's life is as intimately familiar with pain as he is.
'Y-yeah,' Shouta breathes out shakily.
'How bad is it?' Toshinori asks. 'Don't sugarcoat it. Tell me honestly, on a scale from 1 to 10. How much pain are you in right now?'
'Maybe…' Shouta hesitates, looking down at Eri. He knows she understands, he knows she'll understand, it makes him afraid of being truthful, for her sake.
'Uncle Toshi?' Eri asks, reaching out for the phone, and Toshinori catches it, letting out a soft 'Ah!' of understanding.
'In a minute, baby,' Shouta promises. He knows how much they love to talk with each other. He’s not trying to get in the way of that.
'Alright, Shouta,' Toshinori says evenly. 'I'll count up from one; stop me when I get there.'
Shouta hums his affirmation and leans down to kiss the top of Eri's head. He lets it linger. He knows he has the time.
'One, two, three, four,' those numbers come quickly. Both Shouta and Toshinori understand that that part of the scale is all but defunct.
'Five,' Toshinori says, leaving a weighty pause before he says, 'Six.'
'Seven,' Toshinori continues, but the following number sounds like a question. 'Eight?'
Aizawa closes his eyes and tries to keep his breathing steady as pain sears through his phantom limb. Toshinori's voice offers him a distraction; he focuses on it, he lets himself be drawn to it.
'Nine?' Toshinori asks quietly, and, finally, Shouta hums and says, 'Yeah, that's the one.'
'Okay,' Toshinori says, with so much understanding that Shouta feels it like a punch. 'Shouta, do you need me to come over?'
'It's okay,' he says automatically, trying to keep up his strong front, trying to maintain his slipping grip on the situation. He's been hurting since he woke up at five in the morning, his body wrapped in agony. It’s wearing him down, making him a shell of himself.
'I'm not asking you if it's okay,' Toshinori says gently. 'Do you need me? Do you need me to come and sit with Eri, so you can break down in peace?'
The bluntness of the question, the kindness in it, the willingness Toshinori has to deal with his pain - and its real consequences, honestly - astound him. Because if he were alone, if he didn't have Eri, if he were by himself, he would be crying, he would be sobbing in a ball on his bed.
'Aren't you hurting, too?' Shouta asks, and Toshinori laughs. It sounds light, and there’s nothing mocking in it.
'I am. But I've been dealing with this for so long that I know I can come over. I know I'm stable enough to help you,'
'A-are you sure?'
'Yeah, I wouldn't lie to you about something like this, or about something that involves Eri,'
'Then, please, Toshi,' Shouta agrees, and Toshinori is already moving. 'Please, help me.'
'I'll be there within fifteen minutes,' Toshinori says, and Shouta can hear him preparing to leave. 'Is it okay if I speak with Eri now?
'Yeah, of course,' Shouta says, looking down at Eri. Her eyes are wide and unsettled. He hates that he's responsible for that look but, he knows, he's not doing anything on purpose. He smiles at her and says, 'Uncle Toshi wants to talk with you, angel.'
♡ ꕥ ♡
Toshinori is true to his word. In a little over ten minutes, he's knocking on Shouta's door. The little pattern he knocks out with his bony knuckles, his usual pattern, summons an energised Eri to their apartment door - away from her position tucked beside Shouta. Her absence leaves him cold. But he's glad he's no longer the only adult in their space.
'Uncle Toshi!' Eri squeals as she stands on her tiptoes and unlocks the door, dragging the tall man inside their home by his hand.
Toshinori lets himself be pulled in, smiling as he's abandoned for a moment, so Eri can lock the door again and add the chain. Just like Shouta has asked her to.
She soon re-establishes her hold on the retired hero and pulls him closer to Shouta, stopping in front of her weary guardian. She says, 'Uncle Toshi, can you fix my daddy now?'
Shouta feels his chest swell with affection and his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He knows he shouldn't be ashamed of feeling pain, but it feels like a weakness. And that, in turn, makes him flush in shame because no one is in more pain than Toshinori is, and he would never deem Toshinori's pain a weakness. He's holding them to different standards. Toshinori's struggles are heroic, while his own are troublesome, little more than an inconvenience, and something he shouldn't be affected by. But he’s hurting too much to think clearly.
'I'll try my best to help him,' Toshinori says warmly, offering Shouta a gentle smile. 'But pain can't always be fixed, Eri. Sometimes you can only make it hurt less; sometimes you can only stop it from hurting more.'
'Like with your body aches, and your sore belly?' Eri asks, and Toshinori smiles down at her, running his long fingers through her hair.
'Exactly like that, sweet girl,' Toshinori confirms, his hands coming up to rest on his stomach, where Shouta knows his scar is. 'It never feels perfect, my belly, but things can make it worse sometimes. Like if I overeat, or if things are too sweet, or if the weather is really, really stormy outside.'
'Oh!' Eri shouts, her eyes wide as she jumps up and down. 'Like today! There was even thunder earlier!' she turns to look at Shouta. 'Daddy, the weather is what's making you ache like Uncle Toshi today!'
'You're so smart, sweetheart,' Shouta smiles, and Eri turns back to Toshinori, her forehead creased with her frown.
'So, do we have to wait until the weather is good again?' Eri asks, and Toshinori hums thoughtfully.
'Yeah, your daddy isn't usually in so much pain,' Toshinori says, looking around the apartment as he unbuttons his coat, his eyes lingering on her tea set. 'But we can help him feel a little better right now.'
'Are you okay, Uncle Toshi?' Eri asks then, her eyes sweeping up and down his long body. 'Do you need help too, because of the storm?'
'I'm okay,' Toshinori smiles. His eyes are so warm and so full of affection. Shouta feels so much relief. 'I'm lucky today. My medicine is working really well. We can focus on your daddy.'
Pain shoots through Shouta's elbow, and he hisses, his desperate gaze meeting Toshinori's as he moves his eyes to the ceiling. Toshinori's smile falters, and he looks down at Eri.
'Eri, can you go and fluff up your daddy's pillows? He needs to go to bed and sleep for a while,' Toshinori says, and Eri races away.
As soon as she's out of earshot, Toshinori is beside Shouta. He crouches down, his knees clicking as he rests a hand on Shouta's arm.
'You're okay, Shouta,' he says, his voice steady and assured. 'Have you taken any painkillers?'
'Y-yeah, this morning,' Shouta stutters, his eyes closing harshly, and he wriggles. Toshinori turns and looks at the clock behind him.
'Okay, I'll get you to bed, I'll get your painkillers, and then I'll keep Eri company,' Shouta nods, and Toshinori's grip on him tightens. 'Shouta, if you need to cry, cry. If you need to scream, just do it. I'll explain everything to Eri. She won't be afraid, she won't be scared. She's a smart girl. She knows far more than she should about things hurting. Don't worry about her.'
'Toshi, it really hurts,' Shouta says pointlessly, and Toshinori nods firmly. He understands.
'Where does it hurt most?'
'My face, my arm, my leg,'
'The leg you have or the leg you lost?' Toshinori asks, and Shouta grits his teeth.
'The leg I lost, it’s so s-stupid, how can it even hur-' Toshinori shakes his head.
'Shouta, it's alright. That's a normal thing. And it's definitely not stupid. None of the pain you're feeling is stupid,' Toshinori assures him. His fingers stroking along his arm warmly as Eri runs back towards them. Her voice is bold and filled with determination as she declares, 'It's all done, Uncle Toshi!'
Shouta wants to thank her, he wants to hold her close and kiss her hair again, but he knows he can't, so Toshinori speaks for him instead.
'Good girl!' Toshinori beams, his familiar heroic boom lingering just below the surface. 'Why don't you set up a tea party while I take your daddy to bed? I would love to know how Mr Ribbit-Rabbit-Roo got on with his teddy bear holiday last week.'
'Okay!' She says brightly, skipping over to her tea set. Some of her usual vigour returned. Some of her concern batted away. Toshinori hooks his arms under Shouta's and pulls him up from the sofa. Not uttering a sound as agony wracks through Shouta and his fingers dig in against Toshinori's shoulder blades.
'It's okay,' Toshinori whispers, and his presence is so reassuring that Shouta would feel his next words, even if they weren't spoken aloud. 'I am here.'
He's not alone. He's not alone. He's not alone.
Toshinori is so careful. He’s strong and capable, but he’s so gentle. As he helps Shouta to his room he never flinches, never shies away, not even under Shouta's tight grip.
'You never need to deal with this by yourself,' Toshinori says quietly, seriously. 'Even if I'm in pain, even if I'm sick, I want to know how you are.'
Shouta doesn't reply, and it seems like Toshinori isn't expecting anything. He manoeuvres Shouta to his bed, and Shouta almost cries when he realises Eri has pulled his covers back for him. To make it all a little easier. So it's one less thing for them to do. She's so kind. So thoughtful. She’s just like Toshinori.
Toshinori sits Shouta down and kneels on the floor in front of him. He offers him a tight smile. His expression is soft as he says, 'Is it okay for me to help you undress? You should probably take your prosthetic off.'
'Yeah, thanks, Toshi,' Shouta nods, and Toshinori moves his hands slowly, obviously, towards the waistband of Shouta's soft joggers. He moves like a man who is used to being big, used to casting a huge shadow, used to being imposing and needing to counteract it. To instil calm instead of fear.
Shouta wants to tell him it's alright. That he could never impose here, but Shouta doesn't feel that it’s his place to imply Toshinori’s behaviour could be different. Not when Toshinori is so careful, and so warm, and so lovely about literally everything.
Shouta shifts, so Toshinori can pull his joggers down his long thighs and down over his knees. Shouta doesn't know why it makes him blush, but it does.
Toshinori frees his feet from the fabric, one by one, and carefully sets them down on the carpeted floor. Showing the same deference to both his flesh and non-flesh limbs. For some reason, that forms a lump in the base of Shouta’s throat.
'Are you able to remove your prosthesis, or do you require my assistance?' Toshinori asks plainly, without any fuss. Shouta shakes his head. Even if his arm hurts, he wants to do it himself. And he does so. Then, he sits there - limbless.
Toshinori tilts his head and says, 'Do you put it anywhere in particular whilst you sleep?'
'Just beside the bedside table, there's cream in a drawer, too. It helps with soothing the skin, I usually apply it before bed,' Shouta says quietly and Toshinori props his leg beside the unit and pulls the cream from the drawer for him. He makes everything feel so normal.
'It's looking good, your leg, and it's healing well,' Toshinori says, his gaze meeting Shouta's. 'Can I help you with your cream?'
'You don't have to-'
'I know I don't have to,' Toshinori interjects softly. 'But I can, if it's easier for you? I'm familiar with scars. I won't worsen your pain, I promise, Shouta. I'll be so careful.'
'I know. I know you will, Toshi. I t-trust you.'
'And I’m thankful for that,' Toshinori says, his eyes earnest and attentive. 'That means so much to me.'
'Toshi?' Shouta asks suddenly, as the blonde dips his fingers into the middle of the cream. 'I made the right decision, didn't I, when I did this to myself? When… when I cut off my own leg?'
'Oh, Shouta,' Toshinori says; he sounds surprised and a little breathless. 'Of course, you did. And I'm so proud of you. You’re so strong.'
♡ ꕥ ♡
Shouta is still crying; his tears are dampening his pillow, soaking into the fluff. His eyelashes feel heavy, like they're all clumped together and awkward.
His pain is thankfully, finally, lessened. His painkillers have kicked in wonderfully. But his heart still aches, his mind still aches. He used to be strong; he used to be able. He's always had aches, but his old pains could never do this. They could never leave him in agony, bedbound, and in tears.
Now, the bad weather alone can render him useless. No, not useless. He's being unkind again - to himself - in ways he would never be unkind to others. And he keeps thinking of Toshinori, who bears everything like an angel gracing earth.
Shouta wipes at his eyes and stares at the clock. It's already eight; Eri is in bed. Shouta heard Toshinori settle her down a few minutes ago. He listened to his laughter and the resonance of his reliable, steady timbre. He heard him close her door and call through it, 'If you need anything, I'll be right here, just call out for me, sweetie!'
Shouta is still staring, watching the time tick away, when Toshinori taps on his door, in his pattern, and he peeks his head inside.
'Do you need any--' Toshinori cuts his question short. No doubt, he can see the subtle shake of Shouta's shoulders. He closes the door quickly, and his steps draw closer. Shouta closes his eyes and, the next time he opens them, Toshinori is there - in front of him, down on his knees, his eyes wide with concern.
'Does it still hurt?' Toshinori asks, as he lifts up the blister packet of pills and checks their dosage. 'Are the painkillers not working?'
'I'm not in pain,' Shouta says, and Toshinori frowns. 'I'm just upset.'
'Oh, you poor man,' Toshinori offers, reaching out cautiously and pushing Shouta's hair back behind his ear. 'Can you tell me what's upsetting you?'
Shouta shakes his head. How can he explain, to Toshinori of all people, why his heart is breaking? How can he explain his frustrations to a man for whom such pain is a burning, blistering constant? It only makes him feel weaker, and overly-sensitive, and like he's being silly by blowing things out of proportion, by being unable to just handle it.
'No?' Toshinori asks, his eyebrows slanted upwards in sympathy. 'Why not? Is it something personal? I understand that I might not be your first choice, but I--'
'It's not that,' Shouta says, frowning as he reaches out his hand and grips Toshinori's sleeve. 'It's nothing like that. I'm just… I feel… ashamed.'
'Shouta,' Toshinori chastises the teacher. 'What do you have to be ashamed of?'
'All of this,' Shouta starts unevenly. 'I'm causing such a fuss, over nothing. And in front of you, of all people. You deal with this every single day, and I can't e-even… I can't even handle a day of it.'
'Stop that!' Toshinori says firmly, his brow furrowing as he stares down at Shouta. As he holds their gazes together. He sounds angry, no. He sounds upset. Shouta shrinks back a little and grits his teeth. Uncertainty washing over him like ice water.
'Toshi, I'm sorr--'
'Just stop it. You don't get to do that,' Toshinori says, fire flickering in his eyes. 'My pain is my own. It's not something you get to use to deem your own worth, or your own strength. How dare you, Shouta? That is the worst thing you have ever said to me.'
Tears are sliding down Shouta's cheeks. His grip on Toshinori's sleeve tightens. The lump in his throat feels so big all he can do is shake his head. Hoping to shake away his regrets, hoping to cast away Toshinori's all-seeing gaze.
'Is that what you really think?' The blonde continues, his voice quiet, so he doesn't disturb Eri, but the intensity is still there. 'You think my pain, my life, my survival is so pitiful that your own can't hold a candle to it? That anything you feel cannot be perceived as serious, or debilitating, or worthy of sympathy and understanding because you don't hurt as often or as badly as I do?'
Shouta closes his eyes as the tears continue to fall. He keeps his silence.
'Well, I'm sorry, Shouta, but I disagree. I disagree with everything. And I reject your shame. I don't want you to ever feel what I feel, or live how I live, or have to make the choices I have to make. I'm sorry you're hurting. I’m so, so sorry for that. I wish you weren't experiencing something so awful. And I will do everything in my power to support, comfort, and protect you and your family. But I cannot pretend that I agree with the ridiculous standards you are holding yourself to right now.'
Toshinori lets out a deep, steadying breath, 'If it hurts, it hurts. And I know you know that. I respect you because you’re a kind, clever, loving man. You would never say what you are saying to yourself right now to another living soul. And you would never use me to justify it. You would never tell your students they are not hurting enough for it to count. You would never tell your daughter that she wasn't hurting enough for it to matter. You would never tell anyone , in any amount of pain, in any circumstance, that they were somehow unjustified in their agony or in their grief.'
Shouta's eyes open wide as soon as he hears the word. Grief . It hits him like a bullet in the chest. It does feel like grief. The way his heart aches. The way he yearns for his old semi-functional, whole, reliable body. He's grieving. He's filled with grief. And it hurts. It aches. It festers within him.
'You're grieving,' Toshinori says, understanding what Shouta is thinking, intimately understanding the thoughts that are drowning him almost as much as the pain. 'You're allowed to grieve. You're allowed to cry, Shouta. You're allowed to take the time to process all of the things that have happened to you and to your body. The things that are still happening to you and to your body. Grief burns, and it's ugly, but it’s normal.'
Toshinori tilts his head and says, 'A long time ago, when I was upset about how hurt I was, a nurse told me that grief is like a forest. A nighttime forest, where there’s no path, and there's no light. You're simply left there to fend for yourself. You're afraid, and you’re confused, and everywhere you look - it's pitch black. It's scary. It makes you nervous. You feel out of control. But that forest isn’t all it seems. Maybe you realise that you're wearing sunglasses and you can take them off. Maybe you realise that you have a torch in your bag. Maybe the cloud passes, without you doing anything at all, and the moon illuminates the way. Maybe you make friends with a talking fox and it helps you navigate. It doesn't matter, and it doesn’t matter how you get out, but you will. That’s almost guaranteed. But even if you can't, even if you’re really stuck, even if you end up like me. A silly old man, with a complicated body. You can still make a home of that forest. You can learn to live in the rhythm of it. Given time, you can see in the dark. Given time, you can find your way. You can still discover things that make you smile, things that make you happy, things that make it all worthwhile. And you'll probably discover other people that live in the forest too. Just like me. And I will always be there for you, Shouta.'
Toshinori reaches out and cups Shouta's cheek with his hand, his long fingers careful to avoid the scar tissue beneath his eye, 'But for any of that to happen, to move on, you can't be hurting because you're being unforgiving, or impatient, with yourself. And you can't look at others and judge yourself unworthy in comparison. Your pain is your pain. It doesn't matter how much it hurts, or how often it hurts. All that matters is that sad truth that it does. All that matters is you. Your experience. How you feel. I see you, Shouta. And I respect you and your body. So, please, don't compare yourself to me, or to anyone else for that matter. Show yourself the understanding you give others so easily, alright? You deserve that at the very least. You deserve to be cared for and understood by a kind and loving man, like yourself.'
Shouta's fingers are white with how hard they're gripping Toshinori's arm. The silence lingers between them, it should be awkward, but it's not. It feels harmonious. It feels safe. It’s just a lot.
'Take a deep breath,' Toshinori says quietly, and Shouta complies. He lets himself be guided through the process, until his chest feels lighter and the clouds in his head aren't so overcast and ripe with rain.
'I feel like apologising to you,' Shouta says eventually. Toshinori whines his disagreement. 'But I know you don't want that, so… thank you, Toshinori, for being here. For understanding. For caring about me.'
'I'll always be here, and I’ll always care,' Toshinori offers, so earnestly that Shouta could swear he sees stars sparkling in his dark eyes. 'Always, Shouta. And I'm sorry for being short with you.'
'It’s okay,' Shouta smiles, he feels so sleepy, but he doesn't want to miss a thing and he doesn't want to forgo a moment with the man in front of him. 'I needed to hear it. If you weren't here, I'd still be crying. Or trying not to cry, for Eri.'
'No more tears,' Toshinori smiles before he adds. 'Not tonight. Not about this.'
'Your knees must be hurting,' Shouta says, and Toshinori shakes his head.
'Not really, probably my medication,' the blonde laughs, and Shouta knows he's staring, he knows he's focusing too much on the sweet corner of Toshinori’s mouth, on the width of his jaw, on the way his hair bends and arches near his face.
'Can I stay here tonight?' Toshinori asks, breaking the spell. 'In case you or Eri need me.'
'Of course,' Shouta says. 'But you don't have to. I can probably call Hizashi.'
'I want to,' Toshinori says easily. 'It's nice to be useful.'
'You don't have to be useful,' Shouta urges, his 'teacher voice' emerging out of nowhere.
'Neither do you,' Toshinori counters with a glint in his eyes. Electricity shoots through Shouta, pulses through him like a wave crashing onshore, but this time it's not pain he's feeling; it’s interest. 'Maybe we can work on that together. Set a good example for Eri.'
'I'd like that,' Shouta smiles, then he yawns, his hand barely covering it. It's been a long day. 'But she already loves you. It’s always Uncle Toshi this, Uncle Toshi that.'
'Ha!' Toshinori laughs, his quiet boom warming Shouta to the core. 'Still, I could never compare to her daddy. You’re such a good father!'
'I got lucky,' Shouta smiles, and Toshinori nods. Watching fondly as Shouta yawns again. 'Okay, it’s bedtime for you, Mr Sleepyhead.'
'I'll get you a blanket,’ Shouta says. ‘The sofa isn't comfortable unless you use the thick one as a sheet and -' Toshinori brings a soft hand to Shouta’s cheek to silence him.
'Shouta, I can manage. I know where you keep everything; I can figure it out,' Toshinori says, tracing his gentle fingers down to Shouta's shoulder. 'And Mr Ribbit-Rabbit-Roo will keep me company. So, I won’t be alone.'
Shouta snorts and nods, 'Alright.'
'Have sweet dreams,' Toshinori says softly, his voice dropping down into a low soothing hum. 'The forecast is much warmer for tomorrow, so you should feel a bit better.'
'Okay,' Shouta says, because he's tired and he's not sure how to share everything he's truly feeling without making a fool of himself. 'I hope you feel better too, Toshi. I truly do.'
Toshinori uses the mattress to push himself up onto his feet, his knees and back clicking as he straightens himself up. He laughs it off and puts his hands on his hips, arching backwards to stretch his body. He's beautiful. But Shouta doesn't know how to say that and keep things so good between them, so he rolls onto his back and pulls the covers up over his chest.
'If you need anything, just text me,' Toshinori says, gesturing to Shouta's phone on the bedside table. 'If it's urgent, shout. I'm a very light sleeper. I'll be here before you know it! Goodnight, Shouta.'
'Goodnight, Toshinori,' Shouta says softly, plunged into a comfortable darkness when Toshinori turns off the light and closes the door.
Shouta listens to Toshinori as he shuffles around his apartment, talking to himself as he gathers blankets and sets them down on the sofa.
Then, Shouta hears him - quietly - washing the dishes. He’s half tempted to put his leg on, to go out there and do it himself. It's his mess. But he can hear Toshinori lightly humming to himself. And he sounds so calm and peaceful that it's comforting.
Eventually, Shouta hears him click off the light, the strip of light under his door vanishing. He picks up his phone, opens his messages and sends a text, sleep taking him almost as soon as he sets his phone back down.
He misses the little, 'Oh, Shouta' that escapes Toshinori as he reads the message, wrapped in his blankets and ready for sleep. His clothes folded neatly on the floor beside him.
Toshinori can't stop reading it. He’s addicted to the feeling it swells in his chest. So, he leaves it on the screen and he props his phone against the mug on the coffee table. It's positioned perfectly - so he can see it as he drifts off.
The message beams brightly, proudly, in the otherwise enveloping darkness:
Toshi, I've always known that you’re a hero. But I'm so glad that you're mine.
♡ ꕥ ♡