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Chapter Text

The first thing Eijirou seeks out when he finds himself thoroughly drained of energy, drained of life is the presence of his boyfriends. He wanders around the dorm building, eyes hopeful and tired and searching for two blond heads—one that of vibrant gold and another of sandy pale. 

Some days he finds them in the common room, mostly Denki interacting with the class while Katsuki dozes off with an arm around Denki’s waist; sometimes, they’re in the kitchen, Denki snacking on whatever he could find and occasionally offering Katsuki a bite, which he accepts without so much as a word of complaint. Today, they’re in neither and Eijirou visibly deflates as the yearning in his chest grows to the point of almost aching. 

With disappointment weighing down on his bones, Eijirou drags his feet towards the elevator and sets his destination to the third floor. Eijirou closes his eyes and leans his head backwards, the impact sounding with a soft thud as the elevator doors whirr closed. He heaves out a sigh and lets the weight of his exhaustion hang in the air. 

As seconds tick by and all there is to disturb the silence is the dulled noise of the mechanisms pulling the elevator upwards, Eijirou finds himself a victim of the suffocating embrace of the thick silence permeating the air. The world spins behind his closed lids and all Eijirou could do to keep himself upright is to lean his weight against the wall, holding onto the slightest of sounds to disturb the stillness of the room. Eijirou’s hands curl into fists and the sting of his unkempt fingernails digging harshly into his palms keep him grounded somehow, keep the world from spinning too fast; so Eijirou tightens his fists even further, trying to find comfort in its pain. His nails dig deeper, harsher and Eijirou wonders if the skin on his palm is going to break from the pressure, wonders if he’s going to regret it, wonders if he’s going to care—until the elevator dings open, breaking the trance and Eijirou finally remembers how to breathe again. Eijirou’s eyes flutter open before he shakes his head, lets out another sigh and pushes himself off the elevator wall and out into the hallway. 

Eijirou forgoes the knocking; he goes straight for the knob and opens the door to Denki’s room. It’s dark and messy, and worst of all, empty and the sound that leaves Eijirou’s lips is half-part groan and half-part whimper. Heaving another sigh—Eijirou briefly wonders how many sighs it has been since the start of the day—he closes the door behind him gently in spite of the annoyance and impatience bubbling in his chest and walks down the hallway and into the elevator once more. 

There’s only one other place they could be, and Eijirou is glad because he doubts he could last through another wave of disappointment. The second ride in the elevator doesn’t take nearly as long as the first one, and Eijirou is glad he’s out as soon as he’s inside. The elevator doors part to reveal the hallway of the fourth floor and Eijirou’s knees almost buckle in relief as he finds rays of light streaming from underneath the door to Katsuki’s room. 

Eijirou feels a tug of a smile pulling on his lips at the prospect of finally being in his boyfriends’ presence and he crosses the distance between the elevator to Katsuki’s room with languid yet long strides. 

When he opens the door, he finds his boyfriends lounging in opposite ends of the room in relative silence—and it’s a silence that Eijirou can accept; a silence that Eijirou can find comfort in. Katsuki is seated in front of his desk, earphones in and hands and mind busy with what Eijirou assumes to be homework; while Denki lays sprawled comfortably on the bed, phone held up above his head as his fingers tap in a quick rhythm across the lit screen. 

Denki pauses his typing, upper body lifting from the cushion to peer at the opened door. Eyes falling onto Eijirou’s face, Denki’s lips break into a smile as he pushes himself into a sitting position, back leaning against the wall, and pats the space beside him to beckon Eijirou closer. 

Eijirou takes in a deep breath, relishing in the fact it’s the same air that his boyfriends breathe, and lets it out into a soft sigh, and with it, the tension in his muscles eases out of his system. The door clicks shut behind Eijirou before dragging his feet across the floor to noisily flop onto Katsuki’s bed. 

There’s a soft puff of breath and a chortle before two warm hands come to grip at his shirt, tugging him into Denki’s general direction. With a groan, Eijirou turns to lie on his back, wriggling upwards until his head is comfortably cushioned on Denki’s thighs. A hand falls on Eijirou’s head, fingers weaving through red locks and nails gently scraping against his scalp. The gesture is soft, comforting and it pulls out a content sigh from Eijirou’s lips. 

Silence envelops the two of them for several moments but the room is far from still, far from suffocating. And yet, it is still silence all the same.

Denki speaks eventually, breaking the prolonged quietness before the beginnings of discomfort could even spark, and Eijirou hums in response, the blonde’s words only barely registering in his brain. Denki continues talking, completely unperturbed by the lack of a real response, and Eijirou feels an upward tug on his lips, contentment blooming in his chest in the way his boyfriend’s voice fills his mind like a sweet serenade. 

Above Denki’s animated chatter, Eijirou hears a tired sigh, followed by the sound of wood scraping against the floor. Soft footfalls approach the bed until the mattress dips and two warm hands wrap around his ankles, lifting his legs up to pass through to the other edge of the bed and to rest it once more atop warm, toned thighs. 

A hand stays on his ankle, thumb rubbing circles in a soothing massage, spreading warmth from where their skins make contact. Eijirou lets out another hum, head craning into Denki’s touch as he revels in the warmth that surrounds him, in the soothing gestures that indulge him, in the words thickly coated with enthusiasm that occupies the room. 

Eijirou opens his eyes in the slightest, stealing a glance at his boyfriends; at the soft smile playing on Denki’s lips as words keep tumbling out of his mouth; at Katsuki’s closed eyes, cheek smushed  against Denki’s shoulder as he lets out little grunts of acknowledgement to Denki’s babbling. Warmth spreads in his chest, eyes fluttering back to a close as Denki’s words begin to sound less like a story and more like a lullaby. 

When Eijirou opens his eyes again, the sun has already set and the room is bathed in the cool light of the moon streaming through the window. Eijirou barely registers the presence of two bodies pressed against his, the tangle of limbs falling atop his lower half, the arms that hold him tight around the waist, the warmth that fills his body and the upwards tug on the corners of his lips before he allows his mind to fall under the mercy of sleep once more.

Chapter Text

It’s easy to tell when Denki’s feeling a little run-down. It’s in the way his actions become sluggish, slow, lacking the bounce it usually comes along with; it’s in the way his voice is a little quieter, softer and his words a little gentler; and it’s in the way his smile looks awkward, forced and it’s a lot less bright and a lot less blinding than what everyone’s used to. 

It’s easy to tell, because Denki’s happiness is contagious, comforting—that everything else seems dull without it.

And Denki knows this—knows that people can tell, that people can feel his sadness radiating off of him. And Denki knows that nobody likes seeing him this way, can practically feel the atmosphere shift along with his emotions, mood continuously dampening with each failed attempt to match everybody else’s energy.

So Denki opts to flee, to run from the room—away from the liveliness, away from social interaction, and away from the obligations and expectations to make people laugh, smile, happy. He opts to hide within the confines of a quiet room and tries to find comfort in the privacy it allows him.

But it’s not his room that he goes to—it almost never is. He always finds himself gravitating to a floor where his room isn’t on, to a door that looks like his but isn’t, to a completely different room—Eijirou’s room. Denki climbs onto the bed and clutches a pillow to his chest, surrounding himself in things that aren’t his but smells like home, smells like comfort.

Denki likes Eijirou’s room. Eijirou’s room feels comfortable, feels safe—feels like Eijirou himself.

Denki knows Eijirou isn’t in his room, knows that he passed by him in the common room, lounging, smiling, happy; but Denki doesn’t really mind too much. Eijirou’s room can be enough. Being in here can be enough.

Denki lets out a sigh, his tight smile dissipating into a small frown, bottom lip jutting out into a slight pout. Hugging the pillow tighter, closer, Denki burrows his face into the soft plush as he lets his emotions wash over him; and it feels like a large wave, harsh and overwhelming as it crashes back down into the sea, leaving ripples in its wake until the calmer waters reach the edge of the shore in a game of push-and-pull. 

Denki wishes he were in the shore, wishes the waves were small and could do no harm, could do nothing but lick at his ankles—but he isn’t. He’s stuck in the deep waters, away from the shore, away from the people, away from help and he’s kicking and kicking, desperate but unable to feel the comfort of solid land beneath his feet.

He’s stuck, and all he could do is try to keep his body afloat, try to keep his head above the raging waters, try to take in oxygen through sharp gasps for air, hoping water wouldn’t slip past his lips. All he could do is try.

But trying is not enough—it never is, it never will be—and his legs eventually give from overexertion and he has only barely enough rationality left to hold his breath before he sinks, and sinks, and sinks down under. 

Denki supposes it’s kind of peaceful down here, stuck inside the deep blue, drifting under its mercy. There are no harsh waves to push him down, no people to hopelessly and uselessly gaze at, no shore to wish and hope for.

There’s just water.

Until it becomes too much. Until the pressure builds and builds and it hurts, his chest hurts, his body hurts—it hurts . Until his lungs burn and he struggles and struggles to keep his mouth closed, to keep water from spreading into his body, to keep himself from suffocating. Until he finally becomes aware of the water around his body, surrounding him, caging him; until he realizes he can’t get out, he can’t escape, there is no escape .

There is only water.

Too much water.

Until his balance shifts, just slightly but enough to be felt—once to the right, another to the left. Until he feels something on his cheek, its touch soft, gentle, careful on his skin. Until he feels it brush stray strands away from his face. 

Until he feels a press of soft lips—warm lips—on his right temple.

Until Denki remembers to breathe, remembers to pull his head away from the pillow, just enough to allow him to inhale and exhale again—inhale and exhale, inhale and exhale.

Air. Oxygen. 

No water. No sea. No waves.

Air.

Denki still feels like he’s drowning.

But now there’s a hand on the small of his back, running soothing circles over and over, feeling like an anchor that keeps him connected to the shore, keeps him from drifting too far. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth the thumb goes, warmth seeping through the fabric of his shirt. Anchor.

There’s another press of lips—this time on his left shoulder; and there’s another pair of arms snaking around his waist, holding him firmly but gently at the same time. He feels a body press against his side, and the warm embrace around his torso replaces the chill of the water, feels like a jacket—protecting him from all that is cold, all that is harsh. A safety vest , keeping him afloat, keeping him safe. 

Another kiss falls on his left cheek, and Denki finally blinks his eyes open, blinks the tears away, blinks the water away. He finds a patch of wetness staining the pillow in his arms, finds a puddle of tears—a puddle, not a sea. 

There is no sea. There is just Eijirou’s bed, just Eijirou’s room—and when Denki shifts his gaze to the right, there is also Eijirou, himself. Denki couldn’t help the sigh that leaves his mouth at the press of lips on his forehead.

And there comes another, on his jaw and on his cheek and on the corner of his lips, until Denki turns to his left and Katsuki is there too—eyes soft, expression gentle until Katsuki bows his head to press another kiss on his shoulder. 

Eijirou shifts on the other side, the hand on Denki’s back sliding further until he feels himself wrapped in an embrace of two pairs of strong arms and pressed in between two strong bodies. Safe.

A kiss—on his cheek, on his temple, on the tip of his nose. Another—on his shoulder, on his jaw, on the corner of his lips. Many kisses—warm kisses, soft kisses, comforting kisses.

Denki basks in the attention, basks in the warmth that spreads in his chest. It feels like air, feels like breathing, feels like rising above the waves where water can’t reach his lungs. It feels like air, feels like being feather-light, feels like flying higher and higher, where the water can’t reach him and there is only air.

It feels like air, feels like reassurance that he wouldn’t drown anymore, feels like being saved.

Denki likes the air, likes breathing. And Denki is grateful for the two people that make it easier.

Chapter Text

There are days when Katsuki feels extra agitated—when his forehead creases so deeply with the force in which his eyebrows furrow into the middle; when his hands ball into tight fists, feeling blunt fingernails digging into the skin of his palms until he lets go, and repeats the process in an unending loop; when his chest constricts with too much, too strong emotions and his mind swims with thoughts that run too fast, run too wild that he can’t keep up; when all he can do is stare without seeing and try with all that he can to will all thoughts away.

But it never works.

He doesn’t know how to contain them, how to make them go away and his eyebrows furrow deeper, tighter, lips curling in distaste and frustration. His thoughts are loud, pounding, screaming in his head and it echoes endlessly, uselessly into an incoherent jumble of words that he can’t make sense of—noise, it’s all just noise but it’s all he can hear. Katsuki sucks in a breath and uncurls his fists into open palms when he feels more than hears the little sparks crackling on the surface of his skin.

His body is tense, tight, straining with the effort to keep things under control—to keep his quirk, his annoyance, himself under control—but another spark goes off on his palm, and Katsuki only barely manages to tilt his head and redirect his glare towards his open hands. His lip twitches in barely concealed frustration and his nose wrinkles at the faint trace of smoke wafting in the air. Control, he yells in his mind but the word only gets lost amongst the jumble of words flowing in his head. 

Above it all, his mind registers a creak—a noise that he knows isn’t only in his head, a noise that quietens the yelling, even if only by a little. A flash of red and gold stumble around in his peripheral but his head doesn’t crane to take a look, his body doesn’t move an inch—still tense, still stuck. The movements are quiet, careful and when the bed shifts to the right, it’s slow and hesitant, not daring to break the stillness of the room, not daring to make too much noise to add to the turmoil raging in Katsuki’s head. 

Tan legs enter his line of vision, knees falling silently onto the ground, body wriggling and shifting until seated comfortably on the floor. A pair of arms that Katsuki can’t see sneak around his torso, touch gentle and ghosting mere centimeters away from actual contact until fingers clasp around each other, connected hands settling just above Katsuki’s left hip. The embrace tightens in the slightest manner, still soft, still tender but enough to be felt, enough to be firm and Katsuki lets out a bated breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

The other pair of hands move, carefully reaching out to hold Katsuki’s in its warm touch, tan fingers gingerly coaxing each tense and locked finger into spreading completely outwards. Katsuki’s wrists turn along with the other’s gentle touch, and Katsuki couldn’t do anything but watch and suck in a breath when fingers intertwine with his own, clinging firmly around the back of his palm. Katsuki’s heart stutters in its beat, a shiver running through his body at the dread, the fear of scorching warm, calloused skin with his barely-controlled explosions.

The hands wrapped around his own give him a gentle squeeze, a gesture meant to reassure, to coax him into a state of laxity—but it only earns a crackle of an explosion going off on Katsuki’s right palm anyway. Katsuki’s head blares with alarm, breath catching in his throat as time seemingly comes to a standstill. He only manages a shaky exhale once his mind registers the rough, hardened skin pressed against his palm, the loud pulsing in his ear continuing its fast-paced rhythm. 

It’s a little uncomfortable, Katsuki thinks, especially with the way the blunt jagged skin digs on the insides of his fingers, but Katsuki is grateful for the contact, for the warmth. It’s grounding, somewhat, keeps him anchored onto the ground, into the present—keeps him from getting sucked in too deep into his whirlwind of thoughts.

The hand on his hip shifts, thumb sneaking underneath the hem of his shirt to trace small, comforting circles directly onto his skin. A head falls on his right shoulder, a mop of golden hair entering his line of sight. It’s ticklish against his face, short strands of hair scratching uncomfortably against his cheek. Katsuki considers brushing the hair away, considers tucking it neatly underneath his cheek but Katsuki realizes he doesn’t want to let go of the warmth enveloping his hands. Instead, Katsuki allows himself melt into the touch, tension gradually oozing out of his system as he leans his head to rest above soft hair.

Katsuki lets his eyes flutter to a close, and with a sharp intake of breath, he realizes his mistake. The noise in his head reawakens with new-found vigor, the quietened voices finding comfort, finding courage in the darkness that swims in Katsuki’s vision. It’s louder, much louder than it was before, and Katsuki realizes he needs to open his eyes, wants to open his eyes but he can’t move, can’t speak, can’t breathe.

Until a soft hum cuts through the noise and clears away the haze, making room for Katsuki to think and he finally releases a breath, a shaky sigh. 

Katsuki takes in a deep inhale through the nose and finds his senses flooded by the scent of familiar shampoo. Katsuki buries his head deeper into the head of hair beneath his cheek. The melody continues, the soft sound carrying inside the otherwise quiet room, loud above the clutter inside Katsuki’s head. Katsuki thinks he recognizes the tune, thinks he’s heard it somewhere before and Katsuki tries to remember, tries to pin a title onto the melody. And when his eyebrows scrunch into the middle in concentration, he feels a firm squeeze around his hands calling for his attention.

Katsuki feels it then, feels everything again, feels back on earth again. He feels the warmth around his hands, feels the weight on his shoulder, feels the arms around his torso, and with the feeling of the soft plush of a cheek coming to a rest on top of his knee, he feels the untightening of the knots in his chest. 

It takes him a while, takes him a few long minutes until the tension fully dissipates from Katsuki’s body, until his head doesn’t feel like seconds away from imploding, until the light sheen of sweat trapped in between palms no longer flicker and ignite into tiny explosions. And when it finally did, a small, grateful upwards quirk finds its way onto Katsuki’s lips as he turns his head to press a kiss on Denki’s hair and untangles a hand from Eijirou’s to weave it through red locks in gentle strokes.