Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Soul Marks are quite possibly the most nebulous, confusing, and potentially pointless things to exist in this day and age.

Okay, maybe not pointless, but they're often just so vague that they may as well be. The odds of finding your soulmate can be so low that it doesn't matter. People end up with other people's soulmates all the time.

And if you were like Aizawa Shouta and Hizashi Yamada, cursed with two Soul Marks, well… it was just garbage.

Shouta didn't need or want a second soulmate.

He had Yamada, and they'd been quite happily married for the last five years.

Yes, they've discussed what could possibly happen if their mysterious third was ever found, but Shouta just didn't think it mattered. He was happy, and so was Yamada. They had two cats and a nice apartment, they balanced hero work with teaching, and everything was fine.

Aizawa Shouta was fine.

He did not need another person in his relationship, no matter what the little geometric rabbit on his bicep seemed to think.

◇

Izuku was absolutely enthralled when his Soul Mark first showed up. It was a little cat, all geometric lines and vagueness and he loved it. He loved when it would start to move, stretching lazily in the morning and often bouncing about with incredible energy.

Normally, it lived on the back of his hand, but every so often it would slink its way up his arm, delighting him with its antics.

And then, when he was five, he got a second one.

Izuku had lost his mind when he'd woken up to the little cockatiel on his other hand. This one was colored in, but was styled much like the cat.

He had thrown himself on his mom's bed, shouting more nonsense than actual sentences but that was okay because he was just so happy.

He couldn't wait to meet these people. He knew, of course, that maybe he wouldn't ever meet them, but he was confident! He was going to be a hero, he was going to have two soulmates, and his world was going to be filled with so much love.

◇

Problem children, the lot of them.

Shouta groaned quietly, moving his face against the smooth wood of his desk.

This whole class was one gigantic problem, and they were going to make him lose his mind. No number of loving shoulder rubs and warm cups of coffee from Yamada was going to change that, because they couldn't change his class. Couldn't break down Todoroki's icy exterior, couldn't make Yaoyorozu realize her potential, or give Kirishima the confidence he needed to excel.

It certainly wouldn't stop the rivalry between Bakugou and Midoroya, or, well, Bakugou and literally anyone else who so much as looked in his direction.

It was their third year, and he was just so tired. Sure, they'd gone leaps and fucking bounds, but there was only so much he could do for them.

He picked his head up slowly, scooting over the stack of essays they'd recently turned in. Explain something about yourself that no one else knows, he'd told them. You need to be able to open yourself up without fear of judgement, he'd said, and now he had pages and pages of teenage word vomit to read.

◇

Izuku grimaced, fiddling with his fingerless gloves. As soon as Aizawa-sensei finished his paper, there would be three people other than himself that knew why he was never out in public without his gloves.

Absently, he ran his fingers over the spot where his first Soul Mark had lain dormant for nearly seven years. It's color hadn't faded at all, but it hadn't so much as twitched in ages. It had always concerned him, especially since the other had remained active and almost cheerful for another two years before it, too, finally settled.

His mom had taken him to an expert to find out what had happened.

The news had almost broken him. His soulmates had moved on.

They had found love, with each other or maybe with someone else, and had moved on to a point where they weren't looking for him.

Two soulmates and neither wanted him.

So he'd gotten the gloves. He wanted to hide it away, didn't want to admit to everyone that the two people destiny thought suited him perfectly didn't want anything to do with him.

He didn't want Aizawa-sensei to pity him by any means, but it was the only thing he could think of that was genuinely hard to tell others. He didn't care if anyone knew about his quirkless past, or that his dad was overseas, or that he was gay, or that he was weirdly hero obsessed. He just….

This was a special kind of painful, of personal.

And now his teacher, the man he still had to see almost every day for the remainder of the year, was going to know.

He'd be able to look at Izuku's gloved hands whenever he wanted and he'd remember that no one in the world wanted him the way he so craved.

◇

Midoriya's essay was the last he graded. Surprisingly, it was short. He was more than used to getting papers from the boy that were many more pages than were strictly necessary, so this was a bit off.

He hadn't given them a requirement for the length of the paper, but he still expected more than just the one and a half pages.

Midoriya's sentences were short and to the point. There weren't any tangents or divergences. He just put the facts out there and moved on.

He felt for the boy, he really did. While he might not feel any desire to find his other soulmate, he couldn't imagine having to find out at such a young age that a person he had never met didn't want him at all.

Part of him wanted to talk to him about this - wanted to make sure he knew that he would undoubtedly bring happiness to someone else, Soul Marks be damned - but that wasn't his place. He'd already told them all that he was only going to read them, and he wouldn't speak to any of them about their papers.

So, instead, Shouta would just watch. He knew the telltale signs of spiraling depression, of losing yourself in sadness and worry. He just had to make sure the problem child didn't start showing them.

◇

He wished he'd written about anything else.

They'd gotten their papers back, no comments or anything.

He'd gotten a perfect score, and that was great, but he hated how it felt to let someone in on his worst secret.

Now, every time he looked at Aizawa, his thoughts started racing a hundred miles an hour. Sure, Aizawa was his teacher - a good one, too! - and he was never going to go out of his way to judge him, but that didn't mean he couldn't have his own internal thoughts about what his students went through and what they had told him.

Would Aizawa think he was broken?

He looked back down at his empty notebook.

Was… was he broken?

Some kind of destiny made reject?

He'd been quirkless once upon a time. Weak, scrawny, and weird, with only one parent there to support him and two soulmates who didn't want him. That… that sounded pretty broken.

He turned his head, spotting 'Chaco next to him. She was giving him a Look, one that told him "I know you're thinking too much and I'll be damned if you don't tell me what it is." Izuku just smiled softly and brightly, like the miniature star she thought he was. There was no way in hell he was going to tell his best friend just how defective he was.

◇

This was a mistake - a disastrous car crash in the middle of the highway and he was just letting it happen.

He had his head in Chaco's lap, and Tsu was carding her fingers through his mess of hair.

He hadn't even told them what was wrong yet, but there they were, already comforting and loving him.

"My soulmates don't want me," he sniffled.

Down to the basics, just put it out there.

Chaco looked outraged, while Tsu was much more curious.

"Who wouldn't want my precious broccoli boy???"

"Soulmates? As in plural, Midori?"

This was a mistake. His throat feels tight, and he knows he's gonna cry.

"Don't know who, haven't met them yet."

And he pulls off his gloves, shows them the two still, still marks on the backs of his hands.

Chaco squeezes his shoulder softly and he's not crying, he's not.

He sees, oh so briefly, the flash of a watercolor frog on Chaco's arm. It's hopping happily, full of the life and love that her relationship with Tsu gives it. It makes his heart twist painfully. Suddenly he's crying full force, and the two of them are holding him and he can't do it. Maybe it's just shallow bitterness, but he doesn't want to be around the two of them and their perfect destiny made match.

They call out after him, but he doesn't stop.

He has to go, has to be by himself and make all of this shit stop.

He bumps into someone roughly on his way to the rooftop, but he doesn't stop.

He croaks out a harsh "Sorry" and then he's on his way again.

Izuku needs the night sky. Needs to look at the sky, counting the stars or the people or the vehicles or the birds or something before the wrenching feeling in his chest consumes him.

◇

He doesn't cry again, not about his soulmates.

He spent most of the evening on the dorm roof, crying and begging until he was hoarse, and he doesn't let it happen again.

Izuku is the happy ray of love and light that all his classmates know, and it's going to stay that way.

He's not going to let their views in him change just because he wants someone - something - that he doesn't even know.

He pays attention in class.

He goes all out in training.

He spends time with his friends.

He lives his life and doesn't let anyone know that he thinks he's going to die.

Chapter Text

Pro hero Deku is number one in the rankings. At only 22, he's the youngest to ever hold this spot, and no one would ever say he didn't deserve it.
First to volunteer for disaster relief, constantly on hand for rescue missions.
Nothing is too big or small, and he does it all while smiling.
He's a lot like his mentor that way, but Deku has more than one smile.
There's the soft, gentle one he has during rescues. He has a bright, all teeth smile that screams "I am here!" just like All Might's did. There are big smiles and medium smiles and small smiles, and they're all loved by his fans.
No one is sure if Deku ever stops smiling. Sure, it would make sense if he does, but they've seen it. Even with broken arms and legs, even in the face of failure, of suffering and possible defeat, Deku never stops smiling. He makes sure everyone knows that he can do this. Deku is there, and he's going to save everyone.
Deku never stops smiling.
Izuku does, though. Once he went pro, Izuku couldn't bring himself to smile anymore.
He's Deku in interviews, he's Deku with his friends, and he even brings the persona to the front whenever he visits his mother.
But, in the lonely comfort of his home, Izuku doesn't smile. His face is carefully blank and taught, like the slightest crack or stretch will bring the whole thing crumbling down.
If he's being honest, that's because it probably will.
There are so many things he needs to do, people to save and things to see. He needs Deku to be the ultimate symbol of hope for the people of Japan. Needs to make sure he does all that he can, that Deku is burned into the minds of everyone as the best of the best, because Izuku is dying.
Slowly, sure, but he is.
Apparently that's what happens when you're in love with the idea of someone you don't even know.

◇

He's out with Chaco and Tsu the first time it happens.
It's a warm spring morning, they're all off, and Iida is babysitting their daughter.
They're sitting at one of the outdoor tables for a café they all frequent, having brunch and catching up. It's nice and comfortable.
Izuku is happy for once; He doesn't feel like his ribs are slowly crushing his very existence, compressing his very being into pure emotion-
His smile falters, but neither of his friends say anything.
There's an itch in his throat. He tries his best to ignore it, but it persists.
He takes a drink of water, but it's still there.
He can feel the panic rising, slowly, and it's filling his lungs.
Izuku turns his head to the side, puts his face in his elbow to mask his coughing. They're not powerful coughs by any means, light, but enough to dislodge the itch in his throat.
There's a soft wet sound. When he peeks at his elbow, there's a small yellow petal sitting there. It looks vaguely familiar, but that's not important.
Its existence in general, is important, and it sends his slow burning panic into a full spiral. His lungs are empty, and there's not enough air around him to fill them, no matter how much he breathes.
He's aware - he knows he's breathing too fast. Chaco and Tsu are both talking to him, reaching out, and he bolts. He's gone, just like he was all those years ago because at the end of it all he doesn't want to burden them with the shame of what he is.
So he runs. He runs until he can't feel his legs anymore and then he keeps running, as if running will get him any further away from the truth of how beyond repair he's pushing himself.

◇

It's a slight tickle on the inside of his arm that wakes him up. The sun is out full force, and it's disorienting. Judging by the brightness of their room, he knows it's most likely morning. When he focuses, he sees Yamada is lightly tracing his rabbit Soul Mark with a single finger.
He knows that Yamada has the same one, nestled delicately on his ankle. Their mysterious other soulmate, the one Shouta says he neither needs nor wants to find.
"It's getting lighter," Yamada whispers. There's something in his voice that Shouta can't place, and it rubs him almost the wrong way. Almost.
Logically, he knows that Yamada is the more sentimental between the two of them. He's the one much more inclined towards welcoming their mystery third, if they can ever track them down.
The fact that it's fading probably hurts him. It makes sense for it to; It means their unknown partner is dying.
He brings his hand up slowly, drags his fingers across Yamada's skin until he's cupping his love's cheek. Like this, in the morning light, he can see all the wear and tear hero work had wrought on the man. Despite the wrinkles and scars, his heart swells with love.
He loves Yamada, and seeing him like this hurts him.
"We don't even know the person this represents," Shouta eventually tells him. "You know there's nothing we can do."
He thinks Yamada's eyes are watering, but it's hard to tell from this angle.
"I know, I know…."
He scoots forward slightly, bringing himself close enough to press his lips oh so softly to Yamada's forehead.
The blond relaxes against him.
Shouta knows that there's more hanging between them, unsaid, but he's drifting off again before he can force himself to talk about it.

◇

He hates admitting that he's lost control of his life.
The doctor looks at him with pity, like he's sad on Izuku's behalf and the expression fills him with an alien rage. He wonders, briefly, if this is why Katsuki was always so angry. Did he ever look at his rival like this?
If he did, he wants to take it back.
He wants apathy. Part of him wants to feel like he's just another person with another terminal illness that the doctor just didn't care about, but it won't happen like that and he hates it.
Hates that he's a pro and he's dying from being love sick, so the doctors are going to be gentle and sad and god he wants to punch the wall. For a brief second, he seriously debates it.
The disease is still slow, the doctors tell him. There's still plenty of time. They remind him of the surgery, and he nods along but he won't participate.
He knows the risks.
Izuku is very aware that the surgery will also remove his Soul Marks. If he went through with it, he would forever lose his little corner of fate.
The thought makes him want to break down and cry.

Chapter Text

Of all the places he expects to run into an ex-student, this is nowhere near the list.

Shouta is in the waiting room, absently flipping through a magazine. Yamada is in with the doctors.

When he looks up, meaning to check the time, he catches a shock of green hair.

Midoriya Izuku is standing there, looking at him like a deer in the headlights.

He thinks back to how long it's been since the boy - man, he corrects himself - was in his class.

Eight years.

It doesn't seem like enough time for the deep bags under his eyes, for him to be so pale that even his freckles are disappearing. Honestly, he looks like a walking corpse, and it doesn't make sense.

He's seen the interviews and reports. Deku smiles, always. It's a constant. He looks healthy and vibrant.

Here, in the harsh light of the waiting room, Midoriya looks like he's dying.

Alarm bells are blaring in the back of his mind. Something is wrong!!! they all scream, but he can't put his thoughts into action before he's being waved back by a nurse, leaving Shouta sitting in his chair.

He watches as he leaves, stares until the door clicks behind him, begging his body to move because something is deeply wrong here and he needs to know.

Eventually the door opens again.

He doesn't know how long it's been, but his eyes are so dry it hurts.

Yamada grabs his hand, saying something.

Shouta is so thrown off by everything that he doesn't even register the drive home.

◇

Yamada pesters him half-heartedly about what could have possibly happened to make him act like this, but Shouta is still so unsure about what he's seen that he can't even give him a sarcastic remark.

Was that really Midoriya he saw?

And what could have made him look like that?

Hanahaki… the logical conclusion to jump to.

He still remembers that essay all those years ago, knows it was specifically a Hanahaki specialist they were there for, but it still doesn't sit right with him.

He doesn't know why it's bothering him so much, but it is.

And then Yamada is coughing again, doubled over by the couch.

Shouta is by his side in a heartbeat, rubbing soft circles into his husband's back. This isn't the worst fit Yamada has had, but it's still not good.

◇

Izuku doesn't have much longer.

Another year or two at the most, they say.

His doctor still hasn't given up on trying to persuade him to try the surgery, but Izuku still refuses.

He wants this - wants them.

It's dumb, he knows, but he can't help it; He can't stop his heart from longing for that special happiness he keeps seeing around him.

He curls up tightly on his bed. Even in the sweltering summer, there's two weighted blankets on his bed. He keeps hoping they'll make him feel better, but they don't.

When he wakes up in the morning, the empty weight of his bed just reminds him that he's alone.

He's starting to cry again. Again, like it doesn't happen every other hour he's by himself.

He knows another coughing fit will probably be coming up soon - they're like clockwork at this point - and he resents it so much.

Later, when he's nearly filled the waste basket with more flowers than his lungs could possibly hold, he wishes he could just die already.

The thought scares him.

He doesn't know when this started to take over his life.

He just wants to be normal and happy and loved.

Flowers scratch at his throat again, and then he's hugging the basket to his chest like a fucking life line.

◇

Shouta thinks he's going crazy.

He barely sleeps anymore, constantly up and worried for his husband.

Midoriya is haunting his every day.

He keeps seeing that green hair everywhere he looks. It's not Deku's green hair, but Izuku's. It's less vibrant, more tame, like it hasn't been washed in a few days.

If his assumptions are anything to go by, it probably hasn't.

Right now, it's seven weeks - he didn't count - since he first saw Izuku here.

He's watching the door of the waiting room like a hawk.

He wants to finally confront him.

He doesn't understand why the man has been on his mind so much when his husband is dying.

There isn't much waiting time for him this week before Izuku is through the door.

By this point, Shouta knows that he has to be checking in over the phone, coming in just in time to make his appointments.

He has to stop him before the nurse calls him.

He's been there, staring, for all of two minutes when the door finally opens.

Izuku's eyes catch his, and he has that same look he always does when he sees Shouta here. It's like he's not sure if this is actually his old teacher or not, and his mind can't decide.

Behind him, he hears the distinct click of the door.

"Midoriya," he says, echoed by the nurse.

Izuku's eyes go wide.

He can tell from the younger man's body language that he's going to go around him with as much space as he can.

Shouta stands carefully.

Izuku is stiff.

Internally, Shouta is screaming at himself.

He doesn't understand why he's doing this, but he can't stop himself. He reaches out, aiming for Izuku's hand.

He gets his wrist, and Izuku is quick to move it.

There's a brief flash of green, and he tucks that information away. Last he checked, Izuku didn't do that anymore, but that's neither here nor there.

Izuku's hand is pulling away.

Realistically, he knows this is going very quickly, but it feels like slow motion.

He tries to tighten his grip, to stop him, but Izuku is going.

Shouta doesn't stop him, but he gets the fingerless glove.

He shouldn't look.

He shouldn't.

Shouta can't tear his eyes away from the Mark on Izuku's hand and the weight of everything hits him like a bullet train to the chest.

He can't pull in a good breath.

Izuku is walking away, clutching his hand to his chest. He thinks the hero might be crying, but he can't register much of anything right now because he's seen that Mark before.

He's seen that Mark so often, traced it for years and years with his fingers and eyes and even his mouth because that's the same Mark that lives on Yamada's chest.

That Mark is the black, geometric cat that has come to define Aizawa Shouta, and he's just found the second copy of it on his student's hand.

◇

Izuku wants to panic, wants to scream and rage because what right does Aizawa have to try and barge into his life like this?

At first, he wasn't sure if it really was him.

He's older now, eyebags more pronounced, and he's clean shaven. Similar, but different enough that his brain doesn't out all the pieces together until Aizawa tries to grab him.

When he looks down at his hands, he realizes the nurse is holding a paper bag under his face.

He's hyperventilating.

Empty panic is buzzing through his veins, and he doesn't know what to do with it - with himself.

If he doesn't stop, they'll probably sedate him.

They've done it before.

Izuku's panic is wild.

He can feel his heart thudding in his ears.

He can't feel his chest.

His fingers are curled into his shirt, clutching weakly at what can only be hundreds of flowers, waiting to evacuate his system.

Suddenly, there's a sharp jab in his shoulder.

One beat, two beats.

He blinks.

Everything is going black around the edges.

They've sedated him.

Coherency starts muddling through as he goes under.

He wants to ask Aizawa why he looked so haggard.

What was he doing there?

Was he with someone?

Why did he grab Izuku's hand?

Why…?

Why did…?

Was he…?

◇

Shouta is losing his mind, slowly but surely.

His husband, light of his life and reason he tolerates mornings, is dying.

Their unknown soulmate is dying.

Not unknown, because he does know. He saw the proof right there, plain as day.

Midoriya Izuku is their soulmate, and he looks like he's already died.

He doesn't know why the thought makes his chest twist painfully.

He barely even knows the young man. Why does he make Shouta feel like this?

Of course, the answer is that they're soulmates but that doesn't matter.

His phone starts ringing, shaking against the end table.

It's only on vibrate, thankfully, but he's still reaching carefully over Yamada to make sure it doesn't wake him.

The caller hangs up before he answers, and that's okay because Shouta hates being on the phone anyways.

After just a minute he sees his voicemail icon pop up. He doesn't check to see if he knows the number, just turns the phone's volume down before listening to the message, careful he doesn't wake his husband.

"Hello~o, Aizawa-san!"

He grimaces. That voice was far too chipper for just about anybody.

"This is Uraraka Ochaco. You were my teacher a few years ago?"

Oh, oh no.

The voice on the other side drops to an octave he wouldn't have thought to associate with the bubbly hero.

"Why is my best friend panicking after running into you? Call me back, you bitch, so I can fix him."

And then the voicemail is over.

If he's being honest, he has no idea what to do.

He hasn't told Yamada yet that he thinks Izuku is their soulmate, and he doubts Izuku himself knows.

Should he really tell someone who isn't one of them?

Later that night, he's holding Yamada's hair back while the blond loses all of their recent dinner to a bouquet of camellias and white chrysanthemum.

Shouta feels like a broken man.

He has to do something.

Yamada trudges off to their room to try and sleep this off, and he just sits there, staring at the bathroom floor.

It feels like an eternity has passed before he finally reaches into his pocket for his phone.

He radials his last missed call, and he prays.

Chapter Text

Soft hands are combing through his hair.
Above him, there's maybe two or three people speaking in harsh whispers.
He wants to hear them, wants to know what they're saying. He tries to open his eyes, but the effort of it is enough to tire him back to sleep.

◇

Shouta hates this.
Emotions are far from being his strong suit. He's used to burying them down as far as he can until he's pestered into dragging them up by Yamada.
Sitting here, baring his heart to an ex student?
He hates it.
But Uraraka is patient. She listens without interrupting, and he's thankful, even if this is all awkward and stilted on his part.
He tells her first about Izuku's essay and the thoughts he'd had on it, admits that now he wishes Izuku had actually written down what his Soul Marks were, because maybe that could have clued him in.
She tells him about the panic attack he had that night, and his admission that both of his Marks had gone still.
"I saw him that night," he admits, and it's his first time telling anybody that. "He bumped into me on his way to the roof. Honestly, I'm surprised the problem child could see where he was."
Uraraka nods, considering.
"The roof was his favorite place to go and think. It calmed him down, I guess."
He can appreciate that. Being high up has a way of making everything else seem… smaller.
"I, uh, kept up with news on Deku. Kept track of all of you, really, but Deku especially."
She levels him with a look, like she's trying to read underneath what he's saying and potentially hiding, so he tells her what he's only recently been able to say to himself.
"I was worried about him. You saw how volatile his quirk could be if he wasn't careful. I wanted to make sure he didn't go around hurting himself." He takes a breath, leaning forward on the coffee table.
His sentences start and stop, and he has to take a moment to look around them. It's a nice summer day, still early enough that most people are sleeping but late enough that warmth is already creeping into everything.
"I… I wish I had an answer to really explain why I put so much attention into the public life of Deku when i never spoke to Izuku after your class graduated."
Uraraka's eyes are still gentle, and she stays quiet.
He sighs. This is harder than he wants it to be.
"Yamada and I are soulmates, but we both have an extra mark. His is on his ankle, and mine…"
Shouta looks around, makes sure there's no people here to see, and then slowly rolls the sleeve of his shirt up so his upper arm is uncovered.
"It hasn't stopped, so whoever's it is still cares, but, well."
He knows she sees it. The Mark is fluttering, almost, just barely there. She has to know what that means.
"When it started to fade, it affected Yamada a lot. I should have expected that, really. We had talked about the possibility of maybe finding our third, but I was adamant that Yamada was all I needed. He's so full of love and happiness, though, and he wants to give it to everyone he can."
There's a burning feeling behind his eyes, and he curses it mentally.
"Yamada has Hanahaki."
Uraraka reaches across the table to grab his hand and he doesn't stop her.
"Izuku, too, though he won't admit it," she says after a long minute.
"How did you know?"
"You can't hide it forever."
He nods.
His coffee has long since gone cold, but he sips at it anyways.
Shouta isn't good at this - at words and emotions. He knows he's making this harder than it really needs to be, dragging out the meat of the problem until he can admit what Uraraka had undoubtedly picked up on by this point.
She doesn't press him for answers, though, and she doesn't even bother to point out that his coffee has to be far from warm at this point.
No, she just lets them sit in silence for however long it takes him to work up to what he's done.
Wind whistles around them, gently shaking the tree leaves and he can't even admit to himself that it reminds him of how Izuku's hair bounces when he laughs.
He sets his drink down, taking another moment to think before he can finally say what he needs to.
"Izuku uses the same clinic that Yamada does, I guess. I saw him, a few months ago."
His hands are clasped on the table, fingers opening and closing together like he's already begging for forgiveness.
"At first, I wasn't sure that it was him. He looked so different from the photos and videos I'm always seeing of Deku, but I kept seeing him. Every week. And then I was seeing him everywhere, and I thought I was losing it."
He's lost the ability to look Uraraka in her understanding eyes, so he turns to look out at the street instead.
"I was… concerned, to say the least, and I don't know why. It was like this pull to him, to find out what was wrong with him and it scared me. I barely know the man but everything in me wanted to… to make him cocoa, bundle him up, and take care of him.
The feelings were driving me up the wall, especially since my husband was and still is dying. I couldn't believe I was so concerned with Izuku while Yamada was going through his own hell, but that didn't stop the constant thought that I had to find out what was going on.
So, eventually, I figured out Izuku's pattern at the clinic, and I waited.
I said his name, tried to grab his hand so I could stop him and talk to him."
He lets his head hang.
"He made it clear he was going to go around me, avoid me, me but I went after him anyways. Grabbed his hand, but he jerked it away so I took his glove instead."
That glove is still sitting in his bag, but he doesn't tell her that.
"When he was leaving, I saw the Mark that was under the glove. And it… caught me off guard."
He leaves it at that. He's not sure the best way to word it without getting straight to the meat of the problem, and he's just not brave enough to do that right now.
For once in his life, bravery is something he actually needs. There's no collected cool to help ease him through everything.
There's no method of anything that will help him explain to the young girl sitting next to him that her best friend is his soulmate and Shouta is the reason he's dying.
Uraraka's voice is feather soft and quiet when she finally asks him "Why?"
It feels like a floodgate is breaking open in his chest and he can't stop the words, doesn't want to stop them, because he needs to say this.
"It's the same mark Yamada has. It's me."
He turns his head back, looking her in the eyes again.
"Izuku is our soulmate, Uraraka. We're the reason he's dying."

◇

His mouth is dry, and everything feels so heavy.
Turning his head feels like it takes an eternity, and opening his eyes takes even longer.
He isn't ready for what he sees.
He's in a hospital room, and it's gotta be one of the big private ones because there's a large window seat there across from him.
Present Mic and Eraserhead are sleeping on the bench. There's a thin hospital blanket draped over Present Mic, and from here he can't tell if the blond is shivering or if he just really needs glasses.
The two are leaning against each other, meeting more or less in the middle of the bench.
A wave of longing slams into his chest and it hurts so much he thinks it's going to break his ribs.
He stares, can't make himself do anything else, and he stares for what has to have been at least ten minutes. His ribs don't break from the sheer pressure of how much he wants something like that, but they do constrict, throwing him into a coughing fit that he's powerless to stop or even muffle.
Izuku can't even get it together enough to move his head over the bed, just hacks up bloody messes of flowers and plants right onto his pillow.
The plants are the worst. He can feel the roots digging up out of his lungs and his airway, ripping up pieces of himself as he loses more and more to the disease.
Mic stirs first, surprisingly. He jabs Aizawa in the ribs as he gets up, stumbling over to Izuku's bed.

◇

Shouta wakes up to a sharp elbow catching him in his side. It takes maybe half a moment for him to realize that it's Izuku coughing up a storm, not Yamada, and that his husband is shakily making his way across the floor to the hospital bed they've been watching all day.
He watches from the bench, unsure of how to act. Yamada looks so comfortable and confident like this, gently easing Izuku into a sitting position and helping hold a sick bag under his face.
He wishes he could do that.
He doesn't know how to talk to Izuku, not with all the things he wants to talk to him about.
How does he start? Where?
He thinks he should apologize first, but what does he apologize for?
Grabbing his hand? Watching him constantly?
For not saying anything all those years ago when the hero was still his student?
He doesn't know, so he just watches.
Yamada is whispering something in Izuku's ear, arm loosely thrown over his shoulder.
The younger man is crying, but that doesn't surprise him.
What surprises him is when Yamada helps ease him out of the bed, hands just hovering over his elbows as he walks over to where Shouta is sitting.
He's quick to stand, meeting Izuku partway.
He still doesn't know what to say or do, but Ixuku beats him to everything first anyways.
"Can I see?"
His voice is rough and hoarse, and it makes Shouta feel like he's been shot.
He knows what Izuku wants to see.
He pulls his light jacket off, rolls up the sleeve of his t-shirt so Izuku can see the faint rabbit resting soundly on his arm.
For good measure, he lifts up his shirt. Just over his belly button is Yamada's cockatiel, fluttering about slightly. It's faint as well, but more solid than the rabbit.
Izuku stares at him, eyes tracing everything Shouta could possibly show him. It makes him warm and it's the same as when Yamada is looking him over.
It makes him want to give everything over to him, let him take as much as he wants until Shouta has nothing left to give, and then he wants to beg for them to take even more.
Izuku doesn't beg or take, but he does reach out a trembling hand. He traces the rabbit first with a barely there touch, and then the cockatiel.
He tries his best not to laugh, but the too light hand on his stomach sends a pleasant tickle all the way through him and it's hard not to.
When he does, Izuku smiles up at him.
He feels like he's looking at the sun.
Yamada steps close behind him, close enough that an outsider would assume they were lovers and his brain catches on that thought.
Lovers.
He wants that.
He sees Yamada slide a hand over Izuku's waist, following it to his arm and then his hand until he's holding it in his.
The grasp is just barely there, giving him room to run if he needs but he doesn't.
Izuku falls ever so slightly back into Yamada and it's all he can do to follow them forward, catching both men in his arms and hugging them close.
The apologies flow out of him like a tidal wave. He's apologizing to both of them and neither of them and himself for everything and anything and nothing, it's so hard to tell.
They make their way to the floor eventually, Izuku seated in his lap, leaning against Yamada.
The younger man is crying, and Shouta knows they have to be happy tears because all he's doing is smiling and thanking them.
Yamada has his arms wrapped tight around his waist, and his chest feels so full he think it might burst.
He doesn't know what the right thing to do here is, but he knows what he wants to do and for the first time in his life he doesn't stop to think it all over, he just does.
He leans forward until Izuku is snug between the both of them, and then he kisses him soundly.
Izuku is probably inexperienced, he knows, but that doesn't stop him.
He leads him through his favorite song and dance, lips working together in the best way he could imagine.
When Izuku sighs happily against him he eats it up happily before trailing kisses across his cheek, down and over to where Yamada is peppering kisses on Izuku's freckled shoulder.
Izuku chuckles softly, a blessedly pure sound, and Shouta can't believe he thought he didn't need him.