Archive of Our Own ^beta

Kurono fills the bathtub, his fingers dancing in the water as he makes mental notes about its temperature. Chisaki likes it warm, enough to make him immediately relax but not hot to the point of it being scalding. Kurono knows it by heart now; they used to shower together a lot when they were kids, laughing and spraying water on each other, and it was only natural for Chisaki to trust him to prepare his baths after they got older.

This bathroom isn’t as big as the one Chisaki used to have at the precepts household, but it’s clean enough. It’s not like they have many options to choose from, anyway — it’s either that or nothing, which is much worse.

He gets up once the water’s in the right temperature, double checks everything, and steps out of the bathroom. Chisaki’s sitting on the bed, waiting for him. His gaze is surprisingly serene, and Kurono can only wonder what he’s thinking about.

“The bath’s ready. Come on,” his voice is calm, taking his friend away from his thoughts. Chisaki blinks twice before getting up, walking with gentle steps, long sleeves swaying. He stops in front of him, still silent, and Kurono nods as he raises his hands, making his fingers unbutton the other’s shirt.

They’re still getting used to it: the new place, the old beds, the emptiness. There’s much that they know about each other already, but the situation is making them learn and adapt more and more, even after so many years of friendship.

Kurono undresses him slowly, knowing that Chisaki’s still not accustomed to this situation. He knows that Kurono won’t hurt him, but it’s still intimate, something that the now fallen leader doesn’t let many people do to him. Kurono is, of course, an exception; he’s his best friend, the one person that always listened to him, the one he trusts the most, to the point of allowing him to help him with everything after they ran away.

He promised him new arms. Chisaki can only imagine what Kurono is getting into, the hell he must be crossing just to make him feel comfortable and complete again. He could have abandoned him — it would have been so easy —, but he didn’t and Chisaki knows he doesn’t deserve such loyalty, such gentleness, such devotion.

The first time Kurono undressed him after the incident he was in panic and pain, tears streaming down his face as ugly sobs and wails came out of his throat. Kurono washed the blood and dirt off his body, stitched his wounds the best he could, helped him dry and kept him warm as he dazed off in exhaustion afterwards.

This time, there’s no rush. Chisaki’s almost done healing, and they’re both much better. Not in perfect condition, but better. Sometimes, Kurono’s right hand twitches, but Chisaki doesn’t mind; it’s involuntary, a reminder of that fateful day that goes along with the scar on his wrist.

Chisaki would do anything to make it disappear.

When he’s done undressing Chisaki, Kurono takes off his own clothes. It’s easier to save warm water that way, and it puts them in equal grounds. There’s no need for embarrassment, for blushing or averting gazes. They’re life partners at this point and there’s no awkwardness in their shared nudity, not even after taking showers separated for years.

They get in the bathtub, taking their time to position their bodies in the limited space. The water’s warm, however, and feeling it surrounding them is a nice relief. Still, Kurono can’t help but giggle.

“Why are you laughing?” Chisaki asks, one of his brows coming up in curiosity. Kurono stares at him, shuffling in place for a bit.

“It’s a bit too small for two adults,” he replies, shrugging. “But it’d be perfect for us back then.”

Chisaki knows what he’s talking about: their childhood and the baths they shared in bathroom that Pops made adjacent to Chisaki’s old room. It was small and comfortable, with bright lights and the perpetual smell of shampoo. Pops always made them spend some time in there after they arrived from school, and he was surprised to discover that they could stay together for a long time if nobody came by to remind them that they had to eat and sleep.

Time always flew by when they shared a bath. Chisaki loved feeling clean and Kurono was always eager to play in the water. They used to rate the hygiene products by smell, tell little secrets to each other, have tickle fights that ended up with the floor getting all wet afterwards. Of all their childhood memories, the ones involving this bathroom are, perhaps, some of the nicer ones. They’re simple and sweet, involving laughter and nostalgia mixed with long lost innocence.

“I used to wash your hair all the time,” Chisaki says, and Kurono can feel how much he misses this simple fact. He wants to tell him that he do it, but that would be incredibly difficult right now and they both know why.

“When you get your new arms you can do it for me, I’d love that,” he’s being honest in this statement. Chisaki was always curious about his quirk, and he used bath time as an excuse to play with Kurono’s hair as he washed it, asking questions about it. “But for now, let me wash yours first.”

He reaches for the other man, managing to make him sit with his back turned to him before he takes the shampoo.

“Close your eyes,” Kurono says, rising his head. He waits for a moment before touching him directly with his hands. His fingers massage his scalp gently, enough to make the other relax and let out a small groan.

“It feels good, right, Kai?” he asks, and Chisaki answers with a small nod. “I learned it from you.”

Of course he learned it from him. Hearing Kurono calling his first name feels familiar, refreshing. There’s so much kindness in his voice, and his fingers touch him in a way that doesn’t make him panic; actually, it makes Chisaki crave for the other’s touch, for the sense of comfort and security.

It’s a bit strange. After all that happened, Chisaki feels at peace, at least for now. He knows it's just for a moment, but he rarely felt this way when they were still at the household, spending their days at the laboratories, too busy with the plan to care about anything else. Now that they lost it, however, the company is all that’s left.

They’re both clinging to it more than ever, so they won’t fall to anxiety and despair.

“Hari…” The name is almost a murmur in Chisaki’s quiet voice. It’s been a while since they stopped calling each other from their first names, too, and knowing that they can go back to this old habit feels almost like a small luxury.

“Is something wrong?” Kurono’s quick to ask after rinsing off the shampoo, eager to do anything to help the other.

“No,” he replies, and this time he’s glad that Kurono can’t see his face right now — there’s a light blush in his round cheeks and at the tip of his nose, something he knows Kurono would use to tease him. “I just wanted to say your name.”

Chisaki can hear Kurono snorting behind him, and soon the snort evolves to a laugh. He sinks in the water, letting it cover half of his face. Kurono’s laugh echoes in the small space they’re sharing, and Chisaki can feel his chest getting just a tad warmer as he hears it — his friend’s laugh is loud and surprisingly cheerful. There’s traces of the playful, extroverted child that Chisaki used to hang out with, the one that accepted him despite his flaws and that showed no fear when he used his quirk.

He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s been missing that laugh for longer than he thought.

“That’s awfully cute coming from you, Kai,” Kurono’s remark makes Kai rise, turning a bit to stare at his friend’s face before replying.

“I’m not cute, Hari,” his tone is a tad dramatic, but it still makes Kurono smile. He knows that Chisaki has an undeniable soft spot for him, and maybe Kurono’s far too used to his best friend privilege. Perhaps that’s what made teasing him so fun — the fact that Chisaki never got truly hurt over it, and that he was comfortable enough to show him his most vulnerable sides.

“Sure, sure,” he giggles. It’s impossible for him to agree with Chisaki when it comes to his subject — he’s got a baby face, with soft cheeks and a small nose that makes his look a few years younger than his real age. Kurono’s pretty sure that’s one of the reasons he chose to wear masks most of the time, to make him a little more menacing. “Alright, your body’s next. Turn around.”

Chisaki does as he’s told, with a little help from Kurono — their legs almost tangle underwater and they both shrug it off, blaming the lack of space more than their lack of planning.

“Tell me if something hurts or feels off,” Kurono warns, and Chisaki nods silently afterwards in understanding. That’s his signal that he’s ready for the other to touch his body.

He scrubs Chisaki silently, doing his best to ignore the occasional twitches in his right hand. There are some fresh scars along his chest, legs and back, all from that fatidic day. They healed quickly, and one day they’ll fade away to the point that neither of them will truly care about them.

Kurono’s ministrations are slow, following a pattern in movements and going from one place to another in a certain order, so that Chisaki will know when and where he’s going to clean next. Sometimes their gazes meet, and Kurono offers him a smile, much like a caring sibling, and Chisaki relaxes in the water, letting him do his work.

He’s extra careful with the arms — they were mostly healed, but still sensitive and Kurono couldn’t dare risking an infection. Chisaki looks at his hands with a mixture of longing and curiosity, silently wishing for his body to return to its previous state. Kurono loses himself in the abyss of Chisaki’s golden eyes, but when the other returns the gaze he still smiles — he knows Chisaki doesn’t want his pity.

Kurono wants to say something, but doesn’t know which words to use so he moves along, making Chisaki watch him as he washes the rest of his body. Kurono’s fingers are long, and his hands are slightly calloused — proof of his hard work. They’re gracious, soothing, serene. His touch calms and grounds him, makes him think that everything’s okay even when the whole world is against them.

When he’s done with cleaning his friend, Kurono washes himself. Chisaki watches in silence, noticing how he combs his arrows with his fingers and hums softly as he scrubs his own body. When he touches his hips, Chisaki wishes he could tickle jump at him and start tickling him — he knows he’s ticklish there. Kurono notices it, and makes one of his arrows touch the back of Chisaki’s neck, making him squirm and laugh for a few seconds. It’s something small, but enough to distract him from the bad thoughts; besides, Kurono could listen to him laughing forever, and he’d never get bored of his smile.

He hopes that, in the future, Chisaki will start smiling on a daily basis.

“Hari…” Chisaki calls him again, this time after he’s finished with washing himself. He was getting ready to finish the bath, but he can’t bring himself to get up before listening to the other.

“Yes?” he asks, and Chisaki stares at the water. A few seconds pass, and Kurono’s still waiting for him, blessed with far too much patience to deal with his demands.

“Can we stay a little longer?” he finally says, shuffling in place. It’s a simple wish, but he feels like a child. In truth, he just wants this moment to last forever.  “While the water’s warm.”

Kurono nods, his posture softening as he pulls Chisaki closer so they could hug. They sink a little in the water, and Kurono’s fingers are tracing circles in Chisaki’s back. Chisaki lets his head rest in Kurono’s shoulder, being able to hear his breathing and then the soft hum of a song that he doesn’t recognize, but is still able to appreciate.

They relax, sharing a natural, comfortable silence as they enjoy the company of each other. It reminds them of simpler times, of memories from long ago with two boys, a slightly bigger bathroom and innocent laughter. They can’t turn back time, but while they’re together, embraced in warm water, time doesn’t matter, the world doesn’t matter — they can leave their worries waiting at the door.

In Kurono’s arms, Chisaki finds safety.

In his arms, Kurono finds the boy from his memories.