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Usually, Hanta is the caretaker. Not that Shouto needs it. Hanta just… gives with every fiber of his being.
“It’s his love language,” Mina had said when Shouto told her he feels bad about how much of himself Hanta gives. Then she shoved a book in his hand and told him it would explain everything. Shouto read it in a single night. Hanta curled up in bed beside him, fast asleep while Shouto read by the light of his phone.
Acts of Service.
That’s Hanta’s love language.
This only brings up more questions.
Like what is his love language?
Or what does he want it to be? Or what does Hanta want it to be? Is that how it works? He has no idea. “Love” is a relatively new experience for him. One he hadn’t thought much about until his third year at UA when Hanta kissed him under the cherry blossoms.
After that Shouto fell hard and fast. They’ve been together ever since, five years of companionship. Through the emotional ups and downs that come with a relationship and living together.
Plus the scares and stress that come from working in a dangerous job and knowing your partner does too. Shouto has lost count of the number of times he’s been called to the hospital after Hanta was out on some patrol or mission, and he’s sure it’s the same for Hanta.
They make it through anyway.
Shouto knows he could ask Hanta about the Love Languages. They talk about everything, communication is so important to Hanta, and Shouto quickly realized the value of it too. But he wants to figure it out for himself. Doesn’t want to have Hanta give yet again when he already does so much.
So Shouto lets it linger in the back of his mind. Through dinners with friends, quiet nights at home, out on patrol, filling out paperwork at his agency. Patiently waits for the knot to untangle, just like Hanta taught him.
“Stop pushing it,” Hanta said one night when Shouto was near tears in frustration over trying to explain some emotion he was currently drowning in. “Come here and just let it work itself out.”
Hanta had wrapped Shouto in strong arms and they’d laid together in the dark and waited while Shouto’s brain picked apart all the complicated knots and handed him the words he needed.
To Shouto’s surprise, the Love Language knot uncoils only a couple of weeks later on a quiet rainy morning.
Somehow both their schedules have managed to sync for once and they both have the day off. There were talks the night before of doing something with the day. Go somewhere, get out, spend time together, but the rain puts a damper on that idea.
Particularly when Shouto emerges from his shower to find Hanta splayed out on the sofa instead of puttering around the kitchen like he usually does on his mornings off.
“Hanta?”
He runs a hand through black hair as Hanta lets out a small pained groan, limbs limp on the sofa. Shouto spots the bottle of over-the-counter pain meds on the side table and realizes what’s going on.
The doctors had warned Hanta this would happen. That the unusual structure of his joints would mean pain later in his life. There wasn’t much they could do about it and there was absolutely no way Hanta was going to “take it easy” at twenty-five like the doctor suggested.
“C’mere,” Shouto says, nudging Hanta around on the sofa until he can slip under him, pulling a grumbly Hanta up until he’s draped across Shouto’s chest. “Which is the worst?”
Hanta sighs heavily into Shouto’s shirt before he wiggles an arm and repositions it until Shouto can reach. Shouto presses a warm hand to the curve of Hanta’s wide elbow and Hanta goes limp with a relieved sound.
Shouto massages tense muscles for a few minutes before he switches to his cold hand, then starts the whole process over on Hanta’s other arm. He can’t reach legs, but it's always been Hanta’s arms and shoulders that cause most of the trouble so Shouto settles in and just works his way from fingertips all the way up to his neck.
Over and over, back and forth, alternating heat and cold as Hanta gets heavier and heavier against him. By the time he makes his fourth pass he’s pretty sure Hanta’s asleep again, so he diverts to working his way down Hanta’s spine instead, then back up into his hair. Enjoying the firm muscles and lithe body of the man he loves so much.
Hanta lets out a small sigh at the contact, sleepily worming his arms around Shouto until they’re wrapped around his waist. Warmth floods through Shouto from his toes to the tip of his nose.
It wasn’t until Hanta that he realized just how much he loves physical contact. It was so absent from his childhood. The firm shoulder pat here or there, a vague memory of his mother’s hug.
Class 1A was touchy, but somehow it never reached Shouto. Probably because it took most of his time at UA for Shouto to drop the icy walls that would have allowed touch to happen. Hanta never seemed to pay attention to it. As if Shouto’s frozen facade never existed to begin with.
It started so small. Bumping elbows at lunch. The tap of a foot under the table during study sessions. Creeping into Shouto’s life until he found himself leaning into it. Sitting closer to Hanta on movie nights. Initiating contact of his own.
Now, as a couple, they’ve developed a whole second silent channel of communication through touch. Small taps that mean “I want to leave”, gentle presses that mean “I’m checking in”. It makes Shouto’s heart swell every time and he’s become dependent on those touches to guide him through tough days. Grateful to have Hanta by his side.
And then it clicks.
Sitting there in their quiet apartment, filled with Hanta’s brilliant colors and Shouto’s more sleek aesthetic. Listening to the sound of rain pattering on the balcony outside. Shouto realizes what his love language is.
Physical touch.
The thought makes Shouto smile and he slides down on the sofa, shifting them both till Hanta is fully draped on top of him. He wraps his arms around Hanta’s waist, burying his face in the crook of his neck. He inhales Hanta’s comforting sandalwood scent and squishes them together until he can get every inch of contact he can, pouring as much love and devotion into it as possible.
Hanta shifts, snuggling into the attention with an audible sigh as long fingers squeeze Shouto’s waist.
“Love you too, Shou.”
Art by Windy Engel