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    Summary

    “A dream?” Aizawa mumbled, the vibrations tingling across his skin where the shorter man’s face rested.

    “That visit. It’s hazy, but I’m glad it was real. I certainly haven’t ever had such a vivid or strange one since.”

    “Sorry.” The whisper was low enough that he felt more than heard it, and he brought one hand to the back of Aizawa’s head to pass his fingers through more of that soft hair.

    “It might have saved me that night.” Toshinori said, almost to himself. It felt like a confession in the dark; only missing the scent of wood and rosewater and a creaking bench beneath his knees that he remembered from his childhood like a faint echo.

     

    Giving himself to make others happy doesn't have to define him now, or so he's been told; but giving himself this one last time might be what brings him the joy he's been looking for.
    And maybe love isn't simply an investment - it's a whole lot more.

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