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Sometimes he couldn’t sleep because his scar was flaring up.
You lied in the dark, cuddled into his lanky frame, his long arm curled around your waist - and listened to his increasingly laboured breathing.
“Toshi”, you whispered. “You’re not sleeping, are you.” That was not a question.
“No.”
“Are you in pain?”
All you got in response was a prolonged sigh, which ended in a smallest, rueful chuckle. You held your breath and waited patiently.
“…Yes.”
You propped yourself on one elbow and looked into the bright blue eyes of this man you loved. Their light was dimmed now, his sharp features taut and pale.
He pressed those narrow lips into a hard line, determined not to let any more tell-tale noise out. He was clearly hurting.
You groaned internally. At this point in your relationship, you were past asking: “Well then, why didn’t you tell me?” You knew why he didn’t.
Toshinori Yagi was all about the needs of others. His own routinely slipped off the radar.
That, and during his thirty years of hero work he got so fixated on being the saviour, he couldn’t wrap his mind about the idea of being saved. Or helped for that matter.
His extreme selflessness and issues with crumbling self-image clenched into a vicious knot. As deadly as the one in his abused innards.
You pushed those thoughts aside. There was a more pressing issue at hand.
“Should I bring you your painkiller?” you asked.
Toshi’s eyelids fluttered slowly, his stare avoiding yours. But then he got himself together and gave you a faint smile. It was so strained it made your heart twitch.
“Yes, please…”
You sprang out of the bed, jumped to the med cabinet, fished out the right one among many little bottles. You grabbed a glass of tap water and were back in record time.
Toshi sat up in the meantime, leaning against the headboard.
It pained you to see how crestfallen he is, his otherwise bold stare fixed apathetically on his own hands.
They were not exactly beautiful. Always seemed too big and rough for his emaciated frame. Those were the hands of All Might, all right.
Seen from up close, they were speckled with countless scars, bigger and smaller. Each one a memento of some battle.
You loved them.
“There,” you breathed, handing him a single white pill and the glass. “You’ll feel better soon.”
Toshi swallowed the tablet and flushed it down with a small amount of water (he couldn’t drink a whole glass in one go, thanks to his busted insides).
You put the glass away while he pressed the back of his head into the wall behind him, squeezed his eyelids shut and gave out a long, beleaguered sigh.
“I’m so sorry that you have to go through this…” That was but a whisper.
You scampered onto the bed, pulled close, held his tightened face in your palms.
“Not another word.” Toshi’s lips quivered in surprise; you put a finger to them. “No more of this bullshit, Toshi. I love you.”
He gulped and remained silent.
You looked him deep in the eyes - those incredible eyes, always surrounded by deep shadows, yet piercing.
You traced the hard lines of his chin, stroke his temples, going upwards until your fingers entwined in his hair.
Toshi sighed again, but softer.
“You like this?” You couldn’t help but grin at him. “Should I continue?”
“Ahh, yes…please do.” He bowed his head, allowing you more access. So you really went to town.
You submerged both hands in that mop of unruly flaxen hair. You massaged his scalp and savoured the low, contented grunts that the man reacted with.
You ran your fingers through the golden strands, caressed his head thoroughly…until his breathing became slow and his whole frame relaxed.
Toshi fell asleep under your hands.