#2.22.19

Toshinori isn’t sure what wakes him, though the sharp burn in his side suggests he might have simply moved wrong in his sleep, but he spends an hour lying awake, eyes closed, hoping, praying, to go back to sleep, before he gives up. Extracting himself from the blankets twisted around his legs, and the man plastered against his back isn’t easy, but he manages.

He stumbles through the dark of the apartment to the bathroom for a drink. He doesn’t bother with the light, but a nightlight gives off enough of a soft glow for him to see his outline in the mirror. Shouta insisted the nightlight was a logical addition, the overhead light was too bright in the middle of the night or coming home after work when his eyes were already dry and overworked, but he didn’t want to be rummaging around totally blind. But Toshinori was fairly certain it had been a gift from Hitoshi, and that was why he was so unfailingly defensive about it. Fondly, Toshinori taps the smiling cat’s forehead, and the light shifts from green to blue under his hand.

Shouta is still fast asleep when he exits the bathroom, though he’s already relocated to the exact middle of the bed, and confiscated Toshinori’s pillow for himself. Toshinori goes to grab his phone and glasses from the bedside table, and he’s struck by the urge to go back to bed and press a kiss to Shouta’s forehead, but he doesn’t trust himself not to get carried away, and he doesn’t want to wake his husband. Just because he can’t sleep doesn’t mean Shouta needs to suffer with him. The man has enough trouble sleeping normal hours as it is.

So, he leaves the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind him as quietly as he can. Hiro waits for him in the living room, curled up on the top of the couch, watching him through one cracked eye. Her tail twitches as he waves a hand hello to her, but she stays curled in her little ball, too old now to be bothered with him so late.

So, he goes out to the balcony, leaving the door cracked behind him. The moon is high above him, and clouds lighten the sky so much he can nearly forget just how late it truly is. The still silence of the street feels strange, however, each movement a thunderclap of disruption to the night.

He settles into one of the chairs, waking up his phone. There are emails he should answer, and a handful of texts from the U.A. teacher’s group-chat he hasn’t bothered to open since Shouta was around to scoff at them as they arrived earlier in the day and relay any important information to Toshinori as he cooked.

The news alerts are all he really cares about. The app pops open, white background still too bright until the text loads. There were a few minor attacks around the country that are addressed in short, simple memos. But that wasn’t unusual, something was always happening, somewhere around the country, and even then, these days most stations only reported on villain attacks or take downs that involved Pros, unless it was a large bust or a high-profile criminal. An article from a few days ago about a large-scale attack Creati’s agency dealt with in Tokyo is still trending, but he’s almost sure he’s learned all he can from the article by now. The rest of the news is about local events coming up, and another warning about the summer storm that’s supposed to be hitting any day now.

Despite that, he finds himself dialing a familiar number. The phone rings three times, before someone picks up with a loud fumble, a quiet curse, and a confused, breathless “Hello?”

Toshinori sighs softly. “Did I wake you?”

“No!” Izuku scrambles to say, suddenly sounding much more awake than a moment ago. “Well, yes. But it’s okay. I was asleep on the couch, so really my neck will thank you in the morning. And so will I, because Shoto would totally kill me if he found me out here, again. I mean obviously I would be the one to thank you either way because it’s my neck but,” Izuku takes a deep breath, steadying himself and lowering his voice. “Can’t sleep?”

“How was work?” Toshinori asks, not bothering to acknowledge the question. This had become habit for him long ago, and Izuku knew well what it meant to get a call from Toshinori in the middle of the night.

“It was good. Busy, hectic, but good. Tonight was pretty typical. Oh, but did I tell you about the accidental team-up I had with Pinky and Uravity a few days ago? It was just like that training exercise back when we were first years! Except the villains were real this time, of course. Oh, and my quirk didn’t go haywire, haha. But Blackwhip did come in handy this time around as well!”

Toshinori smiles as Izuku launches into his story, letting the boy’s familiar rambling wash over him. He sits back in the chair, and just lets Izuku talk, humming along occasionally to show he is still listening, until Izuku finally runs out of new stories.

“Are you okay, Toshinori?” Izuku finally asks, voice impossibly soft at the question.

Toshinori can’t help but smile. He wonders what that eager, anxious kid he met all those years ago would do if he could hear them now. “I’m fine, my boy. Just a bad night.”

Izuku hums in quiet sympathy. “And how is…”

Toshinori waits to see if he will finish the question, but there’s just a pained whimper on the other line and he finally takes pity on his successor. “Shouta is fine, already exhausted by the newest class, but good. And he told you ages ago to just use his name.”

Izuku huffs. “I know, but it’s just weird. It feels like he can still expel me somehow.”

Toshinori can’t help but laugh. “You graduated years ago, my boy.”

“Oddly, that doesn’t make me feel better. If anyone would still have that power, it would be Aizawa-sensei.”

“Go to bed my boy, you need your rest. Tell young Shoto ‘hello’ from me in the morning.”

“I will,” Izuku promises around a yawn. “And you too.”

“Of course.”

The silence after they hang up settles heavily around him, but it lacks the strangeness of before. He is no longer an interloper to the quiet, but a part of the solemn night.

Pushing himself to his feet, he goes back inside. Shouta has moved entirely onto his side of the bed when he returns. One arm folded around the pillow hugged to his chest, while the other is stretched out towards the edge of the mattress. His hand twitches ever so slightly in his sleep, and there’s a furrow in his brow. Toshinori sits on the edge of the bed, soothing the distressed look away with a touch, and pressing a kiss to Shouta’s forehead.

Shouta squirms, eyes blinking open in disgruntled confusion. “Toshi?” he asks, voice husky with sleep and barely above a whisper. “What are you doing up? Come to bed.”

Toshinori chuckles softly. “I was trying.”

Shouta looks down at himself, but it still takes a few moments for the pieces to click into place in his sleep-muddled brain, before he relinquishes the pillow and shifts himself back towards his side of the bed. Toshinori slips under the covers and Shouta is on him again in a second, pushing and pressing until Toshinori is on his back, Shouta’s head tucked against his shoulder, and his arm stretched over his chest, hand laid directly over his chest.

Shouta breathes deeply against him and Toshinori shivers at the gentle brush of air.

“You were outside?”

“Just for a little while.”

Shouta’s hand tenses over his heart, as if he could somehow fashion a stronger hold over it than he already has.

“Pain level?”

Toshinori takes a deep breath. “One or two, maybe.”

Shouta turns his head, opening his eyes again to look at him. He lifts a hand and taps gently at Toshinori’s temple. “You okay up here?”

Toshinori grabs his hand, pulling it down to press a kiss to his fingers. In the day time, that move would usually earn him a slight blush and a sudden change in subject, but now Shouta just graces him with a sleepy smile he immediately tucks away as a memory to cherish. “I’m fine, love.”

Shouta returns his hand to Toshinori’s chest, closing his eyes again and nosing closer. Toshinori turns his head to press a kiss to his temple, lips brushing over the flashes of grey starting in Shouta’s dark hair.

“How’s Izuku?” Shouta asks. His voice already sounds as if he’s fading back into sleep.

“Good. Still refusing to call you ‘Shouta.’”

“Punk. I told him to.”

Toshinori hides his smile in Shouta’s hair. He closes his eyes and settles his hand over Shouta’s outstretched arm, fingers brushing nonsense patterns against his forearm, just under the jagged edges of the scar on his elbow. Between his talk with Izuku, and his husband’s warm weight and familiar scent, he can feel himself being lulled back into sleep, finally.

Suddenly, a new weight is added to the bed with a curious chirp.

Shouta groans against his throat, “You let the monster in.”

Opening his eyes once again, Toshinori makes contact with the glowing irises of Hiro standing on the foot of the bed, looking around bewildered, as if she couldn’t quite believe she had made it so far without being caught. He calls for her quietly and Shouta half-heartedly kicks at him.

“Toshi, no.”

“Oh, you love her, hush.”

“I only love her in the daytime.” Shouta protests.

Despite the apparent rejection from her original owner, Hiro ignores Toshinori’s summons and walks confidently over to Shouta’s side of the bed, plopping down beside him. And starting to purr. Loudly.

Shouta groans again. “This is all your fault.”

“I’m sorry, should I get up and take her out?”