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Yagi Toshinori is a man fashioned by warmth and an unimaginable heart.
He is a gentle spring day under a cloudless sky. Constructed with sweet flowers and sunshine soaked jeans. Made of bright smiles and lush, grassy hills. His eyes so dazzlingly blue that, if someone were to stare into them for long enough, they would find themselves floating. Caught on his current, and lost of the warm wind of his words.
Toshinori is a busy man, whether he cares to be or not. Like the bees that bumble through fields of colour, or the ocean desperate to share its love with the sand; persistence is the thread that ties him together. Determined to pour so much of himself into the healing of others that he can’t stop. Chipping away his own pieces in favour of gluing them to another. Desperate, until his feet bleed and knees buckle. A sadness he’s rather unwilling to share hidden away behind a smile. Shoulders so heavy with the weight of the world that his head bends, until he can no longer see the sea of sunflowers he’s given away.
He is also, unsurprisingly, a hopeless romantic.
Aizawa Shouta is discernibly not.
He is late nights and early mornings. The strain that sees greys and pinks wash across the sky as the sun starts to climb on another sleepless stretch. A void of darkness tinted only with the realisation that there is more to do; the days tumble into one another in a crash of cold, English sea spray. He is coffee rings and the hum of artificial light. Trapped between stubbornness of waking and the begging of his body for sleep. For the love of anything that may be listening, some days he wishes he could just stop. But he doesn’t have the time.
He is man unfazed by the pain reality often brings, gripping honesty and perseverance in each hand. Staring down the darkness and offering it a scowl in return. Shouta never fears the future, and never envies the past. He instead finds solace in rain storms. In the crack of light and roll of thunder while the rain pelts the windows in sheets and the world drains dark. Breathing in the cold until his lungs ache and body stills over another cup of cooling caffeine.
Shouta is far from a romantic.
He is practical and no-nonsense, but Toshinori doesn’t care. He finds beauty in the storms the other man embodies. Recognising the soft smiles that many confuse for scowls, and cherishing the gentle tones that come with teasing. To him, Shouta is tightly bound comforts and cats. A gloomy day where the windows fog and the fire roars, bodies curling further into the comfort of blankets. Messy hair and scratchy morning kisses. A hand on his shoulder that lightens the load Toshinori has placed upon his own back, and gentle fingers that brush away the anxieties with every pass through his hair on sleepless, tear filled nights.
Toshinori values the harshness Shouta provides without complaint, and appreciates the sharp angles of his words. Thankful for the truths he ties around his ankle to anchor him back to earth. Grateful beyond anything that, even as he kicks and screams about unfairness, about his obligations and ineptitudes and the evils of the world, Shouta still stands beside him to face the darkness not even the sun can scatter. Gestures from the man made of rolling rainclouds and timid dawns, no matter how small, mean the world to him. Just like Shouta.
The affections he gets in return from Toshinori are plentiful and well thought out. Poured over and attentive, and as subtle as the man they always manage to woo. Doodles across sticky notes and love letters on the kettle. An empty sink or a full fridge. Countless times Shouta has contemplated the bright man’s existence over the rim of a cup he’s been left, his husband’s warmth tainting the cold mornings through even in his absence. Toshinori can be grievously optimistic and is known to teeter dangerously on the edge of naive. Not that it entirely matters, as Shouta has long since accepted there is nothing that would make him love Toshinori any less. Not the countless smiles he stops in the street to share with swelling crowds, nor the self doubt that infests the man with tears.
Shouta may be his partner’s anchor, but Toshinori helps him stand. Makes every day a little brighter, a little warmer. A little easier to face. His smile and soft words burn away the shadows Shouta had once accepted as immovable, and gifted him an appreciation of the world he had resigned himself to have lost. Toshinori, even in the darkest of times, shines. Filling Shouta’s final moments before sleep with images of warm golden fields and flowers.
For Toshinori, the darkness is comfortable. There had been a time when the dim lights of his own apartment would have frightened him. Set his body on edge with the shock of discomfort spanning his skin and burrowing between his shoulders, fingers frantic across the walls until he could bathe the room in light. But, in the hum of the TV screen, the sight of Shouta curled across the couch settles him. His husband’s presence is a welcome reassurance. And he smiles; a soft, vulnerable quirk that sheds his own light throughout the apartment. Comfortable as the weariness of the day sheds from his shoulders to join the shoes he kicks off by the door.
Shouta stirs in his sleep, shrugging further into the thick blanket he’s being swallowed by. His knees come loosely to his chest, the flash of pink from his sweatpants the only colour breaking through the room’s static tones. His shoulders sink, eyes remaining determinedly closed - though the crease between his brows gives him away. Perched on him is a bundle of soft grey fur, the distinct sound of raspy purs content as the cat slumbers.
Peaceful isn’t often a word Toshinori uses to describe his partner, but as he lies beneath the mounds of warmth, surrounded with scatters of school reports and grading papers and a healthy collection of stone cold coffee cups, he finds yet another reason to fall in love.
“What’re you smiling at?”
Toshinori feels his cheeks warm in the dark, the joy that had been teasing his lips at the small window of vulnerability stretching even wider. “You, of course.”
Shouta grunts in response, his efforts to will himself back to sleep not going unnoticed. “Would you stop it? It’s weird.”
“Am I not allowed to enjoy you, my love? It’s always so nice to see you looking comfortable after such a long day.” Toshinori does his best to maneuver through the maze of paperwork and supplies littering the apartment floor, reaching the couch and crouching down. The cat’s face raises to meet his, and a long finger scratches affectionately through fur. He sighs warmly. “You know how I get, and yet you still agreed to marry me.” He laughs, more so to himself. “You must love me.”
“Sure.” Shouta peels his eyes open, bloodshot and dark as he tucks his chin into the blankets. “But that was before.”
Toshinori’s eyebrows quirk, hands momentarily ceasing their petting before a small head butts his palm and urges him to continue. “Before?”
“Before you came home late.”
It isn’t a bitter remark. It’s a statement. A truth. A light and simple fact that slips from Shouta’s lips, only to land heavily by his husband’s feet. The reaction is instant, guilt welling inside Toshinori as he guides himself to his knees completely. He wastes no time in running his fingers through Shouta’s dark mess of hair, combing the length in a way that settles his own nerves rather than any of the ill will Shouta certainly isn’t harbouring. Still, Toshinori wraps an arm around the bundle of a man, temple coming to rest on what he assumes to be a shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, hand coming to find Shouta’s beneath the blanket. He’s relieved by the firm and comforting squeeze he receives. “My love, the day, it - it got away from me again.”
“Hm.”
Shouta considers the honey blonde with a turn of his head, his face emerging from the blankets while the cat lets out a disgruntled call, leaping away from the bodies imposing themselves across the temporary bed. Letting go of Toshinori’s hand, Shouta shuffles. Warmth pools around his waist as he sits, propped up against the arm of the couch as he watches the man in front of him. Nerves flick across Toshinori’s features, expression similar to that of a child attempting to worm their way out of bed time.
In the dim light he can’t hide his exhaustion from the scrutinisation of his husband. The bags under Toshinori’s eyes are enough to rival Shouta’s own. Deep and bruising. Hollowing out his thinning face with skin that appears fragile enough to tear. Even the smile he wears, bright and blinding in the darkness, struggles to live up to the sun it usually embodies.
Concern pangs in Shouta’s chest. He was getting tired of nights like these. The darkness seeing his husband worn out and wrung dry. Reaching out, his fingers find the warmth of Toshinori’s forehead before moving through the dishevelled blonde, palm coming to rest against his cheek. The man leans into the touch, letting out a slightly rattled, anxious chuckle. As though he doesn’t want to admit just how much he needs the affection; or the reassurance and love of his husband.
“You’ve been asking to much of yourself again.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Toshinori tentatively rejects, hands coming up to brush away the accusation as though it were wrong.
“Hm.” Shouta’s eyes narrow. “And how would you put it?”
“It was a busy day, is all.” Toshinori snatches Shouta’s hand in his, turning to press a soft kiss to his scarred knuckles. “There were just some things that I needed to do.”
“That you wanted to do.”
The correction is gentle, but the defeat in Toshinori’s eyes is evident. He deflates, almost curling in on himself, and Shouta lets out a sigh. He pulls the man closer, guiding him onto the couch until Toshinori settles between his legs. Careful hands brush away the sheepishness twitching through his husband’s nerves, every pass of his fingers through the mess of blonde seeing the tension spanning his skin dissipate. Slow at first, until he eventually gives in.
Shouta rests his temple against his husband’s shoulder, hugging him close with his knees. “You need to start looking after yourself, Toshi.”
He flinches. “I know.”
“I can’t keep doing it for you.”
Another sigh. This time Toshinori turns, nuzzling into Shouta and snaking an arm around his waist. “I know, and I’m grateful for all of your efforts, my love.”
Shouta smiles against his husband’s skin. “Good, because you’re a pain.”
“Well,” Toshinori laughs, fingers meandering absently against Shouta’s back, “that’s a little harsh.”
“And yet you don’t deny it.”
“How can I?”
A gentle smile curls across Shouta’s lips, so soft and gentle that Toshinori’s heart stutters at the sight. “I’m going to have to have words with All Might, you know,” he muses, “he’s not much of a hero for delivering you, this exhausted, back home once he’s done.”
“You’re just as bad yourself,” Toshinori point out, pulling away to look at the smaller man comforting him. “What were you doing sleeping on the couch?”
“It was closer,” Shouta grunts.
“Mhm.”
“I wanted to get a head start.” Shouta redirects his gaze, shrugging in the direction of the grading papers scattered across the space like snow. “I’m a responsible adult, after all.”
Toshinori takes in the assignments as best he can in the low light, smiling. “Those aren’t due to be returned to the students for another week and a half.”
Shouta doesn’t respond.
“You’re nearly finished. If I rightly recall, the other day you were complaining that the task was neither challenging nor rewarding for the students and yourself.”
Still silence.
“And you were out patrolling tonight...” Concern taints Toshinori’s tone before he can help it. “Did something happen? Is that why you’re home sooner than expected?”
“No,” is the response. Followed quickly by, “I finished early and had nothing better to do.”
“Shouta…” Toshinori is positively beaming now. The warmth and amusement radiating from him enough to leave Shouta squinting. “Were you waiting up for me?”
“No,” Shouta rejects quickly, retracting his limbs from around his husband and leading his feet back to the floor. “That would have been counterproductive, considering you were supposed to be home three hours ago, and thirty minutes after I returned.” He stands, slow and exhausted, and starts gathering up the half empty coffee cups. “I certainly hope you’ve eaten. The take out I ordered is most likely cold now.”
Toshinori doesn’t let the remarks dampen his spirits, instead letting out a hearty laugh. “So you were waiting up for me! Oh, Shouta, be careful.” He stands, stopping his husband in his tracks and enveloping him in his arms. The smaller man wriggles for a moment, but his reluctance is little more than a half hearted act. Toshinori smiles into his dark hair, pressing a kiss to his crown. “I might start thinking you care.”
“Ew.”
“Exactly,” Toshinori chuckles, “and we can’t have that. It's unsettling.”
“Well,” mumbles Shouta into the chest he’s pressed against, confident that even if his smile can’t be seen, it can most certainly be felt. “It’s a good thing I don’t care, then.”
“Would you change your mind if I apologised?” Toshinori hums, pulling back slightly to tease the disgruntled expression greeting his grin. “For being home late, that is. And missing dinner. Even though you most definitely weren’t waiting up for me to return.”
Shouta tilts his head, considering. The smile that shines upon him now is softer, more genuine than the stress induced quirk of the lips he’d previously been gifted. Sliding his hands upward, his palms come to rest against Toshinori’s shoulders as he presses himself closer. “Not in the slightest,” he teases dryly, “but it would make me more inclined to allow you into the bed tonight.”
A twitched eyebrow responds to his comment. “In that case,” Toshinori murmurs, leaning in so that Shouta has to almost tilt his head back completely. His grip drifts downward, fingers curling across his husband’s waist. Lips brush against his, leaving the words he whispers sweet and soft. “I am truly very sorry, my love.”
Before Shouta can completely succumb to the blush warming his cheeks and leaving his mind hazy, he’s being lifted upward. Pulled from his feet and folded over Toshinori’s shoulder before he has time to complain. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t try to, however. His dissatisfaction muffles against Toshinori’s back as the taller man laughs, supporting Shouta’s weight with ease. One hand on his husband’s hip, and the other bracing against his thighs.
“Come on, my love,” Toshinori chuckles, “You’re coming to bed with me.”
“I take it back,” he says, Shouta’s half hearted struggles fall flat as he admits defeat. “You can have the bed. I’d rather sleep on the couch.”
“Too bad,” Toshinori shrugs, the movement jostling his husband as he carries him, “you’d only make the room look untidy. Besides,” the blond huffs, gently releasing Shouta into the blankets adorning the bed. It takes him a moment to find his voice; watching the long, dark locks bounce around the pale face tinted pink and getting lost in the rich, shining eyes. “It’s about time I started looking after myself, which means looking after you.”