Work Text:
Izuku was no stranger to insomnia. As long as he could remember, he’d had trouble making his mind slow down enough to let him sleep. Tonight was especially bad, though. His usual tricks weren’t working, and the numbers on his clock were steadily creeping closer to 2:00 AM. He watched the clock for a while longer, then sighed and rolled out of bed when it hit 1:47. He didn’t feel like getting a jump start on tomorrow’s, technically today’s, homework, and his body was still tired from running laps around the dorm earlier so that ruled out training. Which left really only one thing to do.
He stuffed his feet in the slippers Momo had bought him for his last birthday, and shuffled out into the hall. The door was unlocked, and he opened it to see Kirishima cross-legged on his bed, staring blankly at the open English workbook in his lap while an old movie played quietly on his laptop. “Hey.” he said softly.
Kirishima startled, his body turning stony from the waist up. Izuku smiled apologetically, and Kirishima sighed as he released his quirk. “Geez, don’t startle me like that.” he huffed, tossing the workbook in the general direction of his bag. Izuku shut the door behind himself, and crossed the room to sit on Kirishima’s bed next to him. They fit together easily, Kirishima’s arm around his shoulders and his arm behind Kirishima’s back, and once he was comfortable Izuku looked at the computer screen properly. It was an old movie, really old. From the phones the characters were using, he’d say it probably predated quirks.
On screen the main character and love interest started arguing about why they broke up, and Izuku shifted slightly so Kirishima could lift a hand and rub at the round, puckered scar in his shoulder. “It’s been a year, now.” he said as Izuku lifted his free hand to slide under Kirishima’s wrist, resting his palm over the redhead’s heart.
“It has.” he agreed, eyes tracing the lattice of scars which decorated Kirishima’s arm. They were worse than the ones which stretched out from under the sleeves of Izuku’s old T-shirt, denied a chance to properly heal by Kirishima’s reflexive use of his quirk re-opening them every time he was startled until Recovery Girl was able to close them all at once. He traced his hand idly across Kirishima’s chest, mentally re-cataloguing each mark his fingers crossed, scars gained from battles and training accidents and childhood mishaps. Somehow, it helped. Not the cataloguing itself, but simply being near Kirishima, feeling his warmth, hearing his slow and steady heartbeat.
Kirishima abruptly tensed, hand tightening on Izuku’s arm and stone crawling across his skin as his heartbeat spiked. Izuku lifted his head with a soft sound of concern, and a glance at the computer made cold understanding seize in his chest. The argument had gotten physical, and now the dark-haired muscle-bound character was pinned while the leaner blonde punched them in the face repeatedly. Kirishima’s breaths were coming faster, his whole body trembling slightly. Izuku lifted a foot to close the laptop with his heel.
The sounds of combat continued for a few seconds, finally cutting off mid-scream, and Izuku pulled free of Kirishima’s grip to face him instead, straddling his hips and resting their foreheads together. “It’s okay.” he murmured, resting his fingertips on Kirishima’s cheekbones. “It’s just a movie. It’s just us here.” he slid his hands down, right stopping over Kirishima’s heart and left drifting lower to rest at his waist. “It’s okay, I’m here.”
Kirishima’s heartbeat gradually slowed, and when he released his quirk Izuku coaxed him into lying down. The bed wasn’t really big enough for two, but it wasn’t like either of them wanted personal space right now. He cuddled up to Kirishima, and didn’t complain when the redhead hugged him just a smidge too tight. Kirishima’s chest shuddered against his, breath hitching in near-silent sobs, and Izuku curled around the taller boy as well as he could, murmuring mindless platitudes.
It had been a year since the failed rescue mission, since he woke up covered in bandages and watched nurses wheel Kirishima in from surgery an hour later; a year since they were both nearly expelled for sneaking off-campus with nothing to show for their effort but scars; a year since he returned to class to an empty seat in front of him that had remained untouched ever since. It had been a year since they failed to save their classmate from enemy hands, and six weeks since they succeeded. Since they brought him home, screaming and cursing, and witnessed firsthand the damage done to him.
“Do you ever wonder if, maybe he really did go back?” Kirishima sniffled, once his breathing had mostly evened out.
“Never.” Izuku replied immediately, holding Kirishima tighter for a second. Despite how he’d watched them all so warily in the two weeks he was back in the dorms, despite how the only thing which vanished with him was the costume he now wore as newscasters called him a villain, despite how he’d fought and screamed for “Shiga” when they finally rescued him... he couldn’t believe it. “He’s always wanted to be a hero, and the way he acted when we came for him-”
“Thank you.” Kirishima’s voice came out thick, muffled slightly by how his face was pressed into Izuku’s shoulder. “If I was the only one, I don’t-” his voice caught, and Izuku smoothed a hand through his hair again. “I don’t know if I could keep defending him against everyone else.”
“And you won’t have to find out.” Izuku promised, pulling his arm free from under Kirishima’s body and grabbing his hand instead, lacing their fingers together. “Now c’mon, it’s almost-” he twisted to look over his shoulder, and grimaced. “Almost 2:30. We should sleep.”
Kirishima hummed in agreement, and snuggled closer to Izuku. “‘m glad i have you.” he mumbled.
“Me too.” Izuku grinned, and let his eyes slide shut. Sleep, thankfully, was not long in coming.