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“Kacchan is asleep again.”
Shouto glances in the rearview mirror to find Katsuki’s head lolled to the side, breathing softly. Sitting in the middle, even though Shouto knows for a fact that he prefers to lean against the window and observe the roads. He didn’t want to be left out of the conversation, popping between the driver and passenger seats to tell Shouto which direction to go.
“That’s good,” Shouto says. “He needs it.”
The ride from the hospital to their home is just under twenty minutes, but Shouto takes a detour to stretch it to forty. If Izuku notices, he doesn’t mention it.
“Thank you for picking us up.”
Red turns to green, and Shouto speeds up smoothly, checking the mirror again. Not for safety reasons. Just—
Checking.
“Of course. You don’t have to thank me for that.”
One day, Izuku will understand that Shouto would do anything for him. Him and Katsuki. Shouto is content to tell him that as much as he needs; every day.
He takes the wheel with his right hand and reaches across the console with his left to find Izuku, landing on his thigh. Izuku threads their fingers together, and Shouto lets a bit of heat seep out to warm Izuku’s cold skin.
The streets are empty, this late at night.
Lights flickering, and the moon a waning crescent that buries itself under dark clouds. No stars visible. Shouto finds a strange peacefulness in the vast bleak sky. Looking up at it, doesn’t matter if it’s here in this neighbourhood or across the city where Shouto’s bed lies. There’s comfort in knowing he sees the same blanket of clouds, the same moon, as them.
Shouto pulls up into the driveway, right behind Katsuki’s car, and kills the engine. Katsuki grunts awake soon after.
“Kacchan, are you okay?”
“Stop asking me that for two seconds,” Katsuki snaps, then sighs and rubs a palm over his face in the mirror. “M’fine. All healed up.”
The reassurance releases a tightness in Shouto’s chest that he didn’t know he was holding. Katsuki does look alright. It was a minor injury, tended to quickly and efficiently at the hospital. Izuku is prone to worrying and agonizing when Katsuki gets hurt under his watch, and Shouto tries to remain calm for both of them. Today was no different.
Katsuki makes a fuss over Izuku trying to help him walk, and Shouto uses his spare key to open the door for them.
“I’ll be going then,” he says. “Good night, Izuku. Katsuki.”
“Wait. You’re not staying?” Izuku asks. Why does he look surprised?
“You…wanted me to?”
“Of course, uhm. If that’s okay with you?” Izuku turns to Katsuki behind him. “Right, Kacchan?”
“Like you need my permission to invite this bastard over.”
It’s as close to an approval as it is possible to get from Katsuki. Practically the equivalent of a please, stay. And Shouto’s always been weak to them. He could never say no, even though he should. His heart clenches at the idea of staying.
“Sure.”
He already knows where the spare futon is, and he rolls it out in the living room while Izuku and Katsuki change into pajamas and bicker in the bathroom over the sound of running water. The annoyed huffs give way into soft laughter, and Shouto can’t see them but he imagines it; Izuku leaning his forehead against Katsuki’s nape and holding onto his waist while waiting for him to brush his teeth; Katsuki reaching behind to ruffle Izuku’s hair and scratch at his scalp.
It aches, in a bittersweet way. To be happy for them, and crave what they have. Crave it in a way that doesn’t feel allowed.
Digging through their closet, he grabs one of Izuku’s oversized ‘sleep’ shirts and strips down to his underwear. By the time they finish their nightly routine, Shouto is settled into his futon under a blanket. Everything smells like their shared detergent, and Shouto can’t help the small smile that upticks the corner of his lips, despite the twinge in his ribcage at the thought of being so close to everything he wants, and having none of it.
There’s a shuffling of feet, and then something pokes at Shouto’s back through his blanket. A heavy weight plops down beside him on the edge of the futon and pulls at the covers Shouto’s tucked underneath himself. He adjusts his body to let it be dragged away, and soon a different warmth replaces it. Shouto doesn’t have to turn around to know what it is. Who, rather.
Izuku’s arm snakes around to land on Shouto’s chest, and Shouto hopes Izuku can’t pick up on the way his heart is beating a touch faster than normal.
“Thank you,” Izuku says. Shouto has lost count of how many times Izuku has expressed his gratitude to him today and doesn’t bother correcting him again.
Izuku presses closer and tangles their legs together. His pajamas are soft and silky against Shouto’s bare skin.
“Did Katsuki kick you out of bed?”
“Oi!” comes Katsuki’s indignant reply from the other room.
“No. I wanted to be here.”
“Oh.”
“Mhm.”
If Shouto stops thinking about it, he can pretend the ticklish way Izuku’s breath lands on the back of his neck is a barely-there kiss.
“What’s taking so long?” Katsuki calls out.
“I think he is waiting for you.”
“For us,” Izuku says, holding him closer. Us. It sends Shouto’s heart into overdrive, the one syllable. “I just wanted you to myself for a second.”
Shouto struggles to turn around with how tight Izuku’s grip is on him, but he lets up when Shouto squirms for a bit.
His eyes are closed, expression peaceful; like he didn’t just fold Shouto’s world in on itself.
“Izuku?”
“Yeah?”
Shouto’s hand moves of its own accord, settling on Izuku’s face. His cheekbones, highlighted by his freckles. The corner of his smile; the same one that takes over his whole face and holds more hope at a glance than Shouto is capable of processing.
Izuku opens his eyes and turns, his lips meeting Shouto’s wrist, his pulsepoint: movements slow and deliberate and not looking away from Shouto for his reaction.
Shouto doesn’t have anything to give him in return other than his mouth hanging open slightly, and his heart battling his ribs for a chance to jump out.
“Is this okay?” Izuku whispers into his skin.
If anything, Shouto should be the one asking. This is—everything. Everything he’s been longing for.
All he can do is nod, hair rustling against his pillowcase.
“Thank you,” Izuku repeats again. “I’m always so grateful, you know? We both are. And you’re… You are…”
‘Bated breath’ has never been this directly tangible before.
Shouto lets the moment hang between them, and Izuku inhales shakily, then exhales, his breath wrapping around Shouto’s wrist intimately.
Neither of them say anything, and they don’t need to. Tension drops from Izuku’s shoulders with each minute that passes by, eventually scooting closer until his face is stitched into the side of Shouto’s neck.
Shouto finds it in himself to extend his arm around Izuku’s back and hold him, just like Izuku’s doing. Izuku’s lips twitch against Shouto’s collarbone, and he takes that as a sign to be bolder.
“You are, too.”
Staying like this, so close, so welcome, it’s hard to believe Izuku desires it—all of it—any less than Shouto does at this moment. And Shouto wants everything. Everything they can give him.
“You dipshits coming, or what?”
Izuku laughs into Shouto’s shoulder. “Coming, Kacchan!”
On the way to the bedroom, to the bed that is more comfortable than the one Shouto sleeps on every night—if only by the virtue of having his two favourite people in it—Shouto exchanges a look with Katsuki, to gauge him. To see if he wants this, even a little bit, if not as much.
Katsuki grabs a fistful of Shouto’s hair and pulls lightly until they are at eye level, bumping their foreheads together. Not quite gentle, not quite violent. Something in between and contradictory, like Katsuki.
“You look dumber than usual, Icyhot.” He grins, uneven and endearing in its crookedness, and Shouto holds back his own smile at the rare sight, memorizing every inch of the image and committing it to the very fabric of his brain.
“Nothing you haven’t seen before.” It’s partially the truth. Shouto’s extra stupid when it comes to Katsuki, and he’s never been afraid to show it. But—not like this. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“Waitin’ on you, princess.”
Oh.
Katsuki drags him to the bed and pushes him down before lying next to him. Izuku quickly finds Shouto’s other side.
He isn’t sure which way to turn until Katsuki pulls at his arm and drapes it over himself, slotting his back into Shouto’s chest. Fitting like a perfect puzzle piece.
Shouto tries to be mindful of where Katsuki was injured earlier today, along his side and hip, and Katsuki clicks his tongue in disapproval.
“Told ya, m’fine. Need to look under my shirt or something?”
Izuku, pressed behind Shouto in a resumption of their earlier position, says, “You can, if you want. I don’t mind.”
He wants to, really does. But a selfish part of him wants the first time he touches Katsuki soft and sweet on his bare skin to mean something more.
So he squeezes him closer; presses hard over the healed wounds. “Good night, Katsuki.”
“Night.”
Shouto isn’t sure how he is supposed to fall asleep like this. Sandwiched between two warm bodies. And not just anyone, but them. So tightly wound up from placating Izuku at the hospital, and then making sure Katsuki was not in bad shape. The drive, the ache.
The ache. The one that grows or shrinks but never fully leaves.
Until now.
“What’s on your mind?” Izuku asks, voice low, meant for Shouto’s ears only.
“Everything,” Shouto says. Then corrects, “You.”
“Don’t overthink it too much, okay?”
“Izuku.”
“I know, I know. Kettle, pot. But—seriously. I mean it.”
Don’t overthink, huh? He can certainly try. He’s always been good at adapting, after all.
Katsuki’s breathing soon turns into low snores, and then Izuku’s evens out. Eventually, it’s just Shouto and his thoughts to keep him company.
There’s a window, visible over Katsuki’s shoulder if Shouto lifts his head a little. The curtains are half-open, and through the gaps, Shouto finds the night sky again. Still murky and dark. No stars, moon barely discernible behind the clouds.
The same as always.
Not everything has to change. Even if everything does.