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Toshinori wakes to a sharp bite of pain in his scar. It’s not particularly pleasant, but it’s not particularly new either, so all he can really do is wait for the wave to pass. To this end, he holds himself still and tries not to breathe too deeply.
It takes far too long - minutes and seconds stretching endlessly, slow and sticky and cloying like taffy - but eventually Toshinori is able to take a breath without triggering a spike of pain.
He drags himself out of bed at this point, since sitting around won’t do him much good. Tea and a snack might help him to sleep, though, so he fumbles his way out of his room.
The track he takes to the kitchens is quiet, liminal blue in the pre-dawn twilight. Though the common room is a familiar space in daylight, passing through it in scant moonlight is like walking through a dream. That might be why it takes Toshinori so long to realize that he’s not alone.
Izuku is hunched over on the largest couch, alone except for a notebook on his crossed legs and a pen in his loose grasp. In any other time - at any other place - it could have been a normal sight, but now it’s a haunting aberration, because Izuku is small and forlorn in the darkness.
Toshinori freezes at the sight. Then, there’s a sniffle, and he’s kneeling in front of Izuku without a second thought.
“Midoriya, my boy. Is everything alright?”
Even though Toshinori keeps his voice soft, Izuku jolts. His notebook unbalances and his pen slips from his grasp, though he’s able to rescue the notebook after a desperate flail.
Clutching the notebook close to his chest, Izuku, rather than answering, asks, “Ah, All - All Might! What are you doing up, is everything okay?”
Toshinori can’t help his wry smile at that, since it’s so very typical of Izuku to be worried about others even when he’s sitting alone in the darkness. It’s also a mite hypocritical of him, considering that the bags under his eyes rival those of tanuki, but Toshinori isn’t going to bring that up just yet.
Instead, he keeps his tone light as he replies, “Don’t worry about me, I just thought tea might help me sleep. What are you doing up at this time anyways, young Midoriya?”
In lieu of an answer, Izuku gnaws at his lower lip. He opens his mouth, as if he’s going to speak, but then closes it again and hunches in further. Silence weighs down the space between them, oppressively thick, until Izuku finally manages to stammer, “Ye - yeah, I’m fine.”
Toshinori doesn’t actually believe Izuku. It’s kind of hard to, when the heart he wears on his sleeve is grey like a brewing storm.
He has enough sense to avoid calling him out on that, though. Toshinori has to bite down on his first questions and his worry, but he manages to keep his voice light as he asks, “Since I was going to make tea, would you like some as well?”
Izuku blinks himself out of his daze and, after a moment, manages to reply, “Oh, um… yes, please. Thank you.”
Toshinori smiles at that, then ruffles Izuku’s hair. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo,” he says, on the way to the kitchen, “I’ll be back shortly.”
Since the common area is in the kitchen’s line of sight, Toshinori can an eye on Izuku as he sets up the water boiler and rummages through kitchen cabinets. While he normally favors green tea, this time Toshinori searches for chrysanthemum, since that’s more likely to help Izuku sleep. Since it’s at the front of the cabinet, he finds it easily enough, and he tips some of the dried flowers into a teapot.
Finding their designated mugs is slightly more challenging, but only because they’re shoved to the back of the cupboards.
Another glance at Izuku says, predictably enough, that he’s still feeling down, so after a second though Toshinori adds a dollop of honey to the pot and hopes that it’ll help him feel better.
By this point, the water is done boiling, so Toshinori tops off the teapot and sets up a tray, so that he can carry the tea set back to the common room.
Izuku, as far as Toshinori can tell, hasn’t even twitched since he left, though he looks up when Toshinori approaches. When Toshinori holds a blue All Might mug out, Izuku sets his notebook down so that he can accept it with a wan smile.
After that, he serves himself tea in the matching red mug. Toshinori takes a moment to breathe in its sweet, curling steam, then he finally asks, “Do you mind if I sit with you?”
In answer, Izuku shifts to make room, though there’s more than enough space for him already. Toshinori takes his seat with a faint grin, then freezes as Izuku just… tilts sideways and leans against his arm. He doesn’t seem to be conscious of it, staring blankly into his tea as he is, but Toshinori still can’t help how warm the touch makes him feel.
It might be silly, that such a small thing can feel like a blessing, but Izuku is very traditionally Japanese when it comes to physical affection, and this is the first time that he’s ever initiated personal contact.
Still, that’s not what really matters now - not when Izuku is upset, so he says, “Midoriya, my boy, can I ask what’s wrong?”
Somewhat predictably, Izuku deflects. “Oh, it’s nothing. It’s… it’s silly.”
“Regardless, if you want to talk about it, then I’m here to listen.”
Izuku hesitates, which means he’s either trying to figure out an excuse or he’s considering his question carefully. It could be a deflection, considering Izuku’s worryingly dismissive attitude towards his own well-being, but he’s also getting better about asking for answers, so maybe…
A moment longer, and Izuku lets out a breath that draws twists into rising steam. “It was just a nightmare, nothing real.”
If Toshinori were feeling particularly generous, he might call the stretch of Izuku’s mouth a grin. He’s trying for it, at the very least, but its… yeah, it’s not working. That alone is enough to say that this isn’t nothing, but it also rings uncomfortably close to Toshinori’s own past - to smiles that tamp down on fear, laughter that distracts from foretold death.
That avoidance hadn’t been a conquering of fear for him, but a resignation to it. Toshinori rather suspects that the same holds true for Izuku, when his smile is frost-flower glass instead of burning sunlight.
Izuku deserves so much more than that. He’s the one who made Toshinori’s smile real, when they first met so long ago, and then again every day after - so he would very much like to return that favor.
That, ultimately, is what pushes him to ask, “Do… do you want to talk about it? Nightmares have a way of sticking to you, but putting it in words can help to chase them away.”
There’s a pause when Izuku tenses before he finally lets himself relax - just slightly - and finally murmurs, “Sure… Yeah.”
He blows on his tea again, then takes a sip. Moments pass, as Izuku stares past his tea, then he takes a deep breath and says, “It’ll be fine, because you’re here.”
Izuku looks up at him with wide and trusting eyes then, searching for reassurance. The silent plea there grows a lump in Toshinori’s throat, and he’s barely able to say past it, “It’s all right, because I’m here.”
He has to take a drink, afterward, so he can clear his throat.
Izuku nods, then leans closer into Toshinori’s space. Biting his lip, he opens his mouth in a false start, then sips at his tea instead. Without pulling his mug away, he murmurs, “It’s… they’ve been happening for a while. The nightmares, I mean. People keep on dying, like Eri-chan or Aizawa-sensei or Iida-kun, and I can’t save anyone, because I’m always too late or too weak.”
The last word is barely a whisper, the end of a sentence tapering off to a shudder. Izuku curls in on himself and Toshinori shifts, just enough to free his arm and pull his boy in close. He holds himself lightly so that Izuku can escape, but Izuku settles in closer instead.
Another deep breath, then Izuku continues, “I just - remember after you beat All for One? You said you’re next and everyone cheered, because they didn’t know that… that you couldn’t fight anymore. I dreamt that everyone knew, not just me, but it was because you crumbled.
His voice wavers, at the precipice of breaking, but he still continues, “You pointed, and you said you’re next, and you crumbled into dust. And I couldn't save you.”
Toshinori opens his mouth, but before he can respond Izuku continues, “And I know it’s not real, but… it felt real, and I just.”
Izuku’s voice cracks then, and he stops to clear his throat. That doesn’t really work, though, so he puts his half-drunk tea on the coffee table to rub at his eyes. After that, instead of sitting up, Izuku presses his face to Toshinori’s shirt and mumbles, almost too soft to hear, “I don’t want you to die, All Might.”
There isn’t much that can soften the silence, after that - only the faint hum of the dorms at night, muffled by the building’s distance from the city. There’s a faint clink of ceramic on wood, as Toshinori sets his mug on the table, and the shuffle of cloth as Izuku tangles his hands in Toshinori’s shirt.
Toshinori doesn’t know how to break this dark spell, he doesn’t how to make things better. Despite months working as a teacher, he doesn’t know how to be dependable when he’s not All Might, the Symbol of Peace, but if it’s for Izuku’s sake, he will always try.
So, quietly, he says, “Midoriya, my boy, I’m still alive.”
That, at least, is enough to shock Izuku into glancing up at him. “I… I know?”
Toshinori huffs in acknowledgment, then continues, “And I promise, I will continue living for as long as I can.”
Confusion dissipates as Izuku nods. “I know. I know, but - ” his fingers, clutched into Toshinori’s shirt, drag deep valleys into white cotton “ - but what if it doesn’t work? We’re supposed to twist your fate, All Might, but… what if it’s not enough?”
Izuku looks away.
What if I’m not enough? goes unsaid, but Toshinori hears it all the same.
And the thing is, Toshinori wants to promise that he won’t die, but he can’t really know for sure. He doesn’t know if his fate is inevitable, or if it can truly be bent. He doesn’t know if it’s already changed, just because he’s changed fundamentally by meeting Izuku.
So he says, almost casually, “You know, I’m afraid too, sometimes. That I can’t do enough to change my fate.”
This causes Izuku pull back, wide-eyed gaze snapping up to him in the scant light. “But, you were so calm about it when you told me…”
The smile curling Toshinori’s lips is wry, “I’ve mentioned it before, I’ve gotten pretty good at smiling to distract myself from fear. And well… the future is scary. Sometimes it’s easier to just give in to the inevitable.”
Toshinori doesn’t realize how fatalistic he might sound, not until Izuku takes a sharp breath. After that, he flails as he hurries to add, “I won’t give up, though! I can’t, because I still have so much to do. Now I have a reason to look fate in the eye and say I will not die.”
He pauses to make sure Izuku is listening, then he says, “Midoriya Izuku, I might not know what the future holds, but I can tell you this - you’ve already saved me, just by being yourself. I’m here because of you, and that’s more than enough.”
Izuku ducks down to hide his face at that, though he can’t hide the flush in his ears. He whispers a quiet thank you All Might into Toshinori’s shirt. Then, even quieter, “I’ll do my best to remember.”
Izuku’s hands are still tangled in Toshinori’s shirt, and his words take on a determined cast. He repeats you’re still alive and you won’t die with shaking shoulders and a fierce grip, and it sounds like Izuku is promising I will not let you go.
Toshinori can’t help but grin - for as much as Izuku has matured, some things haven’t changed. Izuku has never lost his timid anxiety, nor the fierce determination that bowls past it. He wants to hug Izuku so much right now, so he loops his arms around Izuku’s shoulders and rests his chin on his head.
Toshinori gives Izuku a moment to respond, then relaxes when Izuku leans into his hug.
Shortly after, dampness collects in the weave of his shirt. While not the most comfortable, it’s still very much a good thing, because Izuku only ever holds back his tears when he feels like he’s lacking.
The tension lining Izuku’s back dissolves, with his tears. With that comes boneless exhaustion, and soon enough Izuku sinks fully into Toshinori’s arms. He’s too tired to even be self-conscious as he mumbles, “…I like your heartbeat… ’s strong.”
After that, his breaths go deep with sleep.
Sleep doesn’t come quite so easily for Toshinori, though. It can’t, not after the bolt of fondness that’s struck his heart.
The thing is, Toshinori has known about Izuku’s regard for All Might since day one. For the person behind him though, for Yagi Toshinori… well, like this he’s never really felt strong.
Somehow, though, Izuku hears comfort in a skeletal man’s heartbeat. Somehow he looks at Toshinori and sees strength beyond power, and it’s because of this that Toshinori can feel strong, too.
Toshinori runs a hand through Izuku’s curls, marveling at how new it is to see him like this.
When Izuku’s awake, he’s fierce determination or anxious grins, sunlight in his eyes and passion in his footsteps. Asleep, though, he’s a different sort of softness - childish serenity, without the pressure of One for All weighing him down.
Toshinori can’t regret passing down his powers - not when he remembers Izuku’s tears at hearing you can be a hero, not when he’s seen Izuku’s spirit firsthand. But still, it’s good to see him asleep like this, relaxed as a kid should be.
(He’s never really thought of having kids before, couldn’t imagine what they’d be like if he tried. Now though… now, Izuku is all he could ever see. It’s not something he can admit outside of these twilight hours, when dreams are only surface deep, but it’s still a warm thought to tuck into his heart.)
Izuku’s sleeping so deeply, he probably wouldn’t wake for the end of the world, unless there was a call for help. He certainly won’t wake if Toshinori carries him back to his actual bed, but…
The night is tranquil around them, a warm down blanket muffling the outside world. Izuku is a cozy, grounding weight at his side, and Toshinori doesn’t want to disturb the lacework peace, just yet.
Just a few more minutes then, a little while longer to soak in the quiet, then he’ll get Izuku back to bed.
oOoOo
Aizawa Shouta wakes up far too early for his liking. It’s a habit by this point, born of late nights and early days of dealing with students and schedules and fighting in the dark underbelly of the world, but it doesn’t actually make him happier. He won’t ever regret becoming a hero or a teacher, but he’d also have a lot more patience with the world if he had a reasonable amount of sleep.
Since wishes don’t make for more hours in the day, Shouta grumbles his way out of his room and into the common area.
When he first walks through, he doesn’t notice anything amiss. It’s only after he passes the couches that he notices there’s anything different, and even then all he registers is a shock of vivid blond hair.
Really, the students have rooms, they can very well sleep in them.
Except… looking closer, the hair doesn’t belong to Kaminari or Ojiro, as he’d first assumed. No, it’s very firmly attached to Yagi, and it’s actually more ridiculous now.
Yagi is a full grown adult who has long since retired due to grievous injuries - he should be sleeping in a proper bed, not using his own arm as a pillow.
He’s not even alone, which is only a surprise until Shouta realizes that Yagi’s other arm is draped over Midoriya. He might have subconsciously tried to pull the kid in closer, though that hardly seems necessary when Midoriya is fitted so neatly into the semicircle Yagi’s sketched out with his legs.
Midoriya has his hands tangled in Yagi’s sleep shirt and his face pressed close to his heartbeat. It’s actually kind of cute, like a kitten and a cat.
Not that it makes this any more professional. Yagi is still a teacher, even if he isn’t the most qualified.
Seriously, though, why did Nedzu even decide to hire an ailing, almost-and-now retired superhero with a faintly self-destructive hero complex to teach impressionable students?
Well, he has enthusiasm to spare and a drive to improve. Both of these things means that he’s made fair strides in his teaching capabilities, and for all that his favorite is obvious like the blinding sun, Yagi doesn’t actually let that interfere with his teaching.
Still, he’s asleep, on a couch, with his student. Shouta probably shouldn’t leave them there, just because of basic teacherly standards.
He drapes a blanket over them instead.